Playing with Fire ( Redemption Saga Story)

Chapter 1

There are those in Hyland who find a way to hold onto hope, claiming loyalty to the mortal King Willem. They say even if King Willem is held in the lightless dungeons of Hyland, as long as he lives the soul of Hyland lives on.

Those people are idiots. There are no kings now but the monsters who rule us.

I'm certain all that is left of King Willem is ash created by the fire of the Cursed. Ash blown away by the cold winter winds, just as the prosperity of our people has been blown away by the tyranny of the Cursed King Erik, and his son, Prince Raoul.

It's not just Hyland that has fallen. The entirety of Axus is held fast under the plague of the Cursed immortals who war with each other for control.

Still, on winter days in Hyland where the nights are long and the days are short, there is a comfort in sitting by the fire and reading a book written long before the Cursed appeared in Axus. This is my attempt to forget how troubled the outside world is and everything I've lost.

"We need more firewood, Yana," Uncle Maurice shouts from the kitchen, interrupting my sacred hour. "Go out and get some, will you?"

"Yes, Uncle," I say, putting down the book and tugging a thin knit shawl over my shoulders before opening the door. Snow blows into my face and the icy wind sends needles of pain through my bare skin.

I wish I had a winter coat, but the soldiers had taken everything for the war.

Everything except two of my woolen dresses and this useless knit shawl.

The winter can't be over soon enough. Hyland is the northernmost city in Axus. Why my ancestors thought it was a good idea to settle here in this damnably cold forest is beyond me.

I sling a coil of rope over my shoulder and pick up the axe leaning against the side of our ramshackle cabin and let the heavy metal head drag a trail in the snow as I walk into the woods.

Because we live on the outskirts of the city, it doesn't take me long to find a tree. I find one that I'll have the strength to fell and let my axe eat wood.

I'm strong for a human woman, but not as strong as my brother Calder would have been. He used to get the firewood for us.

But now Calder is gone, I think as I hack away at the tree. Just like every other able-bodied human male in Hyland. Everyone except Uncle Maurice who is too old and crippled to be of any use.

Finally, too long after my hands are numb from the blistering wind, the tree falls. I blow into my hands and rub them together before tying the rope I brought around the trunk and dragging the tree back to the cabin.

I find a sheltered place next to the cabin so I'm out of the direct bite of the wind while I cut up the tree into pieces for the stove.

As I chop, I hear a faint scream for help.

Keep your head down, don't bother with anyone else's problems. That's how this cruel world works.

The scream carries louder. It sounds like a child.

I pause from chopping and wipe my dripping nose. The scream happens again, and I gaze out in the direction of the sound.

Keep my head down.

"Help me, please!"

It is definitely a child.

Damn.

I prop the axe up over my shoulder and run in the direction of the sound.

Upon reaching a clearing in the woods I realize I've come upon a situation outside my own human plight.

It's outside my species.

Two Stog people, who are bipedal forest dwellers living mostly in primitive herds on the outskirts of human cities to trade pelts and leather with humans for our medical advancements, are in the clearing. Their appearance is distinct, standing on two cloven hooves with similar features to deer, while from the waist up they have human qualities save antlers that decorate their heads.

A Stog fawn, who looks close to thirteen, is the owner of the screams. She's doing all she can to get away from the large Stog buck who looms over her at least seven feet tall.

I pause momentarily. The sharp antlers decorating an adult male Stog's head are dangerous and even with my axe, I'm no match for him.

Why do I always have to care too much?

The buck sees me and stops his assault on the doeling. He rises, still holding her wrist in one hand. "What are you staring at? She's my wife. And I'm bringing her back to my herd."

"Please, help me! He's going to hurt me!" the fawn cries. The spots from her youthful coat are still striped down her back.

She's much too young to be a wife.

"She doesn't seem like she wants to be your wife," I challenge the buck, whilst thinking to myself because I'm an idiot who wants to get impaled on his antlers.

"You humans, always meddling in the affairs of everyone else," the big buck spits at my feet. "This doe was promised to me as soon as she came into season. I'm simply claiming her for my herd. But since I know you can't possibly understand our customs, I'll give you one more chance to go back to your own, woman."

"I'm sorry," I say, lifting the axe off my shoulder and holding it out in front of me. "The fawn comes back with me. She's only a child."

"You were warned!" The buck snorts, raking a cloven hoof over the snow.

Shit. This bastard may end up killing me, but it's possible he's too jacked up on hormones to fight with a clear head. If anything, I'm going to make him bleed first.

I raise the axe back, readying myself to get in a good swing. Preferably at his lower bits.

Just as I think I'm about to meet my doom, a monstrous roar shakes the forest, and the snow swirls in a vortex made by the beating of immense wings.

What the--?

The Stog and I both stop and gaze up at the sky. We both know what kind of creature makes a sound like that.

"What is going on here?" a deep voice booms. A gargantuan creature crushes the trees as it lands in the snow next to us. It folds its wings against its back and its serpentine neck and head with thick white and black scales slithers down so its large red eyes are level with us.

Well, things have just gone from bad to worse, I think, dropping my axe in the snow and getting down on my knees.

The Stog also drops to his knees and puts his face on the ground. He's no match for the fire-breathing beast before us.

"Your majesty," I breathe. Not daring to look the monster in the eye.