Prologue, Part Five
She left her town of Haven by the north gate, little more than a small and decorative arch of stone with not even a wall attached. No one stood guard except for one elderly woman tearing out weeds from her garden. Abrina sat high upon a muscled and energetic young colt, his reigns handed to her by Kevur after the time for tearful good-byes had come to a close. Eager for the journey, her mount nearly pranced through the arch, and the two left behind the only home either of them had really known.
* * *
The journey had been thankfully uneventful. Towns dotted the countryside, none rarely more than a single day’s travel from each other with small, lonely inns spaced between to insure a place to stay for travelers. Redgorge, a small town nestled in the slopes of a large volcano that housed the city of Cauldron far above would be the last town where Abrina would find a place to rest before ascending.
The gray and dreary day was just turning into a dark and dreary evening when she led her horse through the lanes of Redgorge. There had been no rain, but enough moisture in the air soaked the ground to prove troublesome. Clods of mud fell from her mount’s hooves with every step, streaks of mud stained her cloak and vestments. As she grumbled to herself, attempting to brush off the larger pieces of wet dirt that slowly ground themselves into her clothes, she passed beneath a faded, gently swinging wooden sign.
With what must have once been bright colors, a stylized monkey had been painted on the square piece of wood. Long arms nearly twice the length of the creature’s body formed a rough “S” shape, each paw grasping what looked like a six-sided die. Above the animal, in letters not out of place at a carnival, were the words, “The Lucky Monkey.” The sign brought a chuckle from Abrina, and she found herself ducking into the inn.
The meal had been fair, the proprietor kind. She paid the innkeeper for a comfortable room for the night and ascended the stairs to rest for her difficult hike up the mountain the following morning. She locked the door behind her as she set down her travelling pack and the scroll case by the writing desk, her moneybelt on top. She removed her armor and her vestments, untied the bandana that held her hair back to allow it to fall to her bare shoulders, and brought her fingers to the pendant hanging from her neck. She had not removed it, nor her holy symbol of Ninurta which she had herself made as a little girl, since her first day on the road, since Kevur had presented it to her.
Abrina sighed and leaned down to remove her blanket from her pack before resigning herself to the straw-filled mattress and a full night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.
That sleep was not meant to be. As she ruffled through her pack something rammed into her back, sending her sprawling across the floor, her breath knocked out of her. Abrina struggled to rise from the floor, only to find a booted foot come down on her stomach. Nausea nearly overwhelmed her, but she managed to remain conscious and look up into her attacker’s face.
The face was painted, half black and half white, obscuring the woman’s features but not the intent. Her dark brown eyes were narrowed, boring into Abrina through to the rough planks beneath her. She was dressed in tight-fitting black clothes, with a dark cloak that billowed behind her. The attacker moved gracefully, skillfully, as if she was at one with the shadows.
“What are you doing here, cleric?” the woman sneered, grinding her boot deeper into Abrina’s abdomen. Abrina gasped for air, nearly told the woman all she knew about the message, who it was to, where she was from. She opened her mouth to describe everything that happened, then paused. Instead she reached up with one hand and grasped her symbol for strength.
“That is none of your concern, filth,” Abrina responded with uncharacterisitc temerity.
The woman laughed. “Who are you to deny me?” she asked, her boot remaining in place and pressing deeper. Abrina twisted beneath the foot, her hands searching behind her for something to grab, something to pull herself from underneath the woman in black, and found nothing.
“I am no one,” Abrina said between gasps, “A traveller, no more.”
“Liar,” said the woman, finally removing her boot, but Abrina had little chance to recover before that same boot kicked in her side. “Listen to me, weakling, and listen well, for I will not repeat myself. You are not to speak with Urikas or that blasted Tercival. We know who you are, we know what you are here for, and we are going to give you a chance to turn around and not come back. If you don’t . . .” The woman gave Abrina another kick.
“Then we will have the last laugh.” She threw back her head and cackled, as if she alone understood the punchline to her inside joke. Abrina cringed, backing into the corner, nursing her side.
The woman passed by the desk, sweeping up her moneybelt. “I’ll just relieve you of this heavy burden, since you won’t be needing it in Cauldron.” She turned to the window, open, Abrina noticed for the first time, and leapt into the night. Abrina heard the soft thump of the woman hitting the soft ground outside, then, nothing.
Bruised and scared, Abrina slowly walked to the window and without glancing outside she shut the window and returned to the bed. She lay down, her blanket forgotten, and replayed the words of the woman in black in her mind. She grasped her symbol, now, not for strength, but out of fear.
No, her sleep would not be restful this night.
