The Red Sword - Vol 1

Runaway (1)

I was running through the corridors of the palace, it was 00:00. The clock sounded loudly below me, the changing of the guards would be done soon, I had to hurry. Every night was the same, I would run hidden in the palace only to do what I loved most: research. In my kingdom, princesses only sit around being fattened up and pampered, not because they are royalty, but because they have no other use but to wait to grow up and marry a filthy, filthy, stupid king who will mistreat them every day of their useless life. This was my fate, my sentence, and nobody cared about it, except of course myself. Every night I went out at 00:00 to do my research, and this reminded me that I was not only good for protecting my people, but I had something beyond fulfillment, a hope for my future to be different from my own mother. I crossed the hallway to my room, in search of my refuge, with pen and notebook in my bag, and a hood over my head, I pushed the board aside, and there was a passage, a custom made hole, how was it made? I don't know. But, I do know that it is extremely useful to me, and certainly was to someone else someday. I went in through the hole, and turned off until the passage led outside, the night was perfect for research, the starry night, the moonlight overhead.

And the sound of the owl through the forest, dense, dark, cold, I didn't question why King Olavus had forbidden walking through this forest, but I knew, and I couldn't care less. The cold wind took hold of me, messing up my curls and my royal hairstyle, I loosened the comb that held my hair together, and stowed the shiny, branched crown in my purse. Here, I was not the princess and sole heir to the throne, conditioned to live this useless life. Here, I could just be a girl, young, dreaming, and with a beautiful future ahead of her. I put on my hood again, and praying that there would be nobody there that night, I walked along the forest path, already with my notebook and pen in hand, writing down the movements of the trees, the different shapes of the leaves, and the sounds that only a beautiful appreciator would know. Walking distracted through the forest, I could only hear the sounds of my steps, until I reached the middle of the forest and smelled a strong odor. The smell burned my nostrils, and I found it strange. I grabbed my fist knife from my boot and moved closer.

"-Lumberjacks." - I whispered walking slowly and hiding myself among the bushes.

The smell grew stronger, and burned more and more, and instead of the smell, I heard drumming sounds, low and strong that echoed throughout the forest, and further ahead, a golden light appeared, and I realized that they were not lumberjacks, but warriors. Each step I took generated fear and curiosity in me, as I had never seen a warrior up close, and wondered what they were doing there.With each advance, the sounds of drums turned into music, and I could clearly see that there was more than one of them there in the middle of the forest.The music became more intense, I could hear the sounds of voices singing in a language I had never known, or heard, and along with the drums came clapping and tapping of feet and shaking and tambourines, automatically, I lowered my hands but remained holding the knife, after all, I would protect myself whatever the cost. Drawing closer, I hid behind some bushes, and stood there watching every movement.

The scene was intriguing: Thousands of half-naked warriors were spinning and stamping their feet around a bonfire, on one side, on the left, there were other older-looking warriors beating their drums in the same rhythm, and on the right, I saw an old man with a huge white beard, with no clothing like the others, except for a cloth covering his parts, he seemed to be the elder of the group, on his skin were drawn black marks, with drawings of various shapes. The marks, seemed to have been made with fine brushes and well done, and next to the elder, there was a younger man, apparently my age, this man was strong, and muscular, and there were also marks on his body, but not like the elder. The elder was whispering in his ear, he was making gestures with his hands as if he was explaining something, and the boy had a common displeasure in his gaze, as if he had heard that story more than once, but, even though he had that message in his gaze, he just nodded his head. The music stopped, and the old man stepped forward, opening his arms, he spoke in a language I didn't understand, until the boy picked up a Sword, and my heart froze.