damsel in distress

Chapter 2

Time stills and I find myself in yet another place.  There are people in cook’s aprons beside me, and food containers fill up the counter before me. A line of people stand before a long wooden table, empty plates in their hands. Young girls, old women, old men and priests dressed in white all stand behind the serving bowls.  “Have a good day, Sir,” I blurt out before I can fully process what is happening. The poor, bearded, old man before me bows and walks away with a plate full of piping hot rice and curry.  

I look up at the neatly lined benches laid out in the great hall. People, hundreds of them, sit and dine, their loud chatters filling up the hall like the buzz of bees surrounding a hive.

Did I hit my head too hard? 

“Hey there young lady,” I say to the little girl in a rag frock who comes up next. “What would you like?”

“She likes oranges,” says the server to my right, “and cheese.” He is a man dressed in white robes, a priest of the Luminos brotherhood I suppose. He reaches over to ruffle the little child’s hair, earning a sweet little giggle.

“Odd combination,” I shake my head, “but anything that you like.” What in the devil’s name is happening? How did I teleport from the outside to inside and just barge in to help the Cathedral staff? My gaze lands on the large clock. Four in the evening. It was twelve noon barely a second ago.

“Children are like that.” The server girl on my left scrunches her nose as I lean down to give the young child three oranges and a block of cheese. The poor little thing looks famished, and in severe need of a comfortable bath, judging by the hem of her dirt sullied frock.  “They fuss about every little thing.”

“You do not seem to be very fond of them.” I smile. It’s her, the hooded girl with green eyes who didn’t want to stir the curry. Only the hood isn’t on her head this time. Why am I holding a conversation with her? “They are quite lovable once you get to know them. Although I do understand why you would say that.” Who is she? Why am I here? What do I get by talking to her?

She pulls her midnight hair from her face into a tight bun, but says nothing in response.

"Good morning Ma'am." I turn to the old woman who came up front, lips twisted in an ungrateful scowl. "It is a nice morning, isn't it? I am so pleased—" I pause as I spot my brother entering the hall, flanked on both sides by the plainly dressed kings guards. Sir Adam Bancroft stands on his right side, while Sir Cassian Wolff on the left.

"—to serve you today. It is really an honour…"

If he spots me, I might as well be six foot under the Earth. He is dressed in commoners garbs, maybe out for a friendly stroll just to inspect how his people are doing. He stops at a table to ruffle a boy's hair, while Adam rushes to help an old man carry a sack of potatoes. My chest thumps in dull ache. Cassian is quick to dash to the nearest table full of sweet women.

". . . Hello young master. . ." My mouth continues to speak and hands continue to serve, but my eyes remain fixated on my brother. I clutch the spatula like it is my lifeline, heart pounding in my mouth for the moment that my brother's eyes meet mine. He is only a few feet away from me.

The girl beside me grunts softly as she lifts up a heavy crate full of bread, the large wooden block covering her eyes. She trots ahead, face sideways and straight on to the direction of my brother.

"Look out —"

“What's the rush,” says the priest in white. “Look. This is just the start.” I think I hear him snicker, but I think I am thinking things a bit too much. “You just found your sister in law, my princess.”

My eyes widen, and I can not choose what surprises me more. The raven haired girl crashing on top of my brother or the priest's slippery remark. All that happened after was a blur. The girl ran straight into my brother, sending them both tumbling down and crashing into a bench. The wood cracked and my hands flew to my mouth. The contents of the crate; bread loaves now lay around them on the floor, sullied by the dirt too much to be eaten. That must have hurt. All of it happened in a mere fraction of a second; I didn't get time to register it. But the next moment, I see my brother sprawled on the ground with her on top of him, her lips pressed to my brother's cheek. I gasp. My brother has an inherent hatred for women. Even I, his only younger sister, am a creature he barely tolerates.

And here he lies— frozen on spot.

The young woman tries to get up, but only pushes my brother down in her efforts. I can feel her terror pulsating through the floor and up into my spine. My brother isn't the best of men to fall upon. Adam bends down to help them both up. Tayash straightens up and dusts his tunic, letting all the dust fly off to the woman's face, making her wince.

“I am sorry!” She cries pitifully. I want to rush to her side, but I also want to hide underneath the table. “I did not run into you on purpose.”

“Get off,” my brother growls and pushes her to the side.

The girl flinches at his rude tone, hurt flashing across her face. I turn behind to look for the man who had whispered in my ear, but I have no means of recognizing him in the sea of onlookers behind me.

“I did not run into you on purpose,” the girl repeats, this time with harsh conviction. "Had I known it was a snob like you, I would never have run in this direction at all!"
My jaw drops. My brother clenches his fists and tenses his eyebrows, but he has no power to punish her. She has merely offended a peasant, he is no prince before her. My brother steps closer to her, agonisingly slow and threatening. “How do I know this wasn't a calculated move of yours?”

“What should I gain by falling upon the likes of you?” The girl dares to show him her vindictive anger while I tremble for my life. Please don’t look this way. Please.

“The likes of me?” Brother grits his teeth. 

“Why? Is there something special in you?”

“Hah,” the priest chuckles and I listen, too stunned to turn around, “such a fucking cliche.”

My brother’s tone softens. “You're the first woman who has ever done this to me.”

“What?” The girl’s voice drops down and she leans away on seeing the big, scary smirk on my brother's face.

“I said, you are my first.”

I inhale sharply and stumble away, back into the arms of that priest, head spinning with an avalanche of hallucinations and watery imagery. I need to get out before anyone spots me. The distraction will last only for a second and my brother would have my head served on a silver platter—

There it is again. That sound. Six to ten. Ten to twelve. Twelve to four. Four. Two. Four.

But this time, no this time… time doesn’t jump. It halts.

The air around me chills down to the temperature of ice instantly. Fear the colour of a starless night shackles my feet, slowly inching closer to my bones and up to my heart. My lashes are heavy with the weight of unmoving dust settling on top of them. I look up, still air biting back any movement I cause to disturb its equilibrium.

They are all frozen, water pitchers suspended in air, barely touching the tips of their fingers. The water splattered in the air, droplets hung as if by invisible threads. My brother’s hand hangs still, slipping between the fluttering midnight locks of that girl. Behind me, the cooks, the helpers, the priests in white robes, all stilled as if carved out from wax. Their chests locked in rising breaths, lips parted in rugged breaths. 

I stumble backwards in shock. I haven’t heard of a sorcery that can stop time, and even if it exists, why am I the only one able to move?  The entire world looks like a stage. A crafted, calculated stage and every single person was a statue made of wax, frozen inside it. And I, only I was free to move. My heart rages in my mouth. There is no wind in motion, no touch of moisture in the air, just... absolute, deathly silence.

Either everything is a dream, or I am hallucinating while lying in an injury-induced sleep from hitting my head. Worse, I can be dead and this is some form of limbo. Frozen inside a miniscule capsule of time.

And then I hear a whisper.
“Fuck, not this again.”