The sweet air tickled her nose and a breeze fluttered her hair. She could hear the rumbling of a crowd somewhere beyond the armored door, and wondered what all the commotion was.
Gabrielle closed her eyes and breathed in, enjoying the smell of the sweet autumn air. One of the guards whistled and the cart sprang to life jostling her from her stance and forcing her to hold on tighter to the railing.
As the cart began to move, the mighty doors also began to move as two ropes were pulled taut and the doors drew open. The rumbling of the crowd exploded, as the doors opened and Gabrielle was presented.
She gawked in amazement at the sheer volume of people. There must have been over a thousand people packed into the square. They must be there to see her, though she couldn’t guess why.
As the cart moved forward the crowd parted to allow them to pass. Though the guards walked on either side of the cart, she got the impression that they were more there to protect the horse and cart than her.
The air was electric and she could feel it on her skin as they made their way through the enormous gathering. The faces of the people that glared back at her were contorted in hatred and they shouted obscenities as the cart parted the crowd.
A reflection of sunlight off a metallic surface, caught Gabrielle's eye. Not half of a field way, directly in front of her, was a massive stage that stood above the crowd. In the center of the stage was a man standing casually with one hand resting on a guillotine.
The sun stretched its welcoming rays toward Gabrielle, inviting her to play as she felt a jolt of panic push through her chest and out of her finger tips. Her hands began to shake as she stood there, holding the railing and awaiting her fate. She considered jumping from the cart and trying her luck with the crowd, though she knew that was ridiculous.
A large black bird landed on a branch a few feet away, catching her attention. A calm came over Gabrielle, and her heart beat slowed as she stood there watching the bird look back at her. The Lamented soul inside her was calm, accepting her fate. I must endure this.
She knew in her heart this is what had to be done. A single tear ran down her cheek as she looked to the sky and saw the outline of another massive black bird flying overhead. Gabrielle brought her eyes back to the crowd, and there she saw him.
At the edge of the crowd, with a look of disdain, Arawn stood with his fiery eyes fixated on her. He looked furious, but there was nothing that he could do to prevent this from happening.
The cart came to a sudden halt and one of the guards ordered Gabrielle to step down. She turned and walked to the edge of the cart, where two guards grabbed each of her arms and walked her to the steps of the stage. She wanted to pause and turn to look at the crowd, but the strength of the two guards propelled her up the stairs and to the base of the guillotine.
Standing on top of the stage, Gabrielle let her eyes glaze over the mass of people as the guards led her around the platform like she was a show animal. The crowd cheered as Gabrielle was walked past them, raising their fists and shouting. What animals! Gabrielle thought in disgust at the display that was in front of her.
It looked like the entire town had come for this moment. But why? Who am I but a maid in the Palace? Gabrielle took this moment to look over the people and to see if there was anyone that she recognized. No faces that she saw were those of friends, only enemies and strangers.
What happened to Claudie, and Hilde? Oh, and what about sweet Jean-Paul? Gabrielle found her confidence suddenly replaced by a deep sadness. Not for herself, but for the poor young Lamented maid. What a lonely death this must be.
A man called the crowd’s attention and ushered the guards to place Gabrielle in the device. He then proceeded to address the crowd, but Gabrielle paid him no attention. She let his words of ignorance blur into an assortment of mumbled sounds, as she squeezed the edges of her dress and nervously looked to where she would die.
The sun glittered and bounced off the metal blade of the guillotine and Gabrielle caught her reflection for an instant. What? Gabrielle’s eyes widened in amazement, as the beautiful face of Marie Antoinette stared back at her. The crowd hadn't gathered to witness the death of a maid, but the death of their Queen.
The escort walked around to the back of the device and struck Gabrielle in the back of the knees, causing her to fall painfully on the floor. Her head was thrust into the apparatus and locked into place. Her heart began to race and she struggled to free herself from the guillotine. Unable to fully bring her head up, she could only see the cracks and stains of blood that covered the stage.
A thick, metallic smell stung at her nose as the cold wood pressed on her neck. A sudden calm flooded Gabrielle’s mind as if her Queen…her friend and confidant were soothing her and telling her it would all be alright.
Tears flowed freely from her eyes, making a small pool beneath her head before being sucked up by the wood of the stage as though it were dying of thirst. Gabrielle remained silent. She had no words for these people that would kill someone that loved them so much.
All Gabrielle wanted was one face; one person to look at her with love in the last moments of her life. Panicked, her eyes reached for the people at the base of the stage.
A sea of angry scowls peered at her, eyes sharpened like knives. In all the hatred, one set of lavender eyes tore through them all like the sun at dawn. There, right in the front of everyone was Morrigan, who stood tall and smiled. One tear silently rolled down his cheek as he watched, eyes locked on Gabrielle.
Gabrielle allowed herself to be consumed by those eyes, bathing in the sea of lavender that lay within. The yelling fell away, all sounds muted by the power and love that laid behind those eyes. Warmth filled her soul, pushing through her body like the breaking of a dam. A delicate smile crept across her lips as she whispered, “you’re free.”
Curiosity and The
Sentient’s Oblation
A Gabrielle Novel: Book 3
PROLOGUE
The cannons had been firing for nearly two days. The salted essence of perspiration and putrid death stung the soldiers’ noses as they awaited the rising sun.
Although the sun wasn't quite up yet, the stagnate air was so hot that it singed the necks of all those scattered about Gettysburg while the heat from their weapons burned the calloused flesh of their hands.
A small squadron of young soldiers huddled in a mass in the shadows of a small grouping of trees. They sat in solemn silence in the morning shadows watching the sun begin to crest the horizon.
A lone Sergeant, Cullen Howard, stood atop a large rock at the head of the group. He looked to them with egregious concern as nearly a dozen faces peered back at him.
The eldest among them was not more than 19, yet age was a moot point in war time. These children became men the moment the government decided it was time for the youth to die for a cause that may not have been their own.
Sergeant Cullen’s heart no longer fluttered in times of war. He’d been through the mill many times and had come out a changed man. This was his profession now, and he’d seen enough battle to know he was good at it.
With distant yelling and the sound of explosions, the battle would soon be upon them. Per his orders, once the sun crested the hill, he and his men were to charge into the Confederate ranks as they approached.
In these last moments before certain death, Cullen imagined what his men were thinking. Former lives, far away from the Hell of war, back where they could be the young men they once were, tending to the lives they rightly should be tending to.
Not here.
Not now.
Not like this.
One set of eyes, not quite dead to the world yet, crept through the mass of emotionless faces. Clinging to what little life and happiness they could, a young private looked to his Sergeant with baby-blue eyes.
A well of life sprang forth and the Sergeant felt the acidic taste of bile creep up the back of his throat as he pondered the likely outcome for this young blue eyed private.
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To protect what little humanity he had left, Sergeant maintained a certain level of obtuse emotions, to protect his spirit as best he could. The young soldier’s face softened and his lips parted as if he wished to speak.
“W-what do you say, sir? Is it time to kill us some Rebels?” he said in a false, forced bravado. Cullen had heard this tone many times before. This was the tone of a scared child, attempting with all his might to sound toughened and ready for the fight.
“Where you from, private?” He asked, genuinely interested in spite of his best efforts.
“Ohio, sir! You?” He asked, excitement laced in his voice. It was subtle, but the boy was looking for strength in the hour before his likely death. He wanted a connection that reminded him he was not in Hell, merely at the gates. Cullen ignored his question.
“Sir, why don’t you ever talk of home? We don’t even know your name for Christ’s sake.” The soldier’s eyes went wide as the words spilled from his lips.
Cullen had not intended to think of home. He never did like thinking of his life before battle. With all he’d seen, all he’d done, he knew he couldn’t face the man that he once was. He was not that man anymore.
“You still have kin? A sweetheart?” Cullen ignored the boy’s outburst, doing his best to feign a smile. As the morning air brushed across his teeth and gums, he felt a sensation of wrongdoing. A smile before a fight was never a good sign.
“Most of my kin is still there. I have three brothers in their own battles somewhere. Hoping to find a pretty gal once I get back home. After I’m done with these Rebels, that is.” The boy offered, a growing confidence creeping across his face.
Cullen felt his stomach churn at the thought of this boy’s family at home, waiting for him. A chill shot through him as he noticed the young soldier was still looking to him, a youthful smile across his cheeks.
The Sergeant nervously wrung his palm around the shaft of his rifle. He walked over to the boy, gently placed his hand on his shoulder, gave three firm pats of reassurance, then made his way to another rock.
Against his better judgement, the young soldier made him think more fondly of home. His life before the war. His love. He often liked to think he did this for her, yet something told him that was a lie.
All his life, Cullen was disgusted at the thought of people being taken, and when the opportunity presented itself to free slaves, nothing was more important to him.
With a tight grip upon the fore end of his rifle, he let his left hand fall to his side and dig into his pocket. Once his fingers found the ruffled edges of paper, he withdrew the contents, revealing an old photograph.
The photo was of the only person he had left to care about. Her beauty projected from the faded photo like star fire as if the wear couldn’t touch her.
Sergeant’s cold eyes danced about the face of the woman who looked back at him. Her eyes were so warm, her face soft and her gentle smile still brought a quickening to his heart; the only way he could tell that he still had one beating.
Reverently, he ran his thumb over her face, pausing at her chin. A nearby shot cracked through the silence causing his men to jump. Cullen put the photo back into his pocket before any of the others could see him in the moment.
“FALL IN!” he commanded, his voice coming over the ensuing battle just out of sight. With a cascade of stomps, his squad fell into line, standing straight as statues, hands firmly on their weapons.
This was the moment that would either kill his men, or turn them into the killing machines he demanded of them.
Cullen’s eyes moved over the line of boys, their expressions an unsettling mixture of fear, rage, hopefulness, and all accompanied by the same dead eyes. All but one pair…
“That moment has come. The moment where, once again, we are required to charge into the inferno, kill those Secesh bastards, and make our way home! Many of our brothers have fallen, and it’s now our turn to make the Rebels pay for what they’ve done. They like killing and enslaving human beings, and are willing to die for that cause. I say to you, it’s about time we grant that request!”
They were ready. Ready to fight, to kill, and to die. A sick sensation filled Cullen’s throat as he once more found those blue eyes looking at him. His life be damned, this boy was going to make it home.
“On my orders, men. We charge into the unknown to battle evil. May God be with you, and your rifles fire true!” With those final words, the Sergeant turned to face the hill.
The dew of the hill began to glow with an amber hue as the sun ran down the side of the hill. The time was now.
“Send ‘em to Hell!” he shouted as he signaled his men to charge. Though his squadron was small, their boots thundered and pounded the ground as they all made their way up the hillside.
Cullen crested the hilltop and brought his rifle to the ready. The rest of his men followed suit as they rounded the hill and feted a few paces ahead of him, dropping to one knee with rifles up. Time stopped.
In that frozen moment, an instant turned into an eternity, all Cullen saw before him was death and killing. A sea of bodies strewn about the endless battlefield.
Men stepping on the corpses of their fallen brothers, wanting only to survive. Crimson stained all that could be seen and in spite of all the shooting, cannons, and explosions, all that could be heard were the screams. In those screams, there were no allies or enemies. All are allies in death.
Cullen looked to his men. Rifles out, faces sighted in, rigid and locked, waiting for the next order. He was proud to have these men at his side. A flicker of panic ran over him as he remembered the young blue-eyed boy. He shot a frantic gaze around until he saw a glint of sapphire from the side of a sight.
“Watch for the boy—” he whispered to himself.
A whirring stabbed his ears, and like the movement of a clock, the gears began to turn, life came back and the battle no longer sat frozen in time.
A group of Rebels began to make their way toward the hill.
“Hold fire. Don’t engage ’till you can smell the sweat of their brow!” Cullen commanded, noticing the shaking start to develop in his men. Their adrenalin was pumping into every part of their bodies and soon they would be able to do what they came there to do.
“Fire!” he screamed over the roar. He brought his rifle to his cheek and took aim at a soldier directly in front of him. Their eyes locked in an animalistic instinct of hatred and distain. With a light squeeze, a thunderous commotion emerged as a wave of smoke and fire washed over the advancing soldier and his shoulder shook from recoil.
Mists of pink and red sprayed through the air before them as the faces of their enemies went blank, and the life flooded from their expressions.
“Bayonets. Fire at will. Make ‘em regret takin’ arms!” Cullen yelled to his men, as he took his rifle in one hand and pulled his revolver from his belt.
Some of his men were fumbling with their rifles, reloading the next shot, while others charged with blades out.
Cullen drew back the hammer of his revolver and took aim at a soldier that approached one of the boys reloading his rifle. The shot hit the enemy soldier in the side.
Drawing the hammer back again, the Sergeant found another soldier making his way past the line. He was struck in the stomach and the soldier he was attacking ran him thorough with a bayonet, pushing him away and advancing on the next.
Chaos was all around him, but Cullen remained cold and with a steady hand. His next two shots also found their marks, sending two more soldiers back from the hill. In the calamity, he had nearly forgotten the young soldier he vowed to protect.
His sharp gaze was timely as he found the young boy, fighting off two Rebel soldiers who were trying to pry the rifle from his desperate hands. Cullen raised his last shot to one of the men. The sharp snap was followed by the back of one of the soldier’s heads exploding, and he fell limp upon the ground.
The young boy was on his back trying to fight off the second Rebel soldier when Cullen
brought the tip of his boot up against the attackers jaw. The crunch of bone and flex of dislocation was almost sickening and a light spray of fluid followed the man to the ground.
Cullen brought the butt of his rifle down on the face of his foe; silencing the threat for good.
“Stick close to me! Today’s not your day to fall, soldier.” The blue-eyed soldier looked to his superior, grateful and in shock of what just happened.
“Sir—” He began.
“It’s Cullen, son.” The Sergeant interrupted. He stepped back and handed the young boy his rifle.
“Cullen…” The soldier trailed off as if the word was foreign, before snapping back to attention.
“The name’s Sam.” The brief interlude from battle was stolen away as another group of soldiers sounded their charge and began to make their way up the hill, bayonets at the ready.
Cullen bent to pick up another revolver that had fallen to the ground. Holding them by the barrels, the heavy pistols now became bludgeons. As the enemy approached the top of the hill, Cullen ran in front of Sam to cut off the first two attackers.
Using the pistols he knocked away the first soldier’s rifle and brought the handle of his revolver down on his forehead. The second soldier was also knocked away as Sam stepped from the side and thrust his blade into their combatant’s stomach.
Looking up, Cullen saw six more pairs of eyes peering into his soul. With a final inhalation, he began the charge down the hill.
“Run, Sam!” He screamed at the boy who stood in paralyzed shock. Cullen had never experienced this level of savagery before. He didn’t know where this sudden bout of rage had come from, or why he felt such a strong need to save the blue-eyed Sam; and yet he fought on.
All he wanted was to fight to protect Sam, the thought consumed him. The next attacker bested Cullen as he threw himself into Cullen’s chest and the two fell to the ground.
The Gabrielle Series Boxed Set Page 27
