Practical Strangers - Chapter 1

Chapter I

When the Queen's soldiers descended upon the camp, the inhabitants felt no surprise. Iron rang against iron and the newly emerging floor of the forest ran with the red of so many spilt lives. Outnumbered, the camp's inhabitants fought to the end; braver and with more honor and valor than any army. Men, women, children. They all fought. And in the end, they all died. Except one.

     In the heart of the raging cries, ringing swords and raining arrows, a young boy slipped out from the clump of burning tents. Screams echoed around him and all he could see was the blood of the fallen as everything became consumed by the burning heat and thick, smothering smoke.

     A large soldier in gleaming white armor bore down upon him, the great sword falling upon the boy with all the man's strength. A dull and deafening clink of metal and crushing bone rang out before the boy could move. The soldier fell in a heap on the ground, red staining his armor in long shiny fingers.

     The ironsmith stood behind the fallen man, red faced and bent over with a mallet still clutched in both hands from the strike. His large burly shoulders heaved with each breath and soot stains mixed with sweat and blood. He hoisted himself straight and pushed at the boy's shoulders, his chin nodded towards the woods beyond the encampment.

"Sebastian , you need to get out. Follow the mountains west towards--"

"Aiden, I can fight."

"No." The iron smith's voice boomed out against the boy, urgency pushing itself with every breath. "You can't stay. You can't be caught, if they -"

    His words were cut short by an arrow, striking directly into the back of his chest. The breath escaped his lungs in one mighty gasp, the light in his eyes fading as quickly as lightning strikes but the urgency of his message still read plainly on his face.

    The boy turned, fear rising in his chest like ice as the chaos stormed around him; fire, blood, screaming children, crumpled bodies. His head swam with the anarchy; his ears deaf to everything but the rushing of his own blood and heartbeat. He ran toward the edge of the tented town, ashes flying in the blood red sky. But his strides stopped abruptly as his eyes fell upon a figure battling against two large and burly soldiers.

In the small field before the edge of the forest, his father stood tall and strong, slashing his sword out in one long sweep of his powerful arm and two of the white clad men fell like leaves to the green carpet. Standing over the fallen monsters, a deep, powerful growl bellowed from his father's chest as he pointed ahead of him toward an oncoming swarm of white warriors. Several men who were still standing raised their own weapons high over their heads and added to the battle cry before pushing forward to the gleaming soldiers. Like crisp linen, the soldiers seemed so unnaturally white and clean in the camp of ash and blood. Liar angels among ashen saints.  

His father swung out once more with his sword, striking another white monster to the earth.

"Grenn!" Another of the camp's men shouted out to his father and pointed toward Sebastian  before being slashed across his spine and adding his life to the growing river. Alarmed, his father turned to see his son standing pale and small on the side of the thundering battle. Fear clouded his dark eyes as he looked toward his son, and the last of his men fell around him.

    Sebastian  stepped forward, wanting to help his father as he quickly became outnumbered and disarmed by the white soldiers. His arms forced behind his back and his knees pushed to the ground.

"Seb, Run! RUN!" His father cried out, struggling against the monsters that held him. Sebastian  stood and wavered for a moment, torn between fear and anger and stared into the desperation of his father's eyes.

With one last pleading look, Sebastian  turned and ran as fast as he could into the awaiting forest. His feet flew across the forest floor as the echoing clink of metal clad feet followed him and the dull, clean chop of a sword through vertebrae deafened the forest for what seemed like leagues.

The world fell silent around Sebastian  as he ran through the never ending trees. No more children screamed. No birds cried. All that remained was the distant drumming of pursuing feet ringing in Sebastian 's ears as his heart squeezed tight and fell low in his chest. He choked on tears and ran blindly into the forest, aiming himself into the densest part of the trees and underbrush. He used his smallness against the large and clunky soldiers, slipping between the branches and prickling arms of shrubs as his pursuers stumbled and cursed behind him.

Minutes flew by in seconds. Hours disintegrated into moments. And still he ran. Lungs burning, legs set ablaze, feet sore and aching. But Sebastian  pushed himself onward, not daring to stop as the clinking of the metal suits chimed behind him. Black and blue silhouettes of trees rushed past him and fatigue settled into the crevices his eyes, making him clumsy as his feet stumbled and twisted painfully on every root and rock. But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. The fear, and the anger, and the pain kept him going.



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A little girl with coppery-brown hair waded through the tall grass and wildflowers that touched the soft hills of the glen. It was warm and a light breeze slipped through the trees and grass, stealing their sweet fragrance. The sun sat low in the morning sky, swept like stardust with blushes of orange and pink against the dusty purple dawn.

Underneath a patch of willow trees that lined the east side, Lily and Madame Poppy sipped at their tea and chatted of kitchen gossip as they watched their charge wander rather mindlessly through the lea, big green eyes staring longingly up at the sky.

"Arabella, do come back. You're wandering much too far."

Closing her eyes and sitting down among the grass, Arabella tried to ignore the screech of Madame Poppy's voice as it interrupted the easy stillness of the air.  

"Princess! I must insist that you come back towards us!"

    With a roll of her eyes and small puff of her breath, Arabella stood slowly and began strolling back towards her keepers, purposefully drawing out each step to be as bothersome as possible.

Distant shouts and the clinking of metal drifted on the breeze, shattering the quiet.  Lily and Madame Poppy sat up abruptly, uncertainty and bits of fear crept into their faces as the shouting became louder and louder.

Arabella froze suddenly on the far side of the expanse, her heart beating rapidly faster with each passing moment. Movement caught her eyes from in the tree line, and for a moment true fear washed over her, cold despite the warmth of the sun on her skin.

From the shade of the dense trees, a boy barely older than her own thirteen years emerged, his head turned back towards the dark forest. Thin and lanky, he rushed into the clearing like an arrow and stumbled into Arabella, knocking them both over into the soft waves of green.

     They fumbled together in a confused mass of tangled limbs, the two trying desperately to free themselves. Urgent shouting grew from both ends of the meadow as Madame Poppy rushed toward them and a group of clinking soldiers pushed forward from the tree line. Quickly, they withheld the boy before he could rise from the ground. Panting and feebly trying to break away from the men's hold, he threw his dark hair from his eyes, meeting Arabella's steady and curious gaze with his own wild and frightened stare.

Still tangled in her skirts and grass, Arabella made no effort to correct herself as she stared at the boy, suddenly breathless as their eyes met. Dark and swirling with flecks of green and gold, the boy's brown eyes glittered in the sun. Fear and bits of anger drifted in the dark pools like a raging storm, but their surface was still and guarded like calm water; masks of glass holding back hurricanes.

    Something clicked in that moment, something unexplainable as she looked into the storm of his eyes masked by this delicate calm. Something about him echoed the strength and stubbornness that rooted itself deep inside her, and she knew she would never forget those eyes.

"Princess, are you alright? Have you been harmed?" Madame Poppy asked, lifting Arabella rather roughly to her feet before turning to the guards.

"What is the meaning of this? Why do you have this young boy?"

Her voice was sharp and squawking against the muteness of the meadow, and Arabella felt herself cringe slightly at the shrillness.

"Forgive us for disturbing you, Highness," The burliest of the men stated, nodding slightly in Arabella's direction. "But we've been chasing this boy since last evening. He's from one of the rebel's camps we found out in the Vale,"

     Poppy and Lily let out a small gasp and pulled Arabella farther away from the boy, glaring at him as though he suddenly was death itself. "We executed the leader of that party, and this is his son. We're taking him back to the castle, The Queen wishes to gather information from him."

A chill washed over Arabella, for the Queen was not known for her kindness, and she noticed the boy stiffen slightly as the soldier talked.

If I hadn't been in the way, I wonder if he would have gotten away. I might have just cost him his life.

    Arabella's eyes were still locked on the boy the entire walk as the soldiers accompanied them back up to the castle.

And as he was marched off into the dungeons, and she into her bedchamber, she couldn't fight a nagging need to act. A mix of anger and uncertainty as her mind warred with itself; torn between what she knew she should do, what was proper, and a bubbling and unexplainable urge that had nestled itself inside her chest.