The Raven Girl

Chapter 5

I'm off to get a hot drink and something to eat. Have a good reading spree. I'll be hunting down some cake and grabbing a book too.

The darkness drew in around them as Sigurd tugged at the horse's reins to steady her before throwing Asta up into the saddle. He'd bound her wrists in a coarse rope no sooner than he had carted her out the door and they were sore and rubbed fluorescent red with friction, but she did not notice. All she allowed herself to be aware of was the night air on her face and numb feeling in her mind. They were the only things she could stomach.

She did not balance herself atop the horse despite being close to falling. Falling off this horse was nothing compared to falling from the gallows and although she submerged herself in the emptiness she felt, that thought still rung all the louder. She was going to die and people were going to watch, laugh, shout, and jeer. She was going to die.

Why did she fear it so much, anyway? Men went away to war with a fair knowledge of the odds of death and still embraced it with more confidence than she did now, but try as she might, she could not shake the dread that purged her heart and spiked through her veins like some foul intoxicant, of which bore no desirable qualities – one people did well to avoid. Cowards weren't fools. They were survivors, nature's smartest.

"Sit up properly," Sigurd said but she did not hear him. Huffing, he pulled her up roughly and steered the horse out of the village and into the rolling countryside. "We'll ride south for as much of tonight as we are able and then stop at an inn. It'll take a fair while to get to the capital."

There was no point in him telling her all this, no point in him sharing light on his plans for her because everything he said seemed a repetition of what he'd said hours before. Besides, he could take her anywhere and it wouldn't make a difference – it wasn't like she could opt out at any point or make suggestions to the route they took. Her opinion was hardly wanted at this point, yet still he talked as if she were a fellow traveller and not a captive.

"To think I might've married my son to a Ravner had I not recognised you." He laughed. "How would you have liked that?"

"Better than this," she muttered, if only to cease his talk.

"It's a shame you hadn't been inside that day, when we traded with your father, isn't it?"

She ignored him and his provoking words. He wanted a reaction, an acknowledgement that he'd won and that her death was her own fault, and she didn't care if she gave it to him. She just didn't have the energy to reply, didn't have the time to reply. All her time was devoted to the melancholy numbness that encompassed her.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then." He smirked and eased his horse into a gallop, one that sent Asta lurching here and there because of her refusal to hold on to anything or sit straight. "Will I tie you to the saddle?" He said upon dragging her back up again.

The night was long and sleep came few and far between, with little snippets of disturbed slumber here and there. Every time she drifted off, she would wake soon after when heaved back up by the seething man, who each time threatened to stop to tie her down. Not that he ever did – it would waste too much time.

"We'll rest here," he said suddenly, nudging his horse into a nearby stable. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

It didn't make a difference to her whether they stopped or not but he threw her down from the horse all the same and led her into the inn. Why this had to be dragged out any longer she did not know; if anything, she wished it only to be over whilst the veil of cloud still lingered over her mind, still kept her from the worst of the fear, the cold sweat of dread.