Lythina confessed. “I should probably start searching my feelings for any memory of myself practicing Prudence in the past, huh?” She turned to look matter-of-factly into Emma chocolaty eyes, and was met with a warm smile.
“Yes. But don’t rush it; intuition always. Stand straight up, feet shoulder-width apart, with your hands to your sides, palms out. That’s right,” Emma confirmed as Lythina moved into position. “Now, find that memory, find your Prudence, and see what happens.”
And, closing her eyes once again, Lythina easily calmed her mind and listened to that subtle gleam inside her soul. But a flash of despair crossed her heart, momentarily distorting her tranquil expression. She wanted to shake it away, she knew what was coming, but she fought the urge and allowed the fragmented memory to surface.
Inside the fog of her mind, the blue flash had just vanished from her foot and she was running past the disabled men, up some stairs, down a hallway toward a shattering scream. Another blue flash and the door to a room sprang open. She soon found herself in midair, saw a blue flash, there was another man, he wouldn’t stop, terror in his eyes...He dropped to the ground pouring blood. He didn’t move again, and she looked up to see one of her handmaidens crouching against a wall, scared, paralyzed...
Lythina snapped back to the glade, tearing her mind away from the wretched memory, only to notice her entire body glowing blue. Her vision was outlined with a blue haze, and she could see the same shade of light illuminating the trees that bordered the glade. She turned toward Emma, whose astounded expression shocked her, holding fast to the feeling of mortal terror from her memory and felt her friend’s essence inside her palms. Willing, asking, pleading with the Universe, she gently began to lift her into the air. She could feel Emma’s heartbeat accelerate, her legs squirming inside her palms as they searched for steady ground. And for one small moment, she held her friend in mid air as she concentrated on the horrible validity of her forgotten past.
Gently easing Emma’s essence back toward the earth, Lythina set her down onto the forest floor and surrendered to her internal fatigue. The sapphire light faded from her body, the forest darkened, and she dropped to her knees in tears.
8. The Beginning
The inner bailey of Hyrendell Castle was packed with the village’s people as they all waited for the public execution of the king’s first McCloud prisoner. Since the inception of the Purification Decree, the nervousness of Hyrendell Village exploded with rumors of people being stolen into the night by the king’s guards. For the past month, between ducking around corners and scarcely leaving their homes, the villagers had been anxiously awaiting the news of the first captive. Soon enough, parchment fliers began to appear, listing the date and time of the first execution:
Hear this, all the people of His Majesty’s kingdom ~
The Purification has begun.
The first cleansing ceremony will be held on the first Monday in the month of July, shortly after middle-day. The King commands attendance from everyone who holds allegiance to His kingdom. Those who do not attend will be considered in alliance with the traitorous McCloud Clan and will be put to death.
The skies evinced the morbidity of that sorrowful day; throughout the morning, light drizzles of rain had come and gone, and the sun glowed dimly as it rose in its unceasing arc behind thunderous, indecisive clouds. At dawn, the village began to stir, for no one could sleep knowing that the first execution in one hundred years was upon them.
Fearing to be alone, covering their faces and turning away from the violating eyes of the stationed guards, the villagers counted on safety in numbers as they traveled five at a time into the castle’s hold. Passing though the ivy-laden gatehouse and under the threatening wrought iron portcullis, the villagers were herded though the lesser outer bailey until they shuffled into the massive inner courtyard.
The dying landscape was split with a single gravel path down the center, and the dull Earthstone walls of the inner bailey surrounded the nervous villagers like an inescapable barricade. Opposite the entrance, toward the northern end of the bailey was a grand oakwood stage set before the majestic oaken Main Hall doors. And upon the stage sat the Machine, a grotesque device constructed of blood-stained iron and dead wood, its rotting beams protruding into the air like the festering arms of a decaying troll holding a rusty blade of steel. The stench of moldering death contaminated the wind as a southern sea breeze folded over the castle’s stone towers, smearing the virulent reek into the faces of the terrified villagers.
However, a brief twinkle of peace was to be found in the form of a humble man as he curved his way through the shivering crowd. Dressed in an ochre broadcloth robe, hood up to deflect the chilling breeze, the man slowly worked his way to the front of the gathering, pausing now and then to acknowledge the villagers that noticed him and reached out to him for comfort.
“Oh, Father, can you do something to stop this?!”
“Please, Father, pray with us, pray to God with us to stop this madness?!”
The warm chocolate eyes of Father Stephanus could barely glance into the trembling faces within the crowd. Everyone was terrified, everyone was helpless. His natural humility provided an advantage in circumstances like these, and he bowed his head in reverence. Soon, all of the villagers within eyesight immediately followed suit, longing to revel in the uniquely passionate style of prayer that defined their priest.
“Lord God, we pray that you hear us this day, listen to the anguish from our hearts, Lord. If there is anything we can do, Lord God, please allow us to do your bidding, Lord, fill us with the empowering love of your light, Lord God. We pray that you work your divine influence, Lord God, to cease this madness that the king has begun, Lord. We pray that you show yourself upon the king, Lord God, bless him with your love and peace, Lord God, bring him into the light, Lord God! And we all pray for the soul that is trapped, Lord God, whoever it is, Lord, may you accept them into your kingdom, Lord God, and release them from this hell, Dear Lord. In your eternal and benevolent name, Lord God, we pray to you! Amen.”
Stephanus slowly eased himself from his invocation and glanced up at the sobbing villagers. Some of them were drying their eyes, some of them glancing toward the sky in a final bid of gratitude, and Stephanus reached his hands out to hold their trembling fingers, if just for one moment God would choose to work through him and bring some warmth to ease their cold terror.
“Thank you, Father, thank you so much,” the villagers repeated as Stephanus slowly excused himself from the crowd. He continued to work his way through the gathering, stopping briefly to say “god bless you” here and there, soon finding himself standing at the eastern edge of the inner bailey, to the right of the horrible Machine, underneath an elaborate balcony decorated with a columned railing and two flanking guards.
Within minutes, from atop the inner bailey’s parapet walk, a short trumpeted sequence introduced the arrival of the king of Hyrendell onto the balcony directly above Father Stephanus. The entirety of the gathering of villagers inside the courtyard shuffled themselves around to face the king as he walked out onto the terrace, followed by his Steward. Quickly, silence fell among the crowd as they feared what would come next.
The king glared out among the villagers as if looking for a traitor within the crowd. He noticed how some of them were huddled together, gathering warmth from one another to fight against the bitter drizzle, while others would simply turn away when their eyes met his. This was a good sign; after all, they were cold and wet, tired and afraid, yet they were still here. What a perfect way to secure control.
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
“THERE ARE ENEMIES AMONG
