The Hill-King's Bride: an Allegory for the Modern Church

Captive

Until dawn of the following day, Maple was left tied to the post, where the night watch would have full view of her. Come morning, she was untied from the post, but left with a tether around her waist, which the watchman used to force her to follow him. Exhausted and left with no feeling in her hands or feet, Maple had no choice but to allow the indignity and to stagger along behind him as best she could.

He led her to a field belonging to the high elder, where she was tied to a fencepost and ordered to tend the plants therein. Maple refused to speak in the language of the valley but instead, voiced her thoughts in her own tongue, learned from her father and spoke exclusively in the high hills. Defiantly, she turned her face toward the high hills. "Bryn Ma'ar," she called as loudly as she could. "Bryn, I'm waiting for you, My Love."

The guard backhanded her. "Leave that behind you and speak an honest tongue, Woman. Now get to work. High Elder wants this field weeded before dark."

Maple didn't reply. Instead she bent down and began the task at hand. The field happened to contain onions where she was tied, so Maple helped herself to the sweet, green shoots as she weeded, until she'd cleared a patch large enough to lay down. Then, warmed by the sun and exhausted by emotion, long travel and a sleepless night, Maple laid down in the dirt and fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was late in the afternoon. Maple realized she was alone in the field. Her hands and feet were still numb from having be so tightly bound, but she forced her fingers to work at gripping her dagger in order to cut the sturdy rope that bound her to the fencepost. Once she were freed, there would be nothing else to stop her from leaving.

Thoughts of home; of Cade, Rowen and the rest of her family, of Bryn, Yestyn and Gwyn fueled her. It wasn't long before she was staggering toward the trees and the foothills. With any luck, maybe she could reach Bryn's line cabin before the Undead found her. Maple had barely reached the trees when shouts of alarm alerted her that she'd been seen by the watch.

She tried to force more speed from her stiff legs and feet, but the crunch of boots behind her told Maple that she'd been unsuccessful. A hard shove to her back sent Maple flying. She landed in a heap. Whoever had tackled her took it upon himself to bind her hands behind her back again. "Bryn!" Maple screamed. "Bryn Ma'ar, I need you! Come and get me, please!"

"Shut up," growled the watchman in his own language. He cuffed Maple upside her head, making her ears ring. "Keep an honest tongue in your head."

Maple realized he hadn't understood her but didn't much care. She wasn't of the valley, and after having been among her own, Maple realized that she never would be a valley-dweller. There was no longer any reason to conform herself to their ways or gain their acceptance, so Maple didn't bother trying. "Let me go!" She demanded, not obeying the command to speak the language of the villagers. "I am Maple of the Highest Hill."

He hauled her roughly to her feet and shoved her back toward the village. Having been blindfolded on the journey back, Maple hadn't seen it the day before. It had been expanded in her absence, she discovered, until her father's cabin had been all but swallowed by the press of dwellings around it. The wall had been expanded accordingly as well, with a stout gate set in the outermost point of the wall.

To Maple's dismay, the cabin had been altered as well. Though it hadn't been tightened up any, the door sported brackets for a bar that would lock it from the outside. Just inside the doorway, the watchman released her hands and gave her a hearty shove. Maple staggered into the cabin. Before she could regain her balance, he had retreated through the door and barred it from the outside.

Defiantly, Maple barred the door from the inside as well before turning to study her surroundings. The cabin was just as she'd left it, right down to the tidy pile of firewood stacked alongside the wall opposite the fireplace. Cobwebs and dust covered everything, but her sandpit that served as a cold cellar seemed undisturbed, as did the chest that held her dried vegetables.