By Bria Burton
When the stranger reached fifteen paces, Xildar called, “Friend or foe?”
“Neither.” The voice peaked like an unripened boy. A fabric hat framed most of his face—a face about eighteen years in the making. His teeth were exceptionally white. His leather and linen clothing might’ve been made by the seamstress who’d fashioned Xildar’s attire. Mud caked the stranger’s black boots.
Xildar stroked his trimmed beard. The young man stood on the grassy path before the cobblestones beneath Xildar’s feet. Fragrant brick trees spread out thinly, surrounding the lane. The cinnamon-scented red bark starkly contrasted the bright green of the landscape and the trees’ leaves. Behind Xildar, the gate was closed. He was responsible for opening and closing it according to his mistress’s wishes.
“You are entering the realm of the Catastrapha,” Xildar said as he palmed the hilt of his sword with his gloved hand. “She welcomes all who will bow down to Her Magnificence.”
He lifted his slender chin. “I will never bow. She murdered the true king.”
With a swift pull, Xildar drew his sword, pointing the sharp tip toward the stranger. “I will cut you down where you stand. The Catastrapha takes great pleasure in witnessing the blood of all who defy her fill the moat surrounding this palace.”
“It is from the Red Moat I have arisen. From the depths of the blood of my people, from those who defied the Catastrapha, who dared to live as free men and women, I have come forth to recover what was lost.”
What nonsense was he spouting? “How does a muddy wretch like you come out of the Red Moat alive, without a drop of blood on your person?”
With timid steps, the stranger moved forward as he spoke. “The blood has been washed away by the hand of Providence. My quest to conquer the Catastrapha has nearly reached its end.”
At ten paces, Xildar shouted, “Keep on and the archers will give you plenty more holes than the one spewing treason. I’ll hack off your head and toss it right back into the Red Moat after I’ve deposited the rest of your thin-necked, twig-limbed, pin cushion of a body.”
The stranger stopped. “The bloodiest sword is king,” he said, the phrase of an ancient herald. “As of today, no more.”
“The Catastapha will have your insides ripped out. Her knot of snakes will feast on you while you’re still alive. Maybe then she’ll grant me the honor of slicing through that finger you call a neck.”
“What you see,” he said, removing his hat, “comes from within you.” Limp hair fell about his ears. “My true form will only be revealed after it is finished.”
“Archers! Stick this miscreant until he shuts that trap of a mouth,” Xildar yelled.
As the whistle of arrows sailed overhead, the satisfying thuds of tips piercing into the stranger’s boney figure from sternum to wrist to gut to knee gave Xildar momentary pleasure. Until another sound interrupted his blood-lust. Much louder thuds made Xildar turn around.
The bodies of the archers fell off the rampart. They crashed to the ground, necks broken, splaying like insects crushed beneath a boot.
Xildar swung around again. Arrows stuck out from eight bleeding holes in the stranger, but nothing in his expression indicated pain or fear. “I’ll see that head on a pike.” Xildar rushed forward, sword raised.
The gate opened. “Stop!”
He halted mid-swing, tripping, brushing against the backend of the arrows protruding from the stranger.
The Catastrapha approached in her way, as if floating along the ground. The train of her purple gown caressed the cobblestones, and her silver crown struck the sky with cascading tips encircling her black hair, extravagantly styled like many bows atop a gift.
“Your Magnificence.” Xildar bent to the ground, both knees meeting the hard surface. “This traitor deserves death.”
“I will be the one to give it to her,” she said.
“Her?” Xildar glanced up. Over his shoulder, he noted the young man staring straight into the Catastrapha’s black eyes.
“A weakling, ugly girl will not trifle with me today.”
Xildar glanced between the Catastrapha and the boy. “But, Your Magnificence—”
“Bow, or face the consequences.” From behind her back, the Catastrapha revealed her sword, a steel, diamond-encrusted blade.
The stranger did not bend either knee. But Xildar couldn’t fathom why the Catastrapha called him a girl. Nor why the wretch stood as if unaffected by the barbs piercing him.
“What you see,” said the young man again, looking down at kneeling Xildar, “is from within you.”
“Dear lass,” said the Catastrapha, “Only those who bow will live.” She sneered, both eyebrows arching as she released the diamond blade. It hovered in mid-air.
An idea tickled the edge of Xildar’s mind as the Catastrapha swung her arms upward. The diamond blade darted over Xildar’s head, cutting straight through the traitor’s body.
The Catastrapha touched her lips. Blood stained her fingertips and the rim of her red mouth. “The prophecy.” Her eyes widened. “The king’s daughter has returned,” she whispered as she collapsed, her eyes wide and unseeing.
In a blur, the bleeding stranger’s wounds disappeared. His form reshaped into the image of a graceful woman dressed in white with bronze skin and flowing brunette hair.
“Seranya,” said Xildar. He’d slain the defeated king’s daughter with his own hands.
“I have arisen to free my people from the bondage of the Catastrapha.” Seranya reached out her hand. “In my realm, there is redemption. Forgiveness.” She paused. “And a choice.”
Xildar hesitated. She had no weapon. He scrambled forward, picking up the diamond blade. He swung. The steel cut through her neck as if she were made of air.
The tickle in Xildar’s mind transformed into a burning sensation. He fell, but his body felt nothing. The iron taste of blood seeped into his mouth. A weight on his chest made it hard to breathe. “The ancient herald,” he whispered, “was mistaken.”
Seranya’s brown eyes saddened. “The choice was yours.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
That was an excellent short story; very well done and written. It had several good twists and kept up the tension until the end.
I liked the “What you see comes from inside you,” line used on both the guard and the queen. The ancient herald thread was well placed also. I really enjoyed your story.
Paul
Nice. I like the reversal of wounds.
There is some beautiful language in this story. I liked the fact the actors determined their own judgement.
Okay, so I loved the ending of this a ton <3 Great job!