Stormy Skies
Prolouge
"Grandfather, what is that?" a pale child asked. She stared out of the small cottage window in wonder. Her grandfather, Pierre, limped towards her slowly and gazed out the window.
"What is it, my dear?" he asked gently, watching the night. The two lived alone in the wooden cottage Pierre himself built. They were close enough to the village to see it but their home was partially hidden from view by the nearby forest. Pierre watched the other villagers settling down for the night, lights from their fires twinkling gently against the black starry night sky.
"That, grandfather," Selvie pointed to the north of the village. Pierre strained his eyes but saw nothing. He glanced down at his granddaughter and placed a hand on her soft dark hair. She looked up with disbelief in her eyes. "Can't you see them?" she questioned.
"See who, little one?"
Selvie looked back to the window. "The men out there. They're riding horses and caring swords and have King Stephen's label on their clothes! Why are they coming to our village, grandfather?"
Pierre looked out again but still saw nothing. 'King Stephen's men? No, no they couldn't be here. It's impossible!' Still he saw nothing of the men his precious Selvie saw.
She pointed again. "There right there! See them! You have to see them!"
And then he did. As though a blanket had been lifted from over his eyes, Pierre saw them, the King's men, riding through the small village. A shiver of fear ran down his spine as he stared at the fighters, watching as they rushed into the peaceful villagers' homes and forced them out. Screams could be heard as children and babes were forced from their mothers' side and thrown aside like limp rags. The old were shoved onto the snowy ground and houses began going up in flames.
Pierre looked away only to settle on the young child beside him. Selvie watched with growing concern and fear but didn't look away. "Grandfather," she whispered, "what are they doing? It's too cold outside for the children. They'll freeze! Grandfather, we have to do something!"
Pierre looked away from her, shamed at his own disability to help the poor villagers down there. 'Child, there is nothing I can do.' He began limping through the house. 'We're not safe here. They'll come here soon. Must get away… must get Selvie away but where?' Pierre grabbed a thin blanket and placed on it food and clothing for his granddaughter. 'Where will she be safe? They're here for her! Where can she hide?'
In the town, all the people had been gathered together near the edge of the forest. The fires from the burning building lit the sky like an unholy beacon. The Elderly were cut down were they stood. Children were forced into the forest by a group of soldiers and screams slit the frozen air anew. The soldiers came back alone, their swords bloodied by the childrens' innocent lives. Wives watched as their husbands' throats' were slit and were forced to dig their own graves. Few tried to escape but were cut down in their tracks.
Through it all, Selvie watched with a growing sense of fear, anger and somehow, fascination. Deep inside of her, the blood's redness stirred unknown feelings of glee and joy, giving her a sickening sense of tainted pleasure. She took delight at the killing of innocents. Selvie shuddered at the thought but couldn't deny it. Every drop spilt made her body tingle; every life lost nearly drowned her in ecstasy. She watched the soldiers in envy, wishing she could experience the feelings of cutting down the helpless.
Another shudder passed through her body. 'No, it's wrong,' she mentally screamed at herself.
'But is it?' a voice asked her. 'How could something so wrong feel so right? It gives you pleasure, doesn't it? Why reject that pleasure? It's not like you did anything wrong.'
'But,' Selvie floundered helplessly, 'those people are dying-'
'So,' the voice countered seductively. 'The only reason they are dying is because they are weak. The weak don't deserve to live. They have never done anything to you but teased you because you have no parents. Why should you care for them? Nobody wants you. Even you grandfather hates you. You always make him cry because you remind him of those he lost. You remind him of your mother, but she's dead. You bring nothing but pain to him.'
'Pain,' Selvie repeated softly, not wanting to believe the voice but feeling the truth of it. Memories pass through her head of the first time she met the villagers. The other children had laughed at her, throwing snow at her, hurting her and all because she was an orphan. The adults had ignored her cries of pain, telling their children that she didn't have parents and because of that, they couldn't be nice to her.
Other memories flashed of times when she had seen her grandfather looking at her through the corner of his eyes, tears streaming down his face. Times when he would sit for hours in his chair, crying and holding a picture of her mother. Her heart still felt the sting his behavior had caused. 'Nothing but pain. I have nothing but pain and bring nothing but pain'
'Come with me,' the voice whispered softly in her ear, taking the form of a dark girl Selvie's age. It stretched forth is hand. 'Come with me. I'll take you to a place where nothing can hurt you anymore. There, you'll feel nothing but pleasure, there'll be no more pain.'
Selvie slowly grabbed its hand and both vanished from the cabin.
Pierre walked back into the room his granddaughter was in moments before. "Selvie, we must leave at once! Selvie?" He looked around as he realized she was no longer there. "Selvie? Selvie!" Panic lined his voice as the King's men burst through his door. Hours later, all that remained of the cottage and the old man were ashes.
Miles away, Selvie lay in a warm chamber. 'Nothing but pain,' she thought darkly. 'They will experience nothing but pain.'
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-Black Rebel.