SWNOVELXO Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Take my hands and let me lead.
Let my notes be your daily prayer.
~Medusa.
***
The howling wind rattled through the embroidered curtains accompanied with a chilly atmosphere. The weather thrashed and crumbled, bring forth lightning and thunderstorm as the clouds snapped in an ominous menace.
Alone in a dark piercing room inside an abandoned castle with no portraits, the atmosphere raged with fury. The aura was thick and foreign with darkness encircling the wave-like motion in the dark night as the entire castle was built in foreshadowing silence.
Faint moonlight streamed through the long windows, working valiantly to dispel the darkness inside. On a far end, something could be seen. Or perhaps, someone?
A single shaft of moonlight shone on the body of a girl. She lay on a grave with her eyes closed, as though she was dead. She was asleep, but it wasn't her body sleeping but her soul.
Then those lids opened to reveal a black eye with another mismatched. No irises at the right side, leaving only a complete a white eye swirling in something dangerous. Something thick and heavy. Something greater than her own darkness.
The illumination shone further on the body, and she pulled the chains bonding her wrists, one after another with strength from phantom. The girl then swung her legs to the side of the grave where the cold marble tiles burned her naked feet, surrounding with dark fogs covering the landscape with heaviness that could cut through a knife.
When she rose up, slow and unholy, she took a step and started walking.
Suddenly, a door appeared in front of her. The girl took hold of the knob that opened with a loud creak and entered only to float through with blinding light. It was a short travel that she eventually paused.
Another girl in black could be seen, ceasing her floating at once. That same moonlight illuminated her body, but not her face. At least, not yet.
“Come, Medusa. I have something for you,” The girl said, walking into nothingness and with a snap of her fingers, the background morphed into a beautiful valley. Through the cherry laurels, the clouds danced in rhythm to the peace and the bright sun giving off a reassuring color to the magnificent oaks, the warm spring air, and the cicadas singing.
It was surrounded by ominous yet beautiful cliffs, and warm springs rising bubbling from the earth, to make small streams and finally great clears of beautiful pools. With the air moist always, the trees marveled with beautiful fruits and ferns of also gigantic size, and the grasses forever thick and green.
‘Where is this place?’
“Dragsholm.” The girl responded, watching the butterflies and birds roaming about the sky. The flowers began to glow, as if the garden were singing. “Did you know Dragsholm was once as beautiful as this? Sun, lands, cliffs, skies, geysers, birds, everything was perfect.”
A short melodious laughter came out of nowhere, resonating the entire atmosphere giving a clear definition of fantasy and peace. A little girl with fiery red hair matched out, her smile the most beautiful thing the world had ever seen as features were combination of perfectness when her feet twirled and faced the both identical creatures who stared. The sun radiated her skin, which caused her glow ethereal.
And her face…
She was beautiful. Medusa felt cold.
“That could be you.” The girl who resembled the cold soul's figure, turned to face her.
And in truth, she was the exact copy of her. She had ebony-black hair which complimented that dull cloth that swayed like shadows, showing off her alluring figure unlike Medusa, who was bald and almost seemed dead, with scales around her face, around her body, that wasn’t noticeable until one peered closer.
Her face was perfectly rounded, flawless, rather like that of her, but not so long or deeply refined. With mouth tender, and her eyes, though big were timid and without unusual color, dark luxuriant lashes. A great mane of dark hair grew back from her forehead, falling about her almost magically. It seemed soft, darker, perhaps, and so fine that the dark made the mass of it appear faintly translucent.
Medusa, whose skin was so pale as it was almost white, a swam of princess she seemed, her cheeks firm and her mouth dried and white with lashes very vivid around those dead eyes, her inner soul has that one look that fit a serpent.
She looked into the eyes of the girl with similar features as hers. No words, just their stares that only seemed meaningful to the latter. She knew what it meant and she turned away, her eyes resting on the fairy girl. Nothing could change her.
The girl danced, and roaming carefree with abandon. Her laughter was what echoed off the hillsides, mingling with the sweet songs of birds. Each step, each leap, each turn and twirl was a testament of her symphony of serenity.
Those bright blue eyes sparkled like rare sapphires, shinning with boundless happiness. Her smile alone was the reason the sun shone brighter. Her existence caused it all.
But in an instant, everything shattered. What came out next was a chilling scream from her throat, and an ear deafening horror. The butterflies vanished, the birds fell silent, the cliffs dried, the sky masked with a monstrous realm of darkness. Once a haven of peace, transformed to a hollow of sorrow, valley of darkening depths.
Slowly, everything turned dark. The once peaceful serenade became a terrifying labyrinth walked upon. There was no sun at day and no moon at night. “No matter the seasons, they change as people. The sweet becomes the most deadly, and the bitter, the most tortured. Look at that,”
Medusa saw death.
“It’s now known for the land of the dead and death. You know about the tale, don’t you?”
She didn’t respond.
The girl snapped her fingers once more and they were brought back into that darkness that weighed nothing. Then she smiled. “Let’s look at those scales,” and she walked towards Medusa and grabbed her face. The moment she did, her whole body turned into something different. Like a reptile.
“How long have you been starving?” She moved her head to the side to have a better look at her. “Gwyneth told me you have been rummaging for food these past few days, and I’ve brought you something to eat,” she motioned to the table besides her. There were twigs and dead leaves. “That witch of yours needs to be tamed, and your looks are very much important. You crave a lot. You like them dead, don’t you?
‘She is you, Medyse.’
“I get hungry all the time then,” The girl responded.
‘I’m not hungry.’
“No, you aren’t.” There was certain coldness in that tone that caused the Medusa’s feet to start moving.
She took the twigs at first and started eating, sparing no glance at the girl who kept a straight impassive face. A terrible hiss escaped her throat the moment she took it in. Scales appeared on her skin, ugly and frightening, as she kept chewing till she swallowed. She kept on, until she finished everything. Everything which was a must.
The moment she swallowed the last bite, her eyes slowly opened. Her left eye was the same color with the latter. There were back to the white ones, with no irises, dead and alive.
"That’s better,” she commented. But the next second, Medusa fell to be caught in the arms of the girl. Into the grave, she was back into. “You’re not going to die,” she said quietly. “It’s just for a short period of time. A little more,”
It started as a dull ache, a throbbing reminder of her punishment. Her vision blurred, her eyes dimming at every blink.
She was sweating, her skin slick with fat beads, and her chest trembling. Every movement that spread through caused her stomach to churn, nausea clawing up her throat.
The bitter taste of bile mingled with the metallic tang of blood, as the pain reached it crescendo. Suddenly, a flicker of light danced across her face, flames licking the edges of the grave consuming the dry wooden planks and branches that had been placed over her.
Next, she heard the sound of dirt being shoveled over her. The girl was burying her under the flames, as it still raged, fueled by the accelerants and the dry under bush. Medusa's hissing enraged, the sounds she made terrible and frightening, her body charring along.
Medyse began whispering. Strange words filled the atmosphere, spells chanting the burning body. But the moment her hands were stretched, her own body instantly caught on flames too. But she wasn’t burning. Unlike the charring soul, this one was rather glowing.
“…into the hands, their tears take forth. Into this soul, my journey begins.” A spark of light burst from the grave and the wind rose Medyse’s hair. It continued, its flame dancing at every strand of the enchantress's hair without consuming the body with its intensity, but suffocating another soul caged in the grave, whose own body could barely be recognized anymore. Just the hissing and the sizzles. And the next minute, everything went silent. The fire went off.
The flames that had engulfed the soul in the grave mere moments before flicked out, leaving behind a charred, smoldering husk. The hissing ceased, replaced by an unsettling silence. The air was heavy with foreboding and acrid scent of essence and smoke.
Medusa’s face was unrecognizable, as the fire intense had melted her features. The cackling embers and the faint whisper of the wind made it known it was over.
It was just the girl in the grave and no more. The grave was no longer burning, and the soul was naked. And dead.
Or was it?
Suddenly, an ear deafening scream pierced the air, shattering the stillness and knitting the beginnings of mystery. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. As if summoned by the scream, the body began to shift. From the lift of a finger, to the movement of her feet, her charred skin sloughed off, revealing a newborn’s tender flesh. But her eyes were still locked, waiting for its perfect time to reopen.
A tiny, helpless wail filled the air and those eyes snapped open. Ocean blue irises gleamed in the darkness, like two glittering sapphires, with silver hair dancing to the ominous wind. Her gaze locked onto something unseen, her pupils constricting as if focusing on a distant memory.
Her chest remained still, no rise or fall of breathing visible, as her essence transferred into the infant’s body, with shadows dancing across the walls, like dark tendrils reaching the seed.
A Scalekin witch had been reborn into a womb and into a body with two souls. Medusa and Medyse have been reincarnated, bringing forth the promised winter.
(Music Recommendation: Paradise Disowned by Lustmord)
***
17 years later…
It was dark and quiet. The cold breeze whooping and rustling the dead leaves from the surface, letting it dance to the rhythm of its dreadful music. With the sky dull and lightning flashing across it, sending an unpleasant and sad air with the notes of the dead. One could imagine the painful history the atmosphere weighed at the sights of the skeletons scattered around the place leaving no lengths and breadths untouched.
But soon, a black raven emerged from the dead sky, baring its wings with an intensity of its own, scotched in promises of an unspeakable sins it brought. It surfed around the sky, taking turns in different directions until it finally flew in speed at a steady pace, into the woods.
On and on it went, until after few minutes, it eventually reduced its pace and rested on a branch of a dead tree, twisting and turning its beak in a hypnotizing manner. Exactly the second a minute clocked, the sky let down its painful tears mixed with burning intensity, making the trees in the forest thrash and snap.
The black raven sat at its spot, seemingly unfazed by the emotions the wind wielded, until it eventually croaked in an ear deafening manner and flew away.
NEIGH!
The heavy rumble of the rolling wheels pulled by the horses in accordance into a path of the shadows of the forest resonated in the woods. The firm yet relaxed subtle flick of the reins by the coachman made the horses flick their ears, picking up their short-walk pace a bit as the traces creaked quietly in effort of taking up the weight of the carriage.
The coachman guided the carriage in hustle, mannerly creating wrath for the blindfolded young captives whom were being tied with cloth at their mouth to prevent them from talking. Four armored men on each horse rode at the edge, two at the sides and one behind the captives, and another at the far end. The captives were all chained to a single manacle at their wrists down southwards as they stride in a row.
Along their journey, any who stumbled to the ground received harsh lashes of whip, so hard that the victim will cause imbalance to the others to fall with the former.
“Up!” One will threaten. He would dismount his horse, and whip the slaves for their bodies to weaken but enough to leave minimum energy to continue their journey to mystery. “Walk faster.”
Fate always plays its course in a cruel manner. Once upon a time, to happily ever after, but it wasn't so for these young captives rather it was a dangerous ending. It’s been three days ever since some armored men broke into a once peaceful village, taking away the young ones, both males and females of barely sixteen to eighteen of age away from their homes.
It was called slavery.
In terms of this, their captors were one which was recognized by the sigil they wielded and the banners carrying the symbol of Dragsholm. From the looks, they could already tell where they were being shipped off to and who their buyers were.
Immortals gathered as souvenirs in the kingdom of Dragsholm, where the Lord rumored to have high taste of blood after he had awakened from his slumber, for over hundreds of years. They call it Hibernation. It was when the Angels had punished him for the sins he committed upon humanity and against God.
And of course, with the new existence of creatures apart from humans that fed on blood, it was only the humans, vampires and werewolves that were a common knowledge for all.
The rain kept striking the surface with full pressure giving no intentions and less probability of stopping anytime soon, leaving the captives and the soldiers under no mercy of the unmerciful rage it bared.
Nevertheless, the journey continued and after much struggle, the carriage suddenly came to halt, with a terrible sound.
"Sire, I think we have a problem." The coachman reported, after jumping off his seat and landing firmly on the muddy ground. His eyes were fixed on the brunette haired man that approached him on his horse.
"What happened?" The man asked hoarsely, gracefully landing to the ground without much effort. Giving a small pat to his horse, he walked a few steps to where the coachman stood.
“The wheels,” he pointed at it. They looked terrible. “They are broken and at this point, if we keep moving, the possibility of the wheels damaging more than this is high, not with the weather condition,” He said. “I’ll suggest we retire for the day, or risk diverting further.”
“What is the chance we will cross the border before twilight?”
“It’s thin,” the coachman responded. “Given a day and a night.”
“And the spares?”
“We have changed the wheels for the second time. I’m afraid none is available at the moment. The closest village from here would take almost half a day if I manage to start from now.”
The brunette haired man gazed up at the sky that released harsh strike of thunder and the warnings it whispered. Indeed, the weather wouldn’t be able to grant them a pass. “We can’t waste that time and wait for long,” he said. “We’ll take the horses.” The man suggested.
“Fair enough,” the coachman said with a nod.
Locking his hands into his pocket, he spoke. "Pack the carriage at a tree big and might enough to camp for the night. The horses should be tied as well, fed and hydrated. We don't want any more obstacles before dawn. Ariel," He called, and a man with a bulk body approached him. "Keep eyes on the captives while I go scan the perimeters. No mistakes." He warned with utmost seriousness.
The coachman bowed before leaving to carry out the orders given while the man called Ariel nodded slightly at the instructions. And without another word, the brunette man left, hopping on his horse into the forest.
The journey to Dragsholm was five days by land but it has only been a day but seemed forever. As night flashed faster, the soldiers retired for the day. A small fire was set at the middle of the forest where the camps laid.
“Finally!”
One of the men sighed beneath his helmet as his eyes brightened up at the sight of the flames successful lit after many trials. He pulled off his gloves and tossed it, bringing forth his hands to the heat of the fire as the others joined him in merriment.
The rain had long reduced, leaving only the wistful and chilly breeze in the atmosphere. Night was quick to flash, as the bright moon stood proud at the dark cloudy sky. The young captives were left to see without hindrances while their hands still left chained.
“Been such a hell of a long day pals. Heavens know how I managed to survive under those thunderstorms. Oh…” A soldier spoke, warming his hands to the fire.
“Aye, such strange weather for a dull day. It came without warning. For a moment, I thought it was rapture. Just the difference we are still here and most especially, on clothes too.”
They all laughed at his joke.
“You would be the last person on this planet to talk about biblical verses. Gone are the days when Simon speaks of the holy spirits and their ways.” Another soldier intervened with humor.
“Oh, c’mon…” he flung his hands in defeat. “The bible never rejected drinking and attending brothels. In fact, that’s what makes you a real man. Let me tell you something… To be a man, one must crave to feel soft textures under you. Soft and supple and warm,” he looked in daze. “Mind you, much better than a pillow,” he pointed a stick to the men that surrounded the fire and continued. “You can’t keep resisting your desires brothers. Instead, it turns you on and makes you a hungry one.”
“Hungry, you say eh?”
“But, you can just succumb to your need and let it play its role. It needs to feel. It craves for it. Why deprive a hungry man when his food stares right in front of him. Or at the back. However it may appear. Like how Ariel does reacts making up conversations with women? He pees on his pants when a woman pushes him to the edge of seduction. That I have never been more ashamed of all my life.”
“Hey…” Ariel cried, finding difficulty in making a proper speech at the mention of his name.
“But if you let me teach and guide you on what I title, “art of seduction”, I’m certain-”
“No, no, no…” came the collective rejection from all the soldiers, giving an awkward vibe to the conversation.
“What?”
“We’ll pass. Thanks for the advice anyways. We have had enough.”
“I just can’t believe we train girls instead of men,” Xavier muttered silently to himself, at the blatant refusal from the group.
“You should try to settle on marriage, Xavier. Last I heard your debts almost got you loosing what’s between those legs. I don’t think you would have considered being a man if that ever happened.”
“Aye. Man needs a wife,” Ariel chuckled, chewing his meat.
“Those sick bitches are all too old for my taste. And marriage, may the heavens forbid. I rather die single than suffer like Rheon wallowing in alcohol on family issues.”
Rheon, who was quiet all the time, looked up from the flames cackling the woods, to the face of Xavier, without any word. Instead, he gulped down the ale.
“If that’s what marriage calls for, I rather spend my days in the brothel and drink my ass to stupor.” Xavier added, taking down his own cup.
“Have you even considered your kind of woman, brothel boy?” A lean man teased, taking the whole group to laughter. “A kind of woman who you would kill for, and die for,”
Xavier pulled the cup away from his mouth, the ale soaking him. Then he belched. “You want to know my kind of woman?” he asked to no one. “Not too tall with smooth skin, hazel eyes, red hair, perfect teats, round swells, fat ass and a tight cunt,” he listed. “Lest I forget the most important two; wide mouth that could fit my cock and a beautiful voice that would scream my name when I fuck her.”
There was another eruption of laughter after he was done. Including Rheon.
“I had forgotten who Xavier is,” Ariel commented, shaking his head in pity. “Not like he hasn’t been with a red haired girl before. What was her name again?”
“Aliana,” The lean man was the one who answered for him, laughing after. “The one who… disappeared,”
“Oh, Aliana,” Xavier sang. “Why have thou left me?”
“Oh, maybe she left knowing fully well her mouth couldn’t fit that thing down south, and her voice was as ugly as a witch when she chants her spell.”
“You dare not,” Xavier warned.
“Look who wants to marry a witch,” Ariel taunted and Devin joined. “Witches aren’t real lad, so stop dreaming. The day you keep waiting for one red haired hazel eyed girl, is the day you kiss your days goodbye. Maybe brothel is the best option for a derange boy like you.”
And so the conversation flowed. They ate, drank, laughed and joked leaving the captives starved and exhausted, thirsty and tired. And so the night inched to midnight.
Among these captives, a pair of blue eyes watched them intensely, like a hawk gauging its prey. Under the dark night, her silver blonde hair was clearly visible. Those enticing ocean blue eyes glazed with naked promises of the deeds she carried. Her pencil thin eyebrows eased down gently to her shadow-black velvety eyelashes as it blinked and reckoned in an expressionless manner.
CROAK!
A raven out of nowhere made noises in the woods. It was then her eyes shut for a moment, to open with mismatched irises.
It was past midnight when a soldier brought the left over to the young captives. The strong wafting pungent lingered around as they devoured the food hungrily. But only one didn't. Her face was blank.
Medusa, a lady with cursed soul; a disgraceful body that existed on their land. The villagers cursed her. They threw stones and pelted her with rotten fruits and vegetables when she passed through their roads.
The woman shoved her footsteps with broom, and cursed her out of their store. The fishermen use their rod to push her away, saying to never return. The children mocked her presence wearily and their parent told awful stories of her. "You wouldn’t want me to call the witch,” they will always warn, intimated. Her name became a frightened nightmare narrated.
A day came when she was dragged out of her home. It appeared her father sold her off to the men whom invaded the village of Graveshell in the Kingdom of Riverbend. In a world of no faith and full deceit, Medusa was bonded in that world, taking into Dragsholm. A kingdom were sunlight rarely grace the land. A kingdom punished with rainfall.
"If I were you, I would eat to preserve my strength for another day." Someone muttered besides her, as she munched the food in her hands. Few soldiers had retired for the night while two were left patrolling the arena.
"The journey to Dragsholm is a hectic one. You should know things like these appear once in a blue moon. Try this," She offered the bread to her. “It tastes better,” she said.
But Medusa didn’t divide her glance.
The girl retreated, putting the whole bread in her mouth. Then she folded her arms to support her head on the ground. Her eyes observed Medusa, but she remained silent. Those lifeless eyes lingering the dancing flames and the burning logs that cackled with particles produced from the fire could be fathomed.
“The last time I tried starving myself, I could say it didn’t go well. Especially with this people, they wouldn’t spare a taste of food or a drop of water. Along the way, people die and those survivors keep kicking, preserving every ounce of strength they could get and use it for the next.” She explained. “Believe me, those eyes wouldn’t kill them,”
The breeze whooped and the silence was what she swallowed. From the distance, the sounds of the soldier’s laughter could be heard making any who cared to listen know there where in a jester conversation.
Still Medusa spared no glance, her eyes still fixed somewhere the girl who watched her, couldn't pinpoint the direction.
“How did you get here? Where you shipped or captured? I’m guessing the latter,”
Silence.
“How long have I been traveling, I have lost count. Last I remember, I was in my farm,” she said. “And next,” she raised her chained wrists. “…I’m on chains.” She muttered, looking at the figure cowered by darkness besides her.
Then she sighed. "My name is Esther and I’m from Glastonbury.” She introduced. And the girl laid in utter silence. “At least, tell me yours. " But it was the same silence that responded. “Alright then. Good luck. The journey would be difficult by sunrise." She concluded, twisting her body, back facing Medusa.
Medusa’s eyes shifted from the flames to the forest. There were whispers, wind pushing and shifting the rustling leaves towards the alerted soldiers. Shadows of sin flee from the corner darkness rose upon the soul with irises gone and eyes as white as snow.
The first thing Medusa saw was a castle. She knew she had to go somewhere.
A sudden breeze blew with force, turning the forest entirely dark. The decaying air and stifling atmosphere provided the perfect abode for those who worshiped the darkness rather than the light. And she did.
***