- Princess of Earth -

2.

The night has closed in upon the forest like a wolf snatching a young hare between its jaws. Darkness falls quickly and completely; the sky briefly bleeds red, then violent purple, turning a vivid and desperate blue as it struggles to breathe in the last rays of sun before sinking into resigned and defeated blackness, yet the stars of Orion pave the way for a young girl to wander, to dream.

She knows she is forbidden from roaming off the forest paths. Don't stray where branches are unbroken, they said, or from where the grass is unbent. There robbers are waiting; they will have your head, they said, then they will steal everything that you own before leaving you for the crows and the maggots to finish. Your body can't be treated then; it won't be burned with sage and rosemary to cleanse it. Don't let yourself be caught outside, girl. You don't know what they might do to a little one like you.

The young girl had always been puzzled by this somehow. It did not make sense, she had nothing of worth to steal, for all she carried with her was her trusty athame, which she had never dirtied with blood or manual work, this was a ritual knife for which she was instructed to keep only for sacred practices. Whatever the druids said about its purity, Kiara always wondered what it would be like to hunt with this knife. It was sharp, a good blade of shining iron which was always kept well polished, yet there was never any dirt from which to cleanse it. She always thought that she'd use it for self defence if it came to that. The gods wouldn't be angry at her for that, surely? She was in danger, she was sure that the purity of the ritual knife could be sacrificed. 

She wants to explore further. She needs to know what else was beyond the forest path; she's sick and tired of being told that she was only young, a child of no more than eleven summers. Desperate to prove herself and to satisfy her curiosity, the temptation of the night air and the crisp light of the moon lures her to the edge of the path. The edge of her known world. Gritting her teeth, Kiara steps off the path and into the night.

It isn't nearly as terrifying as she expected. The trees were much the same, she can identify the shrubs and the animal prints; it's the same! she insists to herself. It was just the same! She knew that the druids who took her in were lying to her. It is safe!

And yet...  With every step her heart clenches a little tighter, a little less air reaches her chest. She tells herself it's fine, that there's nothing there, that the darkness will open up into a clearing soon, and moonlight will spill into her eyes like an overflowing tankard, but she looks up and the trees have become so thick that she cannot see Orion's belt. She stretches out her hand; she can hardly see the tips of her fingers. She turns around; she cannot remember the way from which she came.

"What a pretty little thing!"

A voice from just beyond her vision drawls and she whips round in an attempt to make out the face of who she just knows is someone she was warned of every day in the druid camp. He is a tall man, wide, dressed head to toe in leather over his dirtied tunic and an imposing scar runs right through his eye, slicing his face in two. Kiara can make out the crooked teeth and the disjointed mouth curving into a perverse smile that forms a pit in her stomach. He steps forward, his hand lax upon his dagger. She tightens her grip on her athame and prays to Odin that these won't be her final thoughts.

"What's a nice little maid doing out here in the dead of night?" he asks, surveying her narrowly from head to toe. She feels physically sick, she doesn't want him looking at her like that, like he wants more than just her meagre athame, that she knows is worth little to men like him. Men like him want something more perverse than just a small steel blade.

She sees a hole in the trees, and, like a frightened rabbit, she pelts for it, but her feet only make two steps before his heavy hand has closed around her arm.

"You won't be going anywhere", he grins. Several of his teeth have fallen out, another three are blackened and rotting. He reeks of blood and steel and badly made leather. She's panicking, and, suddenly, she can't control her limbs. An energy that she cannot place courses throughout her body and she begins to shake; it feels as though her skin is burning, yet she feels no pain. Kiara realises with a shock that she is glowing, emitting light and heat and her feet are scorching the ground beneath her.

The thug shrieks in pain, looks in horror at his hand,  scalded crimson red. He stares at her in horror and flees.

"WITCH!"

She raises her hand and a bolt of light is flung from her index finger. The man is thrown to the ground and she hears the crunch of his skull against the hard rock beneath him. Blood pools slowly around him, his mouth still open as his dying howl lodges in his throat. 

Kiara stares at her hands in horror. Her skin isn't burning anymore, but she doesn't know what happened, or how. She's seen power like this in the hands of the elders of the camp, but never to kill. They always told her that she didn't possess this, this energy that runs throughout the land through the leylines and the great oaks that towered above her, through the streams and in the fires they conjured in the evening. 

Without another thought, she turns from the thug's body, and runs, back to the path, back to the camp, back to safety, yet she cannot get one question out of her mind.

What is a witch?

A/N: A note on religion and the Kingdom of Mercia

Kiara is described as owning an athame and praying to Odin since during the 5th century the kingdom of Mercia was predominantly Pagan, and resisted the introduction of Christianity in Britain, having been first introduced in 597 AD. When King Penda of Mercia was killed in 655 AD the shift of Mercia to Christianity became more decisive. However, since Kiara has been raised by druids, her religion is paganism and she will have encountered predominantly Norse and Celtic gods. I'm going to try and keep this story as historically accurate as possible (I find it's really important when writing historical fiction) but some practices or rituals I describe will derive from modern day Wiccan practices with some artistic licence since I simply don't know enough about traditional druid practices/burial rites, so I'll be using them to fill the gaps. I'll probably come back and edit them as I research them more; this is definitely a working book rather than a finished piece.