CHAPTER 1
A myriad of thoughts raced through her mind as she trudged down the muddy clay in the dense forest. It was bewildering how she ended up in this predicament. An evil forest? It was the last place she could have ever imagined finding herself.
“Brudock has finally revealed his true colors,” she thought bitterly.
A few days ago, he had summoned her to his chambers, demanding sex and nearly forcing himself upon her against her will. Caught between acceptance and defiance, she had hesitated, but Brudock, sensing her indecision, had dismissed her, promising wealth and support if she acquiesced. A fair-skinned man with an innate charm and an affinity for nature, it was difficult to resist such an alluring proposition. Yet, her principles prevailed. She scoffed at the notion that she was merely a light-skinned, easily influenced woman. “Pfft, he thought I was that cheap,” she muttered to herself.
The village’s connection to the forest and its local traditions remained a mystery to her. How did they navigate through these dense layers of bushes? The stench emanating from the forest filled the air with repulsion.
In the village, Mma had taught them to pray for those enslaved by the king to gather local crops and herbs from the forest, including a rare plant known as “Dixie rachta,” a coveted gem. It was seldom found in the hands of ordinary farmers. The king had placed a significant reward for those who worked tirelessly to obtain the plant. Legends claimed that Dixie could cure all manner of diseases, while some believed it could be used to create potent native bombs and poisons—a testament to its formidable power.
She frantically waved her arms, attempting to shield herself from the pursuers, but their menacing presence grew closer. A cave lay just a few miles ahead. If she didn’t escape immediately, they would surely capture her. Fear gripped her, and she trembled uncontrollably as she clutched her sling and continued to flee.
Ragnar took notice of her presence. Their paths intersected. From a distance, she appeared as a fragile figure. Brudock had promised a substantial reward for whoever captured her alive. For Ragnar, this chase marked an unprecedented event; he had never pursued someone since assuming his role as Brudocks Chief-in-Command. Unaware of the circumstances behind this pursuit, he pressed on.
There were approximately fifty men in pursuit, showering her with arrows, but she miraculously evaded them. Overwhelmed by terror, she cried out for help. It was midnight, and visibility was scarce. They paid no heed to her pleas, persisting in their relentless assault, while Ragnar called for more arrows.
“Don’t stop! Capture that wretch!” he bellowed.
With fury driving them forward, they advanced. Ragnar insisted on surrounding the area, directing his men to split up. Egos clashed as they fumbled in their pursuit. “You can’t run forever, girl!” Ragnar shouted with conviction.
Finding refuge in the cave, she collapsed, weeping. Her legs ached, and a slight injury adorned her ankle. Memories of Brudocks relentless harassment and attempted assaults haunted her thoughts.
“Wasn’t it enough that he tried to violate me, and I endured his advances every time I refused his demands?” she cried, seeking solace in the silence that followed. “What could be worse?” she pondered. “If only I could escape that wretched old king, I might make it out of this alive!” she sighed, desperately searching for a more secure hiding place. Just beyond the cave, she discovered a tunnel leading to a nearby stream. Crawling inside, her once-neatly braided hair now disheveled and covered in dirt, she navigated the cramped tunnel. She stumbled, her exhaustion and the dim lighting making it difficult to maintain her footing. The sound of her pursuers grew distant, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.
***
She possessed a slender and radiant appearance, her beauty a testament to her grace and elegance. Renowned for her captivating charm, she had earned numerous accolades in the village, starting with her triumph in the grand-badam beauty contest. This victory had propelled her into the spotlight, transforming her into an icon and earning her the respect of her peers.
Her remarkable achievements did not go unnoticed by kings and princes, all vying for her hand in marriage. Among them was Lord Brudock, the same man now relentlessly pursuing her life. As the emperor of Shechem, he held dominion over thirty-two territories, earning him the moniker of “prince charming” due to his irresistible allure. Accompanied by an entourage of well-trained soldiers, his presence exuded power and opulence. Yet beneath his charismatic façade lay a man who indulged his every desire, brooking no resistance and ruthlessly eliminating those who defied him.
Brudock had stifled religious freedom in the community, forbidding many faiths and enforcing the adoption of a particular belief system. Even the Christians who remained in the western part of Shechem had been forced to worship clandestinely in an old, abandoned basement, constantly living in fear of discovery and execution. Under his rule, the freedom to behead one’s adversaries had become commonplace, as long as one possessed the required license. Prayer, an integral part of her upbringing, had been suppressed, and Christians faced daily persecution and martyrdom.
However, it was important to note that Lord Brudock hadn’t always been the embodiment of evil. Once, he had championed peace and prosperity, heralding good fortune for his people. The scars etched on his face bore witness to battles fought against formidable adversaries. The defining moment that changed him forever occurred during the war between Shechem and Pontus. Ivar, a noble counselor from Pontus, had sought the release of his son held captive by Shechem. Yet Brudocks father, driven by a belief in the legality and prudence of his decision, rejected Ivar’s plea. This refusal ignited a deep and fatal conflict that ultimately claimed Brudocks father’s life, leaving him an orphan. From that moment onward, Brudock vowed to exact vengeance on anyone aligned with Pontus, instilling fear in the hearts of his followers and denying them any semblance of joy in his unrelenting fury.
Emerging from the tunnel, she found solace in the sanctuary of a hidden pool, submerging herself in its cool waters. Meanwhile, the soldiers scoured the cave in vain, their disappointment palpable as they discovered the tunnel’s only exit led to the nearby stream. Ragnar, consumed by fury, let out a thunderous cry. Unsheathe his sword, he swiftly dispatched one of his own comrades, an act born out of desperation and frustration.
“What shall we tell the king?” Ragnar bellowed, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
Grieving the loss of their fallen comrade, the soldiers solemnly lifted his lifeless body and cast it into the stream, instantly turning the once serene pool into a gruesome sight of crimson. Struggling to catch her breath, she murmured, her voice barely audible amidst the chaos. The water now tainted with blood, her only thought was for them to depart swiftly, aware that her survival hung by a thread.
Ragnar’s rage continued to consume him, his fury unleashed upon an invisible foe. She managed to raise her face above the pool of blood, her gaze fixated on their actions as they turned away in disgust.
“She couldn’t have gotten far,” one of the soldiers remarked. “I believe she’s still in close proximity,” another added. Seated beneath an aging tree, they maintained an unwavering focus on the now blood-filled pool, marking the final resting place of their fallen comrade. Each soldier sheathed their sword and adjusted the laces of their sandals. Their attention was divided between the shifting currents of the water and the commander’s reproachful words, which echoed through the air, highlighting their perceived negligence in their duties. With each utterance, he emitted a deep, resonant groan, baring the depths of his seething anger.
“You know something?” he questioned, his voice booming, and without waiting for a response, he continued, his tone fraught with regret. “I have been a soldier for thirty-five years, a commander for the past seventeen, and I have never failed a mission. I have always emerged victorious.” He released a heavy sigh, laden with remorse, his eyes locked with those of his men.
“You are all a sorry bunch of losers!” he roared.
She emerged from the pool of blood as she observed their departure, seizing the opportunity to escape once more into the embrace of the forest. With haste, she traversed several miles, her breath labored and body drenched in mud, dirt, and the repugnant stench of the fallen soldier’s blood. She emanated a foul odor, a testament to the perils she had endured. Finding refuge amidst a cluster of fallen and decaying trees, remnants of the farmers who toiled under the king’s command, she sought solace. If not for the intervention of the local communities, these trees would have been eradicated, a casualty of the relentless pursuits of the king’s men.
Constructing a shelter from the fallen trees would prove to be an arduous task, given her lack of skills. In the midst of the late hour, darkness enveloped the forest, accompanied only by the gentle chorus of crickets and the sound of her own breath.
The rustling leaves and swaying trees breathed life into the forest, creating an illusion of tranquility. Yet, regardless of its deceptive allure, all she yearned for was to escape the oppressive grip of the dense woods. She reclined upon the wooden logs she had fashioned into a makeshift shelter, covering herself with dry leaves to ward off insects and scavengers. As she lay there, her mind began to resonate with the melodies of beautiful hymns, a repertoire of songs she could recall.
Her mother had made it a point to teach them hymns, believing they brought solace to the soul. She had shared stories of how hymns had rescued her from anxiety, despair, and even death.
“Poor mom, if only you were alive to witness your daughter being pursued like a dog and hunted like a criminal,” she pondered. “What would you have said, mom? You cherished each one of us and ensured our education, fighting for our freedom… yes, you did.” She managed to mumble through tears streaming down her cheeks. “But I would resent you, hate you… knowing all this would happen, you still chose to leave us so soon.”
Sobbing uncontrollably, she continued, “And Pa… Pa abandoned us. I still cannot comprehend what kind of father he was. The only thing I know is that he was the most arrogant and proud man I ever encountered. I feel deeply ashamed to admit that Pa abandoned us. But Mama? You did nothing to help. You let him go. He left, and you did nothing. You shouldered the burdens alone and kept us in the dark.”
She gazed upward, squinting her eyes as if attempting to pull down the stars and the moon. Observing the continued dance of the trees to the rhythm of the cold breeze, she found herself deeply captivated by their indifference. Whether felled or standing tall, the trees remained steadfast. They continued to serve mankind, unwavering in their beneficence.
“You know, Mama once told us a story about an old pirate who terrorized the merchant vessels at sea. He plundered their goods, sabotaged their ships, and wielded power over all. However, one day he transported his own goods across the water. He meticulously counted and packaged the merchandise for sale. Another pirate, incensed by the sweltering heat, encountered his vessels and looted them. When he learned of the incident, the old pirate collapsed and perished. He had invested substantial money and time, hoping for massive returns. It was heartbreaking that he couldn’t live to tell the tale. Yet, I believe that if he were alive, he would never again attack the goods of merchants,” she paused, as though awaiting a response from the surrounding forest, seeking their attention.
“Mama said the trees aren’t like that,” she whispered. “The trees offer their lives to everyone. They are valuable when felled and valuable while rooted to the soil. They strive to be benevolent without expecting much in return… I suppose the old pirate learned that lesson the hard way, even in his grave. Such an invaluable lesson to pass down to his descendants,” she thought, chuckling softly to herself.
Gradually, the night waned, and the Earth continued its celestial dance. She grew increasingly lost in her ruminations as she lay upon the wooden shelter she had crafted. Her legs curled up against her chest, her eyes closed tightly. Rest was essential, a necessary respite to elude her.
CHAPTER 2
Just in time, she stumbled upon another stream of water. She was both thirsty and hungry, needing to find something edible quickly before the soldiers began their pursuit. It bewildered her that she hadn’t packed any provisions for the journey, but then again, it all began without her consent. She had even left behind her valuable makeup and jewelry at home. What puzzled her most was that she had no idea where she was headed. She had been running through the thick forest since yesterday, and there seemed to be no end to this chase. Tears welled in her eyes, and this time she let them stream down her cheeks. She was deeply pained by her present predicament. How would she explain to strangers she might encounter that she had been exiled from her own land, and the man seeking to kill her was the Lord of her empire? How on earth could she even begin to explain?
“When people hear my story, they would have no other choice but to kill me,” she cried.
“Mom and dad always talked about Christianity,” she said, struggling to pronounce the word. “They made it seem so real, as though they could speak to their God and hear immediate responses. I don’t believe it,” she muttered. “How is it possible for one God to hear everybody, respond to them all, and meet all their needs? It sounds like fiction,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, if it were real, He would have saved me a long time ago. Mom died in my arms, telling me about the one God who delivers, but He couldn’t save her,” she thought, heaving a sigh of relief as she caught sight of a nearby stream. She hurried to the stream and bent over, using her palm to fetch some water. The water was fresh, and it felt as though a surge of power had just flowed through her.
“Much better,” she exhaled. After washing her face and hair, she filled her water bag and continued walking through the forest.
“It’s not as scary as they say,” she thought. She had heard stories of farmers who walked through this forest never returning alive, bitten by dangerous snakes or killed by spirits. “All fiction,” she thought. “Remember when Tyrese went missing in the forest? Everyone thought he was dead. The village traditionalists believed he was killed by forest spirits and that his men were probably swallowed by large snakes. They even asked his family to prepare for his burial. But a few days before his funeral, Tyrese and his men were found back in Shechem.”
.
She stumbled upon a farmhouse carved out of wood. The hut looked fresh, not abandoned. It was still intact and sturdy, a rarity to find in a forest, especially one rumored to be evil. She stood for a moment, contemplating whether or not to enter the hut. From a distance, she gazed at the hut with uncertainty. “What would a farmhouse be doing in the middle of a forest?” she wondered. “What could possibly go wrong? It wouldn’t be a bad idea to try,” she said, now moving closer to the hut. As she approached, fear started to creep in.
Another thought crossed her mind, “I should keep going. What if it’s a trap set by those men hunters?” She had heard stories like that while growing up in Shechem. Now, at twenty years old, she didn’t want to become a victim. So, she dismissed the idea of settling in the hut and continued her journey.
Once, a very famous king from the south was captured and killed by men hunters. They were paid a large sum of money to hunt the king, and they succeeded. The king’s body had never been found.
She cast a final glance at the hut, feeling a pang of hunger.
“What if there’s good food in that hut?” she tried to imagine.
“What if the hut actually belongs to a kind old woman, like Mama always said—old people love living in huts,” she pondered.
“It’s time I start putting Mama’s words into practice,” she resolved.
“Again, what could possibly go wrong?” she questioned herself.
Slowly, she made her way into the hut, glancing nervously at the door. Her legs were sweaty, and her face revealed her fear. Something told her to run, but she resisted and continued knocking. After several attempts to get a response from inside, her hope diminished while her fear grew.
“I don’t want to die,” she mumbled.
The hut had a rustic exterior, but its carvings were exquisite. It was evident that it had been crafted by someone intelligent or skilled. This wasn’t the work of an old woman; it was the work of a trained individual. Her eyelids quivered as she made one last attempt to peek inside. She gripped the window frame and took a closer look into the dark, warm interior. The farmhouse appeared larger and more comfortable than she had expected. Her instinct urged her to retreat into the forest, but her hunger urged her on. She had been wandering through the dark and dense forest for three days without food or proper clothing. Her strength was waning, and her body showed signs of exhaustion. She could almost feel her health deteriorating. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to heed her instincts, but where would it lead her? When would she ever escape this never-ending forest? Her body itched, and she was covered in sweat, blood, mud, and the scent of the forest.
She pulled her head away from the window, turned the doorknob, and the door slid open. A warm breeze wafted from inside, reminding her of her own unpleasant odor. Her eyes scanned every corner of the house. For some unknown reason, she hesitated to step inside, but eventually, she mustered the courage to take a bold step forward.
“Hello… Helloooo!” she called out.
“Is anyone there? My name is…” her words trailed off as she heard a sound coming from the kitchen. Her legs began to shake once again, and she shut her eyes, trying to control her breathing.
“Who’s there? I mean no harm,” she managed to say.
But there was no reply. After a while, the noise ceased, and the house fell into an eerie silence, even quieter than the grave. She cautiously opened her eyes and peered through the door. She wasn’t ready to take the risk. Doubt crept in, and this was the consequence of ignoring her instincts—she was going to die for no reason. She quickly composed herself, closed the door quietly, and retreated back into the forest. Covered in sweat, her face etched with wrinkles, she collapsed onto the ground, covering her face with her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to wipe them away. She allowed them to flow bitterly. If only she had known, she would have yielded to Brudocks demands. “He only wanted to sleep with me,” she said, sobbing. “What was wrong with me? He never wanted to kill me. All he wanted was to sleep with me.” She cried out loud and closed her eyes in regret.
“I am such a fool,” she uttered.
“No, you’re not!”
She paused, startled by the voice that whispered to her. Quickly, she looked behind to see who had spoken. Wiping away her tears in shock and disbelief, she noticed the presence of a tall and strikingly handsome man standing before her. His stature was remarkable, exuding strength and a foreign aura. He didn’t resemble a local gardener or hunter. His attire resembled that of the English people—a jacket, trousers, and neatly groomed hair.
She cautiously rose to her feet, keeping a safe distance from the stranger, her eyes wide with shock and fear. It had been over a decade since she had last encountered someone dressed like him in Shechem. She had heard stories of the English people being the first to wield powerful weapons capable of annihilating humans in an instant. They had been hunted down by the local villagers and sold as slaves. Her mother had always warned her to steer clear of them if she ever came across one. And now, here she stood, facing a complete stranger who matched the descriptions she had heard.
“Should I run, or should I hear what he has to say?” she wondered aloud. “What if he’s one of Lord Brudocks men? I have no hope left, but perhaps surrendering to his demands would be better than endlessly running through this forest,” she contemplated, speaking to herself.
Her legs trembled, and for a moment, she struggled to focus her gaze on the man before her. Weariness began to consume her, and she appeared even more exhausted. The thought of running crossed her mind, but she knew deep down that evading capture was futile. Taking a step back, she leaned against a tree trunk, seeking support. Her vision grew hazy, and a wave of weakness washed over her.
“Who… who are you?” she managed to whisper.
Resigned to her fate, she closed her eyes without entertaining the idea of escape any longer. Thoughts held no significance to her in that moment. She was sick and tired of running, exhausted from traversing the unending forest. Her strength had deserted her after enduring three days without a proper meal. She no longer cared if this man intended to harm her; she was weaker than ever. Everything began to fade away. Her surroundings blurred, and her senses dulled. Then, with a sudden jolt, she lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground. She fainted.
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