Ayla was already as low to the ground as she could possibly be, but she still tried to sink lower. She squirmed and writhed like a snake trying to bury itself in the sand. A terror rose inside her that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. There was a dangerous quality about this woman, something that went far beyond her association with the group of soldiers who had just massacred the Sisters.

Ayla risked a glance around the tree, her chin in the dirt, her hair littered with dried leaves. Her view was blocked. By a boot.

She looked up slowly, still hanging onto the naive childish hope that she couldn’t be seen among the dirt and leaves. She felt like she might scream, or cry, or both.

‘Please don’t see me please don’t see me please don’t be looking right at me…’

But the woman did see her. And was looking down at her with a wicked smile. Ayla could do nothing but freeze.

The woman crouched down, resting her hands on her knees.

“Well, well, well. Look at what we have here. What a pretty little flower, playing alone in the dirt.”

Her tone was mocking and cruel, but her voice had a sing-song quality that, in other circumstances, Ayla might have found almost pleasant.

“Sit up, little flower,” the woman commanded.

Ayla did as she always did: what she was told. She swung her legs around and sat up. She was now nearly face-to-face with the woman, and she could see that beneath the wild hair and painted face, the woman was, like her dress, kind of pretty. The scar across her left eye didn’t diminish her beauty in the least. Maybe even added to it.

Ayla’s fear remained, but it was locked now, on pause, like she was holding her breath underwater. She’d have to breathe eventually.

“Don’t be scared, little flower,” the woman said, still smiling. But her tone and demeanor made it clear that, yes, Ayla should very well be afraid.

The woman tugged at the hem of her dress. “You think my dress is pretty? Aw, how sweet.”

There were a few psychics among the Sisters; Ayla recognized this woman’s mind reading immediately. But the idea of this scary woman being in her mind made her wince.

“‘Scary woman’?” the woman said. She put her hand on her heart and looked aghast. “Well, how mean. Are you mean, little flower? Are you going to hurt me?”

“N… no,” Ayla managed, in little more than a whisper.

“‘No’ what?”

“Huh?” Ayla was confused by the question.

With a suddenness that made Ayla cry out, the woman lunged at her. She reached through the hood that was still covering Ayla’s head, and grabbed her by the back of her hair. She yanked—hard—pulling Ayla’s head back at an extreme angle. She flailed her arms around behind her, trying to keep her palms planted to maintain her balance.

"No what?" the woman asked through gritted teeth. Her smile was gone. She was all menace now, perhaps showing her true face for the first time.

Ayla grunted with pain, unsure of what the woman was looking for. She fell back on the only thing she could think of: manners.

“No… ma’am?”

The woman held onto her hair just a moment longer, seeming to savor the grip. Then she released her. “Huh. ‘Ma’am.’ Good enough, I suppose.”

Her smile returned with a suddenness Ayla found unnerving. “Hi! My name is Savina. What’s yours?”

Ayla started to speak, but Savina cut her off. “Hi, Ayla. Well met, as they say. Right? They say that, don’t they?”

Ayla shrugged.

Savina’s expression shifted again, this time to a look of insincere bewilderment. She tapped her finger against her chin several times. “Hmmm.”

She studied Ayla. Looked back over her shoulder at the Sisters lying dead in the village behind her. Then looked back to Ayla. She reached her hand towards Ayla’s hair again, and Ayla reared back in fright.

Savina looked offended, as if the whole ‘yanking her head back by her hair’ thing hadn’t just happened.

“Oh, stop, silly. I just want to look at this… this…” She reached again for Ayla’s hair, who somehow managed to be still. Savina took a few ends of Ayla’s hair between her two fingers, rubbed them back and forth. “This hair. How is it so red? Every one of those witches—” spittle shot from her mouth into Ayla’s face. “—have black hair. Every single one. But look at you. With hair the color of fire. Are you even one of them, little flower?”

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“I… I…”

“Or are you special?”

“Special?” Ayla was perplexed by the word’s usage. She’d always been an aberration. Sometimes a deviant. She was anything but “special.”

Savina made a pouty face, puckering her lips. “Oohh. Poor little Ayla. You were the lowest of the low, weren’t you? That’s how they saw you, wasn’t it? That’s how your own mother saw you.”

“Don’t talk about my mother!” Ayla shouted, her grief fueling her sudden burst of anger. “You killed her! You killed them all!”

Savina again looked hurt. “I can see it in your mind, little flower—”

“Stop calling me that!” Ayla shouted. “And stay out of my mind!”

Savina snarled and lunged, the friendly facade disappearing. She grabbed a handful of Ayla’s hair—the exact same painful spot—and yanked, pulling her closer until they were again face-to-face.

“I will go anywhere I please, Little Flower. Do you understand?”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Yess,” Savina hissed. Her eyes fluttered, as if in ecstasy. “I am. But they hurt you too, didn’t they? Every single day of your miserable life. They were terrible to you. Monstrous. You should be thanking me for what I’ve done.”

Ayla grimaced, both from the pain of Savina’s hold and the truth in her words. Not that Ayla could ever be thankful for the murder of her family and her people. But Savina was right: they had always been cruel to her.

“Your whole life,” Savina continued, her grip in Ayla’s hair holding firm. “Is pain. Nothing but pain. It is… delicious.”

The words hurt. Savina’s hand gripping her hair hurt.

And her mind hurt. There was a burning sensation… somewhere? It wasn’t in her skull or her head, exactly. But it hurt all the same. Was Savina doing this? How was she doing this?

“I want more,” Savina spat. “Your pain… It’s the most delightful thing I have ever tasted. Yes. Yes, I think that’s true. I’ve been in a great many minds, Little Flower, felt a lot of people’s pain. Caused even more of it. But your pain… Your pain is different. Better. There is something about you, isn’t there? You really are special.”

Ayla could only grit her teeth in pain and terror.

“You know what?” Savina said. Her smile was as much a sneer as a grin. She appeared, to Ayla, to be a madwoman. Someone out of control. “I think maybe… maybe I’ll keep you. For awhile, at least.”

Savina’s grip on Ayla’s hair tightened, her expression changing yet again to one of mock disappointment. She tilted her head, furrowed her brow. “What is this? Are you… are you trying to push me out of your mind?”

Ayla had been doing nothing of the sort, at least not consciously. She had been, at best, trying only to control her own fear and emotions.

“You are! Wow. Look at you, Little Flower. I’m impressed. But let’s make one thing perfectly clear: Trying to keep me out of your head is a great a big no-no. Here, let me just fix—”

Without warning, Ayla’s world seemed to slow around her. Her breathing, the beating of her own heart. The woman before her. For a brief instant, Ayla saw the world with perfect clarity. An awareness swept through her, an awareness she’d only felt in her quietest, most peaceful moments. It was if she was connected, perfectly connected, to the world around her. The trees standing above her, the grass growing between her fingers. The insects that buzzed around, the birds that called from somewhere distant.

The awareness only grew, blossoming from her simple connection to the world into an all-consuming, supernatural knowing. She felt calmness through her fear. Certainty between the doubt. Felt at one with her pain, at peace with it. As well as an unfamiliar joy she had yet to know.

She felt love. And she felt loved.

She felt everything. All the life within her, all the life around her. All that is and was and ever will be, all at once.

Savina was still speaking, but Ayla was no longer hearing. Her eyes were focused on the scar on the woman’s face. She didn’t understand any of what she was feeling, but trusted it all the same.

With a sudden flash of white hot fire, Savina’s scar momentarily burst into flames. The woman screamed in agony and fell backwards, writhing on the ground and holding her hands to her face. Ayla stood up, her senses returning to normal. She looked down at the woman in stunned silence.

The movement of the soldiers beyond the trees, coming towards them, freed her of her shock and paralysis. She turned and ran, as fast as she could, deeper into the forest.

**************

Savina knew pain. And while her true passion was doling that pain out to others, she had never much minded receiving some herself. She was always open to it, always letting it in. She was a student of pain, as well as a teacher. She embraced it, experienced it when she could to the fullest.

There was only one instance when the pain had been unwelcome: the day when she had received her scar.

The pain she felt now was worse. Double that, and more. And even more unwanted.

There had been actual fire on her face; she had seen it spark right in front of her left eye. It was out now. But her face still smoldered. She took her hand away and saw that it was drenched with blood. Could feel that blood still flowing. Her face was going to need attention, and fast.

Which meant the little witch who had caused the pain would get away. Already Savina couldn’t see her, she had fled into the woods so fast. Savina figured the girl probably knew those woods well, meaning it wouldn’t be worth trying to pursue her. Especially with the level of pain she was in.

Her mission had been a rousing success, the entire coven of witches wiped out. All save for one small, meaningless little girl.

But she wasn’t meaningless, was she? There really had been something different, something special about her. Savina had barely scratched the surface, had only gotten the briefest glimpse inside her mind. But it was long enough to know that she wanted more.

There was still more to do; the invasion had only begun. But when all was settled and the Order ruled over Brightholme, Savina vowed to return. She’d been in Ayla’s head; she was confident she could find her again. And that was just what she would do. Find her.

And make her pay. For hurting her. For actually hurting her.

She would find her Little Flower.

And crush it under her boot.

***

In Godknight Tower, the Godknight’s eyes flew open.