by Edison G. S.
But she made an effort to keep her faith in the Sand God and hoped something would prosper.
Tara
The last Maxwell, daughter of the betrayer—Tara had heard those nicknames for so many years they seemed more real than her name. Twelve years had passed and she still had to deal with the stigma of being a Maxwell. She had been told many times how shameful it was to be a Maxwell and she would agree just to avoid the pain and vexation if she dared to object. But deep down, she knew being a Maxwell was something to be proud of. For generations, the Maxwells were leaders, smart people, and as beautiful as gods. No one ever complimented her for her looks, even with her sparkling emerald eyes and champagne-blonde wavy hair just as her father; her beauty resonated within her, unlike other girls she knew whose outer beauty was diminished by their malevolent demeanors.
She had been an innocent seven-year old child living the life of princess when her father was killed and she was taken as a “refugee” by the king. That fat bastard, she thought while sitting on the stark cold ground of her dungeon. Too often she unwillingly had to bend down on knee to the king when she really dreamed of stabbing him through his nefarious heart. The guards would attack and kill her in the act and the king would probably live, but at least she could die trying. Nevertheless, she would certainly not rest in peace; her soul would regret not carrying out a proper revenge, her duty as a Maxwell. For twelve years, the king had tortured her and it would be beyond stupidity to die without making him pay for it.
As she sat within the grim confines of her “residence,” she found herself thinking about all those whom offended her in her life. Dirt bags, Tara thought every time she remembered how they had mistreated her during the instances in which she was allowed to walk around town, always accompanied by guards. The villagers did not care about their fellow citizens of The Land of The Men. In Tara’s eyes, they were all the same selfish bastards as their king. Citizens of Lera blindly trusted their ruler for they were all rich merchants enjoying the privilege of living in the most protected city and all shared the same ideology.
Sitting there, she noticed Commander Winterton had not shown up. She was lucky to have him. He had explained to her the power and strength the city had against demons. Since she was taken “refuge,” demons had attacked the city less than ten times in twelve years, and they had been unsuccessful to cause much damage.
The protection around the city was incredibly strong as huge archer towers and a wall of at least eighty feet defended it. Torches were well distributed around the wall for soldiers to easily spot demons in the vast forest bordering the city. The finest archers guarded the city and shot any demons that tried to scale the wall. Trained wolves would neutralize any surviving demons entering the city.
For the majority of the city’s residents, it was a privilege to live in Lera, except for Tara who dreamed of finding a different world beyond the city’s limits. If she was free, she could run to a place where she would not be humiliated anymore.
She looked around the dark dungeon and tried to hold back the tears and instead grabbed her knees to her chest and hid her face between them. The dungeon reeked of urine and excrements. Multiple prisoners had come, died, and left the space empty for a new tenant over the years. It made her wonder what kept her alive; a young, weak woman capable of living in a despicable situation in which even the strongest men could not endure.
It seemed strange, but she wished she were back in her “room,” a small pile of hay in the stables belonging to the king. At least there she had come to enjoy the company of the horses.
There were hundreds of rooms in the Excarta Castle; however, the king only afforded Tara the grisliest lodging. She was certain he gladly kept her alive to witness her suffering. What have I done to deserve his hatred? she thought while wiping her tears away. But she knew the answer resided with her heritage. Her father started a rebellion that ended with tragedy on both sides including the deaths of part of the royal family and the king would always resent the Maxwell clan for their part in the situation.
Slowly, she rolled into a fetal position and closed her eyes, still moist with tears. Her disheveled golden hair laid spread out over the sullied ground, her pale, exposed skin quivered in the frigid prison, yet Tara drifted off to sleep until the misery began again the following day.
***
The morning came, but the sunlight did not reach the dungeons. Tara woke up to sounds outside the castle. She felt her sore muscles; the cold ground once again made her body tremble in pain.
She looked at the large wooden door expecting somebody to burst in and set her free once and forever, but instead a maid hastily entered and took her upstairs to her room—her punishment was over, for now. She had made a terrible mistake by burning the bread she was baking the day before. She was at least mindful to be sent to the dungeons and not the king’s chambers.
She walked past the chapel where some servants were praying to the Coral god. Sometimes she had to pray to their god, but she never believed in him. She was raised believing in Acacious in her younger years, but she could not have faith in anything anymore. She felt remorseful to think that way and pondered the thought if she had some faith Acacious would grant her with her father’s company when she finally died. Their Water God can drown them, she thought and kept her pace. The statue with the shape of a man covered in seaweed and standing surrounded by coral seemed to be looking at her as if reproaching her thoughts.
Commander Winterton greeted her after the maid had left her in her small room, “Child, tonight you will sleep warm again. Next time you burn bread, throw it away hastily. Do not get caught again,” he suggested, sadness in his eyes reflecting his remorse.
She smiled softly and was grateful to see him; “You should not talk to me when the maids are nearby.”
“I could not visit you last night. The king summoned a meeting of his council,” he said, his islander accent extenuated. Every time she was sent to the dungeons, he visited her and talked to her for a couple of hours to help her escape her silence and loneliness.
“I understand,” she said while he unbolted the lock attached to the stable door; Tara was locked in every night to prevent her escape.
A woman appeared from an empty hall and Commander Winterton turned away from Tara. “Here,” the woman said giving her some baskets, “collect eggs,” she demanded and then left. Tara knew the woman very well; she had lost two sons in the war and detested Tara. When Tara was younger, the woman mocked her when she became in a woman, by showing the blood on the floor to everybody while Tara covered her stained pants. Commander Winterton had punished the woman for her menacing behavior and she had left Tara alone since that day. If she told the king a thing about Winterton’s interest in protecting Tara, he would ensure the death of the woman’s sole child. Although Tara was certain he would not do such thing.
Winterton had wanted Tara’s freedom for quite some time and Tara somehow felt he had the power to release her. Whenever he brought toys for her she had asked, “Can I go home now?” but he only smiled softly and explained he had no power to help her in that manner; the only assistance he could provide was the toys he gave her to help her mind escape the horrors of her reality. The king would surely kill him if he ever saw the hidden toys, but he would do much worse if Tara escaped with his aid. Winterton had a family to care for, which Tara understood.
He left her alone to go about her task. She walked to the farm and started collecting eggs; the king was planning a celebration to commemorate the anniversary of his victory against Lance Maxwell. A parade was also planned; therefore, all of the maids were running around the castle hectic in preparation by gathering food, decorating the quarters, and setting the tables.
This time of the year she thought about Prince Thomas. She remembered playing with him when she was allowed as a child. He was her friend for a few years until they were about thirteen and an incident ended their friendship. Just then she was abruptly removed from her thoughts.
<
br /> “Look! The Maxwell wench,” a young man yelled at her and he and his chums started throwing stones at her.
The chickens started running around as the stones hit the ground around them. Tara covered her head with an arm and left the basket on the ground. A stone impacted the basket and broke all the eggs. The boys ran away, their raucous laughing fading as they disappeared down the road.
Not again. She did not want another night in the dungeon so she made a small hole in the ground and hid the broken shells and started collecting new eggs.
I have to leave this place; I cannot deal with this anymore. Her hands were trembling as her pride was once again hurt. She had been patient for long, but when the time came to regain her freedom, she would savor every minute of her revenge. That fat bastard will pay for everything.
She planned her escape for many years; her plan was straightforward—- escaping and chasing down the demons. As soon as she found them, she would join them. It mattered little if she was taken prisoner or if she lost herself to their evilness; she was ready to do anything to make the king pay for his crimes. I will take that bastard to hell with me. I will come back and haunt him until his life is on the edge. I will have the strength I need. Her hands were trembling again, but this time anger filled her heart.
The only thing she did not prearrange was a way to leave, but everything else was already plotted. As soon as she escaped and was turned into a demon, she planned on letting the soldiers capture her thinking they had Maxwell’s daughter; they would not suspect she had joined the demons. They would throw her back in her “room” and at nightfall she would break the bars and advance to the king’s chambers.
She imagined the moment; first, she would evulse his genitals, leaving him bleeding in agony and begging for forgiveness. She could almost hear his voice in her mind.
However, her plan was not to murder him, but to guarantee he endured the same hell she had for as long as possible. She would have the ultimate say and reestablish the Maxwell name.
Andreas
He sat in a heavy oak armchair at the dining table with his large arms crossed and his eyes gazing sharply upon the horizon at nothing in particular. His immense foot kept tapping on the ground below and the noise was becoming noticeable. What can I do? he pondered.
“Where is your mind, my love?” Marie interrupted his thoughts, massaging his scalp delicately.
Without being capable of articulating a sentence, he just kept his mouth shut. She stared at him with eyes marked by dark circles that seemed to read his soul.
“Right here with you my love,” he replied, concealing the worry that perturbed him just seconds prior. His vast pride stopped him from looking for comfort from anyone, not even Marie. He stood up from the chair, taller than normal, showing a stronger version of himself.
“You can tell me what reservations you have, whenever you are ready.” She knew him well enough to discern when something bothered him. Instead, she poured some warm fish broth into a bowl and ushered him to sit down again.
He kept silent for a long span of time before noticing the empty spaces at the table. “Did the children eat already?”
She looked away through the window and said softly, “They will eat later.”
“Why are they not joining us?” his curious eyes examined her face.
“I decided we should eat alone this time,” she said shyly.
Anger accumulated in Andreas’ chest, making his breathing louder and forced. He wanted to scream at her. He asked her to try to improve her relationship with the boys, but she did not seem to want to.
“We talked about this. I …”
She interrupted him with her finger on his mouth, “I want to be alone with you my love. I...,” she paused, “I am …carrying your child…a boy for sure,” she burst out, tears welled in her eyes, making them look brighter.
“What?” Andreas seemed troubled by the news at first. His eyes hardened at the realization, but soon he hugged her and forced a smile that promptly fell flat and diminished. The last thing they needed was a new child. The timing was bleak and having a new child caused a great risk for the newborn and the mother.
When his other children were born, he was not the Sub-Commander of the Frozen Land, but now he had much more responsibilities. He feared his baby would be at constant risk all the time. Before his current role, he could just run away with his kids if something happened, but now he was bound to serve his people. Any Sub-Commander that tried to abandon his position would be sentenced to death for treason. He was obligated to fight and a newborn would be a risk for his missions; the innocent baby would be in danger and Andreas’ desire to protect him would interfere with his fight. For this reason, he had even considered sending Aaron and Rolando to their aunt in Lera with only Jeremiah staying with him since the boy did not trust anyone else.
“That is amazing news my love,” he said, but his words were met with worry.
He had experienced the joy of parenthood before, but she had not and she deserved to have a child of her own. The only thing he could do was to support her and share the happiness—or at least fake it.
Anthony, Marie’s brother, spoiled the magic of the moment by bursting in, “Have you heard the news?” he said, closing the door behind him.
Andreas laughed and Anthony hugged him tightly. “I am happy for you,” Anthony said while extending his arm to hug his sister, too. “The Ice Lord knows you have been trying to give your husband a boy for a long time.”
Marie smiled softly. It was true she had been trying to have a baby, but she had not been able to do so as of yet. Darcellene had given Andreas two boys already and Marie could not contend with that, unless she had boys of her own.
Andreas noticed she was lost in thought.. He knew how Marie felt being the second woman in his life; her attitude conveyed her sentimentality. He could not blame her; Darcellene would always be Andreas’ first wife, and true love. He would never forget Darcellene; he still called out her name in his sleep, a fact Marie took offense to and reproached him for it. But now that Marie was going to give him a son, her face reflected sudden confidence. She probably fantasized to make him forget Darcellene, even though the boys were a constant reminder of the amazing woman he loved so deeply.
Anthony sat and joined the dinner, which made Andreas feel curious as to why the children could not share in the happiness; after all, his children were part of his family, regardless of how Marie felt about them. Nonetheless, the last thing he would do was ruin the moment for her.
Andreas, Marie, and Anthony ate, laughed, and celebrated. It seemed so atypical to see Anthony smiling as he used to do years ago. They had been best friends for long, but their arguments had been increasing since they joined the fight against the demons. As if reading his mind, Anthony looked at Andreas with a feeble smile and nodded. Andreas understood they were family this night, not soldiers.
While eating and drinking, Andreas observed carefully the siblings that shared the table. It was then he realized how similar Anthony and Marie were; their physiques were completely different, but their personalities were arduous and brash. Anthony inherited the red hair of the people of The Frozen Land and green eyes of their father, yet Marie had all the traits of the Forest.
The children came back from playing and jokily greeted Anthony. He was not their true uncle, but to them he was family since they were young. Marie gave them a stern look and they walked away to their rooms with their heads down.
“They are late. It makes me wonder if their mother raised them to be like that,” Marie said, as if sudden power emanated from her immature womb. Realizing what she just said, a sudden discomfort filled the room.
“Where is Jeremiah?” Anthony asked to diffuse the heat of the situation, even though the boy had never talked to him and everybody knew he liked to be alone in his room.
Marie came to her senses and laughed loudly as if everything was a joke; Anthony joined her and Andreas faked a laugh though he was not in
the mood to laugh. He witnessed with his own eyes the source of disagreement in the family—Marie. And her pregnancy made her bold enough to openly make diminishing comments in front of him.
Omar
Let him go.
He woke up mumbling repeatedly, “Father, father.” Sweat drenched his body and clothes and he felt nausea starting to build up as he thought of dying right there. The wagon was moving roughly and his body felt stiff from remaining in the same position for so long. The last two days they stopped to find hostels at night and to buy some food to take with them, dried cactus mostly.
Holga did not see Omar brusquely wake up for she was asleep in a restless nap. Neil, on the other hand, was not. “What happened?” he asked, shaking his brother’s arm.
Omar smiled openly to show his brother everything was fine. Considering Neil was only five-years old, Omar knew he did not completely comprehend what happened to their family. Almost half Omar’s age, Neil looked much more like their father than he did; his features were more obvious than Omar’s. The open smile Ernest wore all the time was perfectly drawn on Neil and he possessed the same benevolent soul. Sadly, Omar was mature enough to grasp the situation and would never be able to smile with the same openness again. His soul had been broken and he was unsure if he would ever mend it again.
“Is the Forest still far?” Neil asked. He had been told reaching the Forest was important, yet he seemed to have no clue why it was necessary to search for Aunt Ester. Omar knew their aunt would give them shelter, but he could not understand what else she could do for them. After all, his mother had never talked about her family. Even if they found Ester, she would not be able to change anything; she was a weak, elderly woman Even if she gave him a million reasons to feel secure, to feel warm, or to feel complete, nothing would change the past.
