My Crown for Your Heart

Chapter Six

SAROYA

On the horse I stole when I left the village, I race away, faster than any hunting party can catch up. After a while, I feel a release of tension from my shoulders and I know that the village has unfrozen. To them, I would have vanished into thin air, the ultimate show of witchcraft. They will send people after me but I can only bid them good luck to that. I have gotte exceptional at not being found when I don’t want to.

I have made sure never to leave personal belongings that could be given to sniffing dogs behind and so my room is usually sterile. The best they can do is make the dog sniff around my house to get my scent and after a while, that will surely wear off if they do not renew it. My hand feels for the dagger at my hip for reassurance. I may not be able to do much against a group but I can definitely do some damage if any lone person tries to pose a danger to me.

The first day I run away, I race hard, barely stopping for food or water and I put an incredible amount of space between the little village and myself. The motions of running away are so familiar to me now that it is like doing something that has been rehearsed, choreographed. I wish I could have stayed in that village longer but I understand that most of the time, things happens and my plans always go awry. The only plan that I have completely succeeded in is staying alive.

By the second day of my escape, I am tired, irritable and sore from riding hard for so long. Each movement of the horse jars my bones and causes me to wince. My stomach has sealed itself to my back and it is painfully grinding itself with every beat of my heart. I pull out the skin of water and pour the last drops into my mouth, sighing. I have stayed on the path throughout the entire journey, ears peeled for sounds. When I hear small parties coming down the path from behind or in front of me, I pull my hood deeper over my face and continue on the edge of the path, attracting less attention to myself. If the party is a large one, I usually get off the path to avoid notice entirely. Smaller parties tend to have a set destination and are less likely to deviate from it to take notice of a lone traveller but large parties always have one or two people that will bother travelers for the fun of it, mostly the drunks.

The system has worked for me each time that I have to make an escape from a village and it works for me this time.

The sun is setting once again and I have not had any tangible sleep for two days so I search for the nearest inn in which I can spend the night. Luckily for me, I do not have to go far before I see the inviting glow from the lights of an inn. I gladly make my way towards it, my body coming alive with the thought of food and a good night rest.

I guide my horse to their stable and find a space at the back where I tie him to. A man comes in from behind me.

"You take care of your horses here." He says, hacking up a mountain of phlegm and spitting on the floor of the stable.

I would actually prefer to spend less time in the open but I can do that much before going to bed.

"And I ain't even sure we have a room available." He says. "A large party came in this evening you see, the loud fuckers." He continues, throwing an irritated glance in the direction of the inn from where the noise reaches outside.

I turn away from the overly talkative man and stride out of the stable. When I step into the road-side inn, it is alot more crowded than I thought it would be. It seems the last party I saw coming down this lane must have been the party the stable-hand spoke of that has lodged here. I pull my cloak more firmly over my head and approach the inn-keeper.

"How may I help you, miss?" He asks.

"I need a room." I say.

"You are just in luck, you can have our last room." The inn-keeper says with a grin. He is a very hairy man, on his head and every other part of him that I can see. To his and his business’s credit, he does not try to peep deeper into my cloak to find my face and my identity.

"How long will you be staying with us?" He asks, grabbing a tray of used glasses and plates from a waiter and beginning to wipe it down.

"Just for the night." I say and he nods.

"It's five coppers for a night." He says decisively. A high price for the dingy outline of the inn but he must feel how desperate I am to secure their last room.

I reach into my satchel and pull out six, placing them in the table.

"And a meal." I say, looking around at the crowded bar. "Today's special."

"It will be with you shortly." He says and swipes a hand out, and the coins disappear from under them. Nearly alll of the tables are already taken but I spot a free space in the back on a miniature table and seat. The space is partially obscured by the shadows, exactly what I am looking for. If I have learnt anything in my years of running, it is that the best way to garner any type of information safely is in bars when people are deep in their cups.

My body groans as I sit but I dare not relax. To lower your guard is to invite wolves sniffing at you, looking for weaknesses. My body language is a wall, shutting everyone down and making them think twice about even approaching me. The men are just starting to drink and there are murmurs only of safe topics. There is news about the king, about petty news and gossip surrounding Court members, their standing with neighboring villages. Apparently the empire of Bynkars just conquered yet another kingdom led by their ruthless Commander. That would make it fourteen kingdoms under the Emperor Mormont's thumb.

I do not have the luxury of staying on top of news such as this normally. My day to day is literally a struggle to live and survive a little longer so the things that are happening on a large scale are usually lost to me unless if they may directly affect me. It is nice to have a hang of want normal people in the world are doing.

My food arrives. On thrbtray is watered down beans and fish. My stomach growls as the aroma teases my nose and I dig in enthusiastically.

"Slow down, will you? Lest you throw up everything that just went down." The waiter says with a smile. I pause my eating and glare at him from the depths of my hood. I did not notice that he is still standing there. He backs away with raised palms and I know that I should try harder to fit in. My bristling personality is drawing glances from people around me and the last thing I need is any type of attention but I am too hungry and too exhausted to keep up pretenses. I am feeling prickly and irritable and I do not think I ask too much for everyone to pretend I am invisible at least until I finish my meal and restore my strength.

I turn back to my food, ignoring everyone and finally savoring every bite. I have had better meals. In fact, the fish smells and tastes suspicious and the ratio of soup to beans is alarmingly high but each piece of hot food I shovel into my mouth brings me a little close to bliss. The people that were glancing at me warily return back to their activities and stop minding me and I am finally able to relax. Conversation continues around me and I order for beer as I relax back into shadows, emptying my plate slowly and prolonging the moments that I have a fool-proof excuse to continue to linger in the shadows.

Darkness descends outside the windows and the people in the pub get louder, drunker, nastier, everything I have been waiting for. My ears are strained for any news at all that might be related to me and just as I knew they would, the people do not disappoint.

The men were talking about the dangers of travelling alone before one of them gives a reason why he would strongly suggest that noone does.

"I heard there is a witch roaming the lands." He says, his voice lowering ominously. The mention of the word ‘witch’ seems to change the atmosphere, dampening it, sullying it.

I take a sip of my beer and surreptitiously lean in closer, straining to catch his words.

"Lies! There are no witches that can escape the execution." Another drunk man says.

"I agree." Another says. “The news is most probably bollocks."

"You did not even ask how I came to know of such news." The first man says.

"How about it?" A fourth man says.

The first man and tale-teller leans in, lowering his voice even more. It is taking all of my mettle to continue to eavesdrop on their conversation and I am sure that my exceptional hearing has everything to do with it.

"News came from the East." He says urgently. "All the way from the Eilean tribe. The say that the witch summoned rain and fire to consume them while demons of darkness crawled out of pits in the ground." He finishes.

The men around him stare at him and then they simultaneously burst into laughter.

"You cannot be serious. Those are tall tales, my friend. No witch can summon fire or rain. If they could we would all be dead for sure." The third man that spoke up says and the other nod along with him.

"I swear it is true." The first speaker says, looking at each of the men with a serious expression despite the amount of alcohol he has consumed. "I heard it from Naril."

The name must mean something to the men because they all grow quiet and thoughtful.

The first speaker seeing that he finally has their attention practically rubs his hand together with glee.

"She attacked an entire village and laid it all to waste, I tell you. The villagers all knew her intimately too. I hear they let her stay with them unknowingly and she repayed them by summoning the elements on them." He says.

The atmosphere in the room changes even more as more and more groups of people are now talking about this rumoured witch. Repressed anger fills up the room, raising the hair on my arm and I cannot help but glance around me warily.

"I thought we already exterminated the lot." A man says brusquely.

"They continue cropping up like pests, unable to be completely eradicated." Another says, spitting to the side. I glare at the back of his head in disgust.

"All of the ones that are remaining have gone into hiding." Another says. "But is it not the responsibility of the witch-hunters to hunt them down and make them face justice? What are all of our taxes for, if they cannot even do that much?"

The mention of witch-hunters causes a shiver of foreboding to race down my spine. The witch-hunters have been on my tail ever since the first time that I ran away. Sometimes I think I can feel them, tracing and chasing me relentlessly from village after village. The witch-hunters are the bane of all witches. To be caught by them is to be dead.

Justice? What justice exactly is being hunted like an animal across the globe, not given a chance a trial but butchered like sacrificial lambs?

And why? Just because we were unlucky enough to be born different, to be born a witch. I cannot claim not to have any blood on my hands but there are harmless witches, people that have never hurt a fly in their life. Both I and them, our greatest sin is being born with magic. Justice? There is no such thing as justice for a witch. If there was, we would not have to live in hiding, running for the rest of our lives.

I am usually too preoccupied with running and surviving to think deeply about the situation of my life, and most of the time I am at peace with my rotten lot in life but now that I hear these clueless entitled men talking so carelessly about the death of me and people like me, I feel anger deep in my bones. They are living their lives freely without being hunted, what right do they think they have concerning whether another people lives or dies? Is it not enough that we are isolated, outcasts? They sit here, drunk and full, given no reason at all to fear or hate and yet they are filled with it anyway. Is it so easy for them to cast an innocent human to die? Are we even considered human to them or do they see us as lesser than human?

My eyes narrow on their hazy eyes and their red-tinged cheeks, these people that are high from their own self-importance and I feel unbelievably angry.

The wine on my table sloshes from side to side and soon, so does the jug of water on the next table. The air changes immediately, the temperature dropping several degrees and light fingers of fog appear to stream into the room.

The men glance around the room and at each other uneasily, and bizarrely, the fear on their faces feeds my anger. I have been hiding for a small eternity, for as long as I can remember and for what reason? So that these strange men can live without the slightest discomfort? Who makes these rules?

The temperature drops further and all of the liquid in the room crystalizes in one explosive sound, startling everyone around the room. The men are talking uneasily among themselves now, the wine they have consumed making them sluggish. Some of them make uneasy jokes and try to brush it off but most of them can feel that something is seriously wrong. They have pissed off a force greater than they are, a force greater than even I can comprehend.

Their searching gazes comb the room and come to land on me in my shadowy corner, the epitome of stillness and ticking danger in a room slowly degrading to chaos. Many of their eyes narrow at me, and they glance at each other to see who would be brave enough to approach me. None of the drunken men do.

I realize that I am doing the exact opposite of what I should be trying to do honestly, if I want to live past the day without annihilating a huge number of people in the process. Because as much as the brand of a witch might as well have been carved onto my forehead, I have no idea how witchcraft works or how to control it. One thing is for sure however and it is that my magic always rises up to protect me when I am in danger, in the most dramatic and catastrophic of ways. If these half-drunk idiots become a threat to me, I have no idea what will happen but it will surely leave them wiped out and me possibly standing on their remains.

A mass murderer is not one of my plans for tonight however so I take a deep breath and close my eyes, thinking the most relaxing of thoughts.

Alone, on the beach, with no other souls in sight. Running, with the wind in my hair and a grin splitting my lips. Feeling the grains of sand between my toes before I dive into the welcoming depths of the sea...

I pull my mind back from its watery destination and think of dry land, free space, the moon hanging heavy above me as the wind kisses my face, not another soul in sight.

I feel the change in the atmosphere gradually, the temperature rising until it is somewhere close to normal and the ominous rattling of the silverware stops. When I open my eyes, the room is brighter, clear of fog and the men are glancing around in confusion.

"What was that?" I hear on of them ask in a whisper. The recipient says nothing, only sneaks a glance at me where I am pretending to be focused on my beer.

A woman laughs nervously and siddles onto the lap of her companion.

"What strange weather we have these days." She says, obviously trying to diffuse the tension between the confused men.

Her words seem to penetrate everyone's frozen minds and the men gradually return to their seats, more than one of them grumbling about the unstable weather. The sec-worker was only trying to score a win with her current customer but I am grateful she managed to shift the storm that was brewing nonetheless.

This pub is no longer safe for me. Their attention has shifted from me but it is only a matter of time before they start reconsidering the last five minutes, and seeing me here will only make their imaginations go wilder.

For one second, I contemplate cutting my losses and making a quick getaway from this inn and its suspicious-minded inhabitants but the thought is far from palatable. The warm food combined with the promise of a bed has already successfully seduced me. I need sleep and rest, at least just for tonight. I shall leave early tomorrow morning, before any of them has woken up and get away before I can cause any more trouble. Perhaps I need to revise my current condition of living, but I will do that when I am relatively safe and comfortable.

I do not rise immediately, for fear of getting their hackles up once again. I take sip after sip of the cheap beer, relishing the burn of it in my throat even though it will not get me drunk. I do not get drunk easily. Finally, the room is as it was. The men throw jokes around as they dive deeply into their cups. It is at this moment that I stand, silent as a wraith. I keep to the shadows, drawing less attention to myself as I cross the room and make my way out towards the stable and to my horse. I will stay here just for tonight, trouble can wait that long.

But unfortunately for me, trouble could not wait till daybreak.

...

I jerk asleep in the middle of the night, eyes adjusting to the darkness as I listen hard. It is truly the dead of night, and I cannot hear a single soul from outside through my window. And yet, something woke me up. I rise immediately, years of experience building my trust in my instincts. My instincts alone has saved me countless times before and they have never once failed me.

I am sitting up on the thin bed, listening hard once again when I hear it. Footsteps, coming towards my door.

Beneath the light shuffle of feet, I hear voices lowered in conspiracy. I stare at the flimsy wooden door of my room, begging my instincts to be wrong this time. This is an inn, with nearly a hundred visitors. Surely I am wrong, and the numerous shuffling of feet is headed towards some mischief somewhere, anywhere other than my room. But the coil tightens around my stomach painfully and bile tries to force itself up my throat.

I am suddenly eleven once again, and my stepbrother is coming towards my door. My entire body shudders violently on the delicate frame of the bed. My wide eyes take in the room, scanning for something I can use to stop them, to restrict them from having access to me but there is nothing but my bag which is light for the sake of convenience.

"Oh Saints." I whisper, feeling like a trapped deer. But the Saints have never listened to my prayers and if I rely on them to solve this issue for me, they will fail me as they have failed me since I was little.

I scramble off the bed and run for the door. Behind it, they must have heard the commotion because they abandon stealth and the sound of several feet running at my door is too grotesquely similar to the memories I have tried so hard to forget.

I get to it and shove my weight against it and then they are right there. Only the door separates us as they pound and push at the door with their combined strength.

All of my power is put into leaning into the door and holding it shut but they are stronger and more numerous. What seems like two shoulders ram into the fragile door at once, lifting me off my feet but I groan as I continue to shove at it with all my strength. Their makeshift battering ram hits the door once more, nearly sending me and the door flying off its hinges. It is now hanging from only one hinge and I know the futility of my efforts.

I do not give up anyway and my teeth are clenched hard as I put all of my weight into keeping the door between us. They shove at it from the other side and my feet begin to slide out from under me. All of the muscles in my body are stretched to breaking point as I try to hold my ground but even with the extra strength that magic gives me, they are too strong and too many for me hold off.

At the crucial moment when my efforts fail, the door snaps off its hinge and threatens to decimate me, I scream, at the top of my lungs.

Magic rips out from me and explodes outwards. In the split second before it rips into the men salivating for my blood from behind the door, I pull back with all my strength , trying to stop the force that just launched from me.

Screams of pain are followed by thuds of human bodies striking the wall and collapsing to the floor. I stare in horror at the carpet of blood spreading from beneath the bodies of the nine men on the floor. Huge icicles protrude from the points at which they punched through their bodies, pinning them to the floor. Of course it did not work, of course I could not stop it.

A hiccup spasms my throat and I force myself to look away from the grotesque display before me. It got all of them, there are no more men left, and there is nothing more for me here.

I turn around and stride to my bag, grabbing it from the floor. The window is wide open and I count my lucky stars that it is close to the ground as I make my hasty exit, like a thief in the night. I do not look back.