Rise Of A Queen

Ashen Sword

Roan’s stumach threatened to roll from the scent of burnt flesh. She saw a crumpled form near the stove which was blackened and contorted. The way Roan saw it from the corner of her eye made the bile rise to her throat again. She heaved a quiet sob of tears threatening in her eyes. She knew that she couldn’t turn her eyes the other way. The ashen heap of what was once a table barley concealed the small form curled into itself.

With shaky steps and soft sickening gulped sobs she made her way to what was left of the stone doorframe. Roan gripped at the jagged bare stones with all her might. The painful feel of them digging into hand was her only anchor to this new reality. She didn’t want to take in more of the awful smell that was now in her every breath. She was beginning to taste a metallic tinge to the ash. Her vision blurred as her eyes landed on the stone bassinet in the corner of the room, a form laying over it protectively.

She crumpled to the floor with a heave racking her body. It rolled through her like a wave nausea and the contents of her stomach. Her vision blurred from the tears in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She knew magic fire burned fast and it burned almost everything it touched to ash.

If you had asked Roan later why she came knowing what magic fire does, she would not be able to explain. “I’m sorry” she says in a cracked whisper that caught her sobs. Another heave and more stomach contents end up on the floor. She wanted nothing more than to lean against the stones and bury her head in her knees to cry.

That wouldn’t bring them back. Nothing would now, the Maker took them. She slowly and shakily got back to her feet. A new feeling slowly taking over her. Anger, no pure rage. The Maker cannot be put to blame; they only did their job. No, the Royals, they took everything and she had no idea why.

Roan took a few deep ragged breaths and rubbed the tears from her eyes with a sleeve looks around the room where eyes catch a glint from the light coming in the window. Propped against the wall she spies a sword. It looked like it had been stabbed in a pile of ash. The leather of the handle charred to almost no recognition.

She could feel a cry catch in her throat. This must have been the gift her father had teased about all week. As she walked towards it tears once again came to her eyes. Her hand tapped it to test to see if it was hot. The handle was surprisingly cool to the touch. “I will cherish it Papa.” She whispers to herself as she grips the handle.

A hot feeling starts to build up inside her. “They will pay for this” she hisses out theough gritted teeth. Picking up the sword, Roan cast another look at the charred figure and gulped softly. She had another job to do, bury her family. Her heart clenched as anger and sorrow warred in her chest. She shook her head now wasn't the time.