Spirit Warrior - The Keeper Of The Northern Gate

The Keeper of the Dying Land - III

Enyadell; the city of the mountains. The castle looks like the castles in the fairytales my mother used to read to me when I was just a child. I gaze out of my window from my place on the wide window sill. From my room high up in one three towers of Enyadell I can see everything happening in the city. I let myself be entertained by the people walking to and from the city over the drawbridge.

A baker, clad in white pushing a small wagon, I close my eyes imagining the lovely smell of the freshly baked bread. In the training area near the stable building, the warriors are training intensely. Every time the swords hit each other I imagine the sound of the steal singing high pitched.

The creaking sound of the wooden door opening alerts me of the presence of the new person in the room. The footsteps are heavy and dragged across the floor. The smell of mead is heavy, so heavy I think it might be a permanent smell. At least it helps me recognize him long before he gets close to me.

I hear his heavy breathing right next to me. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, my plump lips pressed together in a tight line. I feel his hand on my arm, his long nails digging into my skin. My lip is trembling ever so slightly. Hiding my fear is something I've been getting good at over the years of living with my father.

"You embarrassed me today, I'm very disappointed in you," his voice is dangerously low.

"This engagement is important! We need him if we want to restore Kaupa to its former glory" he hisses at me like a deadly snake barring his venom-filled teeth at me. Every word is like the dangerous whistling sound a snake makes when it's about to strike. Every muscle in my body tightens in anticipation. I know the strike is coming soon, I can feel it. I just can't tell when. He's so horribly unpredictable, so despicable.

Then just like a snake, he strikes out without warning. I fall from the window sill from the force of the one-handed strike. I force myself not to make a sound, I lay there facing the floor letting my sun-colored hair cover my face. Letting it act like a shield to hide me away from the snake. I hear him kneeling down beside me. He reaches out a pushes the hair out of my face ever so gently.

"My love, remember, what the King of Enyadell does, is only an act. As soon as you are weed he'll turn into the monsters we all are," His voice I once again low, that low voice I hate so much. That low voice he uses just before he strikes.

"Let me tell you something, which you do best to not forget. Kings are possessive, controlling, overpowering, aggressive, obsessive and demanding creatures in every aspect of their life. Best learn where your place is before these qualities start to show in the dear King of Enyadell. Because when they do, he will be the mirror of your worst nightmare," His lips are so close to my ear that I can feel his breath on my skin which makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.

The sound of the slap reaches me before the pain does. The force of the strike makes it ring in my ears and my vision to blur. From my perspective with one cheek pressed against the cold stone floor beneath me, I see a pair of boots sauntering away and a wooden door close behind them. That's all I see before I fade into darkness...