Prologue: Bad Memories
It was supposed to be a lazy summer's day.
The sun had been beating down on the backs of necks all afternoon, but now everything was slowing down to a natural lull. The thigh-high fields gracefully waved to and fro in a peaceful sea of luscious green. Cows lumbered back to their resting places in the barns, with chickens clucking at their heels. Any mud from the leftover weekend rain had dried up and left deep but crumbling impressions in the dirt paths that wound through the village. Fences groaned and gates creaked as wives, old and young, whisked back to their homes to retire their wagging tongues and finish the suppers that had been bubbling on the stoves. Any and all farming machinery was momentarily resting as they patiently waited to be of use again. The drowsy evening sun shone a deep red as it began its descent behind the mountain ranges, casting shadows over a discarded flower crown that had been lovingly plaited for a child's head. It lay forgotten and quivering under the trees that lined the path leading to the windmills, having been trampled by monstrous paws.
With panting breath, an old man limped through town, his waterlogged shoes leaving behind a small mixture of water and mud in every footstep. His arms protectively cradled a small, huddled figure that was still. Far too still.
Help. Help us, please.
The words scratched at his throat, barely making a sound. His knees trembled and buckled, as he sank to the ground. He clutched at the figure that he'd quickly but carefully wrapped in his coat, cursing his old frame.
With a gasp and a scream, horrified hands slammed open the nearby gate, footsteps pounding to his side.
"My god, are you alright? What happened?"
The old man pushed the figure into whoever's arms it was. "Up by the reservoir...attacked...fell in…" His head limply fell into his chest.
They were quickly whisked away, far too quickly, and the old man crumpled to the ground, revealing the red that was staining the entire side of his ripped and tattered shirt. Nimble hands eased him back into a strong frame, and he was hoisted upwards. The world started to spin and darken. Knowing that at least she was safe and in good hands, he closed his eyes against the blood-red sun.
"Is she alright?"
The physician shrugged helplessly, his sleeves hastily rolled to his elbows. He wiped a weary hand across his sweaty brow. Gesturing at the young girl all bundled in her bed, he said, "I've done all I can, for now. The worst of it is hopefully over, but her dressings will need frequent changing. Hopefully, she can make a full recovery, provided she gets enough bed rest."
Her mother tearfully nodded while her father gripped the edge of a wooden kitchen chair. Slowly, he asked, "Will it heal? Completely?"
The physician sighed. "Only time will tell. There's no knowing how badly or how deep the wounds are, but most likely it will leave scarring of some sort. I'm so very sorry."
Her mother let out an involuntary sob, rushing to be by her daughter's side. Clean bandages wound about her face, a few of them turning a light pink. At least she was sleeping now.
Turning, the physician carefully packed his now-bloodied tools into his case and wrapped up some bloody cloth to discard later. He nodded to her father, and pushed past him to head out the front door, his shoulders slumping as he went. He sighed and focused on his feet as he started to head back home for the night, but he doubted that he'd be able to get any rest. So preoccupied was he that he failed to notice the dark figure that entered the house he'd just exited a moment ago.
"Mother Miranda!"
Her mother leapt to her feet hearing her husband's cry of shock at seeing their village priestess in their humble home. Miranda quelled any fears with a simple raised hand. She smiled kindly at them. "My children! I heard about the incident with your daughter."
The girl's mother fell to her knees at Miranda's feet. Her eyes were awash in tears as she begged, "Please, save her!"
Miranda gestured for her to stand aside. She stepped forward to the girl's bedside and looked at her carefully. "Please, give us some space," she said over her shoulder. "The Black God may wish to heal your daughter."
The girl's parents clutched at each other, beaming through tears of worry. Obeying Miranda's command, her mother grasped the bedroom doorknob and pulled the door shut with a click.
Miranda slowly turned to face the girl, who was still deep asleep in bed. She studied her for a bit. The child was an otherwise healthy specimen. Just needed a bit of a boost to help her system recover. At least, that's what she knew she'd use to explain to herself later when all was said and done. Miranda looked around to ensure that no unwelcome eyes were watching before drawing a syringe from her black robes. She turned the child's elbow up to expose the veins in her arm, carefully watching for any signs of waking. With an expert eye, she firmly grasped the girl's arm and swiftly pressed the needle into it, pushing the contents into her bloodstream. The girl's eyes squeezed in discomfort for a brief moment before sighing and falling into a restful sleep. Satisfied, Miranda carefully wrapped the syringe with a thick cloth and hid it once again, careful not to prick herself.
Opening the door, she beckoned the parents inside. "Your daughter may yet recover. May the Black God be merciful."
The parents quietly nodded and whispered Amen, brushing past Miranda to be with their daughter once again.
Pausing at the door frame, the dark priestess prayed that this one would finally work.
The platform swayed beneath her, dancing between the black water and the mindless beast, humanoid eyes alight with a mindless hunger. With a terrifying lurch, the platform slowly descended towards the beast, its claws outstretched.
She bolted upright and clutched at her chest, her nightgown soaked with a cold sweat. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breathing was raggedly rushing in and out with a barely registered wheeze. The bed covers had tangled her legs, giving her an extra sense of panic as she struggled to free herself. At last, she tossed the covers aside to the wooden floor below and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her fingers curled over the frame and she forced herself to steady her breathing. In and out, in and out, until she took one final deep breath and cleared her head from the grips of her night terror.
With a shake of her head, she stood on uncertain feet and slowly tread towards the only window. Her room in the attic wasn't much, but at least it was private. It gave her enough space to herself and shut her away from the neighbor's prying eyes on the ground floor. Which, in her case, was a good thing.
The window flung open and Valerie Aldulescu breathed in the cool night air, making sure to keep herself out of anyone's view. The summer days cooled down wonderfully at nighttime, giving her and the other villagers a welcome respite from the merciless glare of the hot sun. Fall would be coming soon, though, and they desperately needed to make sure they had enough stored up for the long winter ahead of them. They certainly couldn't complain, not that they were encouraged to, but it would be better to over prepare. Especially with the lords being so temperamental.
Valerie shivered, and started to reach for the windows again when she caught sight of a certain boisterous pair teetering on the dirt road a little ways off.
It wasn't quite dawn, but their frames were lit by the occasional lamp in the gated fences. A slurred song crudely reached her ears and she scrunched her nose in distaste as they quite happily bellowed out the old song of a hunter who fell in love with a nymph and decided that the only logical course of action was to bemoan his existence and drink until he died.
Very inspiring, Valerie thought bemusedly to herself, and carefully latched the window. Slowly, she wandered back to her bed and neatly rearranged the bed covers to settle down once more until she had to get up. Before she laid down, she reverently offered a prayer to the religious picture of a saint with outstretched arms and crow wings on her bedside table.
Great ones, hear our voice
Together as one in reverence
We call on thee
Within the endless dark
To deliver us into fate's hands
As the midnight moon rises on black wings,
So we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end.
In life, and in death, we give glory
Mother Miranda.