To See the Sun
Disclaimer: ::blinks at self:: Wow. I actually am writing something that is NOT primarily a romance! Wow! Good for me! ::pats self on back:: Anyway. I own Ally-or Alviarin, or Lady Alyssa Trahelion, same person-Lady Cassandra Diacranon-or General Miana, same person-Lord Kyrin Mylsonin, and both Arymillas. Everyone else belongs to Mercedes Lackey, unless I specifically state otherwise.
Author's Notes: Like I said, this isn't a romance. It's more drama. And action. And.well, it's a lot of things, but it isn't a romance. Hope you enjoy! Oh, btw, look for "plays on words," particularly when you meet the Order.
Prologue: Fire
A little boy and girl-they can't be more than six-stand at the edge of the main square in their village, completely nonplussed by the amount of people.
"What's going on, Ally?" the boy asks his cousin.
"Dunno, cousin. Let's go see."
"Ok."
The two children meander over to the center of the square. They are again puzzled by what they see there.
In the center of the square is a platform. A wooden platform.
In the center of the platform is a stake. A wooden stake.
Surrounding the stake are dry sticks and straw.
"What's going on?" the girl asks.
"Didn't I just ask you that?"
Their question doesn't remain unanswered for long. A man comes into the center of the square, directly in front of the platform. He wears the robes of a priest but-
They exchange a glance, and ask each other with their eyes: "What is a Voice doing *here*?"
The Voice begins to speak: "Today you will witness the purification of a witch-a witch with an evil power. She sees things she cannot see, things in the next village, things that have not yet happened!"
Angry mutters come from the crowd. The children exchange another glance. They wondered who it was.
Two of the Sunsguard come in, dragging between them a young woman-no, a girl!-who can't be more than twelve. She is wearing a coarse-woven yellow shirt that goes down to her knees. It looks like she is crying.
"It's Arymilla!" the girl whispers. "You know, Kaia's daughter!"
"I know," her cousin replies.
Arymilla bursts into petrified sobs as she is bound to the stake and doused in oil. "Please, don't burn me! I will be good, I will not touch it, I will not look! Please, don't burn me!"
The Voice sets the fire directly under the platform. Arymilla's sobs grow louder, more terrified. "PLEASE! I WILL BE GOOD, I WILL NOT TOUCH IT, I WILL NOT LOOK! PLEASE, I *BEG* YOU! *PLEASE!*"
The boy turns away. The girl wants to turn away, but can't force herself to. She watches as the fire slowly creeps up Arymilla's legs. The sacred oil used ensures that the fire will burn even hotter than natural- and with no smoke. No chance that the heretic would suffocate before she was purified.
"OH MY GOD, PLEASE, MY GOD, PLEASE! LET ME SEE THE SUN! LET ME SEE THE-"
The fire rushes up, consuming her. She screams. Seconds pass. The people cheer with savage triumph. There is nothing left of stake, platform, straw, sticks, or girl, except ashes.
The cousins grip each others' hands as they watch the ashes drift like so many black snowflakes.
Disclaimer: ::blinks at self:: Wow. I actually am writing something that is NOT primarily a romance! Wow! Good for me! ::pats self on back:: Anyway. I own Ally-or Alviarin, or Lady Alyssa Trahelion, same person-Lady Cassandra Diacranon-or General Miana, same person-Lord Kyrin Mylsonin, and both Arymillas. Everyone else belongs to Mercedes Lackey, unless I specifically state otherwise.
Author's Notes: Like I said, this isn't a romance. It's more drama. And action. And.well, it's a lot of things, but it isn't a romance. Hope you enjoy! Oh, btw, look for "plays on words," particularly when you meet the Order.
Prologue: Fire
A little boy and girl-they can't be more than six-stand at the edge of the main square in their village, completely nonplussed by the amount of people.
"What's going on, Ally?" the boy asks his cousin.
"Dunno, cousin. Let's go see."
"Ok."
The two children meander over to the center of the square. They are again puzzled by what they see there.
In the center of the square is a platform. A wooden platform.
In the center of the platform is a stake. A wooden stake.
Surrounding the stake are dry sticks and straw.
"What's going on?" the girl asks.
"Didn't I just ask you that?"
Their question doesn't remain unanswered for long. A man comes into the center of the square, directly in front of the platform. He wears the robes of a priest but-
They exchange a glance, and ask each other with their eyes: "What is a Voice doing *here*?"
The Voice begins to speak: "Today you will witness the purification of a witch-a witch with an evil power. She sees things she cannot see, things in the next village, things that have not yet happened!"
Angry mutters come from the crowd. The children exchange another glance. They wondered who it was.
Two of the Sunsguard come in, dragging between them a young woman-no, a girl!-who can't be more than twelve. She is wearing a coarse-woven yellow shirt that goes down to her knees. It looks like she is crying.
"It's Arymilla!" the girl whispers. "You know, Kaia's daughter!"
"I know," her cousin replies.
Arymilla bursts into petrified sobs as she is bound to the stake and doused in oil. "Please, don't burn me! I will be good, I will not touch it, I will not look! Please, don't burn me!"
The Voice sets the fire directly under the platform. Arymilla's sobs grow louder, more terrified. "PLEASE! I WILL BE GOOD, I WILL NOT TOUCH IT, I WILL NOT LOOK! PLEASE, I *BEG* YOU! *PLEASE!*"
The boy turns away. The girl wants to turn away, but can't force herself to. She watches as the fire slowly creeps up Arymilla's legs. The sacred oil used ensures that the fire will burn even hotter than natural- and with no smoke. No chance that the heretic would suffocate before she was purified.
"OH MY GOD, PLEASE, MY GOD, PLEASE! LET ME SEE THE SUN! LET ME SEE THE-"
The fire rushes up, consuming her. She screams. Seconds pass. The people cheer with savage triumph. There is nothing left of stake, platform, straw, sticks, or girl, except ashes.
The cousins grip each others' hands as they watch the ashes drift like so many black snowflakes.