Hunting for courage

Chapter 5

Cristine couldn't sleep. Maybe it was because of the hard bed, that even with a few wolf fur placed over the planks, was still a nightmare. No. It wasn't that. It has to be something else.

Her eyes barely stayed open as she stared at the ceiling. A scene continuously ran through her mind: a little girl crying while being forced into a red carriage; a desperate man throwing stones at the soldiers to recover his child; a soldier brutally attacking the man.

Cristine found herself caught in that sad image. She could not move, could not cry, could not close her eyes. She was forced to watch as the carriage left, and the man, now unconscious, was dragged through the snow by two men wearing a red vest. The women around her were screaming, crying and begging.

The screams were becoming increasingly disturbing. The women imploring voices turned to some animalistic roars that together formed a sinister chorus. The forms around her started to undulate in an indescribable way, and the snow at her feet became red as blood.

The stars were gone. Each point of light had faded and darkness had taken the place of heaven. Thick smoke invaded her nostrils, making her drown, and her feet burned with such intensity that she had begun to cry. Cristine looked down, but there was nothing there, only her bare feet in the crimson snow. She couldn't oppose the smoke. It was like someone was strangling her. Painful, but slowly, to feel every moment of agony. Her view started to blur. She couldn't feel her legs. Cristine no longer believed that they were there anymore. All she could feel was the choking and cold touch dragging her into the abyss above.

Cristine dashed out of bed and hit the nightstand, then she fell on the cold wooden floor. Tears flowed like a river from her eyes red as flames, and her entire body shook uncontrollably.

In the name of the Five Lords, what was that?

She was still on the floor when the sun began to rise. The tears had stopped, but her eyes were still red. The shaking was almost gone. Cristine just sat on the floor, staring at the wall. She had nightmares in the past, but never one so intense. She thought maybe it was real, that she was the victim of a curse of the old religions.

No! There is no such thing as a curse!

But it was all so real. She checked her feet more than five times, and they were still there. Thinking back on it now, she almost bursts out laughing. Of course they were there. Where would they have gone?

Cristine took a deep breath and slowly began to rise from the floor.

Maybe she should drink some mint tea to recover. The fire in the fireplace was extinguished for some time, this night's trauma making her forget about it. Well, she had to ignite it if she wanted tea.

Cristine walked to the door but was stopped by a pain in her left knee. The white night robe was full of blood there. Raising the robe, she noticed some dried blood surrounding a bruise.

That's right, I hit my knee on the bedside when I jumped out of the bed.

She hadn't felt the wound before. Perhaps out of fear. She had some plants ointment in the nightstand drawers. Was it the first one? No, that was empty. It was always empty.

She opened the second. Pieces of cloth of all possible colours were scattered around, along with some pairs of scissors, thread and sewing needles. She began to teach Clayre how to tailor. The girl liked to combine all sorts of colours in some strange shapes, then she got bored and broke them.

Oh ... Clayre. Will you ever forgive me?

She is beginning to understand that nightmare. You sold your own child for money. You're not a good mother. You deserve to die.