The Damned and the Divine

"Lyra! Lyra! Wake up!"

Lyra rubbed her eyes. Her mother was peering down at her.

"What is happening?" she murmured, stifling a yawn.

"We are under attack. The bandits have come."

It took a few seconds for her mind to register her mother's words. Bandits. The ones who had taken her father's life in exchange for their safety. She sat up and climbed to her feet, her eyes wide. "What? Now? Bandits?"

Leanna brought a finger to her lips. "They came without warning. No sound. Nothing. Our scouts were caught unaware. They have surrounded the village." The woman grabbed a chair and pressed it up against the door.

"We have to run. Now." She darted her eyes over towards a window, but it was too small to squeeze through. Their only escape route was through the door, but that would put them in the path of the bandits. There weren't many places to hide in a small village. "Then we must hide." But where? Under the bed? The bandits would see them. They had come to claim their prize. Slaves.

"Keep our voices low. May Arceus keep us safe from their predatory eyes." Gesturing to the table, Leanna said, "Hide."

Lyra dropped to her knees and crawled under the table. Archer. The leader of the bandits. A wicked man whose only ambition was to make good coin by selling slaves in the city of Blackthorn. She remembered his face – the malicious glint in his eyes, his twisted smirk, and his scathing tone. Outside, she could hear the tormented cries of her neighbours and the excited shouts of the enemy.

Leanna crawled under the table too, wrapping her arms around Lyra and holding her close. She placed a kiss on her daughter's head, whispering words of comfort.

But the comfort was just false hope, Lyra knew. Nothing would save them. Nothing could save them. Arceus, the Horned God, had abandoned them to a grisly and bloody fate. How could such a benevolent and merciful god allow such hatred and cruelty to flourish in the hearts of men?

"Ssshh… don't cry… it will all be over soon…" Leanna said.

Tears slid down Lyra's pallid cheeks, landing on the dirt-stained floor. If running was an option, they would take it, but their village was built beside the ocean. Trees grew on the northern and southern sides of the village blocking potential escape. One could have to risk navigating their way through the forest if they wanted freedom, but dangerous animals prowled at night and feasted on daring adventurers that dared to brave the woods. The only escape route was through the west and that path led directly into the bandit camp. Death was their escape.

She had always known this day would come. The village elder, Elm, had predicted it would end this way. But she had not expected it to come so soon. She had recently turned twenty-one and had hoped to live long enough to raise a family of her own. "Arceus has forsaken us," Lyra whispered, grasping onto her mother's thin, ragged cloth. "Just like he abandoned father."

Her mother kissed her forehead again. "We will be reunited once again."

Lyra held her mother close, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible as if it would keep them safe.

"There's a couple of live ones in here!" a voice yelled from behind the door.

Leanna wiped her tears and climbed out from beneath the table. She glanced down at her daughter through teary eyes and spoke. "Stay back!" She grabbed the nearest object – a thick stick – and pointed it forward at the door. "Stay under the table, Lyra!"

The door burst open. Two men dressed in chainmail from head to toe, stepped inside the small building. Both their faces were concealed by the twisted horned helms on their heads. Broadswords hung at their sides the steel covered in fresh blood. The first man didn't hesitate – he grabbed her mother's arm and plunged the sword squarely between the ribs. Lyra brought a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming, but it was too late. The other man had already spotted her.

"What do we have here?" The man on the right searched the room. A grin spread across his face. "A young fair maiden. The commander's favourite type. I'm sure she'll fetch us some good coin. I could do with a decent meal. What do you say, Proton? You think the commander will approve?"

Proton, the taller man, looked in Lyra's direction. His expression was neutral. He walked over her mother's body and kneeled before her, extending an arm. Lyra backed away. He lunged forward and grabbed her leg and dragged her out. She screamed and tried to wrestle herself free, clawing at the ground desperately, tears stinging her eyes, but she was overpowered. He grabbed her roughly by her hair. "She's a wild one, Petrel. Look at her eyes."

Lyra darted a frightened glance at her mother's fallen body. She was still alive, but just. The woman tried to pick up her weapon, but Petrel kicked it away and wagged his finger in her face. Her hands moved to her stomach, as if that would somehow make the blood stop. Tears rolled down Lyra's eyes.

"She's a scrawny little thing. Looks like she hasn't had a proper meal in weeks. She won't last the trip," Petrel said, closing the distance between them. He kneeled in front of her and brought his face close. "Hasn't been sleeping well either. Look at the black bags beneath the eyes. Probably diseased."

Lyra spat in his face. The man swore and aimed a punch at her right cheek. She toppled backwards, her head smacking against the floor. "Fucking bitch!"

Proton laughed. "I think you might be wrong about her. She's a feisty one. All she needs is a good rest, some fine food, and she'll be back to normal. You could even have her for yourself once she's back in prime condition. Wouldn't you like that? Your own pet?" he taunted.

Petrel scowled. "The commander will make her learn obedience soon enough." He climbed to his feet then glanced in the direction of her mother once more. Leanna was still breathing though her breaths were becoming ragged. "As for you. You're not needed. There's no room for an old woman."

Lyra wanted to take her hand, to touch her mother one last time, but the soldiers had other plans. Petrel plunged his blade through the back of her neck. Lyra covered her eyes, tears streaming down her swollen cheeks. Proton grabbed her arms and dragged her frail body across the bloody floor, pulling her towards the entrance. Once outside, he picked her up. She tried to fight back, but she was too weak from a lack of good food and almost sleepless nights. Soon, she found herself outside in the scorching heat.

"Tie a cloth around her mouth so we don't have to listen to her scream."

Before Lyra could object, a dirty piece of cloth was tied around her jaw covering her mouth.

"Come on, let's head back to the main group. Archer will want to know what we have to offer." Petrel picked her up.

Lyra wept.

Clair rolled her eyes and crossed her left leg over her right. Her maid, a young girl with teal-coloured curls called Kris, was currently combing her hair. Kris was an obedient servant, but oh so terribly plain and dull. The girl had no interesting stories to tell and could only provide menial gossip about other slaves and their masters.

"You have such beautiful hair, My Lady," Kris said, running the comb through her hair once more.

Clair nodded, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, I do. Much like my mother, grandfather says." She straightened her back, swelling with pride. She knew she was the most beautiful woman in the city – probably the region too – and she never tired of hearing people praising her natural good looks.

"You would make a fine queen."

She drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I know I would, but Lance will take the crown. Grandfather made him commander to give him leadership practice. What did he give me? Nothing."

Kris laid the comb down and picked up Clair's hand mirror. She held it before Clair's face.

Clair peered in the mirror. Her hair reached the bottom of her spine and lay in cascading waves down her beck. Despite Kris's plain looks and boring personality, she was a good maid and tried her hardest. "But all this talk is meaningless. I know grandfather will marry me off to some rich noble from another land. I'm sure Lance will let me choose someone I want though – Steven from Hoenn is quite attractive."

"You'd make a better leader, My Lady," Kris said.

Clair glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "You think so? Of course, you're right – people respect me. They love me."

Kris raised an eyebrow. "But Lance is also admired."

"That doesn't mean people have to love him." She looked towards the mirror again, wrapping a finger around a lock of sapphire hair. "People don't see what I see – they just see the stern, serious knight. He's kind. Generous. Protective. He would be the type of king to get things done. Unlike grandfather. But Lance does whatever grandfather wants him to do. Like a dog."

That was his one true weakness – his blind obedience. The thought of rebelling would never cross his mind. Lance was the sort of person who suited the battlefield – not the type of person who should be sitting on a throne making decisions about the economy.

"What would happen if Lance refused the title?"

Clair shook her head. "He's too duty bound to say no."

"So, he will be the king."

"One day, yes and then he'll have to marry some noblewoman to continue our legacy."

She sighed again and climbed to her feet. She walked towards the balcony, pushed open the doors and stood outside to enjoy the gentle breeze against her skin. The great flaming orb in the sky was dipping below the horizon now, making way for the darkness of night.

A loud knock on the door startled her. "Open the door, Kris."

"As you wish." Clair heard the door creak open. "You wish to speak to the princess? Yes, she is awake. I'll get her at once."

Clair pulled away from the balcony and returned to her room. She closed the door behind her and headed to the main door. She half-expected to see Joey, the idiotic servant boy, but instead she saw Siebold, one of the knights serving under Lance. Her heart skipped a beat, a surge of warmth rushing to her cheeks. "Oh-Siebold! I wasn't expecting you."

He flashed her a roguish grin. "I thought you might have some free time."

Clair glanced at Kris. "You are relieved from your duties."

"Do you think this is wise, My Lady? Siebold is not-"

Clair made a shooing motion with her hands as if trying to swat away an annoying fly. "You've been dismissed. Run along now. Return to your chambers." The maid nodded and exited the room without sparing another glance. Clair stepped aside and allowed Siebold to walk in.

He shut the door behind them. "Your servant girl. Can you trust her to remain quiet?"

Clair nodded. "She's the best servant I've ever had." She leaned against the door.

Siebold raised a hand and caressed her cheek. "If anyone ever found out… I'd be hanged."

"No one is going to know." She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head in. Their lips connected. It was so wrong but it felt so right. Siebold was perfect and he was all hers.

He pulled back and smiled. "Let's hope it stays that way. I don't want to lose my head." He tilted his head towards the bed, smirk widening. "I brewed a new batch last night. It'll stop you from falling pregnant."

"You're always thinking ahead," she replied wryly, grabbing his head and guiding him towards the bed. She sat down first and looked up at him. "Grandfather doesn't even suspect a thing and you've been sharing my bed for months now. Arceus is a cruel god, isn't he? He gave me you, but we can't ever be together. If grandfather… or Lance… ever found out…"

Siebold remained standing, peering down at her. "One day things will change."

"Not soon enough, I'm afraid." She reached behind her back and started undoing the ribbon that held her dress together. "Grandfather's old but still capable. He'll sit on that throne for as long as he can, thinking of ways to make my life even more boring. I'm not grandmother. I don't want to be some nobleman's house wife. I want to be a queen."

"You could just leave. We could go to Kalos," Siebold replied.

She shook her head. "And leave my home? I'm not going to run away."

"Then we can only hope Lance claims the throne soon. He wouldn't send you away."

She sighed. "I'm never going to leave Blackthorn. I promise." She sat down on the bed and gestured for Siebold to follow. "Let's stop talking the boring stuff and focus on the now."

Siebold took a step towards the bed. After several steps, there was a knock on the door.

"Your grandfather requests your presence!" Joey's voice. She heard his footsteps retreating.

Clair bit down her lower lip. "Always something." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "I'll see you later." A shame really. Grandfather always knew how to ruin her day. Siebold headed towards the open window. There was a secret path down the tree that led to the gardens and backstreets. Clair closed the door behind her and left.

Darkness descended upon the land. In the distance, she could see flames engulfing the village. Her hometown. Gone. Lyra bit down on her lower lip to prevent salty tears from rolling down pallid cheeks. No one ever dared to leave their homes in the dead of night without the sun to protect them, but here she was on the back of a trade cart, sitting under the light of a full moon. Trapped like an animal.

The bandits had made camp in a forest clearing to the north of the village. There were ten bandits in total and all were male. The stench of cheap ale filled the air as the men sat on logs around a campfire, one hand on their swords as if they anticipated an attack with a drink in the other. The slaves – of which she counted twelve including herself – were all in small cages on the back of carts.

Lyra sat in the corner of a wooden cage, her knees brought to her chest, arms wrapped around them. The cage stunk of pig. There was even blood on the hay-strewn floor. Probably a stolen trade cart used for transporting pig. But was it even pig's blood? There was no way to tell. She buried her head in her arms to hide the tears, but she didn't close her eyes. When she did, images of her mother's death formed in her mind.

"What's your name?"

She jerked her head up, her thoughts interrupted. "Lyra."

Proton had thrown her into a cage with a boy and another girl. Both appeared around her age – perhaps a year or two older. Certainly not children. The boy had thick, black brows and hair as dark as the night sky whilst the girl had an odd bend in her nose and dark brown eyes. Her straight brown bangs fell around her shoulders. Both had round faces, and pale white skin. There was also a smudge of dirt on the boy's face.

"You can call me Ash," the boy said, his voice hoarse. "Though some folks call me Red. They say me face turns a bright shade of red when I'm gettin' all flustered."

"I'm May," the girl said. "Lyra. That's a pretty name," she added in a drawling tone.

Another foreign accent or someone who came from a lowly background. Sometimes, wealthy people from Blackthorn visited the village to collect taxes. Their accents were more pronounced – probably to do with better education, Lyra concluded. Villagers and townsfolk spoke plainly.

The trade cart jerked forward. They were on the move again. The commander Archer rode ahead leading his men along the path whilst several bandits flanked all sides of the three trade carts. Archer was easily identified by the horned helm on his head and the leather cloak draped over his shoulders. Each bandit carried a torch in their left hand and a sword in the other. The other carts were also occupied with three slaves each.

Silence, then, "They found me in Pallet Town. Bandits came through. Burned the town to the ground," Ash murmured. "I've been 'ere for a week."

"I was supposed to board a ship back to Hoenn at Olivine City," May explained, pushing a strand of hair behind her right ear. "But we never made it. The bandits came. My parents… They died trying to save me," her tone quivered. May drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I saw them die and I couldn't do anything to stop it from happening." A sob escaped her throat.

Leanna's death replayed in Lyra's mind, a tight feeling developing in her chest, almost suffocating. She rubbed her eyes to wipe away the beginnings of tears. They were both looking at her expectantly, waiting for her story, but Lyra kept her mouth shut.

What was the point? It wasn't as if she was going to see these people again. They probably wouldn't even survive the night. There were all sorts of dangers outside the village, and a full moon usually meant the wild creatures were more violent than usual. With any luck they would be attacked, and they'd all perish. Death would be better than a life of slavery in the region's capital.

"…Not much of a talker, are you?" Ash said. "I 'spose it don't matter. We're going to Blackthorn, and we won't ever see each other again. The city is so big."

Blackthorn City, the so-called Jewel of the North. It was situated at the base of the Blackthorn Alps, a mountain range that covered the northern part of the region. Because of their location, the city folk rarely saw the sun. Rumour was winter lasted eight months in the far north. The city was under the leadership of Edward Blackthorn who had claimed the throne after his father fell in battle. Or so the tales had said. The man had two grandchildren, Lance and Clair Blackthorn. The parents had presumably perished to disease.

"At least there ain't any mages around," Ash mused.

"Mages have their uses," May argued.

"I don't know how they do things in Hoenn, but mages ain't accepted around these parts. The moment they find out you have magic? They'll chop your head off."

"Who is they?" Lyra said, curious.

"The Dragonite Order of Knights," Ash said. "Elite soldiers. I've seen them myself."

"And they hunt mages?"

Ash nodded. "Anyone who poses a threat to their kingdom. Henry Blackthorn trusted a mage then was stabbed in the back by one. He died and Edward claimed the throne and declared war on all mages," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's how the tales go."

Lyra turned away gazing out through the cage bars, her arms still wrapped around her knees. Mage business wasn't her concern. She wasn't a mage.

Ash leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "When you have that much power at your fingertips, you're eventually goin' to lose your mind. My mother always told me that men who seek the crown meet an early death."

Lyra didn't agree, but what was the point in starting an argument over it? She nodded, and May followed. The girl seemed indecisive. Probably just trying to be friendly. Either that, or she was just daft. As if he knew the conversation was over, Ash fell silent, leaning back against the wooden bars, his arms resting on his lap. May peered through the bars and stared at the moon. Lyra ignored them both and closed her eyes.

Approaching footsteps prompted her to open her eyes. Proton walked towards them a torch in his right hand and silver keys in the other. "The commander says we need to make sure you are all in good health. We won't make any gold otherwise. You, boy, have some water. You look parched." He inserted the keys into the lock then pulled open the door.

If she had been brave, Lyra would've tried to escape, but her body refused to move. It was as if someone had shackled heavy weights to her legs to prevent her from moving. Once again, she was powerless and could only watch as Ash was pulled out of the cage.

Ash was marched over towards the campfire where the other bandits gathered around. Some were now standing whilst the others remained seated. Amused grins spread across their faces. Silence was never a promising sign.

"Take this water. Drink up. Plenty to go around," Proton ordered, handing Ash a small brown satchel.

Ash grabbed it eagerly and brought the rim to his mouth. He tilted his head back and drank greedily as if his life depended on it. A few moments later, he threw the satchel onto the ground and lurched over, a hand on his stomach. Liquid spilled from his mouth. His reaction prompted the bandits to burst out in raucous laughter.

"Never seen a man so eager to drink horse piss," Petrel laughed.

More laughter from the bandits. The only man who did not share their amusement was Archer. He marched up to Ash, grabbed the boy's arm and lifted him to his feet. "Enough! If you make this boy sick, then we can't sell him. You'll have your entertainment when we earn our coin. Keep your hands off the slaves or I might decide to sell you instead," he snapped. "Put the fire out. We don't want to draw unnecessary attention. Lock this boy up again and sleep. We have a long ride ahead of us."

The laughter died. "Of course, commander." Ash was dragged back to the cage and thrown inside. The door slammed shut, and Proton locked the gate. "Keep your mouth quiet. I don't want to hear chatter from you." He spat at Ash then walked away.

Lyra shifted her attention to Ash. The boy had his head buried in his knees, his body trembling. A contrast to his earlier behaviour. Soft sobs escaped his throat. Lyra brought her hands to her ears to drown out the sound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to force recent events from her mind. Maybe this was all just some cruel dream. Perhaps she'd wake up and find herself back in her home. Why would Arceus punish her?

Her sleep was short-lived. Panicked cries from the bandits made her open her eyes. They had stopped at an oak tree. Stifling a yawn, Lyra pressed her head against the bars to get a better look. The leader, Archer, was standing beneath the tree and gazing upwards. Petrel and Proton flanked his sides, their torches raised. Other bandits remained on their horses.

Lyra followed Archer's gaze. There. Three corpses hanging from a tree, a thick rope tied around their necks. Two young girls and a woman. She gasped, covering a hand over her mouth to stifle her shock. Her stomach churned, the smell of decomposition reaching her nostrils. "Those poor people…" she murmured, tearing her eyes away from the dead.

"Do you see that? Some five-pointed star on their foreheads drawn in blood. What kind of a sick fucker did that something like?" Archer exclaimed.

"Can't be pirates. They wouldn't come this far south," Proton said.

"And it's not one of our own men. We don't hang people and we don't draw funny symbols," Petrel pointed out, pointing at the bodies. "You think it's the work of the mages? Not all of them perished during the war."

Archer took off his helm, so he could see better revealing his short light-blue hair. "I've never seen anything like that before. Must've taken some effort to string them up there."

"What should we do, commander? Do we leave them there?" Petrel said.

"Leave them up there. It's no concern of ours," Archer answered, turning his back. He put his helm back on and returned to his brown stallion. "Mages haven't been seen since the war. If any of them survived, they would've been picked off by the wolves…. Or roaming soldiers. It's rare, but Blackthorn soldiers do ride this far."

"Wolves?" Lyra whispered.

"Werewolves," Ash supplied, his voice unsteady. "Men that turn into rabid beasts on a full moon. Legend says a woman fell in love with a man, but he broke her heart. She placed a spell on his tribe, making them slaves to the full moon."

"The only person who has ever defeated a werewolf is Lance Blackthorn," May said. "It's why he became the knight-commander at an early age. He was sixteen. Now he's twenty-one." She stuck her face between the cage bars, trying to get a glimpse of the corpses. A soft gasp escaped her throat, as her hands moved to her mouth. "Oh my Arceus… Those poor people. You think the werewolves did that?" May didn't receive an answer.

"What was that?" Proton said, holding his torch towards the bushes ahead.

Archer frowned. "I didn't hear anything. We should keep moving. I'd like to reach Blackthorn by dawn and receive our gold for the week then it's off to the southern lands once more."

Lyra head a faint rustling of leaves from the forest. She squinted. Movement behind the bushes. A rabbit?

Archer also seemed to notice. He urged his horse forward. Petrel approached the forest boundary, his torch raised high and his sword ready. "What do you see?"

A small brown hare emerged. Its long ears were erect and constantly moving, as if expecting danger. "It's a hare, Archer."

Archer sighed and turned his horse back around. He ordered the men to keep moving as both Proton and Petrel returned to the trade cart. They climbed on board and grabbed the reins of the horses. They only managed to cover a short distance when a scream, followed by a deep growl tore through the still quite air. A horse screamed. Lyra jumped, startled. She glanced over her left shoulder. There. A large grey wolf. Two more grey wolves joined it.

"Wolves! To arms, to arms! Protect the trade carts! The rest of you! Keep moving! We must reach the city!"

Some of the bandits turned around and charged at the wolves whilst the other trade carts continued to move ahead led by Archer. Even though the wolves weren't close to the cart, Lyra scrambled back and positioned herself between Ash and May to further distance herself. Two more wolves joined the fray. One wolf leaped at a bandit, knocking the man off his horse. The other wolf jumped on the horse and tore into its neck.

Lyra covered her eyes and placed her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the screams. Someone was crying. Probably May. The screams became louder still, and combined with the howls of the wolves, it was impossible to block out all the sounds. A nightmare. A living nightmare. One she couldn't escape from.

"Ignore them! Move! Move!" Archer called out.

The cart jerked forward. Lyra screamed and opened her eyes as she tumbled forward, her head smacking the bars. She winced, and rubbed her head, checking for blood. Nothing. A wolf slammed into the bars and stuck its snout through the gaps, gnashing its jaws, trying to grab her. She scrambled backwards, heart hammering in her chest.

She had never seen a wolf before. It was twice as large as the average domestic dog, but its eyes were a bright gold. The wolf clamped its jaws around the bars, trying to chew through the wood. Cracks appeared. "Oh Blessed Divine, save us!" May pleaded.

Ash kicked the wolf in the snout. The wolf released and growled. It lunged again, this time smashing through the weakened bars. It climbed into the cage.

"Have mercy on us!" May cried. Her cries were immediately silenced when the wolf jumped on her. It clamped down on her arm and tore it off with little effort.

Lyra screamed. She was going to die here. Killed by a wolf. It would've been better to die back in her home with her mother. Ash tried to fight the wolf off, but his actions only angered it further. Whilst the wolf was distracted, Lyra crawled out of the cage. Anything was better than dying in a cage. Maybe she'd able to sneak away in the chaos and dim light. She didn't manage to cover much ground when Archer grabbed her.

"I intend to claim my gold," he said. "One slave is better than none." Lyra didn't have the strength to fight him off. He rode away from his men, leaving them to fend for themselves. Some of them fled. Others became food for the wolves. A fate well deserved. In the end only gold mattered.