Evella

Prologue

I cried.
There was heat all around me and my fear burst forth from my tired throat. Every gasp of air was harder, but I followed the stream of fleeing maids and man servants down a large, stone sprirling staircase. I was squeezed and shoved by the barbaric crowd, uncivilized in their panic. They did not bother to stop and look at whom they might be crushing; a child, like I, was simply irrelevant. Shielding my head from the frantic bodies, I hid my sweaty face in the swish of skirts. Through all of the trampling feet, my eyes found my parents. Mother! Father!—came my voiceless cry; the air now felt as if it were trying to strangle me, rather than revive my ragged breathing.
The smoke choked me further, and my parents answered not as I fell to my knees. A foot collided with my left shoulder, hefting me from the crowd, and closer to the King and Queen. King Landen and Queen Alzora of Glostoria, my parents, were now near to me, but my father lay motionless on the floor. I opened my parched lips to call to Mother, but I swallowed fumy air instead. Mother remained unmoving, and I stayed doubled over on the cold floor, a comforting contrast to the burning room, as salty tears stung my eyes.
A slight tug on my fingertips, pulling them gently from my face. Lifting soaked eyelashes upward, I stared at an image of great and terrible beauty. Taking in my pitiful appearance, the lady shook her head, smiling at mother.
One word.
“Marvelous.” She said.
My knees were yanked from the floor, and I was pulled by an invisible rope to my bear feet. The queen, my mother, shook with rage. I could practically smell the anger steaming from her body. “Morlyn, the princess is not to be touched.” Every vocal cord she possessed strained for calm.
Laughing was the reply, and I was grasped at my wrist. The lady, Morlyn, gripped me tightly; I imagined the veins in my arm popping.
“Such lovely skin.” She cooed, stroking me. Despite her honey coated words, they produced a chill in the fiery hall. I wriggled my hand, but her grip was like ice, frozen into place. “This will be tragic,” Morlyn muttered, her lips curling into a calamitous smile. “And I intend to make you watch.” A cry escaped me as I was thrust to the floor. Immediately I attempted a dash from the scene but my body refused movement. My vision blurred then, my head swimming. Noise, and shouting, and flames lapping closer to my face. I felt my back arching, and in a fleeting moment I glimpsed the queen and Morlyn locked in an internal battle, their gazes boring into each other. My body thrashed on the floor, as I felt a spell enter my doomed form.
At that point my thoughts had room for only one truth: death for me, death for the king and queen, death for Glostoria.



So lies the tale. At least, that is what I remember if it, since I was but a girl of seven, perhaps eight, when my tragedy occurred. The rest is fairly simple. Morlyn, my mother’s sister, did not in fact kill me. She would have, but did not grasp at her chance fast enough before it got away. When I was fully unconscious due to the smoke of the burning castle, I was stolen away by a servant who had overcome me during her escape. Finding room in her mind for thoughts other than FLEE, she lifted me effortlessly up and spirited me out into the dark of night. The Queen and the King were killed, and Glostoria, my beautiful land, was taken into the clutches of Morlyn, the enchantress; the Queen’s only sister, and my dastard aunt. Eleven years passed, and my long, recognizably royal name was shortened, but I never discovered what magic had befallen me that night, I knew, however, that I held a spell within me . . . or a curse.


* * *


I sifted in my saddle.
The woods were dark and beautiful, but the unknown noises were beginning to spook my horse, Paddy. I kept my hand on the enormous wall that outlined the entire kingdom of Drestan.
The year of my escape, when Morlyn had shown her power by taking over Glostoria, Drestan feared overthrow as well. As a result of this, the Royal Family decided to build a stone wall around the Kingdom, for the safety of the people. But they knew that this would never be enough to keep away a sorceress, for she possessed strong magic that no wall could keep out. So King William and Queen Rianna used their rank to appeal to the magician Ollo, a great and powerful man whom had helped Drestan in the past. He cast a spell over the wall, making it so all who lived inside the stone surrounding would be safe from any magic. If a person should leave the gates that were always heavily guarded, there was no guarantee of safety. Also, if a person should leave, they we never aloud to return; for if Morlyn were to cast a spell of that person, and they were to re-enter the Kingdom, that one spell could be warped to destroy all of Drestan. Such was Morlyn’s power, and Drestan wasn’t taking any chances.
If I kept close to the stony obstruction, I could fallow it back to the village.
Paddy stamped his hooves nervously. He wasn’t normally this antsy. I said “What is it boy?” His ears pricked up, as if something strange were roaming the air. I glanced into the trees above as I urged Paddy onward.
“Just a bit more, and then we’ll turn back.” It was more to reassure my self than my horse. Something defiantly was wrong. I rode in the woods nearly every morning and I had never felt this way before. I reached to pull aside a branch in front of me when a dark, feathery mass swooped downward.
“Whoa!” I yelled, rather frantically, waving my hands in front of my face. I had obviously moved around too suddenly in my seat, for Paddy jumped into a wild gallop, and I was unable to stop him. In the event that I had let go of his reins to shield my eyes from the startled bird, my mount was unsteady, and I was knocked this way and that. I only managed to stay atop by digging my knees harder into the sides of my horse, rendering an even faster pace than before. Arms flailing about, I grasped the reins once more, yanking my elbows back in an effort to halt. Paddy obediently stopped just before leaping over a small stream, delicately running through the dense forest.
I looked over my shoulder. No wall. Just trees, trees, trees. Drestan forest was vast, and I didn’t know it as well as I’d have liked to. In fact, all my life I had strayed no more than ten or so feet from the wall, always able to keep it in view. So in other words, I was lost.
“A fine situation we find ourselves in, eh Paddy?” I tried to sound cheery, but in truth my stomach felt as if it had leapt into my throat. How was I to get home?
“You isn’t lost, are you lass?
I whipped my head around. My eyes found an old man washing is feet in the flowing stream water. Was he there before?
“Lost,” I repeated, still trying to comprehend where this stranger had come from. “Lost, I think, I mean, yes. Yes, I am quite lost. Can you help me?”
“Can I help,” the man sang, he splashed his feet in the shimmering water, almost looking childish. I narrowed my eyes. “Yea, I can help. But you might have to jog my memory. You see, I’m an old man and…” He was asking for money! I was in no mood to pay a man, just so he would tell me my way home. However, I did need the information.
“I have no money with me sir.” I said, cutting him off. “What you see is what I have.” It was true.
The man eyed Paddy and my fist closed around his course main, as if to show I wasn’t parting with my horse. His gaze shifted off Paddy however, and moved to my hair. My hair was birch-brown and slightly goldish in some places, long with light ringlets at the ends. My best feature. My hands moved up protectively to my ears, fingering the surrounding strands.
The man’s intense eyes left mine and I immediately felt relived. “I’ll take a lock of that beautiful hair, if you don’t mind miss.”
“I, uh…” I debated. What was one lock of hair? At least he hadn’t asked for it all. I raised my chin. “Fine. Hand me your knife.” He tossed me a small and badly battered blade and I carefully severed a few protesting strands, quickly, so as not to hesitate. Handing him the knife and his prize, he smiled tantalizingly at me and took the reins from my fingers, leading my horse behind his haggard form.
When the wall was within sight the man pointed me the correct direction and I hurriedly thanked him, nudging Paddy into a trot. I was aware of an unsettling sensation that something large had been stolen from my body, but instead of feeling unwhole, I felt twenty pounds heavier. I took stock of myself. I looked the same. I concluded that I was apparently very attached to my hair, and was not keen on loosing a piece of it, however small a sacrifice it may have been. All the same, I turned to look back at my mysterious guide.
He was gone. Instead, where he had been standing was a black, filthy and angry-looking crow. Its beady eyes bored into my gaze, and I squinted from the power of it, as if in the hot sun. In a split second it was flying above the trees, and out of sight. In that moment I realized that in the crow’s battered talons, had been my lock of hair.

* * *

Upon arrival to the outskirts of the town center, one could easily see that preparation for a celebration was in order. The villagers bustled about, calling to one another, happily busying themselves with this or that. A few men called “Good day” to me and I nodded my answer. I did not want to converse in the hot square. There would be plenty of that tonight. Upon seeing a fountain with tasty looking water, I hastily made my way towards it, to relieve myself of the summer heat and to allow Paddy a drink. He gulped the water happily and I cupped my hands, drinking as daintily as was possible, while still managing to drip a good deal on my skirt.
Grasping the coarse hair on Paddy’s neck, I began to hoist myself onto his back, a challenging task with such a big horse as he. “Paddy, hold still!” I commanded, but in truth it was I who was moving him, the weight of my exhausted attempts inching him further from me each time. I had now gathered a slight crowd of viewers, anxiously watching to see if this maid could indeed heft herself onto an enormous gelding. They started shouting words of encouragement or humorous banter. “That’s it, Evella!” “Whoa horse!” “Nice and slow now,” “She’ll never make it.” I began to be annoyed that someone in the crowd didn’t just help for goodness sake, but obviously I was their object of enjoyment, and they were not about to spoil it.
It occurred to me to step onto the ledge of the stone beside me, using the extra height as an advantage. Somewhere during my mount up, the hem of my dress caught on a protruding edge of rock along the fountain. Finally I swung my leg over Paddy, and in one fluid motion was ripped off again, jerked back by my own betraying attire. I knew I was headed for a sad, wet landing, as my body was hurdled toward my drenching doom, now looking not quite as charming as before. I flung my arms out, waving them hysterically in a vein attempt at regaining my balance, but to no avail. With an excellent splash, big enough and damp enough to please the entire crowd, I surveyed my own drowned ego reflected in the eyes of my audience.
Paddy chewed on the lace of my boot, nudging it sympathetically. He looked embarrassed. I merely sat in my public tub, contemplating a way to exit the situation while still retaining a shred of dignity. Searching the frantic cupboards of my mind, they appeared to be as empty as I was wet. I was thankful my hair was plastered to my head like it was; it made the laughs and shouts of the crowd a little less audible. This was not the most humiliating act I had ever displayed and it wouldn’t be the last. I only found it all a bit irksome because I was trying so hard not to make a fool of myself on this particular day. It was the Prince’s birthday, and the entire kingdom of Drestan was rejoicing in this frumpy, royal spawn. Actually, I knew nothing of him, but I never had any wish to meet the prince. I was once before marooned by royal luck.
I could now see the expressions of some of the young men in the crowd, perplexity visible on their faces, wondering if they should be gentlemen and help the poor maid.
Hang them all.
Pushing my elbow off of the wet stoned fountain, I began to make my way out. My hands grasped at nothing as I rocked my weight back and forth in order to right myself. Arms outstretched, my fingers clasped another set. I looked into the face of a tall young man, but bent over in a position of assist. Keeping my mouth tightly closed, I ungracefully planted the palm of my other hand on his shoulder and hulled myself upward, pushing down hard on him as leverage. Now a rush of men came to my aid, but I was no longer trapped in the role of damsel in distress. I ignored them, observing my true rescuer.
I regarded a lengthy young man, two or three years older than I perhaps. Tall, as I think I mentioned, but not so tall that I had to tilt my head unnaturally to see his face. His features were pleasant. Firm, yet not hard and cold. He looked as if he smiled much, which was good; his dark eyes had merriment behind them. His hair matched his eyes, deep brown, and it curled handsomely. My hands rested upon broad shoulders and a strong chest. He was very well to look at.
He stared at my face, expecting me to say something, anything, but I remained silent. I suppose I figured I might say something sharp or rash that would offend him. I’d been known to have a quick tongue before.
He was forced to speak first, saying, “Most creatively done, lady. I must admit to being a tad thirsty on this warm afternoon, but I could never have concocted a more quenching method myself.” He laughed.
I looked down, but smiled. He wasn’t mocking me, but simply trying to lighten the situation. I was grateful, because it desperately needed lightened.
Still I uttered no words and he tried again, this time approaching with concern, instead of jest. “I hope you were not injured. You took quite a fall from your horse.” He paused. “Were you?”
I wouldn’t have him think me a mute. I spoke clearly. “No, thank you. This is most kind of you, although I was managing on my own.” A stupid remark. I hated myself.
He was taken aback, though responded equally. “I could very well see that. I’m sure you knew exactly what you were doing, diving into a fountain like you did.”
“You said you couldn’t have thought of a more quenching method yourself. I was rather thirsty.”
“As is plain to see, lady.” He surveyed my drenched appearance.
I was made aware that my dress was plastered to my body. I made no such reference to myself however. Keeping my eyes on his, I tossed, “Why not complete every task to its fullest?”
“Why, indeed?” He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed too. It was then that I realized my arms were still about him as we stood there arguing. His remained on me as well; one on my waist, and one cradling the small of my back. How foolish I must have looked, all strewn about this stranger like a hussy. Placing both my palms on his chest I pushed away from him.
Clearing his throat he coughed, “Uh-hem. Well, this has been…” He looked about him, as if searching the area would give him the word.
“Aberrant?” I suggested.
He looked at me curiously, then laughed. “Refreshing.” He decided.
I chuckled, enjoying the irony of his answer. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t naturally such a flirt. Nodding my head, I turned to walk away. His hand touched my wrist, and I glanced back.
“I never learned your name, lady.” I wondered at him calling me ‘lady’. He was certainly not a commoner. No wonder he was puzzled by my vocabulary, since he must think I one. I am a commoner, I reminded myself.
“Sir,” I bit back a smile. “Has it not been said, that a damsel in distress, no matter how wet she may be, is supposed to be mysterious and alluring?” I grabbed a lock of my dripping hair, and wrung it absently. “I’m afraid I have washed away all hope of achieving “alluring” in this fountain, but the “mysterious” I choose to keep intact.” Flicking some water in his direction, I turned to gather up Paddy’s reins. I could feel his laughing eyes bore into my back as I headed home, the pools of water in my boots extracting deafening squelches.

* * *

After securing Paddy in his stable, I entered the small inn that Jodie (the servant who saved me from the perilous castle) and I owned. I peered around the corner, and into the dining room where a few hapless people drank beer or chewed bread, sitting at the various scattered tables. If I dashed quickly across, I might make it upstairs without being noticed. The sky was growing dark, and the town would soon start the feasting and dancing for the celebrative evening. If Jodie saw me in my soaking state, she would likely throw a fit, and remind me of the afternoon of dishwashing that I had evaded. Looking over my shoulder and all around me like a criminal, I ungracefully leapt towards the stairs. In mid-bound, I collided with a passing costumer, knocking us both to the floor with a crash. I sat up quickly, rubbing my shoulder where it hurt, and thinking that for the second time that day I had fallen in a public place. I noted, however, that no one in particular had noticed, except for Jodie, of course, who was hastily making her way towards my victim and me.
“I so sorry,” I said, helping the man to his feet. He sneered at me. “I really didn’t mean—“
“Rude wench.” He shoved me aside. “Make excuses with your own time.” He was gone. I made an unladylike face, but was soon born down upon by Jodie.
“Evella?” I hated the way she just stared at me, expecting an explanation.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do the dishes now if you like,”
“They’re done. I hardly need reminded that I was forced to do them myself.” She eyed my wetness. I didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask.
“Go and change. Every one is leaving for the gathering, so close up the kitchen when you are finished. If I don’t see you tonight, you are expected back before it’s very late.” She idly wrung a lock of my hair. I kissed her cheek and dashed up the stairs.
Jodie was a fine woman. Having lost her husband a couple years before she came upon me, she was very glad to have another person in her life. Now in her early fifties she was of medium height and stout, with round cheeks and protruding freckles on her nose. Her hair was a tangle of light brown curls with streaks of grey in them, wild and full. With an air of structure and a friendly countenance, she would have been very attractive in her youth.
My hair was drying. It became once more its long, dark birch-brown color, wavy and curly at the ends. My hair was my best feature. It was silky and thick, but not so thick as to be a nuisance. It framed my face nicely, and ended gracefully at mid-back. I spent some time crowning my head with braids at the top, and then let the rest of my hair stream loose. I put on a simple white dress, and tied a matching ribbon around my waist.
I looked in the mirror and survey my appearance. I had semi-fair skin with a tinge of pink naturally on each cheek. My grey eyes were bright and framed with long dark lashes. Jodie had always told me I looked just like my mother, the Queen. Looking at my reflection just then, I’d never felt more presentable. My mind drifted to what my life might have been, had I not lost my parents and my kingdom. What would my gowns be like; and my suitors? Would they be lords and princes all vying for my hand, inventing contests to prove each one worthier than the next? I shook my head; this was nonsense. I assured myself that I was happy living as I was, with Jodie. Closing up the inn kitchen, I left for the town square.

* * *


Jodie linked her arm in mine as we walked home from the festivities early. Both of us were tired, and neither tolerated large crowds for long periods of time.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” She asked me, yawning, yet still attempting to sound interested in my response.
“Yes,” My reply was unfocused anyway as I stared off into the night. “The food was delicious.” I added, remembering the many flavors of the colorful evening. “Can we take the long way home? The night is beautiful just now, don’t you think?” I used my best persuasive tone. I loved the dark sky, especially when it was freckled with stares as it was that night.
“Of course, I need the extra exercise anyway.” That wasn’t true, and Jodie knew it. She worked too hard at everything. But I didn’t argue because I was getting what I wanted out of her answer.
About half way down a winding stone path through the streets of the village, I spotted Proseras, the baker; exit his house, hands and apron covered in flour. He looked busy, probably because he was still working at that late hour. We remained quite a distance from him, but I waved nonetheless. He didn’t see, but continued walking around his yard and into a tiny shack on the side of his house. When he reappeared around the corner, he was carrying a new sack of flour, or wheat, or whatever it contained.
Unexpectedly he dropped his bag, its contents spilling on to the cobble stones as an arrow struck is leg. He gave a harsh cry and fell at and odd angle, striking the ground with an awful thump. I sucked in air in a wordless cry, lucky for me that it made no noise. When I started to run across the street in what would have been a foolish action, I was thrust to the ground, and shoved behind the shrubs and trees on the side of the road.
“Don’t utter a word Evella! Not one word!” Jodie clamped her hands over my mouth, lying beside me on the grass. Here is what we witnessed:
“Who is there?” cried Mr. Proseras. “Show yourself Man!”
The click of horse hooves sounded in the night. Suddenly, I didn’t feel comforted, but haunted by the darkness and the stars.
Clip. Clop.
A red horse appeared near Mr. Proseras’ huddled form as he sat, moaning from the pain in his leg, unable to move.
Yes, the horse was a profound red. A deep and bloody red, like cherry wood or mahogany. The rider dismounted from his steed, and slowly made his way to Proseras, crouching down to his level when he was near.
Proseras’ face became white, and his eyes widened in his ruddy face. His entire body shook in fear. “Who—who are you? What do you want? Why have you shot me?” His questions ran together, staggered and hysteric.
The rider extended a gloved hand toward Proseras’ leg, wounded with the arrow. The black leathered fingers grasped the feathers on the shaft and fingered them playfully. His back was turned, so I could not see his face, but as my eyes adjusted to the dark, it became clear that he was dressed all in black, except for what appeared to be a red belt around his waist. He was hooded, and even though he crouched, he was very, very tall.
“Do you know why I am here?” The man drawled in a slow, deep, resonant voice. He laughed, and I nearly jumped from the unnerving sensation of it. I think I felt the vibrations from his chuckles through the ground. “Of course you don’t. I’m pretty sure you just asked me that very question.” The man gripped the smooth wood of the arrow, twisting it. Proseras yelled in horrified anguish. “Ahhh! Stop! Stop!” His protests were futile. The evil man was obviously enjoying his victim’s agony.
“I am here,” the man said, still twisting, “I am here searching for some one.” He placed his hand on top of the arrow, and gave a slight push, enough to dig the sharp head a little deeper in to Proseras’ calf. Proseras gave a suffering scream and attempted to scramble away, obviously regaining thoughts outside of his pain. The stranger quickly pulled a knife from his boot and raised it in the air. I prepared to cover my eyes as I watched the knife descend toward the terrified baker. In one fluid motion, the man swept the blade through the cloth at Proseras’ neck, and struck it into the ground with excellent force. Proseras was pinned, injured, and weeping, as he was born down upon again by the daunting outsider.
“I’m looking for a girl. Age, perhaps eighteen or so. She wouldn’t be related to whom she stays with…Man! Answer me!” He twisted the arrow to the sides, and yanked harshly so blood stained his gloves as well as Proseras’ clothing, and the ground around them. Proseras’ cries were piercing. Why didn’t anyone hear? Why didn’t anyone come? I thought, unable to stand much more of the torture.
“Her name…” the rider ground through clenched teeth as he shook the already shaking Proseras violently, “Her name is Repunzevelle. No doubt she changed it.” He half stood, just enough to kick Proseras in the side. “Do you know her? Where does she live? You will tell me or be damned!” He was nearly shouting, but his tone still held a sense of assurance. As if he knew he would win in the end.
Proseras sputtered his ignorance of such a person through gasps and tears. Realizing this, the man crouched near his victim once more, and took his neck in his large, gloved hands. I heard Proseras screech, choking and panting for air as the man no doubt squeezed in on his lungs. “Maybe you deserve to die.” The man all but whispered. Then he turned his head sharply to the wind, as if listening for something. Obviously hearing what he listened for, although my ears picked up nothing, the stranger got to his feet, letting go of Proseras. Turing his prey over on his side, so the arrow laid flat against the ground, the wicked man pressed his boot over the wooden shaft. Hearing the satisfying snap of wood on stone, the man held up the rest of the arrow in his hand. In horror, I could see that he had broken the arrow off at the entering point, so all that was left in Proseras’ leg was the metal arrow head itself, making it that much harder to remove.
“There are others searching the village. We will find her.” The man leaped on to his red horse. “Goodnight old man.” He snarled and laughed smartly. “I enjoyed our conversation.” He jut his boots into the side of his horse, and sped away into the woods, from whence he had come. Proseras still lay, pinned with a large blade to the soft ground in-between the coble stone.
I burst forth from our hiding place, ignoring Jodie’s grabs and my skirts as I ran toward the suffering man.
“Mr. Proseras!” I nearly shouted as I threw myself beside him, tugging at the dagger holding him in place. It was driven in the ground harder than I’d imagined. But then again, the man who had done it looked nothing short of massive and strong.
“Miss Evella? Oh, by heavens, did you see that man? He shot my leg and then he…”
“Shhh. Everything will be fine Mr. Proseras, but first I must help you free. I don’t know who that man was but…” I yanked the knife out of the ground, teetering on my heels from the force. “There. Oh Mr. Proseras, I’m so sorry.”
Jodie pulled me almost brutally to my feet. “Evella. We must go now! There is absolutely no time!” She turned to Proseras, “I’m sorry sir, but we must leave you.”
Proseras stared at me, eyes widening. “Evella? Evella…Repunzevelle…oh my God!” His eyes bored into my face, everything dawning on him.
I allowed Jodie to hull me away. “I…” I was too frightened and too unsure of what was to happen that I couldn’t speak.
Mr. Proseras knew.
The Red Rider knew.
Morlyn knew.
I could no longer stay in Drestan.


* * *