In the dark corner of Wander's haunted dreams, features outlined in the red-gold glow of torchlight, the Warrior watched.
Nearer the light, villagers gathered with hearts full of merriment, rejoicing in the sacred union of two who were in love.
Wander and Mono knelt together on the dais, shielded from the night's wind with festive drapery dyed an expensive crimson.
They were garbed as they would be in the Forbidden Lands: he in his vestment, and she in her pale dress.
The vestment held the swirling sigil pattern engraven in stone since time immemorial, though here in fabric woven light and dark, and represented constancy.
The dress held the faint colors of spring bloom within its fibers, pure and clean with the hopes of renewal.
Wedding garb, later to become burial shroud.
Behind them stood Lord Emon, officiator of the ceremony, in his finest robes; ringed about the dais were the masked clerics under his command; and facing them sat an old Shamaness.
The Shamaness wore a robe also, longer and more akin to a dress, the deep creases of her wise face and coarse straight hair shadowed by the crest of her hood.
Arrayed before her were bones, beads, precious stones, herbs, and smoking incense balanced upon a small altar-stand.
These were the tools that would allow her faded eyes, which saw the world not clearly, to see into the future, hazy to all but her.
Took she Wander's hand in her aged leathery one, and traced his lines with a dry fingertip.
"Great love, and great sorrow do I see," quoth she in ominous tones. "On the field of combat, you shall fell great foes."
Wander and Mono's faces clouded.
Strange tidings were these for a couple newly wedded; more so since Wander vowed to set aside the warrior's blade, and no longer walked the path to martial glory.
Mono searched Wander's face for some hint of betrayal, of secretly-held ambitions, but she found there none; Wander was as confused as she.
It was thus with trepidation that Mono gave her own hand to the Shamaness; for Wander's reading spoke of sorrow, yet he had no one in the world but she.
The Shamaness frowned with much confusion, tracing the lines of Mono's hand; but then the Shamaness dropped the girl's hand with a sharp intake of air, as if the small pale hand had burned her.
"What is it, Shamaness?" Wander dared ask.
"You…" rasped the Shamaness, leaning back as if to flee, half-blind eyes staring with terror at the equally terrified ones of Mono.
Pointed she a gnarled treebranch-finger at the girl. "You will be the mother of a demon!"
A chorus of horrified gasps from the once-merry villagers.
Lord Emon stood forth, moving between the gaping and fear-stricken lovers. "Explain," he commanded of the Shamaness.
The Shamaness rose trembling to her feet, standing back apace, and endeavoring to rediscover her well-known composure. "The one who profanes the sanctity of life and death has marked her for its own: Dormin."
'Twas as if a shadow fell over all, darker than the curtain of night, when that ill-favoured name breathed out from her lips; the torches appeared to shudder at the sound of the word, as if it held within it the power of a curse.
Lord Emon scowled, displeased: what would possess the venerable old woman to speak of such frightening things, on such a joyous occasion?
"That old Shadow of which you speak was locked in the Forbidden Lands, untold ages ago," challenged Lord Emon.
He was not as old nor as wise as the Shamaness, and felt like a young pup betraying the dignity of his grey hairs by speaking thus to her; yet speak he would, for he would not worry his charges unduly.
'Shadow' he had called it, for he would not say its name; well he could remember the stories of his youth, which warned against invoking the power of entities thus.
The Shamaness was equally resolved. "Lord Emon, I saw what I saw. I know not how, but it shall come to pass."
Lord Emon considered the matter gravely, staring at the uncomprehending faces of young bride and groom.
"...The Shadow is cunning," he said at last, his tongue and voice weighted with thick reluctance. "We cannot allow it to escape its prison."
He turned his back upon them, shoulders heavy with the burden of regret. "...I am sorry," spake he softly.
Lord Emon beckoned at the Warrior, and the Warrior came forth.
"Lord Emon...?!" questioned Wander, the panic within him rising. The masked clerics surrounded Wander, pulling him forcefully from the dais ere he had time to foment opposition.
Mono began to stand, uncertain, but Lord Emon and the Shamaness each took hold of one of her wrists, and pulled her down to the altar.
Wander broke free of the clerics with his animal thrashing, wresting a sword from the grasp of one.
The Warrior poised above Mono with sword drawn, and leveled over her head; he was to be her executioner.
Wander climbed the dais, and blocked the Warrior's sword with his own; Mono's dear neck was spared.
Thought he that Mono's life was spared also, but then he heard a sickening sound behind him.
Turning, Wander saw an ashen-faced Mono: a ceremonial knife, used to make sacrifices of bulls and sheep, was lodged deep in her back, the hilt held within the grasp of Lord Emon.
He pulled out the knife, and let Mono slump forward upon the altar.
Wander knelt down, distraught, and gathered Mono into his arms; Lord Emon and the Shamaness offered no resistance, for the girl's fate was sealed.
Wander cradled her dying form against him. "Mono... no please... I do not have your skill…"
He looked askance at the Shamaness. "Please, help her!"
The face of the Shamaness was pained, but resolute. "...It is done," she said simply.
Wander looked from Shamaness to Shaman, blanched with shock and horror. "Why...? Why would you do this? No trial, no deliberation of the council?!"
"You are not on the council," said Lord Emon, stern. "And you are not the leader of this tribe. If I sent you to war, as you once wished, you would kill upon my orders without question - for you would trust my judgement that their deaths are for the good of all."
"You would lecture me, even now as she dies?!"
Lord Emon's jaw clenched grimly, as he waxed full wroth at the defiant youth. "...You have no right to question me on matters that are not yours to understand nor contend with," he said, voice dangerously restrained.
"I have every right! You would murder an innocent woman on her own wedding night, in front of the entire village!"
The villagers of the assembled crowd made sounds of incredulity; Wander's accusation was audacious.
"Careful, boy," warned Lord Emon, whose patience was coming to an end. He would be forced to act against Wander, if his seditious behavior continued.
Mono choked on blood, shuddered, and then her body went still.
"She has passed on to the light," said the Shamaness, closing her eyes solemnly. "This world troubles her no more."
"YOU MURDERED MY WIFE!" cried Wander, shrill with uncontained rage.
"He saved your wife!" refuted the Shamaness. "Can you not understand, boy, that it is worse to live as a demon's pawn than to pass, pure and sinless, into the great beyond?!"
"As you said, all have borne witness," Lord Emon said, gesturing to the guests assembled. "This deed was not done in shadow. Who here believes I have done wrong?"
Wander, through tears, looked out over the crowd; most avoided his gaze. All were silent, and made no motion toward Wander.
"He murdered her," said Wander, choked with delirious grief. "You saw... why do you say and do nothing, you cowards?"
The warrior knocked him upon the head with the pommel of his sword.
Wander slumped into unconsciousness; as he did so he saw the Warrior, silhouetted in the torchlight, looming over the fallen forms of both he and his slain bride.