Dark Queen: The Cybelline Prophecies

Chapter 3

The thudding of horse hooves woke Cybelline up. She gasped for air. She couldn't breathe in the stench of the dead.

Where the hell was she?

She opened her eyes and squinted. Darkness with threads of greyish light poking through. The dark shapes became clearer and Cybelline flinched. Faces of the dead stared at her, some who were barely children, their visage frozen by terror. They piled on each other as if thrown together like heaps of trash, flies and maggots crawled out of their mouths and eyes. She could feel the piles of bodies below her as well.

Cybelline made the mistake of taking a breath.

The smell. The horrifying, rotting smell of decomposing, bloating flesh. It had haunted her as a child. Her breathe came in short, painful gasps as she remembered the fields of dead. Now she was part of one.

Was this hell?

After a mind-numbing moment of pure panic, her training and instincts kicked in. She was breathing and alive, and there was fading light peeking through the bodies. She began to push. Her arms felt like rubber, and she was surprised that they were bone thin, these were not her arms.

Her fingers were practically bones. Slowly, she began to crawl her way out of the body pile. Their slimy blood covered her, lifeless hands dragged at her as if to pull her back into the pile. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself up, pushing and pulling the dead to force a way out.

Air, cold and unforgiving hit her face after an hour of effort. She had not been buried far from the edge of the massive pile of dead, but she was as weak as a new born lamb. Half out of the pile of dead bodies, Cybelline coughed and looked around.

Tall walls of dirt, at least twelve feet surround her. She heard shouting in the distance and knew that the piles of bodies must extend out farther west of her. It's an open grave, she realized towards the other end, smoke had started rising, a shadowy column twisting above the pines and towards the dying sun.

Cybelline dragged a breathe in and kept pushing. She had to get out before the fire gets to her. Somehow, she has get out of here unseen.

A shadow loomed over her, and she looked up.

An old man, his face full of lines and wrinkles, made a quick motion for her to be quiet. He wore a tunic of rough cotton with a few pieces of battered metal over the whole thing. Cybelline frowned, it reminded her of medieval clothing she had seen in the British Museum once. He saw the she was studying him, and gave her a reassuring grin, "Don't worry child, I'll protect ye."

The clanking of armor came closer, "Riggans, what was that noise?" The voice demanded.

"Nothing here, m'lord!" The old soldier straightened and called to the men a few paces away, "Musta been a wild animal." Men grunted and walked away.

Quickly he knelt by the pit, "Give me you arm." His rough and weathered hand grabbed her by the slimy, blood covered wrist and pulled. She took her first breath of clean air as he carried her deeper into the foreest. "Don't make a sound, child. If they find ye, they'll kill ye a second time." He whispered quietly. From his pouch he took out a deep blue stone, it glowed slightly. Wrapping her blood-soaked hand around the tiny crystal pebble, he whispered "Hold it until there's no more light." He whispered quickly.

"Rigans, ye old git. Where did you die off to?" A voice roared. The old man stiffened, "I'll be back later for ye." He wrapped her hands around the neck of a water skein before hurrying off.

She laid there, gasping in the clean forest air, her eyes barely open against the dirt, grime, and blood on her face. But she was alive and out of that hell.

Cybelline felt the comforting warmth of the blue stone pulsing in her hands. The gentle warmth flowed from her arm and into her body, it was as if she was enveloped in a warm river. A small succession of pop sounded and three broken ribs healed itself. Whatever the man had given her, it was healing all of her wounds.

Her fingers felt like lead, but she managed to take the cork out of the skein. She drank as much as she could, gasping quietly as the cool liquid hit her paper dry throat. Then she splashed some on her face to wash away the filth.

Ever the professional, Cybelline took stock of her surroundings.

She laid on a bed of pines in a forest with ancient oak and pine trees as grand as the sequoias. Moss grew in abundance on the cool rich earth, along with all sorts of vegetation. Had there not been the the roar of the fire, Cybelline would have thought she had woken up in an enchanted forest.

Cybelline felt herself slipping out of consciousness again, the healing had taken the last of her pitiful strength.