The Wilting Ballad

3

It was morning, sunlight pour through the curtainless crimson coloured window, casting an amber light on the wooden floorboard of Neania Dun Sailos' room. Sleep has not found the girl of eighteen lying on her gigantic bed that could fit a fat ten feet-tall ogre.

Unkempt brick white walls were turning gray and some to black. She stares at nothing, thinking of everything. Circles of grief surrounds her eyes, her nose was red as the glass of her window, the kind you get from hours of sniffing when poignancy grips you so tightly nothing about your appearance is embarrassing, at least for you.

She has hair that was burning ginger, if she feels half as bright as the colour of her hair, maybe the darkness that surrounds her orange eyes would not be there, her face round and chubby cheeks like that of a well-fed baby.

Neania thought of the dream that was real, the one she dreamt after she gulped down her father's secret fine wine he stashed in under the bedchamber he shared with his wife. News have just reached them of her father's death at around midnight and she didn't knew better how best to react. How can anyone knew how when he was perfectly well in the morning.

Tears form and falls not out of sadness but anger and frustration. The only one with knowledge of who my mother is... gone... like that. She thought. It was the first and only thought coming to her mind. No how? No who killed him? No nothing. She demanded no explanation as if she had known this day was coming.

In her dreams, she saw a woman with her head covered with a hood that was also her dress on the city's busy street that brimmed with people buying goods for the last week of Seintzar. She looked like she had lost her way, she turned round and round and round until she falls on her knees. She cried for help though none answered, it is as if only Neania can see her.

Reluctantly, Neania then hastened towards the fallen lady, she offered her hands and she took them with her right hand but she didn't dare move, she cannot see her face but she can feel cold eyes staring into the depths of her soul, the hair on her arms stands and her heart raced. The lady lowered her head, and whispered a language Neania doesn't recognize, she raised her left hand and a breath of light flashed. In her empty hand, she holds now a blade that was too big to be a dagger but too small to be a sword.

She had summoned them but Neania was confused, this was magic beyond which she knew of. When she had thought, 'how?' The fallen lady said, "Not yet." As if she can hear what is inside of her mind. Neania took the blade and admire it, it have writings of old that she couldn't grasp its meaning and a sigil that was the head of a mountain with four arrows flying past.

Neania knew that sigil. But upon glancing up, the fallen lady was gone. She looked around wildly and she suddenly fell face-first, she felt hands pulling her legs. She then inhaled a painful gasp and wakes up, sweat plastering her clothes and hair.

She raised her head and crawled out of her bed, the night before being a late one her kind-hearted stepmother and half-brothers were still fast asleep or just maybe pretending. She knows what she's about to do and she feels guilt. I know they need me and I, them. But this, I must do, this, I need.

She pulled open her table drawer and snatched a piece of parchment and laid them on the table, she sat down on a chair, holding a char pen and write.

'Mother,

I am grateful for all that you have done. Though we are not blood you have treated me finer than I am worthy of, you have cared and loved me like your own. And I know I will break your heart when you read this but I have to go and find them.

I overheard talks of Moss Island assassins being one to blame but you know as well as I, that if an outsider is responsible for this, the Lady will never act on our behalf, they'll silence this and say it's a terrible tragedy and that is only what will be done.

That is not enough for me.

Maybe I will never find them, maybe I will. However, I do not know where this journey will lead me, answers, or more questions. I will try but should I not return just remember that you were my first and only mother, the one who doesn't abandon me, though I must now abandon you. I hope you can forgive me.'

The balls of fear and distress were huge on her throat, the salty water that filled her eyes stream down her already tear-dried cheeks. Maybe I'm like the one I have hatred for, leaving those who need me.

These fourteen words were stuck on Neania's head, perhaps they will be stuck forever. She brushed away what doubts remained and crumpled up the piece of written parchment. She wiped her face and threw it across the room.

She changed dress in what she thought was appropriate for the road. She puts on the loose pants she used for training and strapped on her leather boots. She wore her father's black shirt on top and his very old satchel in which she keep contents of everything use and all the coins she have saved over the years, over that she threw on a berry blue coloured cloak that was a gift from her stepmother.

She tied her hair back and stride around her bed, she kneels on both knees and brought out a long wooden box from underneath. She opens it and there sleeps a blade that has not felt a human's touch for seven years. Neania unsheathed the blade and it was sharp as the day she first held them, it could cut a man with ease. The odd writings on the bronze hilt were still there as well as the carvings done on the steel itself, a mountain with four arrows flying towards it. She sheathed it once more and tied it sideways on her back waist.

She opens her crimson coloured window and lets the morning wind in. She wanted to glance back but nothing was there that's holding her back and she knew it. She climbed over and sighed. Before doubts crept up her brain, she jumped down, without a second hesitation.