The Curse of Kalathan

One: Captivity

When the door of the prison opened that day, flooding her face with light, she had almost given up hope. It had been months, she knew, since the soldiers had caught her sleeping in one of the lofts in the temple and taken her away, but exactly how long she had been locked up she did not know. She knew that the cold wind that found its way through every crack in the cell, that settled itself in the dirty stone of the walls and the floor and mercilessly into every square inch of her body, was not quite as intense as it had been. Spring was coming, but it held no hope of warmth or new life for her.

Trina and her cellmates still kept the lumpy grey blankets they had been given wrapped around them all the time, their scratchy grey shifts completely inadequate against the might of the cold. For the past few days, Trina had found herself losing her determination to survive all this. She had been so sure, months ago, that she could live through it, that she had survived hard things before and she would do it again. She huddled in a corner on the pile of musty straw, her fingers tracing the inked mark on her left wrist, not wanting for once to talk to the other two. Conversation and story-telling, clapping games and singing had helped to pass the long, icy hours, but as the days grew longer and she began to sense the change in the air, she struggled to stay cheerful. She wanted to be free again, to have choices again so badly that the feeling had settled in her gut like a stone, and she had to force down the dry bread and gritty porridge they were given once a day.

When they heard the heavy footsteps outside, clearly not those of one of the silent grey women who brought food and emptied the slop buckets, she did not even consider that it could mean they were setting her free. She had been staring up at the window high in the wall, trying to remember what it felt like to be clean and warm. She was trying to remember the sound of her little sister's laugh, the feel of a kitten on her lap. She was daydreaming about flying up and out of that window, to the little lop-sided cottage in the craft quarter of the city where she had once lived in the days when her father was still alive, in the days before the last war when they had waved good bye to him one last time and watched him walk away from them forever. She longed to be free, but she knew that if she was ever released she didn't really have anywhere to go. Mother was in the country with Rilla, who must be nearly seven now. Trina had stayed in the city after they had got the news about Father. Mother had wanted her to come and live with their grandparents, but Trina had pretended not to care. She couldn't do that to Mother and Rilla, to her sweet grandparents. They had a chance at a life without stigma and persecution. It was just better for everyone, she knew, if she took her chances in the city. Alone.

A key grated in the lock and the door opened. The old sentry stood aside and a soldier stood in the doorway, his red turban and tunic a striking contrast to the dim dullness of the cell . When he said her name it was such a surprise that she almost forgot to answer. "Trina," he said, his voice echoing against the bare walls, his hand on the knife at his belt. He looked around at the three pale women staring up at him. "Which one is Trina?"

"I am," she said, scrambling to her feet when she realised what he had said. Perhaps Mother had come to visit her. Her heart leapt with that small hope.

"Come with me," he said, standing to one side of the doorway.

The others looked at her, their eyes wide. She lifted her chin as she reached the soldier, wishing that she wasn't so dirty, willing herself to remember that she was innocent, that she was not a criminal, that she was more than the bedraggled, smelly girl he must see in front of him. He hardly looked at her, just grabbed her wrist to inspect the mark on it, took her arm and pulled her through the doorway into the courtyard outside.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, not really expecting him a satisfactory answer.

But he looked her in the eyes now, and smirked, as if what he was about to say was amusing to him. He raised his eyebrows, shook his head and shrugged as he locked the door behind him. "To the palace, girl," he said. "I'm taking you to the palace."