Michael Sullivan - Avempartha

“Whoa, mister,” Tad’s voice echoed out of the mouth of the well. “I ain’t never seen no one use a hammer like that. It took six weeks to build up these walls, and I swear you look like you coulda done it in six hours.”

Outside, Hadrian, Theron, Vince, and Dillon did the work of lowering villagers in. Hadrian lined them up, sending women and children down first into the darkness, where only a single candle that Tad held for Magnus revealed anything below.

“How long?” Hadrian asked as they waited to lower the next set down.

“It would have been here by now if it had flown the moment we heard it,” Royce replied. “It must be searching the tower. That gives us some time, but I don’t know how much.”

“Get up in a tree and yell when you see it.”

When everyone was in, Hadrian lowered Theron and Dillon down, leaving only Hadrian, Vince, and Royce above ground where they waited for Magnus to finish the last set of wall pegs. Up in a poplar tree, Royce stood out on a thin branch, scanning the sky while listening to the dwarf hammering the last stakes into place.

“Here it comes!” he shouted, spotting a shadow darting across the stars.

Seconds later the Gilarabrywn screamed from somewhere above the dark canopy of leaves and the three cringed, but nothing happened. They stood still staring into the darkness around them, listening. Another cry ripped through the night. It flew straight for the torches of the manor house.

Royce spotted it in the night sky flying over the hill where the next challenger for the crown prepared to meet the beast. It descended then rose up once more. It issued another screech, then the beast let loose a roar and fire exploded from its mouth. Instantly everything grew brighter as fire engulfed the hillside.

“That’s new,” Hadrian declared nervously as he watched the ghastly sight. The crowd of challengers lost their lives with hardly the time to scream. “Magnus, hurry!”

“All set. Go! Climb down,” the dwarf shouted back.

“Wait!” Tad cried. “Where’s Pearl?”

“She’s looking for wood,” Vince said. “I’ll get her.”

Hadrian grabbed his arm. “It’s too dangerous, get in the well. Royce will go.”

“I will?” he asked surprised.

“It’s lousy being the only one to see in the dark sometimes, isn’t it?”

Royce cursed and ran off, pausing in homes and sheds to call the little girl’s name as loudly as he dared. It got easier to see his way as the light from the hill grew larger and brighter. The Gilarabrywn screamed repeatedly and Royce looked over his shoulder to see the castle walls engulfed in flames.

“Royce,” Hadrian shouted, “it’s coming!”

Royce gave up stealth. “Pearl!” he yelled aloud.

“Here!” she screamed darting out from the trees.

He grabbed the little girl up in his arms and raced for the well.

“Run, damn it!” Hadrian shouted, holding the rope for them.

“Forget the rope. Get down and catch her.”

While Royce was still sprinting across the yard, Hadrian slid down the coil.

Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.

Hugging Pearl close to his chest, Royce reached the well and jumped. The little girl screamed as they fell in together. An instant later, there came a loud unearthly scream and a terrible vibration as the world above the well erupted in a brilliant light accompanied by a thunderous roar.

Arista paced the length of the little room, painfully aware of Bernice’s head turning side-to-side, following her every move. The old woman was smiling at her; she always smiled at her, and Arista was about ready to gouge her eyes out. She was used to her tower where even Hilfred gave her space, but for more than a week, she had been subjected to constant company-Bernice, her ever-present shadow. She had to get out of the room, to get away. She was tired of being stared at, of being watched after like a child. She walked to the door.

“Where are you going, Highness?” Bernice was quick to ask.

“Out,” she said.

“Out where?”

“Just out.”

Bernice stood up. “Let me get our cloaks.”

“I am going alone.”

“Oh no, Your Highness,” Bernice said, “that’s not possible.”

Arista glared at her. Bernice smiled back. “Imagine this Bernice: you sit back down and I walk out. It is possible.”

“But I can’t do that. You are the princess and this is a dangerous place. You need to be chaperoned for your own safety. We’ll need Hilfred to escort us, as well. Hilfred,” she called.

The door popped open and the bodyguard stepped in, bowing to Arista. “Did you need something, Your Highness?”

“No-yes,” Arista said and pointed at Bernice, “keep her here. Sit on her, tie her up, hold her at sword point if you must, but I am leaving and I don’t want her following me.”

The old maid looked shocked and put both hands to her cheeks in surprise.

“You’re going out, Your Highness?” Hilfred asked.

“Yes, yes, I am going out,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up. “I may roam the halls of this cabin. I may go to watch the contest. Why, I might even leave the stockade altogether and wander into the forest. I could get lost and die of starvation, eaten by a bear, tumble into the Nidwalden and get swept over the falls-but I will do so alone.”

Hilfred stood at attention. His eyes stared back at hers. His mouth opened and then closed.

“Is there something you want to say?” she asked, her tone harsh.

Hilfred swallowed, “No, Your Highness.”

“At least take your cloak,” Bernice insisted, holding it up.

Arista sighed, snatched it from her hands, and walked out.

The moment she left, regret set in. Storming down the corridor, dragging the cloak, she paused. The look on Hilfred’s face left her feeling miserable. As a girl she recalled having a crush on him. He was the son of a castle sergeant, and he used to stare at her from across the courtyard. Arista had thought he was cute. Then one morning she had awoken to fire and smoke. He saved her life. Hilfred had been just a boy, but he ran into the flaming castle to drag her out. He spent two months suffering from burns and coughing fits where he spit up blood. For weeks he awoke screaming from nightmares. As a reward, King Amrath appointed Hilfred to the prestigious post of personal bodyguard to the princess. But she never thanked him nor forgave him for not saving her mother. Her anger was always between them. Arista wanted to apologize, but it was too late. Too many years had passed, too many cruelties, followed by too many silences like the one that just hung between them.

“What’s going on?” Arista heard Thrace’s voice and walked toward it.

“What’s wrong, Thrace?” The princess found the farmer’s daughter and the deacon in the main hallway. The girl was dressed in her thin chemise nightgown. They both looked concerned.

“Your Highness!” the girl called to her. “Do you know what is happening? Why was the bell ringing?”

“The contest is starting soon if that’s what you mean. I was on my way to watch. Are you feeling better? Would you like to come?” Arista found herself asking. She was aware of the irony, but being with Thrace was not the same as being escorted by Bernice and Hilfred.

“No, you don’t understand. Something must be wrong. It’s dark. No one would ring the bell at night.”

“I didn’t hear a bell,” Arista said, pulling the cloak over her shoulders.

“The village bell,” Thrace replied. “I heard it. It has stopped now.”

“It’s probably just part of the combat announcement.”

“No,” Thrace shook her head, and the deacon mimicked her. “That bell is only rung in emergencies, dire emergencies. Something is terribly wrong.”