Sorceress

Chapter 3:

My feet beat a deadly drumbeat as I wildly pound through the encampment. Wind scorches my skin, the ground biting into my feet as I race as fast as I bodily can. Fear and adrenaline buzz through my veins, as I know that I am racing for my life. I think that I can hear breathing behind me, footsteps getting closer. My heartbeat flutters wildly like a crazed bird attempting to be free of my ribcage. I vaguely notice that I am out of the settlement, and my instinct to flee pushes me into the forest.

The foliage rakes at my skin, trees reaching out and clawing at me. My breath is coming out as haggard gasps, I need to stop. I pull to a halt. The forest is made up of shadowy trees, branches like wizened hands. I collapse to my knees as I attempt to catch my breath. Any time now, I will hear the rhythmic pounding of hooves and dogs barking tear through the silence of the forest. I cannot let them take me alive. I will not let them take me alive. I refuse. Dragging myself to my feet, I steady my breath, preparing to take off again. Then I run.

Onwards... onwards... onwards... An arrow suddenly whizzes past my head as a horse bursts through the foliage next to me. Swinging around I find myself face to face with the chief of the Viking village I just left. His mouth contorts into a snarl as he lugs his axe at my head. I desperately duck, staggering as my feet attempt to stay stable on the uneven trail. Making a frenzied decision, I turn left, heading off the trail into the wilder part of the forest.

I hear men cursing as they tie their horses up, to head after me. A sudden searing pain burns on my right shoulder where my tribal tattoo is. The pain is excruciating, I duck behind a large tree to my left, crouching on the ground, clutching my shoulder. I know that this means that something drastic or magnificent will happen. A series of orange lights suddenly flicker on in the foliage, setting looming shadows through the forest, and swiftly descending on the band of men charging through the darkened forest. A woman appears to my right, antlers protruding from her head, and a medieval style dress hugging her body. Peering out from behind the tree, I see that the orange lights are torches held by Celtic men and women. The woman addresses the band of men,

"What are you doing in my forest, chasing one of my own," her face remains passive, her waist length auburn hair shimmering in the low light.

"Celtic filth," the chief spits at her. Suddenly, the roots of my tree burst from the ground, seizing the closest man, and dragging him beneath the soil. "WITCH," the chief screams, frozen.

"Whatever you wish," the woman pulls a dagger from her sleeve, throwing it at one of the Vikings. He drops dead. The chief turns a sickly pale colour, looking trapped.

"Very well," he hangs his head in submission, "We are chasing a slave girl, who has run away from her master and killed two of our own." I step out from behind my tree, fully aware that I am not the one with anything to fear any more, this is Abnoba the Celtic Goddess of nature. I pad backwards into the shadows, and Abnoba turns to me, inclines her head, and with a smile strikes them all dead.