If I had been conscious I would have noticed how clammy I had become and how the air in the world seemed to cling only to me. I would have noticed that the reason I was cold was because I had kicked the blankets off of myself in my mad frenzy of tossing and turning. I also would have noticed that it was only a dream.
The sun streamed in through the open window. Outside you could see my mother's garden in full bloom. Bees buzzed around the wildflowers and vegetables. My brother was running around like a lunatic trying to catch the grasshoppers that jumped around. My mother looked on fondly holding my baby sister to her. A picnic basket lay at her feet.
"Moar. Come, it's time to go or else it will be high noon by the time we get to our field."
I resented being left behind. I hated being sick in the summer. My father had volunteered to stay home with me so that my mother could take out my siblings on our traditional weekly picnic. Every Saturday we would pack up and head to our field by the river and have lunch. I turned from the window with a sour look.
"Now, now. None of that. You're still not over that nasty cold you had. We're just making sure that you're okay." I simply turned my back and walked back over to my stitch work. My mother often gloated about my skill with a needle. About how when I grew up I would make a fine wife and that all the lads would envy my husband. It made me happy to hear her say such things. To please her was all I had ever wanted. As I stitched, my father left the room to go make me some lunch.
We lived in a small cottage on the edge of the town. Near enough to the city so that my father could make it to the palace and back in one day for his job. He worked for the king. He was the king's most trusted advisor. The cottage wasn't extremely small, bigger than most houses in fact. Big enough so that I could have my own bedroom.
I heard a crash below me. It came from our kitchen. I figured that my father had just dropped a plate, but I soon heard the shouts.
"Please, why are you doing this? Where is the king?"
"Dead, kind sir. It was tragic. He passed in his sleep. I'm afraid though that you may know a little to much of the inner workings of our kingdom to survive," A loud smack and a grunt followed. "Burn the place to the ground. If anyone asks the man had a stroke while cooking over an unruly fire."
"Sir, his family."
"This man often brags of his family's Saturday trips to the river. They aren't here and will never suspect a thing." They exited. Soon after I smelled the smoke.
My father came rushing up the stairs.
"What's happening?" I asked him.
"Quickly my child, there isn't much time. They do not know you are here. You must go out through the back entrance. Never speak a word of this. Ever. Well, at least not until you think that you have found the key to fixing this country. You must be very sure for if you breathe a word. Miraz will kill you. Do you here me? Never speak a word!" He had tears rolling down his cheeks. "I love you my child." He shoved me away. I ran to the top of the stairs, but the entire down stairs was engulfed in flame by this point. "Too late!" My father exclaimed. He picked me up and ran me to his bedroom, where the window that faced into the woods away from the guards was located.
"I am so very sorry Serdif." He told me, with tears glimmering in his eyes, and he threw me out the window. I hit down hard. I felt my leg snap as I landed wrong and my head smacked into the hard earth. The world turned fuzzy, but I knew I had to get away from the house. Most of my senses were numb, I couldn't think clearly, but the need to get away was strong in me. I ran as fast as I could into the woods, even though my snapped leg was blazing in pain. Finally my boot caught on a root and I fell. My vision went black.
"Serdif, Serdif! Wake up! The house is gone. What happened." My big brother was shaking me roughly, he hit my leg. I opened my mouth to scream in agony, nothing came out. Instead silent tears of pain ran down my cheeks. I cried and shook my head and caressed my broken leg. "Mother! Serdif is hurt. Something bad has happened to her."
My mother came rushing up to me. "Serdif what is wrong? What has happened?" I continued to shake my head, sob, and point at my leg. My mother roughly grabbed me. "Tell me what has happened to your father or I swear I shall whip you to your death!" I tried to tell her, but nothing came out. "You good for nothing child!" She screamed in sorrow and rage. "Why! Why did he have to leave me? I told him not to work in the palace. That it was dangerous. Anyone who works there always winds up dead," She fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands. "It should have been you. You should have died and he have lived." I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Mother...." Moar looked as stunned as I.
"Shut up you insolent child."
We sat there for hours until she had cried herself hoarse. She turned to me then with a wild look in her eyes. She grabbed my leg and squeezed as hard as she could. Pain ran through me, and my body convulsed with it. My brother grabbed my mother and pulled her away.
"Do not harm her." Were the last words I heard before the blackness took me again.
I was being roughly shaken.
"For crying out loud Serdif. You must stop screaming in your sleep. No wonder mother hates you. You are the most unbearable person." I sat there breathing hard and warming up. Something she had said stuck with me, "You must stop screaming..". That is impossible. Being mute she could not possibly scream. She hadn't made a noise in almost eight years. She didn't even make a noise when she sneezed. Serile must have her head lost in dreams. I was most certainly not screaming. With that last thought I drifted off into a mindless, dreamless slumber.
