16 views
The Lady in White
PROLOGUE
The heathen bride fled the city of Nil’ada. Deep into the darkness she ran. Each step of her bare feet smeared the leaves red, while the sacred blood of the Highpriest clung dry to her hands. The world she left behind shuddered at her savagery, but the bloodthirsty jungle drank eagerly and beckoned for more.
How could she have known that on that moonless night she would be awakened to the truths of the world? That the untimely passing of her father, her rock and shield, would so quickly leave her out in the wilderness? Starving and hunted like an animal, with only rare moments of reprieve between running and hiding, wishing she’d never gambled her soul for the promise of sanctuary
But it was too late. The Brotherhood of B’ah would show no clemency for her most grievous of sins. She had broken their sacred purpose to protect their Highfather and rendered them orphaned and leaderless. She knew that her gush of rage would soon ripple across the world, threatening to undo the faith itself, for it was said that the Man of B’ah was eternal and undying. Yet by her hand, he laid bludgeoned and lifeless in his tower.
The vengeance of B’ah demanded she be cursed, condemned, and burnt to ash before the might of the sun, and The Brotherhood would chase her to the ends of the Endless Waters to do it. Her plight looked hopeless, and yet she took comfort in the words that roared in her mind over and over. “He deserved it.”
She skidded to a halt just as the jungle ended in a sheer drop ahead, forcing her to stare into a gaping ravine. She found markings on a nearby rock. The Throes of Thala, it said. A deep cut in the earth where the unwanted and the damned were cast aside. Scorned lovers, vicious criminals, and ravaged innocents among the many. The foul pit was said to pierce straight through the three underworlds and into the darkest depths of the lowest realm, The Chamber of Thala. A place she had been taught to fear all her life.
The pale bride caught sight of a lady in a flowing white gown watching her from the jagged brush across the ravine. In a blink the figure was gone. She took a deep breath and shrugged off her growing dread. The darkness had played tricks on her all night, and she had no time for figments of frightened fancy.
Torchlights were dancing in the dense foliage. The clinking of metal and the thundering of hooves got louder. Agitated voices were barking orders in the dark. What hunted her drew close, and they were everywhere. Her back was pinned against the bottomless ravine, no forest nor cover of night could hide her from them. Soon, the bushes next to her rustled. Out came a sunpriest, clad in leather and bronze, who immediately locked eyes with the bride and shouted, “Over here!”
She gripped hard on her weapon - a rigid mass of dark metal that was never meant to be a cudgel. In a full sideward arch, she swung its massive weight, sending its beautifully crafted business-end crashing with speed into the man’s chest. His breastplate succumbed and his ribs audibly cracked before his body flew off, dead and out of sight. The other soldiers scrambled towards the noise.
The bride gathered herself and stood low to the ground. The dark paint applied so meticulously to her lashes ran ragged down her delicate cheeks. “It will please the Highfather,” she remembered her handmaidens saying as they fastened her wedding dress like reins on a mare. It clung tenuously to her light frame, tattered and soiled from wading through the thickets. Her slender arms, left naked to hint at her purity, were caked with filth and congealed blood. She hadn’t eaten in days, and was given little water, surviving on a few merciful drops of rain to quench her thirst. They wanted her frail and docile that moonless night, but she...
The heathen bride fled the city of Nil’ada. Deep into the darkness she ran. Each step of her bare feet smeared the leaves red, while the sacred blood of the Highpriest clung dry to her hands. The world she left behind shuddered at her savagery, but the bloodthirsty jungle drank eagerly and beckoned for more.
How could she have known that on that moonless night she would be awakened to the truths of the world? That the untimely passing of her father, her rock and shield, would so quickly leave her out in the wilderness? Starving and hunted like an animal, with only rare moments of reprieve between running and hiding, wishing she’d never gambled her soul for the promise of sanctuary
But it was too late. The Brotherhood of B’ah would show no clemency for her most grievous of sins. She had broken their sacred purpose to protect their Highfather and rendered them orphaned and leaderless. She knew that her gush of rage would soon ripple across the world, threatening to undo the faith itself, for it was said that the Man of B’ah was eternal and undying. Yet by her hand, he laid bludgeoned and lifeless in his tower.
The vengeance of B’ah demanded she be cursed, condemned, and burnt to ash before the might of the sun, and The Brotherhood would chase her to the ends of the Endless Waters to do it. Her plight looked hopeless, and yet she took comfort in the words that roared in her mind over and over. “He deserved it.”
She skidded to a halt just as the jungle ended in a sheer drop ahead, forcing her to stare into a gaping ravine. She found markings on a nearby rock. The Throes of Thala, it said. A deep cut in the earth where the unwanted and the damned were cast aside. Scorned lovers, vicious criminals, and ravaged innocents among the many. The foul pit was said to pierce straight through the three underworlds and into the darkest depths of the lowest realm, The Chamber of Thala. A place she had been taught to fear all her life.
The pale bride caught sight of a lady in a flowing white gown watching her from the jagged brush across the ravine. In a blink the figure was gone. She took a deep breath and shrugged off her growing dread. The darkness had played tricks on her all night, and she had no time for figments of frightened fancy.
Torchlights were dancing in the dense foliage. The clinking of metal and the thundering of hooves got louder. Agitated voices were barking orders in the dark. What hunted her drew close, and they were everywhere. Her back was pinned against the bottomless ravine, no forest nor cover of night could hide her from them. Soon, the bushes next to her rustled. Out came a sunpriest, clad in leather and bronze, who immediately locked eyes with the bride and shouted, “Over here!”
She gripped hard on her weapon - a rigid mass of dark metal that was never meant to be a cudgel. In a full sideward arch, she swung its massive weight, sending its beautifully crafted business-end crashing with speed into the man’s chest. His breastplate succumbed and his ribs audibly cracked before his body flew off, dead and out of sight. The other soldiers scrambled towards the noise.
The bride gathered herself and stood low to the ground. The dark paint applied so meticulously to her lashes ran ragged down her delicate cheeks. “It will please the Highfather,” she remembered her handmaidens saying as they fastened her wedding dress like reins on a mare. It clung tenuously to her light frame, tattered and soiled from wading through the thickets. Her slender arms, left naked to hint at her purity, were caked with filth and congealed blood. She hadn’t eaten in days, and was given little water, surviving on a few merciful drops of rain to quench her thirst. They wanted her frail and docile that moonless night, but she...
