The Sacrifice

 A/N: Picture on the side is Ayla (even though it's not the right one -__-). I wrote this a few years ago as an English project. I'm thinking about making it into a full story though...hmm. What do you think? Yes? No? Or are you just here to steal my cookies??

         ‘Yet another dismal day at the castle.’ I thought to myself as I trudged wearily to my chambers. More training, more brainwashing, and more work seemed to be piled upon me with each passing day even though I’m last in line behind my 4 older sisters for the crown. I sighed as I changed into my nightgown. This menial life is far from the life I wish for. I want to explore the world, help others who need it, and, most of all, escape the harsh judgment of the people of my land. Any mistake is immediately noticed and blown out of proportion. Then it is spread far and wide, changed each time it is retold until by the time it has circulated it’s transformed from something as accidental as dropping a vase to stoning a village boy because his puppy knocked over my vase. Lamenting my fate, I closed the drapes and blew out the lamp at my bedside, drifting easily into a dreamless slumber.

            A cacophony of screams and shouts woke me. Groggily, I stumbled to my window to see what the ruckus was about. There was a soft, orange glow permeating the drapes, so I had no trouble finding them. I pulled them back and almost dropped them in surprise as I looked out the window. The eastern tower of the castle was aflame, villagers and castle inhabitants alike trying to out the flames that licked higher and higher. Well, that explains the orange light. The rattle of a turning doorknob snapped me out of my reverie and I turned around to face whoever happened to come in. The door opened and in strode a handful of burly men. “Princess Ayla?” One asked and, suddenly nervous, I croaked “Yes?” In that moment, they all rushed forward and I was roughly grabbed. Fiercely, I tried to fight back, only to be clobbered in the head and knocked unconscious.

            The first thing I noticed when I was reviving was the sense that I was moving. It was a steady, rhythmic pattern that was in cadence with a soft creaking. The musty, earthy smell of an animal combined with the creaking and motion led me to assume that I am being carried on horseback. Trying to be as stealthy as possible, I opened my eyes the barest fraction of an inch and found that I am, indeed, slung over a saddle in front of one of my captors. Quickly, I squeezed my eyes shut again in fear of being discovered. Feigning unconsciousness, I listened to the conversations being held around me. Snatches of phrases would sometimes float back to me and I stored away what information I gleaned for future use. “…isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this to the princess.” The distraught whisper carried easily to my straining ears, as did the reply. “What else is there to do? Eleven girls have-“ The rest of his sentence was cut off as a horse whinnied and the stamp of hooves sounded. I could feel the horse I was on stop short and shift uneasily from foot to foot. A thunderous rumbling resounded through my side as whomever I shared my horse with spoke for the first time since I had awoken. “Halt. We’ll camp here for the night.” A hesitant, tremulous voice stuttered, “H-here, sir? Shouldn’t we get further out of the woods?” Sounding disdainful, my “companion” replied, “Why? The forest provides excellent cover for our camp. If this is about those ridiculous rumors about monsters, Leevey, so help me or I’ll personally thrust my blade through your ribs.” The subordinate, Leevey, didn’t reply and the sounds of men disembarking from their horses were obvious in the fearful silence that followed.

            An intermingling sense of flying and falling plagued me as I was hoisted off of the horse’s saddle. I felt like I was being carried by a giant with an overly-large stride. I was soon set down on something soft, though I could feel stiff grass and twigs prodding my back. It took the men a while to set up camp and the entire time I had to resist the urge to fidget, for I was very restless. Warmth soon broke through the chill of the oncoming night and the crackle of a fire could be heard. Before long, the voices of the men grew louder, gathering around me. They talked in light tones but anxiety leaked through. What could these men, who aren’t afraid of being hung for treason, be so nervous about?