Kingdom's Fall

Chapter 14, Part 2

Siv opened her eyes and found herself standing in a room she did not recognise. There was the memory of a sound in her head, a single note like a bell ringing, and she stood listening for a moment, trying to tell if the sound continued or if her mind was playing games with her. There was silence.

Looking down, she saw that she was wearing armour, or what little she owned that passed for it. Her wrist guards were tied snug onto her arms, and the jazeraint she’d butchered to free up her draw was tight across her chest. She tapped the chest piece as if checking that she was really wearing it, feeling the mail shift under the padded cloth. When did I put these on? She looked round the room. There was a low bed and a table. On the table, her bow and quiver were laid out. Close to hand, just as she liked them. Have I been asleep?

Something had happened, she knew. There had been a fight - a chase - and she had been the one chasing. She had hunted. The memory was like a void, an empty space that hung, indistinct and formless in the front of her mind. Einar. Siv looked around for her husband, but she was alone in the room. I have to find him, she thought. I have to find out what’s going on.

A single note rang out, clear and true, filling Siv’s ears and singing through her mind until there was nothing else but that lone, bell-like sound. Siv went to the table, picked up the quiver, and slung it over her shoulder. She picked up the bow and turned to leave.

The bow wouldn’t let her.

Hovering in her grip just shy of the table’s surface, the bow filled her hand and held it fixed in the air. Siv pulled at it, but the more she struggled against it, the further the effect spread, fixing her wrist, then her elbow and finally her shoulder in place. She gritted her teeth and pulled again, the sound in her head telling her to do it, to break her own arm if need be.

Her bow was calling to her.

Up through her arm, the wood of her bow - her father’s bow - was calling, and its call was full of the memory of him. She remembered her first lesson with him, of having a giggling fit at how serious he looked when he straightened his bow arm and hauled the string back. She remembered the giggles fading as he paused, settling into the draw, and that feeling when she saw him first loose an arrow, sending it flying across the field to bury itself in a straw-filled target. She remembered wanting to be like him - to be him -  and the knowledge that she had found her first love.

Her bow was calling to her. It trembled in her grip. The note grew louder, and with it came the memory of what the queen had done to her; wshe had become. The queen was calling her. Her hand shook, and she gripped her bow tighter, trying to find a way to anchor her mind to it. I don’t want to go back.

The note at the back of her mind rose up, becoming louder and louder until it was more than noise; it was pain, forcing her to listen, punishing her for turning away. She closed her eyes, the bow falling from her grip.

Siv. The queen’s voice echoed in her head. Attend.

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