Dark Queen: The Cybelline Prophecies

Chapter 4

She woke to the sound of a stream. Opening her eyes a crack, she saw a figure hunched over a small fire. Cybelline closed her hand over a rock, opened her eyes, and sat up, the thick blanket that the man placed over her falling to the forest floor. Orange light gleamed as it bounced off the face of the old man, highlighting the brown hair peppered with grey.

He was that tall shadow who had pulled her out of that body pile. She studied him quietly. He looked like any ordinary solider, albeit a little older than most. His clothes, strange and medieval, seemed to be made of wool. His weapons and armor looked looked as worn as his clothes.

Ithos Rigans saw the young girl move from the corner of his eyes. He turned to her in a kind but gruff voice "Food's on the fire, here's some clothes child. They'll be a little big for ya, and male. But it'll do. Go wash, the magic should've heal'd ye by now."

He pointed to the stream, "Ye's covered in Folk blood, it ain't safe. Best get it off ye as soon as possible." He hand the bar of soap to her, "Here."

Cybelline looked down at herself. Her rags were covered in black, congealed blood. She wrinkled her nose. Silently, she got up and grabbed the clothes next to her. She paused, on top of her clothes was a dagger the length of her forearm. She looked at the old hunched figure, who pretended not to notice her stare. After a moment, she picked up the clothes and weapon, and paused.

She had experienced that kind of exhaustion before when she was in Kuwait where she had stayed awake for six months in an active war zone with less than two hours of sleep a day. It had taken her a month to recover. But after using that blue rock he had given her, she felt healthier than she's ever been.

After a moment, Cybelline only shook her head and walked to the river.

The cold water hit her like a battering ram. Cybelline gritted her teeth and began to wash. The blood of the dead came off of her slowly, as if reluctant to let go of her skin. Try as she might, the congealed blood would not come out of her hair. She frowned and studied the long thick strands.

She couldn't tell what the original color was. It was like a matted net that hung to her waist, and gave off a sickly stench. Cybelline sniffed and frowned. Some of it had been burned, it was an impossible mess. She took out the dagger and unsheathed it. Steel sang, the cold edges glinting in the night. Cybelline took it and with a few slashes, cut her hair to the length of her earlobes. Carefully, she sheathed off locks in the front so that she had a more boyish cut.

Dunking her hair in the water, Cybelline scrubbed and scrubbed until she could run her fingers through it.

Once she was done, Cybelline studied her reflection in the water. Large, startlingly grey eyes stared back at her, set on a thin face that was not her own. She touched it, and the little waif in the water touched the face as well. The hair was cropped painfully short, with a few nicks here and there. Rather, it resembled her face when she was about 12 years old. Cybelline had been twenty-five.

She slipped on the tunic and pants he gave her. Rough and worn, these clothes looked nothing like hers. Rather, it looked centuries older than anything people wore nowadays. She took a quick look at her hands and frowned. These small, malnourished hands were not hers. She had been a fully grown adult woman, but now she had the hands of a child.

The ring... Cybelline looked at her hand. There. On her middle finger was the imprint of a ring, the same one she had seen before everything went black. She looked at the banyan ring imprint on her finger. Could this have transported her to this new place? Was this the culprit? Cybellline rubbed the imprint, but it was like a tattoo on her hand, nothing she did made the imprint fade.

Ithos looked up as the girl child staggered back, she looked more like a young boy now. He tossed her a hunk of bread and a few slices of meat and cheese. "Eat."

She took the proffered food, sniffed it, and tore into the hunks of deer and hard bread. A hand shot into her view, the old soldier offered her a skein. "Drink."

Cybelline took it and sipped. Cool, acidic liquid hit the back of her throat. She raised an eyebrow but kept drinking the wine.

The old soldier ate as well, cutting off hunks of meat and offering it to the girl child when she finished the food.

At last the two had finished, Cybelline looked at him. "Thank you." She frowned internally, her voice was soft and a half a higher octave than her original one.

The soldier sighed, "Don't thank me. It's luck that had me find you in that pile." He was silent for a moment, and then asked her, "Do you have a family in these parts?"

Cybelline shook her head, "I don't know. I don't remember anything."

The old man did not speak for a long time, finally, he sighed, "Perhaps that's for the best."

He studied her again, he frowned, "Ye ain't Fae or Folk. Though I've never heard of humans roamin' these parts either. "

Cybelline said nothing, only stared back with her large grey eyes.

The soldier scratched his head, "What's ye name?"

Cybelline blinked twice, "Cybelline."

The old man nodded, "Pretty name." He looked at the rising sun, "Well, Cybelline, I reckon ye don't have anywhere to go. In two days' time the army will head back, and us old soldiers will be allowed te go home. If ye want, come with me, my wife and I can put ye up."

Cybelline thought for a moment and nodded.

"Why were they burning those people?"

The man frowned, "Those aren't people, child. They're Folk."

Cybelline's confused face was enough of an answer, he just shook his head, "Rest child." He tossed her a fresh blanket, "I'll wake ye tomorrow."

Cybelline took the blanket and found a bedroll already set up for her. She looked at the man, he just nodded, "Go on."

Cybelline climbed into the bedroll and covered herself with a blanket. She looked up at the stars, listening to the crackle of fire. How did she come here, and why? What in the world had happened?