My Crown for Your Heart

Chapter Two

SAROYA

My waking moment is always sudden, it has been since I can remember. One moment, I am asleep and the next, I am wide awake and aware of everything in my vicinity. What it says about me is that life has tried its hardest to make me a creature of necessity, of basic animal instincts. It is the reason why I fight back a little, by treating myself to all the luxury that I can afford.

With a sigh, I get up and throw the thin covers off my body. Through the small lone window, I see darkness outside, the piercing dark just before daybreak. Mechanically, I get up as I do everyday and stride to my bag, pulling out a black leather trousers and a matching black corset top. I pull my nightwear over my head and shimmy into the new gear. I have done this routine so many times I could do it in my sleep. I pad silently to my door and push it open. It is well-oiled so there is only a whisper in the air as I slip out. That was one of the first things I took care of when I got the hut. The kind of person I am cannot bear others knowing exactly where I am or what I am doing merely by listening to the creak of my doors.

The pre-dawn air is chilly. The wind shuffles through the trees, between houses and licks at my skin softly, pleasantly. I smile, a little twitch of my lips. This is my favourite time of the day. This time when every other soul in the village is asleep, all trying to catch the last remnants of sleep. The air is sweet and fresh, the village is silent and peaceful and if I had more of an imagination, I could convince myself that I was the only person left in the world.

Silent as a shadow, I make my way to the back of my house. A good thing about my hut is that it has a very spacious backyard. I have transformed most of it into a garden where I grow my herbs but a small section of it is covered, protected from the sun and from prying eyes. In a small village like this, everyone is always in everyone's business and when asked about my little shed, I simply said it was for the herbs that cannot take direct sunlight. The villagers do not need to know what I am up to every minute.

I unlock the door to the shed and step in, closing it against the draft. Eight steps to the right and I am in the middle of the small enclosure. There is no light in here and I dare not make one, lest some stray soul wander near here and see the glow from within. When people get curious about me, it always spells bad news.

I take a deep breath and release it, letting my head clear of distractions and my thoughts crystallize. Without thought, my fist punches out into the air. I dive beneath an imaginary blow from the right and come up with a roundhouse kick. The sheath at my waist snicks open and I palm my dagger and proceed to train.

I am far from being a professional fighter and in a real fight, I know that I will need a whole load of luck to actually win but knowing the basics is better than nothing. The few things I know, I owe to Sedar. I met him in one of the numerous villages I have been a part of. He was training hard to become one of the king's soldiers and he was a pretty good fighter, at least to my impressionable mind.

Sedar was one of the few people I have ever remotely come close to caring about. In Sedar, I saw such pure goodness and genuineness that it shocked and confused me. It made me want to get as far away from him as I could, unwilling to dim his light but the more aloof I got, the more creative Sedar got in getting close to me. I never let my guard down, even with Sedar, but oh how I thought of it. He might have been naïve but the man saw goodness in me where no one else did. When he looked at me like I was the goddess of purity, like I could never do any wrong, I wanted to fit myself into that little box he created for me. I wanted to forget everything else and make myself into the woman he imagined me to be, free, simple and unproblematic. But Sedar knew nothing about me. If Sedar knew the truth about me, about what I have done, would he have still looked at me like that? Sadly, I know the answer to that. At least I gained priceless knowledge from him while I was at it.

People will always underestimate me. If I can use that to my advantage, the little I know about combat fighting might well be the difference between life and death in the future.

I am panting when I finally straighten and sheath the dagger. The air billows into my throat and I gulp it down gratefully. Some would waste time bemoaning the fact that life served them the short end of the stick, wail that it is unfair that they have to live such a tiring pathetic life but I do not have time for such thoughts in my carefully planned life. I merely stride forward and through the door of my shed, my thoughts crystal clear. I do not have the luxury of bemoaning my life, I have long since accepted my horrible fate.

...

"I told you not to use the leg for a while." I admonish Old man Orcus gently.

The gruff old man huffs, bushy eyebrows scrunching together in pain and he throws a hand out.

"How is that possible, Lady Saroya? Duties around the house won't get themselves done." He says.

I instinctively want to correct him, that I am no lady but we have had that conversation many times already. The old man insists on calling me one and no matter how much I correct him, he is more stubborn than a mule. Healing him would be alot easier if he did not also apply his stubbornness to his health.

"Mister Orcus." I say as I finish applying the poultice and start binding. "You have a son-in-law to do these duties. He is most ready to help too. What you need is rest."

"Bah! I will rest when I am dead." He says. "I refuse to burden others with my problems."

I sigh. The old man is stubborn indeed. He fell a few weeks ago while trying to repair a hole in the roof and broke his leg. I got here in time to set it and start his treatment. If he obeyed my instructions to the T, we should be talking about when to get his cast off and when he should begin exercising the leg lightly again. But Old man Orcus is well-known for his mule-headedness and he will be spending much longer in his cast than I intended. The progress I have made with the leg is little, it is barely healing.

"You are hardly a burden to your loved ones." I say and he haroomphs. My lips twitch. He is very sensitive, for someone his age. "There, I am done binding it. I am serious, Mister." I say, bending so I am eye-level with him. "If you ever want to be able to use your legs again, you need to take some time off your feet. Otherwise, you might lose the leg entirely. What are you going to do then, if you cannot handle this little inconvenience?"

His bushy brows scrunch closer so that they are almost knit together.

"I have heard, I have heard." He says grumpily. "No need scaring an old man like that."

I spread my lips in a smile, because it is required to bring some levity into the situation.

"I will give your daughter the medicine and tell her how to administer it." I tell him because I do not trust him to administer it on time if I give it to him.

"Do that." He says. He makes to lie back down on his bed and I hurry forward to help him into it. The valerian root I added to the poultice should put him to sleep soon enough.

When I leave there, I continue my rotation. The patients with minor complaints can always come to my hut but most of my patients are too sick to move about. Instead of having their families beating down my door, I make a rotation through the village everyday, to the delight of the patients and their families. It is actually to my gain because it means less people coming close enough to get curious about my personal life.

"Thank you so much." Lady Adalno says, holding my hands between her frail ones. She is one of the few reputable people of this village, a daughter to some faraway Lord. Despite her father's wishes, she got married to a poor frail man and for the entirety of her six years, she has stayed by his side and taken care of him. His ailment stumped me at first, but I figured out there was something wrong with his blood circulation and drained him with leeches everyday. Combined with other measures, he has gotten so much better that I only have to drain him once a week now. He goes about his daily activities just like everyone else and I can see that they are truly happy for the first time in a while.

"We are forever indebted to you." Lady Adalno says, a smile playing on her lips.

"It is nothing. It really was my pleasure." I say.

After this house, I have one more to visit before I get to the Waroch cottage.

I am making my way towards the house, making a mental note to stop at Lady Cautelia's cottage on my way back home when I hear it. Wailing.

I freeze, my ears twitching slightly as I listen hard for the sound. I hear it again, faint wailing from a voice that sounds very very familiar. I am running before my brain can fully process it, towards the Waroch cottage. As I get closer, there is no denying the sound of Madame Willow's heart-wrenching wails. The sound of my feet slapping against the cobbled streets is unnaturally loud. My basket of tinctures fall from my hand to roll away but I do not notice. There are many people standing outside, wringing their hands in identical expressions of worry and they part as I crash forward. My heart is in my throat and I know exactly what I am going to find before I burst into the house.

It is tightly packed with double the people outside. My body automatically recoils from the press of bodies so close to mine but my need to go forward is greater and I am shoving people to the side before I know it.

The gathered people part to let me through and there, on the floor with a lifeless Amie in her hands is Madame Willow. Mister Waroch is bent over her, visibly trying to contain his emotions as he tries to prevent his wife from shattering completely. Madame Willow looks up at me and the devastation in her eyes is enough to burn the world down. I cannot put off looking down any longer and my eyes slide down to find Amie's pale dead body. The sight of her is like an arrow shot straight through my heart. I am immediately in motion, dropping down in front of her and putting a hand to her neck. No pulse. I take her hand frantically and try to feel for her pulse no matter how weak, anything to tell me that she is still in there, hanging on. Her skin beneath mine is cold and there is not a single spark of life left in her.

"I found her like this this morning." Madame Willow whispers in a horrified voice. "I do not even know when-" her voice chokes off. "My baby!" Her wailing continues.

I stare down at what is left of Amie. She is gone, that beautiful sparkling soul is gone and it is only her husk left behind. I stagger back, feeling like I have been sucker-punched. I did not say goodbye. I could not save her. All my promises, empty. Was she in pain in her last moments? Did she call out for her mother, for me? Was she scared when she realized that this once, I would not be able to save her? I promised her I would.

I bump into somebody and nearly go crashing to the floor. Their hand on my arm steadies me and I wrench away from them, recoiling from their fingers. My eyes are dry but I cannot see clearly. My head is fuzzy and my ears are ringing. We all knew this might happen, it has always been a possibility since day one but never did I imagine that anyone's death would ever affect me like this. But it is not just anyone but Amie, the only person that I have ever truly let into my heart ever since I closed myself from the rest of the world.

Madame Willow must have had some sort of hope left, hope that I could perform some wonder and get her daughter to wake up but as lucrative as the skill of waking someone from the dead is, it is beyond me. Amie's body on her laps, so still and lifeless seems unnatural. Any moment now, she could open her brilliant blue eyes and smile at us, wondering what the fuss is about but nothing of the sort happens.

The energy in the room changes suddenly and then, the whispers reach my ears. I force myself to focus, taking note of the entire room in the way that I am used to doing to survive. Confusion fogs my mind a second before I see it.

People are glancing fearfully between me and the pails of water all around the room, shaking and shuddering with the motion of the water, each shudder an echo of my trembling breath. Cold drenches my heart and my fist clenches within the folds of my skirt.

No, not again. I cannot lose control again. I will the waters to calm with all of my strength, straining with the effort to do something, anything at all to return normalcy to the room which has gotten several degrees colder as cold drafts shiver through the room. More people are looking at me now, the expressions on their faces as if they are looking at something strange, something alien. The whispers increase and the fear thickens so that I can almost taste it. I can hear the word 'witch' being uttered.

Giving up, I spin around and hurry out of the room, my arms wrapped around my middle as if I could hold myself together, keep myself from shattering in front of them. I need to be alone, away from all those curious, peering eyes.

I stumble as I make my way hurriedly away from the Waroch cottage, the grief overwhelming. There are people on the streets looking at me with concerned faces but I push past them all, needing the solitude of my home.

A hand grabs me and I automatically wrench away but the grip is solid. I am spun around and in front of me is Pierre. He is the village blacksmith and someone who very obviously likes me. He has asked to court me several times and even though I declined each time, I know that to him, it was only a matter of time before he chipped away at my reluctance. Recently, even the sight of him puts me in a sour mood and no matter what he does or what he says, he simply irritates me. The last thing I want to do is see him right now. I wrench my arm from his with a glare and he steps closer, his brows creased in concern.

"I saw you hurrying away and you did not look so well. What is it? Does it have anything to do with the commotion coming from there?" He asks, jerking his chin in the direction of the Waroch house with a frown.

Something alien pushes at my skin, eager to launch itself at him, to tear him apart and punish somebody, anybody for my grief. My nails dig into my palm as I hold it back with all of my strength. Whatever Pierre sees in my eyes causes him to take a step back, fear and confusion clouding his eyes.

I cannot bring myself to speak, to engage him or try to explain everything. I need to be left alone.

I spin away from him and hurry on. Somehow I make it, either by running, by walking or crawling, I do not remember, but finally I slam my front door closed and let out a shivering breath.

My legs slide out from beneath me and I collapse onto the floor, my back against the wooden door. My hut is exactly as I left it earlier this morning, sparkling clean and nearly empty save for my few possessions. Earlier this morning when I had no idea at all that the little girl I have tried to so hard to save for the past several months lay dead on her bed.

I wrap my arms around my knees and hold myself together. My eyes are still dry but my breath hiccups out of my throat. I do not remember how to cry. For as long as I remember, my emotions have always been a closer friend to me than anything else, rising, folding, breaking like the waves but never being let out. Another survival mechanism, and the best gift I can give to those around me, for if I ever let myself go, I am afraid no one would be able to survive it.

My head falls onto my knee and I hold myself tight. I will get through this. Just like everything else, I will get through this. Even though it feels like the ghost of death is forever lingering over my shoulder, even though I fear that I am an omen of darkness and evil wherever I go, like a curse onto the people closest to me, I will get through this, because that is what I have been doing since I was little, enduring.

A cold draft lifts the drape and brushes over my cheek. For a second, I imagine that it is Amie's spirit, come to tell me goodbye but my imagination is starkly out of context. The cold draft is more of ominous warning.

Fists bang on my door behind me and I jerk back into the present. I scramble up, my expressionless eyes looking at the fragile door separating me from them. I can hear them now. Discontented and angry musings behind my door. Their voices are nearly obscured by the sound of heavy downpour of rain thudding against my roof and the surrounding of my house. The drape billows in again and I see heavy rain through the window. It has happened once again. The people outside are here for me. Heavy fists bang on the door again and angry voices are calling me out.

This is what happens every time. Only a hint of something different, something other and people lose all reason. Their fear clouds their minds until it is all that they can see, all they can feel. Witches, people like me are called. We are sneered at, spit upon and feared. People fear what they do not understand and naturally, rumours spread like wildfire about us. It is believed that witches bring bad luck to whichever village they reside. There are no people that will happily condone the presence of witches in their midst. Maybe they are right.

I glance behind me at my bag, packed and ready to go. I never suspected that today would be the day I would be picking it up. I turn around to grab it when something heavy thuds against my door, startling me and causing a c***k in the solid wood. My heart pounds harder as I eye the window. The rain is pouring as heavily as ever but I have no illusions that I will be able to climb through and escape the mob waiting for me in front of my house.

Another thud and there is a loud crashing sound as my door falls to the floor, broken through in places. Filling the doorframe is Pierre and several other elders of the village, all drenched from head to toe from the rain. The noise quietens and they look at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. Pierre looks at me like he is seeing a stranger, his gaze accessing me from head to toe to confirm that I am currently not a danger.

I stare at him steadily and nothing of the fear or the grief I feel shows on my face. It seems it is the confirmation he needs and he spits, the glob coming to land an inch from my foot. His lips are twisted in a sneer.

"Witch." He hisses.

I do not move or say a word. I have enough experience to know exactly how this is going to play out. When I do not deny the allegations, two other men rush into the room and grab me by arm, their fingers digging in painfully. I do not look away from Pierre.

He strides in in purposeful steps and comes to stand in front of me, looking down at me with eyes empty of any familiarity. He might as well have been looking at a stranger. I never expected more from him.

In a flash, his hand rises and descends across my face and a line of fire opens up on my cheek. I taste blood where I cut my tongue and I temporarily see stars. His hand has alot of strength, obviously needed for his job.

"Bring her." He says and steps out. The two males haul me up higher and practically carry me out of my house. Outside, I see what has given them the conviction to castigate me. A dark cloud hovers over my house and heavy rain falls relentlessly, but only over my house. I am immediately drenched and when I move, the dark cloud follows. The noise rises back up again.

The people are in shock, not believing that they have allowed a witch into their midst for the past half-year cluelessly. Many of them spit at my feet as I am dragged through the gathering, the word 'witch' a hiss on their tongues. There are no friendly faces but there are some whispers convinced that they must all be mistaken. It does not matter because the bloodlust of majority of the villagers will not be tamed.

"Witch." One of them hisses with scorn.

"Burn her!" Another yells. When my eyes meet his, his face pales and he takes a shaky step back.

"Devil!"

The name-calling only gets more wicked and intense and soon enough, they start up their chant.

"Burn the witch!" They all yell continuously.

I am dragged through the cobbled streets, past familiar places and faces. I do not try to fight, the strength of the two people holding me is too great and so I allow myself to be dragged inevitably towards the village square. Ice is forming around my heart once more and as I stare at my feet, I think it is truly sad that I am not even allowed to mourn the death of a loved one in peace. Again and again, the mere humans have shown me that they are truly the creatures to be feared, to be wary of. Sometimes I wonder why I bother holding back.

A piercing gaze has me dragging my gaze up. Behind the mob escorting me excitedly to my death is Old man Orcus. He is silent, resting heavily against his cane, his lips twisted in pain but he stood up to watch me. The sadness in his eyes causes me to frown momentarily. He is not chanting my death like the rest of the people, instead he looks at me with sadness and regret. When our eyes meet, he bows his head slightly, a show of respect and a way of telling me goodbye. The two men holding me march me past him and soon, we leave Old man Orcus behind.

Of course, he could not speak up to save me. To speak out against his people and support somebody like me, a witch, would mean a death sentence for himself. His daughter would never forgive me otherwise. My lips twitch, I wish I could have gotten to know the old man a little more.

At the village square, they tie my hands behind my back and throw me down onto the floor in the middle of hundreds of familiar faces and start readying the pyre. I look from where they intend to burn me, to the people that came to witness it. Men and women, many of which I have helped with one thing or the other since I got here. There is not a single trace of familiarity in their eyes as they call out for my murder.

Anger tightens my lips and I shudder on the floor from trying to hold back the tide of magic. They tied my hands behind me because witches need their hands to do anything but that has never been a problem for me. A cold draft whispers through the gathering and the dark cloud above me expands ominously, growing darker and darker, lightning forking through its belly.

The people glance at each other nervously and up at the cloud, curling their arms around their middle against the temperature that has gone several degrees down. They eye me fearfully and the people constructing the pyre hurry to get it going. Soon it is ready and one of the men grab me up from the floor and begin marching me towards the fire. But I will not be burned.

The wind intensifies, causing everyone to stagger and the man holding me stops, desperate to keep his footing.

A shadow falls on me and the gathered people gasp behind us. The man spins around with me and his jaw drops. The village of Trunn is surrounded by water on all sides and my magic has grabbed hold of all of it. The waters rise like a wall from all sides, more than sixty foot tall and threatening to break. If it does, this entire village will be wiped out completely.

"Save us, oh Saints!" The people cry out, some falling to their faces in prayer. "Save us from this abomination!"

Many of them are frozen in shock, many are deep into their prayers and yet many of them are looking at me like I murdered their children. I caused this and yet I did not, because it was not intentional but a defense mechanism. I strain with all my strength to hold the tsunami back because murdering an entire village was never part of my plans.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I think of Old man Orcus, Amie's parents, those few other people in this village that do not deserve my wrath. I will not have their death on my conscience.

The man that had been holding me looks at me with fresh fear in his eyes. He looks between the huge body of water towering and shuddering as it threatens to swamp the village and me, straining hard to hold it back and he draws the wrong conclusion because why not?

His dagger flashes out of his sheath and he runs at me with murder in his eyes. That was the way they always intended to kill me. As exciting as the prospect of burning a witch like the old days was, my rain would have never let me burn and they were always going to carve my heart out and feed it to the dogs. I see him coming at me in slow motion and I scream.

Power rips out from me and races in all directions and for one blessed moment, there is silence. I peel my eyes open to see everyone frozen. The tsunami is gone and every single living thing, plants, animals and humans are all frozen. I do not have time to wonder at this because I know instinctively that they are not dead, which means that my time is running out.

It is abnormally loud as I race through the village, the only living thing moving. My surge of power took hold of the entire village. Soon enough, I am back in my house and I grab my bag and stride out.

I do not look back as I run, leaving the village far behind.