The Acolyte

The Acolyte

Chapter 4

"Come," General Brennon growled at the sound of a knock on the wooden pole outside his tent.

The tent flaps opened and he looked up from the maps scattered on the table as a soldier entered.

"Report!" he barked when the soldier straightened from his bow.

"My Lord, the Temple has been secured and the prisoners have been contained as ordered," the soldier said with a grin.

"Very well. Dismissed," Brennon said with a wave of his hand, bending down over the table to study the maps again.

The soldier bowed and left the tent. As soon as the tent flap had fallen back, Brennon sighed.

He felt tired and worn down. He definitely felt his age more these days. He had risen through the ranks, and been on countless campaigns. His body still bore the marks of too many of those campaigns. He straightened up from the table, knuckling the small of his back, and walked over to the small table where some wine and glasses had been laid out. He poured himself a glass and glanced at the small mirror hanging on the center pole. The image that met his eyes was no longer the young man he had been. His face was lined with worry and too many battles. His now silver hair was trimmed short, and his eyes seemed to be set too far into his head. He was getting too old for this. He tossed back the glass of wine with a single swallow and set the glass on the table. It was now time to deal with these prisoners.

Brennon made his way through the camp flanked by his guards. He could barely remember a time when he was young and strong enough to not need guards. Oh, he certainly was still considered a dangerous man by all accounts, but the many attempts on his life left him with little choice. He raised his hand in greeting as his men cheered when he passed. They certainly had done well this day and had every reason to celebrate. They had won a quick and decisive victory after all.

At the outer edge of the camp, they arrived at the place where the prisoners were being kept.

Each one kneeling in a line, her hands bound behind her. Brennon walked down the line of the captives, his eyes searching for one in particular. He stopped in front of the one who most certainly was The Matron of this temple.

"Stand," He ordered, gesturing to the guards to haul her to her feet.

The Matron kept her head down as the guards roughly dragged her to her feet. Brennon reached out and grabbed her by the chin and forced her head up to look at him. There was a fire in her eyes as she stared straight into his. This woman, although a prisoner, was certainly not subdued.

"Where is the girl?" Brennon asked, he didn't need to explain who he meant.

The Matron didn't answer, just kept staring at him defiantly.

The casual backhand across her face caused The Matron to stumble, but the guards held her upright. She continued her stare as blood began to trickle from her split lip.

"Where is the girl?" Brennon asked again but was met with silence.

Brennon made a gesture to the other guards, and a pair of them picked out a woman from the line, hauled her to her feet, and began slicing off her robes with their knives.

"My men would love a plaything to celebrate today's victory. She seems like she would do nicely," Brennon said in a conversational tone. But still, The Matron stood silently.

He gestured again, and the two guards began dragging the woman off as she began to wail.

The Matron closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky, as Brennon raised his hand for another blow. Suddenly, The Matron brought her head back down with a look and a grin that made Brennon pause and take a step backward. This woman looked as fierce and as dangerous as anything he had faced before. He opened his eyes wide as he realized that something was about to happen. He started to shout an order, and the world exploded in white light and thunder. He felt himself slam into the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay on the ground stunned, unable to breathe, see, or hear.

When the world returned to normal, Brennon let himself be helped up by a pair of soldiers. He shook them off when he was able to stand and gaped at the sight in front of him. One of the guards that had been holding her lay screaming on the ground. Bloody stumps where his arms had been waved frantically in the air. The other lay dead, half of his body burned away, leaving a half-charred and mangled corpse. Of The Matron, the only sign that remained was a burnt and smoking patch on the ground.

Brennon had seen many things in his lifetime, but nothing quite like this. He turned to the line of prisoners, and each of them looked as shocked as he felt. He wagered that none of them would be able to tell him what just happened, and he doubted any of them knew the whereabouts of the girl.

"Kill them," Brennon ordered, then turned and marched back to his tent, the screams of the women following in his wake.

* * *

Anabel woke to the sound of a squirrel chittering in the branches above where she lay. She sat up with a groan and looked around. Her whole body hurt, and she was starving. She had been on run for three days now. Her robes were ripped and tattered, no longer white. Dirt, blood, scrapes, and bruises covered her. Ever since the attack, she barely stopped moving. She came across a stream that first day and had begun following it upstream, keeping to the woods for fear of being found. The going wasn't easy, but she couldn't risk stopping for too long, resting only when exhaustion threatened to overtake her.

She pushed herself up and brushed the leaves and dirt off her soiled robes as best she could before continuing onward. She didn't know where she was going and feared she was hopelessly lost. Following the stream was her best chance of finding some help. She slowly made her way to the stream and carefully drank her fill. She didn't dare take any more time to clean herself up.

Anabel made her way through the brush, fallen logs, and boulders that lay scattered haphazardly along the banks of the stream. Soon her robes were decorated with new holes and tears, and new scrapes and scratches covered her arms and legs. She froze when she thought she heard something up ahead. She couldn't see very far through the brush, so she held her breath and waited. Soon the smell of a campfire and cooking drifted toward her. Her stomach growled at the smell, and her mouth began watering. She hadn't eaten a thing since that breakfast in the temple three days ago.

She carefully crept toward the smells, trying her best not to make any noise. It wasn't long before she could see the smoke from the fire rising through the trees. She knew she should probably avoid it altogether and continue on her way, but the smell of roasting meat was too much. She needed something to eat soon, or she wouldn't have the strength to go anywhere. Anabel continued to slowly inch her way forward, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

"Come closer child, I won't bite," an old woman's voice called out, cackling with laughter.

Anabel froze and readied herself to flee.

"Oh stop that child. Old Silvie won't hurt you. Come. Come sit and eat. You must be famished you poor thing," the old woman called.

Anabel stood up and cautiously stepped forward into view of the campfire. An old woman, cloaked and hooded, sat before the fire tending a rabbit that hung over the flames on a spit.

"Come closer child. Sit. Sit," the old woman gestured to a log near the fire.

Anabel looked at the woman suspiciously, before taking a seat on the log. She didn't seem likely to be a threat, but she couldn't take any chances. As soon as she sat, the old woman took the rabbit off the spit and passed it to Anabel.

"Careful, it's hot," she said with a laugh that devolved into a hacking fit.

Anabel took the spit eagerly, not caring it was too hot. She ripped off a chunk and juggled the hot meat before popping into her mouth. Silvie just sat and poked the fire with a long stick, her expression hidden beneath her hood. It wasn't long before Anabel had eaten the whole rabbit. She stared at the remaining bones wistfully, wishing there was more. She did feel better though. Silvie hadn't spoken during her meal. She just sat quietly poking at the fire.

"Thank you," Anabel said, wiping her mouth.

When she didn't respond, Anabel looked at her curiously. Something seemed odd about this woman. Why was she out her in the middle of nowhere all alone and how did she know Anabel was there? Before she could ask her questions, Silvie lifted her head toward Anabel and removed the hood that shrouded her face.

Anabel gasped when she saw her face. Her eyes had been shown shut, the thick black threads making a row of X's on her eyelids. Her face was gaunt and pale. Anabel instantly recognized this woman as an Oracle and fell to her knees, bowing her head to the ground.

She had never met an Oracle before, but she had learned about them at the temple. Oracles were the mouthpieces of the gods and were believed to hold special powers. Only a fool would provoke an Oracle. Even kings and rulers bowed and treated them with the highest respect, lest they incur the wrath of the gods and the Oracle.

"Rise child," the Oracle said.

Anabel sat up straight at the Oracle's command but kept her head bowed.

"How may I serve, Honored one?" Anabel said, unable to completely hide the fear and awe in her voice.

"Pshaw! Stop that groveling and listen, child," Silvie growled, then spoke quietly,

"You are to go the the city of Faren. There you will find a guide who will lead you to your destiny. Ishtara has placed her hand upon you and has ordered your path. Do not stray from the light and be mindful of the shadows, grave danger lies there."

Anabel had never heard of this city and had no idea which direction to even begin. And be mindful of shadows? What did that mean exactly? Still, it wasn't her place to question, only obey.

"Yes, Honored one. I hear and obey," Anabel said when Silvie had finished speaking, but she didn't dare voice her thoughts and doubts.

"Do not worry child. Ishtara will provide a way to the city. And you will understand about the shadows soon enough," the Oracle said with a knowing grin.

Anabel looked up at the old woman in shock. It seemed that she could actually read minds. Anabel would certainly be more careful with her thoughts in the future.

"Now child, go fetch me some water and clean yourself up. You are a mess," Silvia laughed and gestured to an empty water skin sitting beside her.

"Yes, Honored one," Anabel said, standing up and quickly picking up the skin.

She hurried down to the stream nearby, still feeling in awe that she had been visited by an Oracle. Even so, she was still confused about the Oracle's words. She had no idea what she needed to do, but she was determined to do it nonetheless. When she reached the stream, she knelt down and filled the skin. After carefully setting it off to the side she stripped off her torn and dirty robes and looked down at her body. She was filthy. Cuts and scrapes covered her. Blood, sweat, and mud streaked everywhere. She didn't want to imagine what her face and hair looked like. She took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the stream. She gasped as the icy water seemed to burn her scrapes and cuts. Even so, it did feel good to get clean. She dove under the water, fully submerging herself, and came up quickly, spluttering at the icy chill of it. She tried her best to wash the filth and grime off of her, but without soap or a scrub brush, it took time. It wasn't long before she was starting to shiver from the cold water, and decided she was clean off and climbed out of the stream.

She picked up her robes, which were barely fit for rags and this point, and reluctantly slipped them on again. She gathered up the full water skin and made her way back to the fire.

When she arrived back at the fire, the Oracle was gone. In the place where she had been sitting lay a bundle of cloth tied up neatly with a string. Anabel looked around in shock. There wasn't a trace that anyone else besides Anabel had ever been there. She bent down and carefully picked up the bundle and untied the string. Inside the bundle was a fresh white robe, a wide leather belt, and a belt knife. The bundle itself was a dark brown cloak. Anabel smiled with pure gratitude as she realized that her goddess had blessed her with these gifts. She quickly knelt down and offered a genuine prayer of thanksgiving and another prayer for guidance and strength. Ishtara hadn't forsaken her after the attack on the temple. Tears began to fill her eyes as she sat down on the log Silvie had previously sat and noticed, hanging above the fire, were two more rabbits on spits.