A Familiar Taste of Poison
Prologue
The flames danced high in the ink black sky of the winter night. They croaked and hissed as they burned everything. They burned the wooden logs, they burned the ropes, they burned the flesh. They were so fascinating that the screams were almost easy to ignore, to forget. But one pair of eyes could not get off the dying woman. Their owner could not rejoice himself from the painful wails, from the horrible sight that he bore.
Hidden behind a pile of branches, the boy was watching everything. He saw the woman twist desperately as she burned, he saw the crowd laughing, singing and dancing in front of the pyre, as if it were a bonfire. His fists clenched as he choked on his own tears. Even if the noise of the pain and joy was loud, he would not get caught, because they knew who he was.
Her son.
Her young son.
Before climbing on the pile of wood, his mother had given him one last look of mixed love, fear and despair. She had screamed: "Go!" But he had not left. Surely she had not wanted him to bear this horrible spectacle, and get caught too. But now, she didn't even have the strength to look at him, as she only seemed to see pain. And flames.
His hands were trembling and his entire being was shaken by shivers of fear and sorrow. He couldn't help but look, look as his mother died, unable to do a single thing. The guilt built inside of him, but he was paralysed. Suddenly, a harsh voice called:
"Look! It's her son!"
He was startled and jumped on his feet. He looked at where the scream came from, and saw three men running at him, extending their hands to catch him. He began to run, his legs still quite unable to move. Their shadows danced at the light of the flames, and his tears and sobs were left behind him as he ran as fast as he could. He escaped from the world of light and plunged into the darkness of the forest, hoping to find a place to hide. Unfortunately, he was still followed, even if the sound of running resumed to careful striding.
He hid behind a dead tree trunk, but they heard him move. He burst out of his hiding place, but one of the men had a bow and arrows. The first time he shot, he only hit a tree. The boy began to run again, diving deeper and deeper in the forest. At one moment, he heard the chanting noise of a stream. But the archer was quick, and as his eyes accustomed to the darkness, he shot a second time.
With a scream, the boy fell to the ground. He wasn't able to move for the reason that the arrow had skewered his leg. In pain, he crawled at the side of the track as the hunters ran to him. In a last excruciating effort, he pulled himself out of the way, and fell in the stream. The water carried him a few meters away, under a natural dirt bridge, and he disappeared from sight.
"Think he's dead?" snorted a man.
"Dunno, I saw him fall, then I lost him. And you, Egor, did you kill him?" said the other one.
"I saw him fall too." answered Egor. "But I can't be sure. We must search." he simply said, apparently less dumb than his companions.
They roamed the forest for half of the night, but didn't find him. When the moon had begun to go down again, they decided to go back to their village.
"We will look for the body tomorrow," said Egor. "Now rest, my good men."
The boy had heard everything. He was in horrible pain, but he felt less and less conscious. The water rocked him, like his mother used to do. His leg stung as if it was slowly being torn to shreds, as the arrow was still in it. As he began to drift into a much darker place than this world, his mind chanted a name. Egor. Egor. Egor. He would never forget that name. He would never forget that night, where he lost his mother and almost lost his life. He thought of her, still screaming or maybe already dead. She had lasted longer than the previous, of course. For she was better.
His eyes closed themselves slowly, one in the water and one in the air. Egor. He thought. He swore he would find that man. He swore he would kill that man. And if he could find others like him, he would kill them too. He would burn them like they did to so many other witches and wizards, he would give them a taste of their own medicine. Despite of what they said, his mother had not deserved to die because she was a witch. Neither did he. Yes, he was also a wizard. Son of a wizard and of a witch. He was Salazar Slyhterin. And those men would die screaming.
~o~
Young Godric was holding his mother's hand while they were passing through the dark woods. The young boy was scared of the high and dark trees, which looked even scary in the morning. He looked down at his feet: he was trying not to crush the watery moss and the early flowers that were peeking after the winter. Spring was almost blooming, and the sweet scents that were beginning to appear in the nature were a gift to Godric.
"Mother, can I look at that funny tree?" he asked in a little, amused voice.
"Go, son." said his mother, chuckling.
Godric carefully risked a step or two still holding her hand, then instantly dropped it to run to the "funny tree". It's bark was dark, engorged with water, and some branches were twisting without structure, which had made him call the tree funny.
"Careful, Godric!" called his mother, worried by her adventurous son. Effectively, he had began to climb on the branches, sometimes his foot slipped.
The fresh morning air was softly blowing on his face, and his cheeks and nose turned red. Blinking his eyes many times, which had gone watery because of the humidity, he looked at the river. He saw an undefined shape, that had clearly nothing to do in the forest.
"Mother!" he called. "I think there's a dead animal over there, or a person, I can't see very well." he said, pointing at the stream.
While he climbed down, the woman walked quickly towards the place he had pointed. She began to distinguish the body behind the high herbs before the stream, and when she came at its level, she gasped in surprise.
"Godric, quick! Come, my boy!" she hastily called.
Godric ran fast, almost slipped on some mossy stone, then saw the boy. His mother had dragged him out of the water, and sushed him when he suggested giving him water. He clearly had enough overnight...
As the boy began to cough, his mother lifted him up.
"Are you alright?" she whispered in a kind voice.
She waited for him to open his eyes, then murmured:
"What are you doing there, in that stream... What is your name, my boy?"
He looked at her with eyes filled of terror.
"He won't speak, mother. I think he's frightened." said Godric.
"I can see that very well, thanks Godric." she replied.
The boy began to mutter in a voice shaken by fear.
"Are you... Are you like them?"
"Like who, child?"
"The monsters... The monsters..." he repeated, quivering or cold, and maybe of fear.
Godric looked at his mother in astonishment.
"Which monsters?" he asked.
Salazar didn't answer. He only showed his leg to them.
Godric's mother let out a gasp of surprise.
"By Taranis*, who did that?!"
No answer came out, and she knew.
"The monsters..." she blew out.
Godric's heart rate began to go up. He clawed to his mother's cape.
"Mother... We must leave..." he was looking at the arrows stinging the bark of some trees. This boy clearly had been chased.
"Not without him."
She took the young boy in her arms, while he let out a silent hiss of pain.
"Boy, please, what is your name?" she pleaded.
He looked at her with sad eyes, that were far too old for his age.
"Salazar. Salazar Slytherin."
So, this was the prologue of a story that's going to be long and complicated. As always, I hope you have appreciated, and I would be the happiest person in the world if you enjoyed my story! Please leave some reviews, they make the writing easier and more pleasant.
*Taranis is the Celtic god of thunder. Even if this is set in Middle-Ages, I assumed wizards still kept some Celtic gods and culture. You're going to learn more on Godric's family in further chapters.
Love.