The Night of the Lost Brides

Prologue

This is a WIP, so there will likely be quite a few changes compared to the published version. I get an editor for the final draft, so please excuse any silly issues. :) 

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Here and now, with my own words and of my own will

As the beloved son of this land of mine – I swear!

Perseverance to war! Allegiance to compatriots! Love to Tradyr!

I don’t swear on my strength – I know it will fail.

I don’t swear on the goal – I know I won’t reach it.

I don’t swear on my name – I know it will be forgotten.

I swear with my existence.

- The Tradyrian Oath -

 

The salty breeze led Alita down the cobblestone streets towards the beach. The dim light of dawn supplemented the lanterns in front of the houses she passed by, adding hints of yellow to the purple mist that smothered Dwen Mar. But Alita did not need to see where she was going. Still half-asleep, woken up in the middle of the night by a calling, a strange voice whispering her name, she left the house driven by some outside force.

At first she panicked, fearing possession or something worse. Struggling against the invader unfortunately only worsened her state subduing her senses further. She had no choice, other than to give in. The whispering ceased after a while but the calling behind it was still unrelenting, pulling her gently yet sternly in one direction.

The dark streets were littered with the remains of yesterday’s celebrations - flower petals, plates and bottles, paper garlands, left over food and small pieces of luck cloth - all scattered in her way. Surprised she noticed the force did cared for her after all. Although it marched her in a straight line most of the time, it did stray on a few occasions to spare her bare feet from stepping onto broken glass.

The moisture in the air caused her laced undergarment to cling to her body. A most inappropriate attire for a morning walk. She had picked it especially with her husband in mind, and for his eyes only, yet there she was strolling in it down the main street. Had she been in control of her body her cheeks would have been burning.

Unable to turn her head Alita was forced to rely on her peripheral vision more than usual. She had been walking down the main road for a short while when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. A young, pale girl, just as her dressed only in a nightgown, stepped out from a dark alley.

The girl’s left hand bore the markings of a new bride — a stripe of black paint wrapped around her wrist and around one third of each finger, except the thumb, just below the knuckles. The symbols etched in the paint were unreadable given the distance, but Alita knew exactly what they were. Her own left hand still tingled at the thought of the vows she took the day before.

Soon she lost sight of the girl, but judging by the sound of footsteps she was still behind, as were many others. She couldn’t see clearly through the mist but there were more of them ahead too. All brides, all with jet black hair and barely dressed. Their bare feet tapped in sync against the cobblestones like some bizarre entrancing rhythm.

This must be the strangest procession this town has ever seen, she thought.

But there were to be no witnesses of this event - not a single door opened, nor a curious face peaked through a window. All sound asleep lulled by the purple mist. The only ones to respond were the cats. The felines of all races, sizes, colors and shapes that have gathered in Dwen Mar over the passing months now flooded the streets and silently watched Alita and the others pass. Occasionally some would join and from then on walk beside the girl of their choice.

Something soft brushed against Alita’s naked calf.

“She has returned!” a familiar voice came from her side, the “r”s turning into a purr.

Alita had not heard Mirrimurr, their house Luck Cat, this excited in years. He matched her pace, every now and then brushing against her leg with his forty pound body. With no reply he swiftly moved into one of his rambling monologues.

“I knew she would. I never doubted her for even a minute!” his batting tail hit her other calf. “And to think we have been chosen. Santhia would be so proud of you.”

Alita cringed mentally. Her aunt’s approval was not top of her to-do list, especially given the recent disagreements. She wasn’t as convinced as he was at first. But the more she thought about the more plausible it seemed. After all the mist was freaking purple.

“All those fools, no one will laugh at old Mirrimurr now… She is back to bring back our glorious days. I am so blessed, to see her one more time again in my old age…” He was starting to mumble while his words got louder.

Alita’s hand moved and her head turned, a finger rose to her lips as her eyes met with those of the Tradyrian cat at her feet. His large, tufty ears immediately flattened and he bowed his head down without a word. She chuckled a little bit inside - apparently she wasn’t the only one bored with the feline’s constant rambling. Her head returned to the previous position and her arm fell to her side.

Her good mood didn’t last long though, as conflicting emotions filled her mind. If it was really her, and that was a big if, why now? And why in this way? Anyone who believed in her return was expecting something grand, an epic affair, sweeping through the land and scorching anyone who dared to oppose Tradyr. Obliterating the false king, so on and so forth. Not a bride parade at some ungodly hour.

Mirrimurr stayed quiet afterward and the only sound accompanying the footsteps was the occasional sea bird call. As she drew closer to the pier the background hum of the sea grew louder until she could hear the individual waves breaking against the shore. She welcomed the sandy beach flowing under her soles.

The procession drew to an end near the pier - a queue had already formed and Alita took her place in the line with the cat at her side. The mist here was thicker, rolling slowly through the air, almost cloud like. Occasionally when it parted for a few second Alita caught a glance of a ghostly figure at the end of the long wooden structure. Her long dress and hair were ravished by the wind much stronger out at sea.

The cranky old cat was right. Alita loved her friend to pieces, but his devotion was bordering on obsession, and even Santhia, his owner, couldn’t stand his ramblings for long. But with every stolen glimpse Alita’s anger rose. All those lives lost during the war. And more dead afterward, often fighting her cause, crying her name with their last breath. Alita’s own family slaughtered. Like many Alita presumed her dead, why else would she leave their cries unheard, stand by idle as they suffered?

The line moved along at a steady pace. Only a few times stopping a bit longer. The sun made strangely little progress across the sky, the dawn lingering on as she waited. One by one the women ahead of her disappeared within the mist. Alita wondered how many women stood behind. From time to time Mirrimurr’s tail batted the back of her legs, quietly reminding that he was still there.

Finally there was no one left in front. A single nudge pushed her onto the pier and then she was free. Eager to get this over with she stepped into the mist. The planks creaked under her feet responding to her brisk walk. Mirrimur’s paws pattered right behind. She could barely see at an arm’s length through the fog but despite that she sped up with every step anticipation building in her stomach.

She burst into an opening and her already racing heart jumped up to her throat. The shade’s head slowly turned and a pair of golden eyes looked straight at Alita. She looked different from the paintings, more human, likely due to the whiteness of the visage, still the crown of horns protruding through the hair and a frill around her neck betrayed her origins. But what made her look really eerie, were the little details that you would notice only if you looked long enough - the pointy fingernails, the claw like feet, the shimmer of tiny scales instead of skin and the little wrinkles on her nose.

For a moment Alita felt the urge to kneel or at least bow, but she kept her head high. Staring back into the golden eyes she dared to break the silence first.

“My queen,” her voice trembled, but she continued “why have you abandoned us?”