In Times To Come

"Papa!" I ran through the pillared hall. The night is closing in around me and the last rays of evening's sun shine weakly through the windows. The sun sets as I come to the giant oak doors. I grab the decorated handles and pull. It takes all of my weight, but I am finally able to open them enough to squeeze through.

The signs of a battle are evident. The lamp stands that would normally line the grand throne room were strewn around and bent. Tapestries had come free of their spaces on the walls. Swords lay on the ground where they were abandoned by their wielders. The great chair, which I had seen my father occupy many times, was literally cut in half. Its splintered wood littered the soft red of the carpet beneath.

My eyes grew accustomed to the moonlit room. I could see the hunched over figures of the servants, the battered bodies of soldiers, and...

"Papa," I whispered. I walked carefully along the carpet, avoiding the figures that slumped against the cold floor. The closer I approached, the harder it was to focus. I saw his boots, the end of his cape, a sparkling from his sword. I came to the stairs and slipped. My hands shielded me from the fall and I sat up. I studied them closely, bringing my hands to my face. They glistened; slick and sticky.

* * * * * * * *

"Sara!" I sat straight up in my bed. "You'd best get a move on!" yelled a voice up the stairs.

I yawned and looked over to my small window. I could see where the sun hit my floor boards, making them glow and illuminating the small dust particles that made themselves at home among the nooks and crannies of my small room.

I twisted around, tangled in my own bed sheets. No wonder I was so flustered this morning, I could barely breathe, they were so tight. I looked down. My hands had a death grip on my pillow. This happened every morning. Just last week I woke up with cuts all over my hands, all because I grabbed the water jug in the middle of the night and broke it. Don't ask me to explain why, I have no idea.

I sat the pillow behind me and flexed my stiff fingers. I crawled out of my straw mattress and walked the length of my room; it was a mere twenty feet to the other wall. Here sat a small dresser. It held only two drawers; one for my undergarments and the other for my slim selection of dresses. I opened the bottom drawer and gazed at my three options. I was going into town today so I would have to pick something appropriate.

I reached for the middle dress and plucked it from among the others. The blue fabric was soft and cool against my skin. It was a rather plain dress. The sleeves only went half way down my arms and the bottom rested just above my shins. What I loved most about it was the silver bow that tied around the waist. I was told that it was the exact color of my eyes.

Taking off my crème colored nightgown, I replaced it with the dress. I dipped my hands into the basin that stood atop the dresser and splashed my face with its water. I ran my fingers through my thick, brown hair. It stretched down to the middle of my back. I had to be presentable and bed head was not going to cut it.

Satisfied with my appearance, I opened my door and ran lightly down the stairs. A quick turn at the bottom landed me right in front of the door. I grabbed the basket of vegetables at my feet and reached for the handle.

"Wait!" shouted the voice again. I turned to my mother. Her blonde hair was tied in a tight bun that sat on her head. A quilted shawl draped heavily over her shoulders and wrapped around her arms. Her small frame bent with the weight of a wooden chest she had dragged in from the adjoining room. I set the basket down and helped her heave it onto the kitchen table.

"What's this?" I asked. I had never seen this before.

"Something I've been keeping in the shed," she said. She wiped her brow with the end of her shawl.

I reached for the lid and tried to open it. "It's locked," I said to her.

She looked down to the small key hole below the lid. She raised her hand to her mouth and quickly scanned the room. "Now where did I put that key?"

I smiled to myself and turned back around. "I'm going," I called over my shoulder.

"Don't forget," she said to me. "The carrots are priced at one tril, the potatoes a half tril, and a-"

"Bundle of peas is one tril. I know," I finished for her.

She bent down and smoothed my hair along the edge of my face. "Be safe my special one," she said softly. I felt her hand go to the small dagger I always carried under my bow.

"You worry too much," I stated with a chuckle. Basket in hand, I opened the door and skipped down the few stairs that led to the yard. I ran through the rows of vegetables and onto the dusty road, the sun to my back. I could see the tall buildings break the horizon in front of me and I made my way, eager to join the bustle of the morning market.