Heirs of the Gods

Ch 1: An uncommon occurrence

It was not an uncommon occurrence to find Ella deep in thought as of late. As she hurried along the dirt road leading to Bellmare, the largest town in Codshire, her features were screwed tightly, in remembrance of her dream the night before.

See, it wasn't uncommon for Ella to have strange dreams either. Most of the time, she could hardly remember them in detail, only being left with a vague impression of uncertainty, scraps of colours and blurry images. But in recent months, that had slowly started to change. The strange dreams became more and more frequent, and more vivid. Lately, she could even remember tangible details.

Last night's dream featured a collage of images: Burning castles, curling fire coming from colossal spires, the tangible scent of smoke and something putrid, so pungent that her eyes and nostrils stung. A chase through the woods, the feeling of someone hot on her heels, the slapping of branches on her legs and arms, cutting her as she ran, snapping twigs under her feet. Overwhelmingly, the permeating sense of fear. 

She'd woken sweat-drenched and shaking, with her heart leaping wildly beneath her ribs. What had not been a common occurrence were the lashes on her legs and arms—just like in her dream—slashed by gnarled branches as she fled.  But by the time she bathed and dressed, they had practically faded, so it was easy to tell herself that she had probably scratched herself while she tossed and turned in bed.

Two male voices broke her from her reverie. Men clad in identical uniforms of blue-grey and brown, a burnt orange cap on their heads and heavy longswords at their hips.

Guards.

Ella resisted the urge to adjust the hood on her wool cloak, it was a gesture that might call their attention. Instead, she forced her posture into an unstructured stride, less poised than it actually was. She angled her face to the side, idly swinging a wicker basket on her arm with feigned casualness.

To the common eye, she was a nameless woman wearing standard, non-flashy clothes and a basket full of parsnips. A villager woman like the rest, on her way to sell her produce at the weekly market fair. She tensed as the guards walked past her, but they didn't acknowledge her. They never did. Although she'd never been caught, she was always invaded by the same adrenaline.

It would be a good time to mention why she was sneaking about, hiding from the guards. These were guards that flanked the great ancestral home of House Blackwell, home of Lord Harrion, Duke of Codshire and ruler of the lands.

And she was Ella Blackwell.

According to Harrion Blackwell, a proper Lady had absolutely no business in town, unless she was required to attend an inauguration event—perhaps the opening of a small library—where she may wave a glove clad hand and smile wanly as they cut blue ribbons and the villagers clapped. But the rest of the time, a Lady must always remain in the Estate. She may stroll through the parklands with little pastel parasols and show visiting Ladies the beautiful and carefully tended rose gardens by the East wing; she might even enjoy a book by the artificial swan pond, bird watch or paint on the terrace. But there was no reason for her to leave the grounds, lest it was to travel to other courts. These were words ingrained into Ella since tender childhood by stern governesses, instructing her on proper high society etiquette.

Said governess would have a fit if she knew what Ella was up to, what she did every day without fail. Old Miss Judith's face with her pinched nose and her permanent look of haughty disapproval. She'd be scandalized into collapsing into a conveniently placed divan, dazedly calling for her smelling salts. The mere image made Ella snicker as Bellmare came into view, and she made her way into the hustle and bustle of town.

Although it was early morning, the dirt streets were already beginning to fill. The weekly market was set up around the town's square and the two main streets. Vendors were finishing up their stands, stocked with rabbit meats, in-season vegetables, some clothing, baubles and the odd little bags of common spices. Spices were a luxury not often purchased, even the most common ones, as most were imported and thus extremely costly.