Chapter 1: Leave Ashes Behind
1724 Annus Sanctus
The thick smoke burned her lungs; with every breath Aelis it was as if a hairball lodged itself in her lungs, and she would choke only to catch her breath and choke some more, continuing the cycle of horrid events. It wasn’t even the breathing that was difficult, the black smog stung her eyes until they watered and singed her pale skin. It wasn’t too long ago that the entire orphanage was sound asleep in the early hours of the morning, the cherubim babes snuggled into their tattered blankets. But they would be dead.
Aeilis pushed her soot-matted hair, once platinum, out of her face – the stubborn strands clung to her neck and shoulders making it all the worse for wear. The wood beneath her feet heated and curled, their splinters latching onto the exposed skin, slicing it – infection could set in even if she did escape death by fire. It was strangely quiet, though, for an orphanage burning to hell, but perhaps it was all for the best to not have to hear the screams of children being torched alive. It was quiet save for the crackling of flames and an odd sizzling noise. It was best to ignore it.
Another gasp and a rasp burst through her smoke-strangled throat as she hammered at the thick oak door – bolted shut from the outside? Then she tried the windows, thumping her fists against the thick glass, prying until her nails tore off her very fingers. There was no use; even the windows were sealed with age. The roar of flames in the background filled her head. There was no use, was there?
If it was even possible, the heat grew even hotter, peeling her skin; she took a breath of smoke and the smell of burning hair – and flesh – reached her lungs. “Help!” Like it would be loud enough, anyway. She forced her eyes to open and accept the searing smoke – if it were to be the last thing she did, she would see why she was stupid enough to die. Even though everything tore at her auburn irises, Aelis couldn’t see a thing, the smoke making her knees give way and strike the peeling floor. Hell, she would love to die now.
She slapped herself mentally. Not now. Not yet. She couldn’t die yet, not when she’s survived so long. There had to be something, anything, laying around – Old Man Jargus always had a room full of garbage – she needed something! Blistered hands scraped, groped for any sort of object, any type of hope – and yes! What was it? No matter. Aelis’s heart almost soared out of her chest for the sake of joy, and her fingers curled about a fire-whitened hilt. It burned the skin off her hands. It was as if the fire itself seared a path up the nerves of her arm and well into her very core. With a scream ripping from her vocal chords and past her lips, Aelis forced her air-starved muscles to move, and jammed the tip of the heated sword into the crevice of the shut window and pried.
With a crack and a shock of cold air, it opened. Aelis couldn’t wait to scramble out the window, heaving herself onto the ledge. It finally happened; the adrenaline left her limbs and all she could do was slip off, land with a thud onto the earthen floor, and crawl on her hands and knees as far as she could go. Air. Gulps of air filled her lungs – and Gods – she would be caught for heresy for saying that – was it heaven. Her light gasps came out in white puffs; it was almost heaven in the frigid air of winter.
Clattering steel and gruff voices took to the air; it sounded like soldiers – guards? It didn’t matter if they were here to help. It didn’t matter if they were here to kill her. She just had to run. She was angry – yes, that was it. Aelis’s jaw clenched. Everything has gone. “Shit.” Amazed that she still had breath to utter anything – albeit it being under her breath – Aelis staggered up to feet and ran into the forest, rusted sword still in tow.
* *
His hand tangled in her fire red hair. The other one – she didn’t want to feel it. She didn’t want to feel it groping her breast hard enough to bruise. His armor too – it crushed her against the hard, snow-dusted earth. She screamed, screamed, screamed, her voice ripping from her throat just as he tears the top of her already tattered shirt. Maybe she should focus on the cold floor, the roots of old trees digging into her back, as he yanked her hair, snapping her head back, attacking her neck with frenzied bites. Maybe she should focus on the sound of dried leaves shuffling as he rasped in her ear, “How do you like your Goddess, Heretic?” He laughed, and she winced. “Pray to her, whore! Pray to your whore Goddess!” The guard laughed.
“Stop – !” Rosalia grimaced as he shoved her legs apart. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t use a thing. She wouldn’t blow it now, not when they were so close.
“You, stop squirming.” He took a fist to her face for some discouragement. A crack accompanied her scream. “You think we don’t know your little orphanage worshipped the Goddess?” Rosalia could only steady her breathing. She couldn’t expose them now. She would close her eyes. That’s it. Ignore how he removed his hand from her hair to grip her throat, and lift her skirt with the other, then fumbling past her undergarments. She would just breathe. That’s it. That’s it. He could have her. And she would forget it.
Get it over with, get it over with, get it over with, she thought, screamed in her head. His fingers greedily pressing inside – it hurt. She would focus on the pain in her broken ankle – it was her own fault for being so clumsy. Tears sprang to her eyes, biting her lips. She wouldn’t care when he fumbled at his leather breeches with a grunt. “Shut-up and stay still, whore. I’ll kill you I hear you screa— Argh!” It stopped. She wouldn’t open her eyes, yet.
“Rosalia!”
Rosalia recognized that voice. Who—?
“Rosalia, get up!” Rosalia opened her eyes to see Aelis standing over a … somewhat wounded guard. Aeilis had struck him, only managing a scratch to his face with the rusted-blunted sword. It wasn’t a bad swing, Rosalia judged, granted that the other girl was a seventeen-year-old and had what was about as useful as a stick. But she was grateful, amused, everything – her hands were shaking. It was one sacrifice she would not have to make in this lifetime. But it was her duty
The guard laughed and lunged at Aelis with his own sharpened edge. Untrained, inexperienced in the art of battle, and utterly startled, Aelis only did the thing she knew: she lifted the sword for a messy parry and shouted, “Rosalia, run!”
Oh if only she could. “Aelis! What are you doing?! Get away!” Rosalia screamed back, slightly exasperated at the other girl. But what did she expect? Aelis was always of the stupid noble sort. And so, Rosalia couldn’t help the idiots. But no matter how stupid the girl was, Rosalia’s heart spilled when she saw red.
“Die, filthy scum.” The guard’s blade jutted from the left side of Aelis’s chest. Her expression was blank, as if she couldn’t or wouldn’t believe that she had died. Rosalia blinked tears from her eyes. It shouldn’t be this way. Even though Aelis was stupid, she didn’t deserve this. He wrenched the sword out, but not before twisting his grip for a morbid squelch that turned Rosalia’s stomach. The thud confirmed that Aelis had become a corpse.
Red stained the lightly snow dusted floor, pooling, pouring. If only it would stop. If only, it would all go back inside. If only…
Just this once.
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