Sancha: A Spirit Animals Story

Chapter 1: Exile

It was a very lonely time. Indeed, it had been a set of very lonely days out in this place. Now, as she stared out over the side of the makeshift raft, out on to the bobbing surface of the sea, Sancha wondered how much longer she'd last. Her water supply was low and even with her careful attempts at rationing, she doubted her supply of food would carry for too much longer. 

Two weeks. That's how long it had been since she'd been forced to leave her home and enter exile. The moments of those days before she left had yet to stop repeating in her mind. Her thoughts would not let her stray from them. 

Two words, both  of them names, kept repeating more than all the others.

Drina.

Shane.

She wondered what Zerif had told them of her dissapearence. No doubt he had fashioned some elaborate lie to explain why she had vanished without a trace. A lie. One like the one he'd told her and the one she so foolishly believed despite her better judgement. That mistake had lead her here. 

Perhaps he'd faked her death. Part of her hoped that was what he'd done. Maybe then it would be easier. Then they wouldn't look for her. 

Yet, as much she hoped they wouldn't look for her, part of her sometimes wished they would. She doubted they'd find her of course. It would be a foolish crusade. Besides, Gar would have the final say over such a matter. He wouldn't look for her. He'd never cared much for her, his youngest niece, the furthest one from the throne. Even if he cared for her a little, he probably wouldn't waste his reserves to look for her. He already was preparing to attack the world beyond Stetriol. He would see it as a waste of time to search for one missing princess. 

Shane would have wanted to find her, if he knew he could. Drina...it was impossible to say. For so long, she'd been plagued by illness and even when lucid, she'd expressed her hatred for Shane. Sancha had devoted time to looking after her sister, and yet it seemed Drina barely registered her presence. Sancha wondered if she even knew that it was her own sister who spent hours cleaning up Iskos's cobwebs, holding damp cloths to Drina's forehead, lighting fires to keep the room warm, and, sometimes, even restraining her sister from deliriously attacking those in her presence whether it be Shane, a servant, Sancha, or herself. Once she'd nearly been bitten by Drina's spider, and if not for Magda, the servant girl who looked after Drina when Sancha wasn't around, interfering to protect her, she might have died. She still had nightmares about it that caused her to wake in cold sweats, thrashing, trying to fend off an invisible attacker, before she realized it had been a dream. 

She knew Drina didn't mean to hurt her. At least, she hoped not. At least now she was out of danger. Thanks to Zerif's intervention. 

Zerif. The name burned harshly in Sancha's thoughts. The jackal. The monster. The fiend. 

He claimed to be able to cure the bonding sickness. He wasn't the first. Shane wasn't inclined to believe him, and neither was Sancha. But eventually, as she once more found herself caring for Drina, part of her wondered whether or not they ought to give Zerif a chance. If there was potential for a cure, shouldn't they try? 

Sancha convinced Shane to let Zerif see their unresponsive father, and share what he knew. Ultimately, it did work. Drina, against all odds, was cured. But it wasn't over yet. Quite the contrary, Zerif's schemes were far from finished.

He'd murdered her father. Or rather, his spirit animal had. She hadn't seen the animal's face, only a silhouette, but she was certain that it was Zerif's. She'd been there to see the scene play out. The animal had crept in, leapt onto the bed where her father lay, unmoving, unseeing, dead in almost every way, and tore his throat out. She'd been too shocked to act, and by the time she ran out, screaming and crying for help, it was far too late. And, probably as planned, who should find her first, but Zerif himself.  In her state of shock, she had not yet registered how her father had died. It wasn't until afterward, when she'd already departed, that she realized that it was Zerif's jackal that she'd seen. So, when Zerif told her it was likely a plot by her uncle that had killed her father, or maybe even an orchestration by the far away Greencloaks, she didn't question it. Besides, it wasn't if either proposed party lacked an understandable motive. 

But then the next day, she'd woken to find the door to her room locked and a letter slipped under the gap between floor and door, threatening her life and her family. She'd managed to escape through her window, only to find the same animal that had killed father in pursuit of her. She'd run away, all the way to the docks. She found a makeshift raft there, as if it had been placed there in anticipation of her coming. The animal had stopped chasing her, but every time she attempted to run past it, it would snap at her. Eventually, the message became clear. She was being driven out of her home. Whoever had killed her father wanted her gone. So, she unmoorred the raft, which she discovered had already-placed supplies on it. Clearly, this had been planned. It was until she'd begun to drift from the dock that she saw the animal vanish to passive form. A beam of moonlight illuminated a nearby figure, who watched her being carried away by the water. Though far away, she recognized him immediately. But it was too late to act. Even if she managed to drown in an attempt to reach shore, Zerif's jackal would doubtless make quick work of her. Resigned to her fate, she was carried by the waves into exile. And so, Sancha was left with her anger, her grief, her fear, and most of all, her guilt. She believed with complete certainty that had she not convinced Shane to make use of Zerif, her father might not be dead, and her brother and sister would be safer. And most of all, Zerif wouldn't have gotten away with murder. Now, he would be able to control her brother and perhaps her uncle as well. And there was nothing she could do. He had schemed to get rid of her father and herself. And he'd succeeded.

She knew that she wasn't fully to blame. Had she stayed out of it, Zerif would have eventually gotten Shane to let him out to see the king. But maybe if she had kept out of it, she wouldn't be seen as a potential threat. She could have helped her brother and brought Zerif down. Oh, she couldn't know for certain. Perhaps this was all irrational. But she hated Zerif. Hated him more than anyone else in the world. Not even the Greencloaks could hope to earn that level of anger from her. 

But now, what did it matter? She was stuck in the middle of a salty blue sea, and had no idea where she'd end up. Time and time again, she wished the waaves could just rise up, crash upon her, and wash away her memories. She wished to forget, as to her, what use was remembering now?