HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Emergence: Part I, Chapter 2

And now?

Torch in hand, he lost no time in leading her through the gatehouse with purposeful strides and through a tunnel-like passage. As powerful as he was, she still found him to be quite humble, though she was fully expecting a spiteful quip or at least a sneer from the upper class guards to remind her of her place even upon entering this new society. But she received neither. There wasn't a hint or a clue as to who he was or how he felt – his face was expressionless, almost vacant. Nervously, she pulled a hand from her pocket, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and then cupped her hand over the back of her neck, hoping to ease the tension knotted there.

"I am Ward, the gatekeeper. You need not be afraid."

Interesting. He didn't seem one for making small talk.

"Thank you, Ward. But I am not afraid," she claimed, following along beside him in a daze. He mentioned something about "others", but she had put that troubling thought aside for now.

Ward frowned and paused. "I recall hearing of a fire in Maydale some seasons ago." She balked at the unexpected statement. How did this stranger know when no one had spoken about it since the day it happened? No one in Maydale, not even her uncle, would have dreamed of mentioning it in conversation, so she hadn't considered what she would say if the subject were to arise. Then, she felt a shift of energy in the air.

"There was such a fire, yes," she answered automatically. At Ward's odd look she added, "I was there."

With white, almost all-knowing eyes, he looked down through the slits of his helmet and stared at her. "Thirty-four of your people died that day, including your mother."

Suddenly, it was hot. Too hot. She remembered the incident clearly then and somewhere deep inside, her mind opened up. The flare of memories ignited with a noise, a sound, a feeling, an emotion. It was screaming. She wasn't sure whether she could hear it or feel it, but it was there. Within mere moments, the souls of the dead were surrounding her in the flames, yet the sound of their voices were quiet, like the muffled hum of screams underwater, etched into her heart like acid, carving long scores in the fabric of her being. The screams of the dead were haunting, but the screams of the dying were the most painful.

Amongst the dead and dying, her mind continued to plunge further into the depths of memory – deep enough to see one soul burning with a color she could not describe, but she knew it to be her own. Lost in the ether, blinded, and crying out like ravens calling into the night.

Calm. Be calm, she thought, releasing a stifled breath.

When they proceeded through a set of double doors at the other end of the tunnel, Cecily found herself in a spacious bailey, and it became apparent that, much like Maydale, Imrath was a bustling place, a living, breathing entity, and its many inhabitants hurried passed along the avenues, preoccupied with their duties.

Breaking the long silence between them, Ward said, "You shall wait here until summoned." His tone was still void of emotion. "You have suffered much for one so young. We are always faced with suffering. Do not dwell in anger, but in patience. Mark it well."

Cecily nodded, understanding, and lifted her gaze to find his eyes on her still. They held a sympathy that made her wonder if he had read her thoughts and felt the fire as well.

"Thank you," she said, bowing her head. His words gave her courage.

Heaving her satchel over one shoulder, she walked solemnly toward the avenue leading to the bailey, wondering how long it would take before the "others" came to fetch her. As she walked, her steps grew surer, and her pace quickened. Soon her youthful exuberance took over and she began running ahead.