Birthright

Exile

It was the sixth year after my birth the last time I laid eyes upon my father's land, my mother beside me holding me close to her as we watched the smoke curl up towards the night sky and suffocate the stars light. With my head to my mother's chest and her fingers gently stroking my face, trembling against my skin, I could hear her heart galloping. That night we became fugitives in a land that we had once walked freely, the memories glowing burning coal in my mind even now that I am old. That woeful night I was awoken from my sleep by a terrible sound, though at first I thought it had been a dream still. Frozen to my bed in fear I looked towards my window, the shutters were open to allow the sea breeze to blow in to cool the fever that plagued my young body, from where I lay I could see the glow of flames as the smoke began to crawl over the ledge and right up my nose. Agonising screams rose up with the flames, carried by the breeze and freezing my heart, snatching my breath as I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, begging to wake up.
Despite my pleading the voices still wailed and when I opened my eyes I saw my bedroom door swing open, the wood rattling against the iron hinges as my mother flew in. Her eyes were wild and her cheeks soaked in tears, she came towards me and spoke no words as she pulled the blankets from my body and wrapped my in an old cloak made from sheep's wool. I tried to speak, to ask what was happening but she pressed her cold hand against my mouth and shook her head. Silence was expected, it was necessary and I bolstered what courage I could find as my bare feet hit the flagstone. Her hand wrapped around mine and she held me close for a moment before dragging me back out into the corridor. We moved carefully through the halls that I had once ran through with a reckless abandonment and joy that many children are allowed to have, there was no joy now and my heart gripped my throat as I clung to my mother. These stone walls were no longer welcoming to me, the dark doorways and blind corners gripped me with fear as ghostly shrieks echoed through the castle. I was sure I would die. Paintings and tapestries that told the stories of our ancestors and our great heroes had been torn down, many of them set alight and filling the corridors with an awful stench that seemed to reach right down into the pit of my already churning stomach. Pinching my nose as tightly as I could with my free hand until we reached the door to the servants quarters, it had almost been torn entirely from its hinges, the heavy wood now cracked and splintering. We descended into the darkness, my mother was too cautious to carry a torch with us and so we emerged into the kitchen, a small fire burning in the corner and a stench worse that the smell of the old paintings I had encountered assaulted our nostrils. As we neared the fire I realised that it was not fuelled by wood or tapestries, but indeed several of the young maids whom I had known fondly lay like a stack of kindling. I fell to my knees then and the tears fell as I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the stone floor. I was shaking all over, fear and sickness overcoming me. My mother knelt beside me, her arm around me as she looked all around the room for any sign of danger.

"My dear, you need to try and hold it together right now," her voice was strained as she not to retch.

"Who has done this to us?" I cried.

Wiping my mouth on my sleeve and trying to breathe through the sobbing that rattled through my body, I turned into my mother and she encircled me. I wanted to ask about my father, but I feared her answer. It was very clear that the kingdom I had known, the one that had been promised to me had been destroyed and the people who had faithfully served us, who had loved us, were dying with it. We sat there for what seemed a long time, mother and daughter stripped of their titles of Queen and heir. Taking a deep breath my mother refocused, placed both hands either side of my face and looked deep into my eyes. Then she explained her plan to me, behind the city walls would be Cedrik, my fathers most trusted guardian. He was waiting for us with two horses with him, and we would have to move through the worst of the destruction to make it to the back of the village where he would open the door for us and usher us into the safety of the Great Woods. In order for us to make it, we would have to alter our appearance. It seemed the invaders enjoyed harming women and so my mother picked up a pair of cooking shears and cut off my hair. I refused to allow fresh tears to fall as my auburn hair became a mess on the floor. After she was done she handed the shears to me, then she planted a kiss on my cheek and offered a smile but it felt out of place against the shadow that shrouded her eyes. My mother had long golden hair that reached towards her lower back, she had never cut it until now. Golden locks mixed with auburn and we were transformed into men. It wasn't enough for us to simply wear the hair of a man, grabbing what fabrics she could my mother bound her chest and stuffed our dresses to make us appear stubby and unattractive. Taking a step back my mother admired her handy work for a moment before grabbing my hand firmly. It was time.