Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Blades of Men

Ireland, 1870

   I picked up my skirts and ran; hard, fast and flying through the undergrowth of the gloomy forest, my every step gathering more briars and brambles than I was avoiding. My hair fluttered behind me in the wind, a dark, waving flag. My thin, useless shoes had been long lost in the desperate race to get home. I had to get there. If I didn't...

   I could hear horses in the distance, braying shouts of mere animals that pierced me with fear. I could almost feel the vibrations of their hoof-beats, each one the beginning of a funeral dirge. Ladies weren't meant to run, weren't meant to flee through the woods and gallop over wild moors. That's what I had always been told. I was to be protected, to be looked after, and ultimately, to be sidelined.

   It never did sit right in my heart, and even with adrenaline coursing through my veins and the thunder of terror in my chest, I felt better than I had in a long time. My corset was crushing the rapid heaving of my breathing, the bones a hindrance out of society and suppers. I could feel liquid dampening the soles of my feet, but whether from the ever-mounting number of scratches or the dainty dew of the grass, I had no idea. Leaves were hitting my face with wet slaps, put I barely had the time to notice. I had to keep on putting one foot in front of the other. I couldn't stop.

   Dawn broke over the horizon, the faint glimmers of light that had previously been lighting my way uncertainly changing to strong pink and red hues. The sky transformed into fiery strokes and the air turned slowly to a crisp grey.

   I stumbled upon a pond, stopping short just seconds before I would have fallen in, fallen into nothing. The material of my dress would have been impossible to swim with. I looked down at myself, seeing the wide skirt and the many layers in a new light. That which had once seemed like a good idea now appeared ridiculous among the appraising eyes of birds and foxes, and the disapproving stares of trees.

   A flicker of movement alighted in the corner of my eye. The briefest of black flashes, disappearing like a ghost. I leaned to drink the crystal coolness of the water in front of me. It was so cold it made teeth ache in an exquisite, painful manner. Not unlike the debutantes back home - adorned and adored, but unable to be taken in large doses.      

   I straightened, again seeing that strange black blur at the edge of my vision. My hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger I could feel through the ragged silk near my thigh. It suddenly seemed so far away - too far.

   I tried to retrieve it, searching for the tiniest of slits in one of the folds of my dress, my fingers grappling uselessly. Where was it? Panic rose in the pit of my stomach, what had once seemed picturesque now menacing and dangerous. A girl on her own, nobody nearby. The weak female, needing to be protected and cherished, never supposed to get herself in this situation.

   I suddenly felt the icy sharpness of a blade against my neck; long, deadly and perfect. A masculine body behind me, escape impossible. A voice broke the tense stillness, a tone to match the sword resting at such an important vein.

   "Who are you and why are you here?"