A harsh cough forced searing air into Cyrah’s lungs and woke her from a deep sleep on the soft chair. Each gasp became more desperate. Eyes burning, porcelain skin coated in sheen of sweat, and aching muscles made her senses burst awake. She sat straight up at the sound of a crash. More than just a hearth’s fire warmed her, the first floor of her cottage was ablaze. Choking made it difficult to focus. She rolled right out of the chair and landed with a clatter on the floor with the book clutched to her chest. Her chest relaxed slightly since she was under most of the smoke, but there was no time to catch her breath. On one hand and two knees she scrambled toward the front door but it was already on fire, and so was the back door through the kitchen and pantry.
The only other place to go was up to her room and out the window.
Cyrah crawled up the stairs one step at a time. Her eyes watered profusely to fight the smoke and tears spilled down her cheeks. Blindly, she groped for the next stair. Panicked, her thoughts rushed, eager to escape the fire quickly and save her animals. She feared they were trapped.
Flames danced, chasing her up the staircase. Her bedroom door hung wide open, so she hurried around the corner to the circular window where she spent every sunrise. Cyrah pushed the window open a crack and ducked low against the floor. A mild flare burst over her head toward the fresh air. She gripped the window frame with one hand, the other clutching the book, and clambered bravely through the window to the roof. She hopped to the side and landed on the roof of the stable, sliding down to the ground with a grunt. Her chickens, goat, cow, and pig all escaped. Maribel neighed frantically. Cyrah rushed inside and lifted the latch that held the half door closed. The mare darted out quickly to a gallop, but not before Cyrah could leap onto her back. They raced away from the quiet village, out to wide open fields.
She slowed the horse to a walk near the edge of the woods on the far side of farm land. While patting Maribel’s shoulder in comfort, Cyrah looked back to the cozy village. Smoke billowed into the starless sky, and then golden glow of her burning home was its source. Her night was turning out to be more exciting than she bargained for, especially when she heard the beating of hooves fast approaching.
“Leo said to make sure she never comes back. Let’s chase her down,” echoed a man’s voice.
“This has to be a nightmare,” Cyrah muttered bitterly. “As I feared. All because I rejected his lavish gifts.” She dug her heels into her steed and directed their path into the woods. Bouncing along with no saddle or stirrups to secure her to Maribel’s back, Cyrah constantly adjusted her grip. She weaved between tree trunks, making her trail difficult to follow but slowing her down. Her hips slid to one side, thighs losing grip. To catch herself, she threw out her arm and grabbed Maribel’s shoulder. The book slipped out of her arm, bouncing on its corners and spine before dropping in the ferns. Cyrah wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck as best she could to hold on, leaving the book behind.
The men chasing her gripped the reins of their bridles and fastened their boots against stirrups. All were slowed as trees thickened, becoming more numerous and difficult to navigate from horseback. Cyrah traveled deeper into the woods than she ever dared before, but could hear her pursuers’ voices still searching for her.
The ground sloped upward gradually, and Maribel decelerated to a stop in front of a stone wall. Cyrah’s head tilted straight back before she found the skyward pointing spikes atop the wall. She patted the mare’s shoulder, instructing her to travel along the wall to the right. The voices of her attempted killers were close, but the noise of trotting horses vanished.
“Damn! She’s gone.”
“Good riddance.”
“The village will be better off without her.”
“She’s caused nothing but trouble since she arrived.”
“Leo told us to get rid of her, though. For good. We have no idea where she is, if she is alive or dead.”
“Do you see this castle? It’s ruled by beasts. Let them make a snack out of her. No hair off my back.”
Cyrah listened as their wicked laughter and the hoofbeats of their horses faded in the distance, their hunt at a decisive end. The solid stone wall to her side transitioned into a rusty iron gate. She slid off the mare’s back and shoved the gate open with both hands. A piercing squeal of stiff hinges resonated between the courtyard’s solid, protective walls. Steps light, she escorted her horse inside the gate but the noise attracted unwanted attention. Monsters like little devils from fairytales waddled toward her. All of them shorter than her, some wielding spears taller than her and others holding rakes for the garden. Those pointing spears at her wore layers of poorly fashioned armor, while the others wore vests and dirtied pants from gardening. Their exposed skin revealed varying shades of red, with short tusks and stubby antlers sprouting from their skulls.
Out of sturdy instinct to survive, Cyrah drew her dagger, which would only be useful if she could lure her opponent near. Swallowing fear, she demanded answers. “Where am I? Who is the master here?” The guards and gardeners responded with snorts and growls, as if they possessed scant intellect. They surrounded her, cutting off her only exit. The nervous mare stomped the ground while shaking her head back and forth wildly. “Fine. If you refuse to talk, I can fight and make you talk later,” she threatened, but they were steadfast.
Cyrah rushed forward to the closest demon and successfully sliced his arm. Although he was not mortally wounded, he disappeared in a cloud of charcoal smoke. Surprised, she asked, “What is this magic?”
Still no comprehensible answers were given. Dagger poised, she turned to a guard but found she was encircled by the creatures. Cyrah searched quickly and found no way out, so she raised her hands toward her head. One of the larger demons, his skin a shade darker than the rest, stepped forward. He gripped her wrist to bring it within his reach and removed the dagger from her limp hand. Pivoting, he yanked to make her stumbled and follow. She obeyed, reluctant but calm, numerous spears at her flank to keep her in line. The mare finally settled down when Cyrah clicked her tongue to gain her attention. At seeing her owner was not distressed, she relaxed and more willingly obeyed the strangers taking her in an opposite direction.
During the tediously long walk around the castle, Cyrah more closely inspected the demons that guided her. Their ears were short and pointed. Every face disfigured differently from the next, and she found not one pair of identical horns. The only consistent attribute was a short snout with a flat nose. They wore no shoes, their feet elongated compared to their stout stature.
Next her gaze fixated to the stone castle and the many arches around the courtyard. The grounds were beautiful and well cared for, more like a fancy park for people to visit than the yard of a creepy castle. Vibrant bushes of flowers were in abundance and blooming brilliantly. The grass was trimmed, each blade a deep green and full of life reaching for sunlight, or the clouded moon that night. Stone paths absent of weeds intricately led like a maze through the tiered courtyards, separated by short staircases that led up to the castle.
The dungeon was Cyrah’s destination. An iron barred door lay flat against the dirt, and was tossed open by the hand of her scarlet chaperone. Beneath, steep steps led underground. A sturdy wooden door blocked their path, which the lead guard opened with a skeleton key. She gagged at the odor that drifted out once the door swung outward, a malodorous, gut wrenching combination of feces and urine. She hoped to escape before she learned the origin of the underlying flavor of rotten flesh.
Pointy spears forced her inside a cell littered with small skeletons that crunched underfoot. The bars to her cell were slammed shut and locked by the crimson leader with a different key than the dungeon door. He turned to the shorter demons and ordered, “Alert the master we have a prisoner.”
Kilena Shrelack 