The Wrath of a Woman Scorned
I screamed my rage to the sky. Where was my baby? Clemen would pay, that much I knew. I would hunt him down. I would drive him before me to the fiery pits of Fire's Abode, and there he would stay forevermore, in everlasting torment. Surely Elaina's patron goddess would allow me to punish him in her private Hell.
Soon, however, I calmed down. Before the hour was past I was walking with Nechtè and Elaina, only occasionally growling that I would cut off his ears and put out his eyes. A plague on him and his decedents! Nechtè contented himself with nodding vigorously and stumbling forward in exhaustion. Elaina was pondering things.
Why, if Clemen is Nechtè's brother, then he is also Lonara's uncle, she thought. And I am her aunt. What does that make Buttercup? Clemen's sister-in-law? I don't think that either of them would like that. She shifted her pack. I wonder if Butter is really going to kill him. Actually, it's quite possible. That sure sounds like the Buttercup I knew.
The three walked on, soon leaving the forest behind. Clemen had left a clear trail; muddy footprints, broken twigs, and little pieces of bread that they found by a small bubbling brook. The fool was confident that there would be no pursuit. And he knew that under the cover of Dark, which was fast approaching, he would be in his master's element, and not even the Queen of the Heavens could stop him.
The trail became well-kept fields of wheat and corn. Here they stopped for a quick snack and then kept moving. In being so hasty they failed to notice that another set of footprints branched off from the first ones. They kept trekking on, moving farther and farther from the place where a thin man lurked in the bushes with a sleeping child. Sooner or later they were sure to find that the footprints stopped. Then they would go back, realizing their mistake. But would the time they took to retrace their steps seal the doom of the little girl? That remains to be seen.
~~~
"Stop," I commanded. "We haven't seen the footprints for miles. Something's wrong."
"Well," Nechtè commented tartly, "at least that is obvious. I was the one who pointed that out to you half an hour ago."
Glowering, I merely said, "Let's retrace our steps."
No word was spoken among the depressed kinsmen; all their energy was taken up in walking. Soon they arrived at the place they had lost the footprints. They simply ended, faded into nothing. They began to search the growth on the sides of the trail. Soon they saw telltale crushed twigs and trampled grass and knew they had found the trail of the villain.
~~~
Clemen strolled leisurely down the path, the little girl trotting alongside. Clemen had never had much respect for his schoolmates' intelligence, and he was sure the escaped prisoners would take hours to realize that the trail his magic had made was fake. Anyways, he had traveled for hours already, and he was in truth far ahead of his enemies.
He glanced at the child and his lip curled derisively. The child was actually fighting him with her small knowledge of magic! But her power was untrained, for the most part, and she was forced to follow along behind him obediently with only an occasional prayer to the Queen.
Clemen knew what to do to the child. He had no further use for her; indeed, she was a danger to him alive. He would use her to his own ends: the blood of a young girl was an essential element for many war spells that could be bound to a physical object. The ingredient, however, was very expensive. Most places that sold the blood came by it with the owners permission and therefore took very little of it, while the others took it from unwilling donors and charged high for the risk from the law. Strangely enough, Clemen didn't want to kill the girl: he even felt bad about it. She hadn't done anything to him, after all; and wasn't she his own niece?
"Here," the man grunted, flinging himself down on a rock. "Sit down."
The child sat on the dirt ground, glaring at him. "You're a bad man!" she whined. She looked around, longing for a route of escape but finding none. Failing that, she began to pray to the Queen.
Clemen sighed. Maybe she could be sold as a slave? He hoped halfheartedly. That would certainly make his revenge complete, but not even the cruelest Crananian would buy such a young child. He knew now that he could not kill her. She was young and innocent. He would kill his half- brother or his stepmother, maybe both, but he was too weak to kill this child. He was disgusted with himself, but his conscience left him no alternative.
Sure now of his path, the unhappy man grabbed his niece's arm and began to retrace his steps.
I screamed my rage to the sky. Where was my baby? Clemen would pay, that much I knew. I would hunt him down. I would drive him before me to the fiery pits of Fire's Abode, and there he would stay forevermore, in everlasting torment. Surely Elaina's patron goddess would allow me to punish him in her private Hell.
Soon, however, I calmed down. Before the hour was past I was walking with Nechtè and Elaina, only occasionally growling that I would cut off his ears and put out his eyes. A plague on him and his decedents! Nechtè contented himself with nodding vigorously and stumbling forward in exhaustion. Elaina was pondering things.
Why, if Clemen is Nechtè's brother, then he is also Lonara's uncle, she thought. And I am her aunt. What does that make Buttercup? Clemen's sister-in-law? I don't think that either of them would like that. She shifted her pack. I wonder if Butter is really going to kill him. Actually, it's quite possible. That sure sounds like the Buttercup I knew.
The three walked on, soon leaving the forest behind. Clemen had left a clear trail; muddy footprints, broken twigs, and little pieces of bread that they found by a small bubbling brook. The fool was confident that there would be no pursuit. And he knew that under the cover of Dark, which was fast approaching, he would be in his master's element, and not even the Queen of the Heavens could stop him.
The trail became well-kept fields of wheat and corn. Here they stopped for a quick snack and then kept moving. In being so hasty they failed to notice that another set of footprints branched off from the first ones. They kept trekking on, moving farther and farther from the place where a thin man lurked in the bushes with a sleeping child. Sooner or later they were sure to find that the footprints stopped. Then they would go back, realizing their mistake. But would the time they took to retrace their steps seal the doom of the little girl? That remains to be seen.
~~~
"Stop," I commanded. "We haven't seen the footprints for miles. Something's wrong."
"Well," Nechtè commented tartly, "at least that is obvious. I was the one who pointed that out to you half an hour ago."
Glowering, I merely said, "Let's retrace our steps."
No word was spoken among the depressed kinsmen; all their energy was taken up in walking. Soon they arrived at the place they had lost the footprints. They simply ended, faded into nothing. They began to search the growth on the sides of the trail. Soon they saw telltale crushed twigs and trampled grass and knew they had found the trail of the villain.
~~~
Clemen strolled leisurely down the path, the little girl trotting alongside. Clemen had never had much respect for his schoolmates' intelligence, and he was sure the escaped prisoners would take hours to realize that the trail his magic had made was fake. Anyways, he had traveled for hours already, and he was in truth far ahead of his enemies.
He glanced at the child and his lip curled derisively. The child was actually fighting him with her small knowledge of magic! But her power was untrained, for the most part, and she was forced to follow along behind him obediently with only an occasional prayer to the Queen.
Clemen knew what to do to the child. He had no further use for her; indeed, she was a danger to him alive. He would use her to his own ends: the blood of a young girl was an essential element for many war spells that could be bound to a physical object. The ingredient, however, was very expensive. Most places that sold the blood came by it with the owners permission and therefore took very little of it, while the others took it from unwilling donors and charged high for the risk from the law. Strangely enough, Clemen didn't want to kill the girl: he even felt bad about it. She hadn't done anything to him, after all; and wasn't she his own niece?
"Here," the man grunted, flinging himself down on a rock. "Sit down."
The child sat on the dirt ground, glaring at him. "You're a bad man!" she whined. She looked around, longing for a route of escape but finding none. Failing that, she began to pray to the Queen.
Clemen sighed. Maybe she could be sold as a slave? He hoped halfheartedly. That would certainly make his revenge complete, but not even the cruelest Crananian would buy such a young child. He knew now that he could not kill her. She was young and innocent. He would kill his half- brother or his stepmother, maybe both, but he was too weak to kill this child. He was disgusted with himself, but his conscience left him no alternative.
Sure now of his path, the unhappy man grabbed his niece's arm and began to retrace his steps.