Читать книгу Only the Worthy - Morgan Rice - Страница 8

Rea sat upright in her simple bed, sweating, awakened by the shrieks that tore through the night. Her heart pounded as she sat in the dark, hoping it was nothing, that it was just another one of the nightmares that had been plaguing her. She gripped the edge of her cheap straw mattress and listened, praying, willing for the night to be silent.

Another shriek came, though, and Rea flinched.

Then another.

They were becoming more frequent – and getting closer.

Frozen in fear, Rea sat there and listened as they neared. Above the sound of the lashing rain there also came the sound of horses, faint at first, then the distinctive sound of swords being drawn. But none were louder than the shrieking.

And then a new sound arose, one which, if possible, was even worse: the crackle of flames. Rea’s heart sank as she realized her village was being set ablaze. That could only mean one thing: the nobles had arrived.

Rea jumped from bed, banging her knee against the andirons, her only possession in her simple one-room cottage, and then running from the house. She emerged to the muddy street, into the warm rain of spring, the downpour getting her instantly wet. Yet she did not care. She blinked into the darkness, still trying to shake off her nightmare. All around her, shutters opened, doors opened, and her fellow villagers stepped tentatively from their cottages. They all stood and stared down the single simple road winding into the village. Rea stared with them and in the distance spotted a glow. Her heart sank. It was a spreading flame.

Living here, in the poorest part of the village, hidden behind the twisting labyrinths that wound their way from the main town square, was, at a time like this, a blessing: she would at least be safe back here. Nobody ever came back here, to this poorest part of town, to these ramshackle cottages where only the servants lived, where the stink of the streets forced people away. It had always felt like a ghetto that Rea could not get out of.

Yet as she watched the flames lick the night, Rea was relieved, for the first time, to live back here, hidden. The nobles would never bother trying to navigate the labyrinthine streets and back alleys that led here. There was nothing to pillage here, after all.

Rea knew that was why her destitute neighbors merely stood there outside their cottages, not panicking, but merely watching. That was why, too, none of them attempted to run to the aid of the villagers in the town center, those rich folk who had looked down upon them their entire lives. They owed them nothing. The poor were safe back here, at least, and they would not risk their lives to save those who had treated them as less than nothing.

And yet, as Rea studied the night, she was baffled to see the flames getting closer, the night brighter. The glow was clearly spreading, creeping its way toward her. She blinked, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her. It didn’t make any sense: the marauders seemed to be heading her way.

The shrieks grew louder, she was certain of it, and she flinched as suddenly flames erupted hardly a hundred feet before her, emerging from the labyrinthine streets. She stood there, stunned: they were coming this way. But why?

Hardly had she finished the thought when a galloping warhorse thundered into the square, ridden by a fierce knight donned in all-black armor. His visor was lowered, his helmet drawn to a sinister point. Wielding a halberd, he looked like a messenger of death.

Barely had he entered the square than he lowered his halberd on the back of a portly old man who tried to run. The man hadn’t even time to scream before the halberd severed his head.

Lightning filled the skies and thunder struck, the rain intensifying, as a dozen more knights burst into the square. One of them bore a standard. It glowed in the light of the torches, yet Rea could not make out the insignia.

Chaos ensued. Villagers panicked, turned and ran, shrieking, some running back into their cottages by some remote instinct, slipping in the mud, a few fleeing through back alleys. Yet even these did not get far before flying spears found a place in their backs. Death, she knew, would spare no one on this night.

Rea did not try to run. She merely stepped back calmly, reached inside the door of her cottage, and drew a sword, a long sword given to her ages ago, a beautiful work of craftsmanship. The sound of it being drawn from its scabbard made her heart beat faster. It was a masterpiece, a weapon she had no right to own, handed down by her father. She didn’t know how he himself had gained it.

Rea walked slowly and resolutely into the center of the town square, the only one of her villagers brave enough to stand their ground, to face these men. She, a frail seventeen-year-old girl, and she alone, had the courage to fight in the face of fear. She didn’t know where her courage came from. She wanted to flee, yet something deep inside her forbade it. Something within her had always driven her to face her fears, whatever the odds. It was not that she did not feel terror; she did. It was that another part of her allowed her to function in the face of it. Challenged her to be stronger than it.

Rea stood there, hands trembling, but forcing herself to stay focused. And as the first horse galloped for her, she raised her sword, stepped up, leaned low, and chopped off the horse’s legs.

It pained her to do it, to maim this beautiful animal; she had, after all, spent most of her life caring for horses. But the man had raised his spear, and she knew her survival was at stake.

The horse shrieked an awful sound that she knew would stay with her the rest of her days. It fell to the ground, face-planting in the dirt and throwing its knight. The horses behind it rode into it, stumbling and crashing down in a pile around her.

In a cloud of dust and chaos, Kyle spun and faced them all, ready to die here.

A single knight, in all-white armor, riding a white horse, different from the others, suddenly charged right for her. She raised her sword to strike again, but this knight was too fast. He moved like lightning. Barely had she raised her sword than he swung his halberd in an upward arc, catching her blade, disarming her. A helpless feeling ran down her arm as her precious weapon was stripped away, sailing in a broad arc through the air and landing in the mud on the far side of the square. It might as well have been a million miles away.

Rea stood there, stunned to find herself defenseless, but most of all confused. That knight’s blow had not been meant to kill her. Why?

Before she could finish the thought the knight, still riding, leaned low and grabbed her; she felt his metal gauntlet digging into her chest as he grabbed her shirt with two hands and in a single motion heaved her up onto his horse, seating her before him. She shrieked at the shock of it, landing roughly on his moving horse, planted firmly in front of him, his metal arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She barely had time to think, much less to breathe, as he held her in a vise. Rea writhed, bucking side to side, but it was no use. He was too strong.

He continued on, galloping right through the village, weaving his way through the tortuous streets and away from her home.

They burst out of the village into the countryside, and suddenly, all was quiet. They rode farther and farther from the chaos, from the pillaging, the shrieking, and Rea could not help but feel guilty for her momentary sense of relief to have the world be at peace again. She felt she should have died back there, with her people. Yet as he held her tighter and tighter, she realized her fate might be even worse.

“Please,” she struggled to say, finding it hard to get the word out.

But he only held her tighter and galloped faster into the open meadow, up and down rolling hills, in the pouring rain, until they were in a place of utter quiet. It was eerie, so quiet and peaceful here, as if nothing had ever been wrong in the world.

Finally he stopped on a broad plateau high above the countryside, beneath an ancient tree, a tree she instantly recognized. She had sat beneath it many times before.

In one quick motion he dismounted, keeping his grip on her and taking her with him. They landed in the wet grass, rolling, stumbling, and Rea felt winded as his weight landed beside her. She noted as they landed that he could have landed on top of her, could have really hurt her, but chose not to. In fact, he landed in a way that cushioned her fall.

The knight rolled on top of her, pinning her down, and she looked up at him, desperate to see his face. It was covered, though, the white visor down, only menacing eyes appearing from behind the slits of his helmet. On his horse she saw that banner again, and this time she got a good look at its insignia: two snakes, wrapped around a moon, a dagger between them, encased in a circle of gold.

Rea flailed, punching his armor. But it was useless. Hers were frail, small hands punching at a suit of metal. She might as well have been punching a boulder.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want of me?”

There came no response.

Instead, he grabbed her with his gauntlet, and the next thing she knew, he turned her around, face first in the grass, and was reaching, pulling at her dress.

Rea cried, realizing what was about to happen. She was seventeen. She had been saving herself for the perfect man. She did not want it to happen this way.

“No!” she cried out. “Please. Anything but that. Kill me first!”

But the knight would not listen, and she knew there was no stopping him.

Rea shut her eyes tight, trying to make it go away, trying to transport herself to another place, another time, anywhere but here. Her nightmare came back to her, the one she had been awakened from, the one she had been having for many moons. It was this, she realized with dread, that she had been seeing. This very scene. This tree, this grass, this plateau. This storm.

Somehow, she had foreseen it.

Rea shut her eyes tighter and tried to imagine this wasn’t happening. She tried to determine if it was worse in the dream, or in real life.

Soon, it was over.

He stopped moving and lay on top of her, she too numb to move.

She heard the sound of metal rising, felt his weight finally off of her, and she braced herself, expecting him to kill her now. She anticipated the blow of his sword. It would be a welcome relief.

“Go on,” she said. “Do it.”

Yet to her surprise there came no sound of a sword, but instead the soft sound of a dainty chain. She felt something cold and light being placed into her palm, and she glanced over, confused.

She squinted in the rain and was stunned to see he had placed a gold necklace in her hand, a pendant at its end, two snakes, wrapped around a moon, a dagger between them.

Finally, he spoke his first words.

“When he is born,” came the dark, mysterious voice, a voice of authority, “give this to him. And send him to me.”

She heard the knight mounting his horse, and became dimly aware of the sound of his riding away.

Rea’s eyes grew heavy. She was too exhausted to move as she lay there in the rain. Her heart shattered, she felt sweet sleep coming on and she allowed it to embrace her. Maybe now, at least, the nightmares would stop.

Before she let them close, she stared out at the necklace, the emblem. She squeezed it, feeling it in her hand, the gold so thick, thick enough to feed her entire village for a lifetime.

Why had he given it to her? Why hadn’t he killed her?

Him, he had said. Not her. He knew she would be pregnant. And he knew it would be a boy.

How?

Suddenly, before sweet sleep took her, it all came rushing back to her. The last piece of her dream.

A boy. She had given birth to a boy. One born of fury. Of violence.

A boy destined to be king.