Pen's Blog - Posts Tagged "sword"

The hand over her mouth woke her. She gasped and opened her eyes.

There was his face, right in hers.

He was bigger than she was but that didn’t stop her from putting up a fight.

Fused with adrenaline she hit his arms with her small fists, twisted her body in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. Her cries were muffled beneath his hand and though she tried to bite him, his hand was clamped too tightly over her mouth to allow her to even open it.

“Stop it!” he hissed in the moon-kissed darkness. “Stop it or your mother’s dead.”

Heather froze in her attempts to get away. She could see Gregorio’s eyes twinkling from the moonlight reflected in them, like a cat which had cornered its prey. The malevolence she saw there was proof of his sincerity.

“One sound,” he said his voice deep and menacing. “That’s all it’ll take. It’ll just take one second for my men to slit you mother’s and your aunt’s throats. Do we have an understanding, Princess?”

Heather, her eyes wide, her heart thudding in her ears, nodded weakly.

“Good,” Gregorio said. He uncovered her mouth. “Now where does your mother keep the Sword, kid?”

Heather swallowed hard. “In her room,” she whispered.

Gregorio picked her up in his sinewy arms and carried her to her mother’s room.

True to his word, one of Gregorio’s men stood at her mother’s bedside, dagger in hand, pointed at her sleeping mother’s throat.

Heather considered crying out but quickly dismissed the idea. In their old world, her mother hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and waking at all hours of the night.

In this world, she slept like a rock. Had Heather cried out her mother wouldn't have awakened. And her Aunt Tiernan couldn’t have reached them before the sailor had cut her mother’s throat. Then she remembered there was another just like this one standing over Aunt Tiernan.

Gregorio placed Heather onto the floor. “You’re heavy, kid,” he muttered quietly. “Now get the sword.”

Heather gazed at her sleeping mother, oblivious to all around her, the dagger so close to her exposed throat, the moonlight gleaming off its blade.

“C’mon, kid,” Gregorio growled. “I know you don’t want to see your mother’s throat cut.”

Heather, her heart heavy with despair, had no choice but to make her way across the floor to the table upon which the sword lay, Gregorio close behind. She reached for the sheath.

“Just the sword, kid,” Gregorio said.

Heather carefully removed the sword from its sheath. She started to hand it to Gregorio.

Gregorio grinned. “You’re carrying it. I can’t. Remember?”

Heather swallowed hard. Apparently, Gregorio had thought things through. She wished she could think of something to do right about now.

He looked at his sailor standing beside Barbara. “You stay here and wait for my signal.”

With those words, Heather lost all hope of yelling for help.

“Lucas!” Heather shouted.

Lucas raced toward them across the courtyard dodging people and carts and horses.

“Everyone close together!” Elder shouted as he stood before them.

The group huddled close.

“And you must maintain physical contact with one another for all of you to transport!” Elder reminded them.

Those thick black clouds were moving closer. And in a hurry.

As a precautionary measure, everyone looped their arms about each other’s waists and huddled as close together as they possibly could.

Lucas was almost there when he collided with a man, his eyes wild with panic. Lucas went tumbling to the ground ending up face-down within feet of the group. The man continued running, unaware or uncaring that he had knocked someone to the ground.

“Lucas!” Heather shouted and tried to break free of her mother’s arm tight around her waist.

“Heather, no!” Barbara shouted. She strained to maintain her hold on her daughter while also keeping her hold on Tiernan.

Heather stretched out her arm as far as she could reach.

Lucas reached out his hand.

The bag on Heather’s right shoulder slipped. “No!” Heather breathed. She shrugged her shoulder up in an attempt to keep the bag in place. But when she did that she couldn’t reach Lucas.

“Heather!” Lucas cried. “Help me!”

Heather reached out again, straining against the hold of the entire group. For one bright moment she thought the bag would hold; she could almost touch Lucas’s outstretched hand.

Then the bag slipped and slid down her arm.

“No!” Heather cried out as the bag slid down her slender arm and off her wrist.

She heard her heart beating loudly within her chest. She heard someone shout, “She’s almost here!” and heard the thunder: it sounded as though it were almost overhead. She heard the panicked cries and screams of all those around her, felt their fear as an almost tangible thing being passed from one person to another in the tumult that was the courtyard. She smelled the ozone of the lightning, that metallic-like odor that accompanies thunderstorms and felt the hair on her neck stand on end. She saw the look on Lucas’s face as the bag fell from her arm. She felt her own face contort with pain and indecision.

All of this, Heather was acutely aware of all of this; acutely aware that Lucas lay upon the ground, his face flushed with anguish and hope; acutely aware that there was no more time left, the time was now, right now, this instant and this instant in time was the only chance they had to escape the clutches of Desdemona. One single solitary breath of hesitation would be too late.

The bag was still within her reach.

So was Lucas’s hand.

Heather made her choice.

She turned.

And froze.

She was looking into a mirror.

No. Not looking into a mirror.

The image before her was gaunt and pale. A purple-yellow bruise almost covered the left eye and there was a deep purple bruise on the right cheek. Her hair hadn’t been washed or combed for awhile and her clothing looked somewhat ragged. Her lower lip was freshly cut: there was still some dried blood there. Her hands were shackled in front of her.

Except for these glaring differences, she was the mirror image of Barbara herself.

“Who are you?” Barbara finally asked breathlessly.

And though it was evident that it pained her to do so, the woman opposite Barbara smiled. Her eyes were moist with tears as she said, “I’m your twin sister.”

Barbara could only stare at the woman for several long moments. She wasn’t even certain she had heard the woman correctly. “My -” She stopped, for it wasn’t the word twin or the word sister which was about to escape her lips. Instead, she spoke a name she hadn’t spoken in many years.

“Tiernan,” she breathed.

A wave of memories washed over her, threatening to flood her with their velocity.

Holding Jean’s hand and walking through the mirror, looking back over her shoulder and waving to her twin - her twin sister - as tears poured down both their cheeks.

Their father - her father - smoothing her hair, telling her softly that she would have to go away for awhile so that she would be safe.

Early morning, Daddy sleeping in, twin girls having other ideas, giggling twin girls making Daddy laugh when Tiernan tickled his nose with a feather, Kiernan tickling his ear with a feather.

Kiernan.

Tiernan.

Jessica Tiernan.

Barbara Kiernan.

The first set of twins to be born in the Realm in over twenty-five years.

The only two people in the Realm with two names.

Barbara Kiernan.

Daddy’s little princess.

“Stand up and fight,” he demanded, his voice thick with anguish.

“I can’t,” Barbara said miserably.

“Yes, you can!”

“You don’t understand. This fight isn’t over,” she looked up at him, fresh tears spilling from her eyes, “until one of us is dead.”

Though he was appalled, he wasn’t surprised. He’d really expected as much, especially after his vision at Crystalwood was confirmed.

But foremost in his mind was protecting Barbara.

Fen grabbed Barbara by the arms, forced her into a sitting position. “Stand up and fight.”

“No!” she cried bitterly.

“Barbara you have to!”

“I can’t!”

“Barbara!” Fen said firmly. She looked at him. His voice caught in his throat, the words trapped by the growing lump there. He tried to force that lump down but it ended up coming out with his words. “I would rather die than see you suffer another moment.” Tears spilled down his cheeks as he finished.

This awakened new tears in Barbara as she said, “And I would rather die than to hurt you.”

Fen chuckled despite his tears. “I guess that means we’re at an impasse, then. But we can at least put on a good show. C’mon.” He helped her to her feet. “It’ll be just like when I was first teaching you.”

Barbara smiled wanly. “But these aren’t toy swords, Fen.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We were learning. Just having fun. That’s what we’re doing now.”

Without thinking, Fen bent down and picked up the Sword of Tilk. He started to hand it to Barbara then looked at it in amazement.

“He broke the enchantment on it,” Barbara said as she took the sword from him. “Anyone can pick it up now.”

“And the curse?” Fen asked.

“Oh, that’s still there.”

Great, Fen thought. One more thing to worry about.

But there was no time to worry about it at the moment as his sword clanged against the raised Sword of Tilk.