*****

Twigs snapped and patches of earth were lifted from its base as the horde trampled its way through the soaking forest. Birds, deer, and critters seeking refuge from the falling rain all scurried out of their holes and nests in fear of becoming mashed flesh. The booms of thunder were drowned under the crushing waves of footsteps charging across the land. Mud and water splashed across their legs with every stomp.

The world shook in the stampede’s tread. But to Risa everything stood still in the darkness. The sounds of the world around her could barely be heard in the empty void she lay in. She felt as light as the air she breathed, and with every breath she felt lighter. She wanted to stay in this desolate place, asleep and forever dreaming. But something in the back of her mind came nagging for her to wake. A blurry image took shape behind her eyelids. She could recognise the face of her father through the emptiness of her mind. Old memories of him began to shine in the darkness. She felt nostalgic watching the memories of times with her father glide by in the empty abyss. With every passing image she was reminded of the promise she made to herself: To learn the details of her father’s demise. This promise began to shift into her memories making the face of her father crack and crumble to dust. Soon all of the memories were of her playing on her own.

She could not bare to see herself alone anymore so she left her warm comforting nihility and returned to the cold parlous world. Blinding light poured into the abyss and pain marched in unannounced. The smell of wet grass and wood tickled her nose. The sound of pouring rain and distant thunder danced in her ears. The light dispersed and the real world followed suit. Trampled moss, wet mud, and dirty boots filled her vision leaving her dazed and confused. Everything seemed to bounce roughly in her vision making the pain grow. She lifted her head and saw that she was slung over the shoulder of a muddy stranger. His orange beard seemed like a fire on his face. But as her hazy vision began to clear she realised that it was blood splashed across the stranger’s face and not mud.

She then remembered the previous night. The storm was raging above and the ship was rocking violently back and forth. Before the storm arrived she spent her time on the voyage confined in her cabin sick to her stomach. So her time during the storm was a living hell. Every single twitch sent her running to the bucket to empty her already empty stomach. Her mouth was filled with the acidic taste of bile when the door to her cabin swung open. A man with a bludgeon stood in the doorway looking at her with seething hatred. He charged at her with killing intent, and she quickly responded. She grabbed her axe from the floor and parried his overhead strike, and after forcing his bludgeon away she slashed across his chest. He collapsed to the floor in pain clutching at the gaping chasm that ripped open his flesh. Her saliva turned thin and her throat felt heavy. She tried her best to hold it down, but more men barged in carrying pikes and pitchforks. She lazily swung her axe to sway them back but one of the men tackled her to the floor. Before she could fight back her vision went black and a brief yet sharp pain sent her floating down into her dreamworld.

She scanned around to know more of the situation she was in, how many men were present, how fast they were running, and most importantly if she could escape their capture. She lifted her arms but discovered that they were tied behind her back. She thought about kicking her carrier but realised that it would do no good as someone else would just simply take his place. She rushed through each of her options in her mind, but with every fruitless option she grew more panicked. The last thing she wanted was to remain a prisoner. Her panic shifted into her bound limbs as they squirmed about.

Seeing that she was awake the man carrying her dropped her down into the muddy floor. Half of her face was submerged into the dirt leaving her one eye to look at the brute towering over her. The thudding feet around her suddenly stopped. The man crouched down over her, his face darkened by his long wet black hair. The blood on his face began to wash off. She could feel his balmy breath on her skin as he spoke, “Don’t cause any trouble now, ya hear?! And if you scream…” He pulled a knife from his belt and pressed it against her throat to finish his sentence.

“Yes. Fine.” She thought it best to answer him but when she tasted mud and grass she regretted not giving a simple nod.

He stared at her for a moment before sheathing his knife. He bent down to lift her over his shoulder once again. The horde went back to its march.

Not long passed until everyone slowed down to a simple jog then a walk. Distant cheering could be heard which grew louder as they approached. Risa turned her head to see the commotion ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw tents and women standing beside them. The women were clapping, singing, and running to embrace their men. Few were looking around desperately until their faces became shocked with realisation and they dropped to their knees sobbing. As she was carried through the camp, she met eyes with more strangers all of whom began to sneer at her trepidation.

Another crowd began to follow behind the man carrying Risa. She listened to them exploring the many options of execution. Hanging, beheading, stretching, burning, and beating her to death, they all made the crow grow excited at the notion of her demise. Their excitement soon grew too much to hold inside, and both men and women started jumping for the sky, chanting old songs about witches burning, and throwing mud and various vegetables at her face. The only comfort for her was knowing why she was captured. She thought of worse reasons for dying than fanatics wishing for blood.

She was dropped to the ground again but this time she dropped with force. The impact caused her to bite her tongue filling her mouth with the taste of bloody mud. She rolled over onto her back to look at the faces spitting down at her. Fear and anxiety rushed to her eyes and tears welled over her ridges to run down her cheeks. Her heart started beating against her ribcage so hard she thought it would break. Their demeaning voices went louder and the blood in her veins went faster. She felt as if she was in her own personal hell.

But suddenly the voices stopped and the darkness cast over her was lifted away and grey light beamed down onto her. The people parted away from her and she slowly started to feel more relaxed. Now a single face peered down at her. His smile seemed warmed but the kind of warmth felt before the autumn and winter colds took over. His robe was heavily stained with all sorts of filth. She thought of how much it needed a wash.

He crouched down and spoke in a soft and soothing tone, “Please do not be afraid. These people are just… unaccustomed to manners that you are used to. I ask that you forgive them.”

She stared at him confused. She felt the desire for her death from the people, not a lack of manners.

“My name is Rowan, and I am the shepherd of this violent flock. Worry not. All will be explained in time, your highness.”

She felt even more confused now. She was sure that he referred to her as royalty, but she was unsure as to why. Then the taste of mud and the earlier shouts to kill the witch gave her a possible reason. She suspected that these people heard rumours of the Queen being a witch, and so banded together to snuff out her blight. They must not have seen the Queen before either in order to identify an imposter through the mud on her face and in her hair. A plan began to form in her head. To avoid dying she would need to keep her true self a secret and then appeal to the kindness of someone when the time was right. She lowered her head a little to hide her face in her boggy hair.

Rowan noticed her head drooping but mistook it for despair, “Oh please do not cry! Nothing degrading or immoral will be done upon you from now on. In fact, you will be given a bath! And some warm food! Dry clothes! I will give you anything to make your stay a little more comfortable.”

He sounded desperate, as if he was trying to appeal to a lion he just robbed of its dinner. Yet she knew that this lion was chained up with no escape. But that did not stop her from trying, “Give me a horse and let me go.” She spoke quickly and softly.

He groaned at that request, “I wish I could, truly I do. But for your own safety I cannot grant you what you want. There are some bad men in The Moss. You must stay with us, I insist that you do.”

She expected this, “Then I don’t want any of your false kindness. Just tie me to post already.”

He was surprised at her request. He did not know what to say for a moment except for, “Very well.”

He turned to the crowd and relayed her request to them. Three men stepped forward almost immediately when he finished speaking.

She was relieved that he did not press further for a bath. The last thing she wanted was him discovering her secret. She let herself sigh in relief when she was lifted off the ground. They carried her deeper into the camp, and took her past a circle of large braziers. She noticed specks and streaks of dark red all over the base of the braziers. She glanced at the centre and saw clumps of hair all over. The whole space gave off a scent of an occult potency. A shiver crawled up the ends of her hairs. She looked away from it to avoid wondering what could have transpired here.

She was placed next to the trunk of a tall oak tree and tied to it with her hands along the sides behind her. Another layer of rope was wrapped around her abdomen and the tree. Suddenly the trio stopped tying her up and stared off into the distance in horror. They then hastily finished tying her to the tree, and quickly wrapped a small cloth over her mouth unintentionally making the knot too tight. It squeezed at the back of her skull, the pain demanding it to be less constricted.

A weighty thudding on the grounded boomed behind her. She could feel the heavy footsteps approaching her position. With every step the noise grew louder. She turned her head to know what was coming her way but her vision was blocked by the thick trunk. A painful groan bellowed behind her. She tried to twist her body around to see beyond the trunk. But then out of nowhere a large tangle of flesh slammed its fists into the ground within her vision. Her eyes shot open and her heart almost stopped from fright. A fearful curiosity bound her eyes to this sight. More of the creature slowly moved into the open. She saw its many arms connected to a living carcass. Broken rib bones protruded from its chest revealing a heartbeat continuously stretching the skin outward. Blood gushed out from open scars and orifices. Her eyes darted up towards its numerous heads. It turned them all to look at her, and finally she found the strength to look away. The gag made her feel strangled as her breath quickened.

She sensed movement from behind and shut her eyes from seeing more of the horror. Deathly moans and ragged breathing alerted her to its devouring presence in front of her. Its ragged breaths were ice cold against her feverish skin. But then for a moment, there was nothing. She heard nothing but still sensed a presence. She opened her eyes to see if the monster was walking away. Milky pale and rotten eyes stared back at her. Terror kept her frozen in place unable to react. She looked deep into its black irises searching for any shred of life. From its mouths came a soft hollow moan which then crescendoed into a piercing screech that deafened her ears and silenced her scream.

*****

Rowan turned to his followers as the queen was taken away. He smiled his gratitude to those who brought her to their camp. But he turned stern when he looked upon the others who humiliated her. Seeing her face marred and obstructed by wet earth irritated him. He was about to voice his displeasure but a teary eyed woman stepped forward, “My son! Father Rowan, I can’t see my son anywhere! What happened to him?”

His eyes connected with hers and his irritation slipped away. He gave a reply that was meant for everyone to hear, “Many tragically fell. It was the risk we all took. But your son and a few others died for a great purpose! Even though they died at the hands of devilish men their fates ushered forward a new era of peace. So mourn them, remember them, and thank them for…”

His speech was cut short by a piercing screech that cut through everything. The crowd took a step back from fright, birds flew from their nests, and the branches of trees swayed back and forth as if running away from the sound. It echoed out in the forest becoming a distant shrill. It took a while before everything subsided back into silence. He turned to the direction of the scream’s origin with a puzzled look. His followers approached him, seeking protection within his presence, but he had a different agenda in mind. That scream of terror could have only come from one being: Gore. Rowan knew that his child was strange and deformed in mind and soul, but it carried the will of Veritas meaning that its actions carried purpose. He remembered that the Queen was escorted in that direction, and no doubt encountered Gore. Perhaps, she is the cause for its sudden outburst, but if so, why? He thought.

He walked away from his people despite their pleadings for him to remain. He just shrugged them off and continued forth. As he passed tents and firepits, the sound of tears and whimpering grew louder. He followed the sadness to see Gore crouched over the Queen who was tied to a stump. The beast breathed its foul stench into her face. The audacity of Gore enraged him, that was no way to treat someone as important as her majesty! He stepped between the two shoving the mismatched form away from her, but as he locked eyes with the beast, he stopped in his tracks. Something was off about them, they were agitated. He followed their direction over to her, and pondered on the reason for its anger.

He stared right into her eyes and asked, “What is your name?”

He noticed the hesitation in her voice, “Myranda Rose. The Queen.”

Again, something felt off. He growled at himself for not noticing it earlier when he first spoke to her. He leaned in close to her and wiped away some mud from her face. She flinched away from his touch making him more suspicious. He then wiped off some mud from her hair and noted how he could not see a single shade of red underneath the remaining dirt. An imposter! The realisation of it all made him ask again, “Who are you really?”

She sighed in defeat and mumbled in reply, “Risa Moora”

His anger faded as she spoke her true name. It was a name he had heard once before, a familiar name, “Interesting name.” He voiced his intrigue.

She stared daggers at him, as if he had just poked a deep wound of hers, “What’s it to you?! You’re still going to kill me anyways… or worse.”

“I know that name. Are you perhaps related to Erik Moora? The famous alchemist and preacher?” His eyes lit up with wonder as he asked.

She stared at him dumbfounded for a few moments before replying, “What are you talking about? My father was not a holy man.”

“Oh, on the contrary he was the holiest of men! More of a deliverer I would say. I have him to thank for where I am today!” The excitement in his words were clear. She tried to speak back to him, but he continued over her, ignoring her questions, “I must offer my condolences for his unfortunate demise. Even to this day, I feel as if part of me died along with him. I swear to you that I will achieve the dream he once sought for you, and that I will bring his murderer to justice!”

Finally, she was able to speak her piece, “Will you just stop for a moment, and start talking sense?! How do you know my father? What dream are you talking about? What murderer?!”

The confusion in her voice alarmed him. He found it odd that Erik’s own daughter did not know the answers to the questions she was asking, but paid them no attention, “If I may ask, and I also mean no offence by this, but are you a virgin?”

She began stuttering in surprise, and through a crimson face she gave an answer, “W-what?! No! Of course not!”

He smiled with joy and spoke loudly, “Excellent! Tonight is also a half-moon which means that this is our one chance to achieve your father’s wish. This truly must be the work of Veritas! Oh, please don’t fear, your soul will remain whole. As for your body, well best not to worry about it.” He spoke those sinister words through a smile of childlike innocence. All Risa could do was stare at him, eyes wide with fear. She darted back and forth between the smiling man and the monster behind. Even Rowan could tell what she was thinking, but fortunately for her, she was not going to endure the same fate as Gore. No, he was going to finish the ritual her father started years ago.