The Inquisition
prologue
It was midnight hour and the clocks all throughout Nortown seemed to have stopped the flow of time for a rickety cart passing sleepily through the streets. The wheels creaked across the cobblestones; the lead horse's hooves made a beat much like those of war drums.
Inside the cart, people sniffled or cried out softly, but never was a wail heard. Not until they reached the jail with its towering spires and gates of rusted metal. Along the turrets sat bowmen, keen and alert, even on guard.
The walls stunk of death and inner disease, something that this woman had never experienced. She coughed again and again, wheezing out a shrill cry of, "Not my baby!" in between fits.
She was thrown bodily into a small cell with two others. She protectively cradled her stomach from the wall, turning so that her shoulder took the brunt of the hit. She cried out, feeling the bone snap like a twig.
"Shut up, woman," someone called. "If yer good, th' grace of th' master might fall on yer perddy face."
She sagged into the corner, dirty face washed clean by a torrent of tears. "Not my baby," she whispered softly.
…
The child was born under an ill-fated star. The moment its birthing cries pierced the air, everything seemed to still. The spiders hid within their webs and the rats dared not to even venture out at the smell of blood and after-birth.
The palace nurse wiped the babe off, looking worried. "This be a cursed one, Father," she prayed aloud. The mother let out an agonized moan. Nurse Relan turned her pale eyes to Councilor Fler, who stood on the other side of the metal bars. "Sir, it would be best to kill it now-"
"No!" she mother shrieked, wild eyes turning to Fler. He was caught by her doe-like eyes, now so big and round that white showed on all sides. Even in her weakened state she crawled, zombie-like, across the floor and grabbed at Fler's shoe through the metal bars. "Please, sir, please have mercy! I'm not a heretic! My baby's not one, neither! If you must kill me then do it, but not my baby!"
Fler looked down into the woman's pleading eyes and saw the truth in them. He wanted to walk away from her, to leave her destroyed beauty lying on the ground, complacent.
But he couldn't.
Fler knelt, taking her tiny hand in his. Once upon a time, he thought, looking into her thin face, this woman was the beauty of the town. Once upon a time this woman was the maid of the maypole.
Aloud he whispered, "I promise it."
The woman's eyes closed, tears spilling down her face. She was sudden bathed in the maternal glow of after birth that Fler had only heard about. She was smiling. "Thank you… thank you."
Fler stood, letting go his grasp on her hand. He turned and, without another thought, murmured, "Take the girl to my wife, Relan. She will take care of it."
Author's Note:
I apologise for the length. It was simply a prologue though. Please leave me some reviews -I definately need someone to bully me into continuing to write. I think I have up to chapter 8, but then my muse died in a horrible, fiery car crash...
Love love,
Eternity