A tide of darkness

Foolishness

When Shinnrae came to, she found herself lying on a cement stone slab, cushioned with satin pillows. She was still in her nightgown, as she had been in the morning. It would have better if she were dressed in her fighting gear. She liked it better than heavy chain links because the thin but tough leather allowed her to move quicker, and be agile; gaining the upper with her speed. Her straight ebony black hair flowed around her like rippling water, framing her delicate face.

Something wasn’t right, and she had fallen asleep on watch.

She cursed her own foolishness. Her siblings were still sound asleep, and the night looked still.

Until she heard the noise.

At first she thought it was just paranoia until she saw something move and a noise come from behind her, and she spun around, gasping. A hand covered her mouth and gagged her tight, binding her hands together, and when she looked back at her brother and sister were slumped against a tree, hands bound and tied against a tree. They were probably unconscious over sleeping, but she hoped she were wrong. She tried to stand and shrug off her attacker, but before she knew it, she was stuffed head first into a sack, and was dragged hastily away.  

***

 A tall, but not colossal young man, with damp silver hair that ended it wet curled tendrils and had piercing violet eyes, rattled his fingers on a sprawled out map, a wry smile upon his lips. He stared at it, and at the important looking wooden carved figures. There was King Duncan, sitting upon a three legged creature made out of twigs and a girl, with painted on black hair and green eyes. He knocked over the king with his finger, drawing the carving of the dark haired girl towards a carving of a paled haired figure.

“My lord Zeraph, what is your aim here?” said a small, robust looking man. Zeraph turned to him, a bored expression evident on his pale face.

“Shinnrae Netherbane, has incredulous powers beyond reckoning, even amongst others of the supposed of the third prophecy child.” he said. “Even with my powers alone, as there is no doubt that I, the third grandchild and heir of Froste, am, the prophecy child, as Morgan le Fay had prophesized. My marriage with her shall be a powerful thing; as she is most probably the grandchild of one of the more powerful Knights of the Round Table. With the vows complete I will have total control over her and her powers, enough so I can take over these lands.”

After a grueling discussion of what he and Shinnrae could achieve at the heights of his reign, footsteps and struggles were heard from outside the makeshift tent. Zeraph pushed back the curtains, revealing two gruff-looking men. They entered the room, dragging in a struggling potato sack. Zeraph smiled. It was a wicked kind of grin that chilled to the bone. His fingers moved rapidly to untie the sack, unceremoniously dumping out the contents. A pair of terrified green eyes gleamed in the candle light, a gash on her cheek. She appeared to be unarmed, and straggly bits of black hair stuck to the blood on her face like glue.

“Hello.” he said quietly, reaching a hand out to her. She shrieked, pushing back against the temporary cloth wall, kicking out at him. He pulled his hand away, and in less than a second, pulled out a heavy sea-axe knife. Shinnrae’s heart beat rapidly, looking for anything to use as a weapon. Nothing.

“As you won’t come to me willingly, I’ll guess this will have to do,” He smacked the hilt of the Northern knife into the side of her skull.

*

W

hen Shinnrae were finally conscious for the second time, she was left lying on the floor of a plain looking room. She was sure it wasn’t healthy having her brains bashed out of her each time she was knocked into a state of unconsciousness, but she dismissed the thought. She analyzed her surroundings. It had a window, frosted over by the snowy weather that stormed the outside. She was still in her silk night gown, even in this freezing weather. Shinnrae opened the wardrobe and felt sick. Inside the wardrobe was a fur coat, and next to it, a white wedding gown. She shivered, and pulled out the fur coat, draped it over her shoulders. She stared; moments passing into hours, out the window—she observed it was least a three-story drop—and at the iron door that barred her way. There was no escape.