The weather was terrible. Low, gray sky was covering everything an eye could see from horizon to horizon, as if heavens were determined to show mortals just how insignificant they truly are. Heavy, dark clouds looked like they were going to burst into a thunderstorm, yet all one could feel was an unpleasant, cold mist. Combine that with a strong, freezing wind and nobody would ever go out during such weather without a very good reason. On the other hand, the closest village was at least a dozen miles away, meaning nobody would actually complain about such conditions. At least that was the case just a few minutes earlier. Thick, temperate forest that was covering the ground in all directions was separated in two by a snaking country road, and that road was not empty.
Two horsemen in the front were no pushovers: quality armor, that was showing from under warm capes, was just as good a sign of wealth as the weapons that were fastened to the saddles. Long swords in leather scabbards as well as big kite shields were obviously meticulously cared for and used quite often, considering the amount of wear and tear one could see on them.
Carriage drawn by a pair of horses was closely following the pair. Quite simple in appearance, the carriage still had the coat of arms of a noble house on the door, and a whole bunch of suitcases and boxes of various sizes piled on the roof and somehow tied to the carriage with leather straps indicated that the person inside was going far away. The coachman did not have armor, and his cloak looked old and shabby, so he had to wrap himself more tightly in his clothes to escape the bad weather. Bringing up the rear of the procession were two more horsemen - exact copies of those riding in front, except for their faces. Once the group reached a certain location, the man riding in front looked around, nodded thoughtfully to himself, and raised his hand, stopping the procession. The four horsemen and the carriage halted. The riders dismounted, unfastened their swords from their saddles and only after fastening them to their belts, they headed towards the carriage.
“Mistress Iona, come out, we have arrived.” The leader of the guards spoke in a deep and slightly sad voice.
“Oh really?” The carriage door opened and a girl of seven or eight years old jumped onto the ground. Although she was dressed casually, in a warm leather jacket with a fur collar, and thick, warm pants and boots, the way she carried herself, and with what contempt and arrogance she began to look around, revealed her as a pureblood noblewoman. “I doubt it. But I liked the joke, Eric.” The girl turned back to the warm and comfortable interior of the carriage, but the leader of the guards, whom she called Eric, slammed the carriage door right in front of the young noblewoman’s nose with a quick movement of his hand.
“It was not a joke, mistress, we really have arrived.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” The girl wrinkled her nose with displeasure.
“I don’t like what I have to do, but an order is an order.” The man says, slowly drawing his sword from its sheath.
“Hm? Are we under attack?” The girl obviously had no idea what was going on.
“No, but your life will end in this forest, mistress.” A sharp swing of the sword, barely visible to the eye, the girl staggers back in surprise, and a neat cut appears on her clothes, showing off the sharpness of the blade. And the fact that the cut showed the smooth, unharmed skin of the child betrayed the skill of the swordsman. ”You are a witch, mistress.” He points accusingly at the cut he left with his sword. There, under the left collarbone, opposite to the heart, one could see something like a tattoo. The cut was too small to understand what exactly the mark was, but none of those present needed it: everyone already knew that the mark was simply a complex pattern of intertwining lines, in which a person with a good imagination could see a grinning lion.
“How did you find out?“ The young noblewoman’s face immediately changed: now it expressed not arrogance, but only fear.
“From your father.” Eric shrugged. “Do you really not understand what is going on?”
“From father?! But this is impossible!” Iona was outraged. “He sent me to this dump for the sole purpose of hiding me!“ The girl began to back away from the leader of her bodyguards, but one of the fighters was right behind her and grabbed her tightly by the shoulders, preventing her from escaping.
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“It is impossible to hide a witch: such a secret will sooner or later be revealed. And when it becomes known that the de Leons have a witch in their family, my master will lose everything he has worked for all his life.”
“Are you saying that my father ordered you to kill me?!” Everything was mixed in a furious cry: fear, distrust, resentment, rage. The girl jerked to the side and even stomped on the leg of the bodyguard holding her, but this did not bring any result: a child could not escape the grip of a trained warrior, and plate boots did not care about child-sized heels.
“Your curse threatens the very existence of the duchy.” Eric said sadly. “It will be better this way: if they find out about your mark, the Inquisition will burn you at the stake, and everyone who is connected to you in any way will lose absolutely everything, possibly even their lives. But now, you will be a casualty of a bandit attack and will be buried with all the honors appropriate to your high status.”
“As if these honors make me feel any better!” Iona hissed through her teeth, trying with all her might to escape the grip of her bodyguard. These attempts brought nothing but pain in her clenched shoulders, and yet she continued to thrash and kick: this young noblewoman was clearly not going to accept her death with her hands down. Still, it was all in vain, and soon tears appeared in the girl’s eyes. Yes, she was afraid and trembling all over, but she was the only child of the Duke de Leon, and was raised as an heiress. Her father did not pamper her in any way, and such things as pain, fear or difficulties were not new to her, but now she was experiencing a new feeling: powerlessness. She couldn't do anything, no matter how hard she tried, and that was precisely what made her want to cry.
“Do you want to say something to your father? I will pass the message.” Eric promised, clearly hinting that he was done with talking. He already said too much, but here he could not do otherwise: he protected this girl from the cradle, and had been teaching her fencing for several years. He believed that at least she had the right to know why she was going to die now.
“Tell him that I will come to him in nightmares until the end of his days!” Iona hissed like an angry snake.
“Okay, that’s exactly what I will tell him.” Eric nodded. He did not mock his mistress, asking her not to move or promising a quick and painless demise. He simply took a step forward and swung…
Iona, who was carefully watching his movements, did not close her eyes: Eric himself taught her not to, during a fight. And yet, the girl’s heart skipped a beat, in anticipation of her demise, and in the mind of the young noblewoman a picture of her imminent future appeared: here Eric’s sword passes through her neck without much difficulty, then her head flies to the side, then from the stump of her neck, into low, gray sky, a fountain of blood rushes, her head spins in the air, falls into the mud, and rolls straight to Eric’s feet. Then he victoriously places his foot on her severed head, and smiles triumphantly. The frightened girl did not care that there was simply not enough blood in the child’s body for a fountain, and the head, being cut off, did not fly into the air, but simply fell down. Not to mention that Eric looked as if he had been forced to clean a cesspool with his bare hands, so there was no trace of a victorious smile on his face... But fear has big eyes, and now Iona saw the picture of her own death in every detail!
She didn’t have the presence of mind at the time, but the amount of details that she imagined was staggering: the smell of wet grass, the taste of blood in the mouth, the sound of the air being cut by a sword, the sloshing of the boots in the mud, the creaking of the trees in the surrounding forest.. The picture was no longer a simple, fleeting image a moment before real death, it was filled with colors, smells, sounds, sensations, it came to life! This picture burned itself into the child’s consciousness, into her soul, into her heart! Iona suddenly realized that she could now remember this picture in all its gory details whenever she wanted. This image will not fade to oblivion, will not lose its colors over time, it will never be forgotten! This picture of her own death will remain with her forever!
Thump! At that moment, her heart finally made the next beat, only along with it, Iona heard another heartbeat. Second heart? Or whatever now rested above her heart? The Mark of Mortal Sin came to life, the lines of the pattern instantly filled with blackness, so much so that the entire mark turned into one black hole on the girl’s body, leading into... Eric’s blade was already flying towards Iona’s neck, but it was at that moment that the Witch awakened, and a stream of pure mana poured into her body! In a split second, filling this tiny reservoir, that was Iona’s body, the stream rushed out, spreading in all directions as an invisible, intangible wave. The grip on Iona's shoulders weakened, and a moment later, the falling bodyguard pushed Iona away from the path of the still swinging sword with his weight. Eric fell to the ground along with all the bodyguards, coachman and all the horses. Couple of moments later, trees in a three hundred feet radius began to shed their leaves. The girl rose to her feet and looked around in shock. Everything was dead. No flashes or explosions, no screams or moans, just quiet, instant death. Mana is a deadly poison for any life. However, every rule has exceptions.
“I really am a witch...” The girl’s voice broke into hysterical notes, but with some effort, she regained control of herself. “I have to leave.” She said to herself. “I must run!” She repeated more confidently and looked around. Unfortunately, the horses were dead. “Well, okay!” She grumbled stubbornly and headed towards the carriage: she had no intention of giving up, which meant she needed to get some food and get out of here before the inquisitors showed up.