Epilogue
Darkness itself is not to be feared, but when it is your only companion in the deepest blackest tunnel of hell, words cannot define the amount of trepidation that twists the mind and torments the soul. Thin, damp air constricts the lungs. The distant moans and screams are the only connection to the outside world, but never for long. Sooner or later the voices grow quiet as their owners wither away and perish, unable to withstand the anguish of their sins.
But not her. Never her. No matter how lonely or miserable she felt she remained forever locked in her horrid little cell staring into the blackness. Waiting.
Every moment ran together and time could not be distinguished. Slowly madness threatened to overtake her, but whatever reprieve it may have brought was lost when her mind refused to find refuge in the freedom that lay on the other side of her tortured thoughts.
What was she thinking? There would never be relief from her pain whether she sunk into lunacy or not.
This was her fate. Life after short life she was forced to return to this black hole to live in solitude, to remember her sins and live with her guilt until her rebirth. Over and over a never ending cycle of misery and death. No matter what she tried, her failings were always there to plague her. So, here she sat waiting until they came for her. Until they sent her back to the world where she could--at least for a short time--forget her tribulations.
Above her the soil shifted. The cell door crept open and she was blinded by the brilliant red fires burning behind the burly man looking down on her.
“It is time.” With a flick of his wrist a whirlwind plucked her from her black pit and sent her head over heels in a tornado of painful memories. Visions of a great beast with sharp fangs, a lovely maiden with long dark hair, great betrayals, and painful deaths all twirled before her eyes until finally they all disappeared with a flash of bright light. All her thoughts, all her memories were gone. In that instant she looked at the world once again through the eyes of a newborn babe.
***
Claire could hear boisterous laughter fill the black silence of the night. Nervous anticipation filled her as she sank deeper into the brush. The two men grew closer, forcing her to remain silent even as she cringed from the sudden outburst of tone-deaf renditions of old folk songs.
It took great control to refrain from covering her ears in self-preservation. Had she known what her eardrums would have to endure she would have joined her brothers instead of going forward with her plan.
Keith and Mark had gone to the village social dance earlier that evening upon Marcel’s insistence. Claire had chosen to feign a headache to get out of going. It had taken some time to convince them to go without her, but eventually the twins combed their copper hair and walked out the door.
She watched them disappear over the horizon with cynical pleasure then went to work preparing her own activities for the evening. She grabbed the necessary equipment and followed the same path her brothers had taken moments before.
Along the dusty wagon trail leading to the village stood a large, sturdy oak tree. It cast its shadows over her every time she went to town and only days earlier it had inspired her nefarious plan. She picked the one night her brothers would least expect and spent a good portion of the evening setting a snare worthy of their praise. Now, the trap waited quietly for the prey to fall into its netted clasp. Claire could barely contain her excitement as the two crow-mouthed singers came into view.
She sat perfectly still as they passed, counting the moments before she could reveal herself and gloat her success. One. Two. Three. SNAP! She rushed from the bushes with a short sword in one hand and excitedly ran to the squirming mass. The string of curses burned her ears, but admittedly the foul language was preferable over the horrible singing.
“Gotcha!” She announced then added, “And you each owe me an extra hour of sleep!”
“What the…”
“Claire, you little tyrant!” Mark’s words were a little muffled by his position. “Let us down.”
“Do you yield to my awesomeness? And do you agree to my terms? I get an extra hour of sleep from each of you. That means two full glorious hours!” she said, yelling towards Mark’s ear to make sure he heard. Mark cursed again, cranking his head to glare down at her.
Lately her brothers had begun swearing more and more as their training intensified. After a while Claire had been forced to act. Her solution had been to make them agree to give her five extra minutes of sleep for each swear word uttered and in exchange she wouldn’t retaliate against their language. It was a win-win situation and tonight she planned to win some more.
“Claire get us down!” Mark cussed again in an attempt to sound intimidating, but eighteen years was enough to know he was all purr under that growl.
“An hour and five minutes from you, Mark.” She raised her sword so the tip hovered only inches from his face. “I’d advise you to watch your language or you will stay in that net all night!” She looked up at the rope hanging from the large branch high above her and smiled. “Looks like it should hold well enough.”
“I yield! You have your hour from me,” Keith said with no shortage of amusement.
“I’m not yielding!” Mark declared. The net churned, barely containing the short-lived scuffle inside. Then, after a pained grunt he yielded. Keith had him in a headlock with his arm twisted behind his back. Claire wondered how Keith had managed to successfully get Mark into that position, but instead of dwelling on it she walked over to the tree and lifted her sword.
“Claire, don’t you even think…” Mark’s words were cut off by a loud groan followed by several additional curses.
“An hour and a half, Mark!” Claire turned and began walking up the hill, whistling. She could hear them struggling to untangle themselves from the ropes, but didn’t feel inclined to help. When she walked through the cabin door Marcel sat at the chair closest to the fire and her niece, Shaylee, emerged from the kitchen.
Marcel rocked by the firelight, her ancient blue eyes sparkling as she brushed the tangles from her long silver hair. Her brown underdress folded around her small, plump frame and her honored garments were hanging beside the mantle, dripping from a recent wash. The overdress was decorated to display her skills and wisdom while her unique sash was etched with beautiful markings identifying her as Marcel, the great witch of Danyon.
“How’d it go?” Shaylee asked, mischief shining in her dark brown eyes. She looked lovely in her light yellow dress that flowed to the cabin floor. Her own freshly brushed Chestnut hair danced around her waist as she moved to sit beside Marcel. Her large smile showed her straight teeth and Claire found herself admiring the simple beauty that radiated from her friend’s tall, lean frame. With Shaylee’s simple grace and peaceful optimism it was no wonder she had Keith’s heart on a string .
“They should be limping through the door in no time,” Claire smiled. “By the way, I get two and a half extra hours of sleep in the morning. G’night.” Claire went and placed a gentle kiss on Marcel’s wrinkled cheek, gave Shaylee a quick squeeze, then walked straight into her room and let the cloth door fall into place behind her. She almost laughed when she heard her brothers stumble into the cabin nearly twenty minutes later.
Tonight had been her first successful ‘attack’ on the twin brutes, but it would not be the last if she had any say. She wanted, no needed, to use these small torments to keep her wits sharpened. Every action needed to be precisely calculated for the day she would come face to face with Lord Leishmann again. Next time she would destroy him.
She climbed onto her cot and snuggled deep into her furs, said a quick prayer to the Goddess of Danyon, Sorchanna, and let her eyes flutter closed. She momentarily thought about how strange it had been to pray to a Goddess, but somehow it felt right to speak to her. Somehow it made her feel like she finally had a mother to talk to. With a sigh she allowed herself to drift off while thinking about how glorious the nights rest would be.
Aksara