A Castle of Blood

Chapter 1

Avantika

I rushed around the cabin bringing dirty clothes to one corner and clean ones to another. Placing a plate of food before my mother's cot I called out, "Ravi! Breakfast's ready!"

My little brother ran in and sat on the floor near our mother's bed.

"It looks horrible Ava! What do you even call this!" he picked up a burnt piece of roti from his plate. 

"Would you like to cook something better then, Mr. I'm-too-good-to-eat-a-little-burnt-food?" Ravi rolled his eyes and picked out the better portions of his roti. 

"I thought so," I huffed and continued bustling around the tiny house.

"Ava, have you eaten yet? You don't want to go to your first day of work on an empty stomach! Ravi will finish the rest of your chores, go eat something first," my mother instructed firmly from her bed. Damn, I thought the woman was asleep. 

The woman may be sick and dying, but her loud voice still has a kick to it. It could make a war ridden soldier stand straight, waiting for her command, all poised and ready.

I nodded at her and shoved a handful of nuts and berries into my mouth, "Ravi, shont forghet tho fawter the dhardhen-" 

"I can't understand a single word!"

"Ravi, don't forget to water the garden," I repeated and swallowed down the rest hurriedly. He nodded slightly, still scowling at the burnt roti like it bit him.

"And give Mother her tonic every two hours,"

"Yes, Ava,"

"And remind her to drink lots of water,"

"Yes, Ava,"

"Fold the clothes in the corner too,"

"Yes, Ava,"

"And don't-"

"Goodness lady, just leave already!" Ravi shouted and shut the door in my face with a final wave. Damn, that hurt.

I grumbled and mounted the tall Arabian horse that stood waiting for me outside. I fed her an apple from my shoulder bag and stroked her mane softly.

"Hello to you too Chameli, looks like someone's hungry."

Chameli grunted in response and nudged my shoulder with her head. I chuckled and climbed up my beauty. It was my father's. At least that's what my mother said. I never actually remembered her father. He died before my 2nd birthday.......apparently. All I could recall was a hoarse laugh and a bushy beard. It was an image that came in my dreams often. But then again, half the men in our village had hoarse voices and bushy beards so it wasn't a memory I could count on for nostalgia. Bushy beards are like a necessity for masculinity these days.

My father had bought the horse as a pony and it had grown along with me. The 16 year old horse was a year younger than me, but bigger and taller compared to my five feet two body. Human metabolism sucks. 

It was embarrassing actually, how few friends I have. So few that I consider my horse as my closest friend. Nah, I'm not lonely, I'm just animal lover. For sure. The world needs people like me. 

I pulled myself over and soon enough Chameli broke into a slow trot through the path that connected our house and the rest of the village, through the woods. Living in a small cottage in the middle of the woods might seem like the setting to a horror story, but my father found it 'romantic' to build my mother a house there. My mother, having grown up mostly homeless, was just thankful for a permanent roof over her head. Who cares if a pack of wolves decide to appear out of nowhere and eat us, at least we don't get wet when it rains. Priorities, people.