“Tantalus’ Grapes”

Thaish Shayll smiled, a thing that she had thought she had forgotten. It wasn’t the cold-hearted smirks or sneers that she was used to, but a true smile made soft with reminiscence. She sat on the edge of a small overhang, shaded beneath the boughs of an ancient oak tree. Her hazel eyes took in the scene: the mottled, green and brown field, the small, thatch-roofed cottage and tiny garden. Beyond that was the dark green backdrop of the forest and beyond them, a blue-hued mountain range.

She knew the house well for it was her own, the home that she had grown up in. Smoke seeped from the small chimney, hinting at the occupants inside. A mother, burdened with her unborn child, would be hunching over the black pot, stirring the stew within. Her husband would be soon returning from the village in the distance. Her young daughter was playing in the field with her neighbor friend.

It was they that Thaish watched. The redheaded girl and her dark-haired friend traipsing and playing in the long grass, carefree and ignorant of the cares and dangers of the world. The woman’s eyes closed partially, holding back a tear. The girl, she knew, was her so long ago. A bright and happy child, curly red locks blowing gently in the wind. Her hazel eyes were alight with a certain contentment, the pleasure of her happy home, the excitement of discovering a new creature in the forest.

What had happened? What had happened to change all of this? Thaish sighed. There was no need to question; she knew the scenes well. The attack, the flames, the vicious faces. Thaish closed her eyes. She could still smell the blood, feel the fear, hear the agonizing screams of pain and terror. She flinched. She could see them outside the cottage, her father fighting them, killing them, but there were too many, too many. Her memories shifted, blurred. The house was on fire. Her mother held her close, searching for a way out. This was a nightmare, torture. She remembered bursting through the flames and slipping in the blood before she was dragged upright and urged to run, to flee. And then it all went black. A Voice, a chilling, haunting voice, spoke from the darkness, soothing, twisting, questioning…

Thaish’s eyes snapped open, back into reality. The cottage was as it was, the children played in the field, and a new figure, her father, strode down the narrow, dirt path carrying a sack over his shoulder. The peaceful setting that she longed to return to.

Her eyes followed the little girl and she imagined what it might have been like had she been “normal”. She would have been at home now, in a small home, similar to the one before her, but in a city far away. She would have had a husband, a strong man, but gentle in his touch, understanding and wise. Her lap would have been filled with the weight of her own child and she would have rocked him to sleep and sing lullabies to him. Her face would have been soft and kind, her gaze bearing the calm pleasure of a mother carrying a child in her womb. Her hair would have been tied back and her skin would have been smooth. She would have felt the warm embrace of her husband and known how to love. It would have been peaceful, a kind of peace that she could only dream of and long for. The kind of peace that was forbidden from her….

Instead, all she had was the cold emptiness of an outcast. Her face was hardened by so many sorrows, her eyes bore only a stony glare or burning hate. Her flesh was ruined by scars from her enemies. Her heart was broken, crushed, a slave to the will of another. A slave to the Voice that had condemned her to this despicable life: the life of a friendless killer.

A killer. The words stung but she knew the truth. She was a killer, a murderer. How many lives had she taken? How many innocent people had she slain? She didn’t remember nor did she want to know. It was shameful, but she could never change it. From the moment she was born, she had been a slave to the Council. She had been born as a bastard child, and by the Law, sentenced to death. But the Voice, the Council had other plans. They were the reason she was like this, wandering the earth until she was killed by another or until They had had enough of her and finished the job themselves. Her life was worthless to Them. She was merely a pawn in Their games, a thing that was to be used and then cast away.

Thaish gritted her teeth against the truth of her thoughts. No, she must not think wrongly against the Council. She would be punished, forced to kill or be killed. The latter was never an option…

Her gaze returned to the children in the field. They were happy, so happy. Oh, how she longed to go down and play with them, to laugh, to smile. But no, that could never happen.

This vision before her was merely a memory, an illusion, a dream. An intangible dream that hung just where she could see it, smell it, taste it even, but the moment she reached out to grab it, it would disappear and the leering face of the Council would take its place…

She had been given a nightmare when all she wanted was a dream to hold on to.

After a moment, Thaish Shayll stood and shouldered her bow. She wiped away the tears in her eyes. She couldn’t let Them see her crying. In a trice she had taken her heart’s emotions and locked them up and returned the stony mask to her face. She had a war to start and a small, thatch-roofed cottage to burn…