The Last Legend: Awakened

by Joshua B. Wichterich

  The town’s people crowded around a small wooden platform. A large stake ran straight through the center of the platform which stood a couple of feet above the ground. Stacks of dried sticks and straw circled around the bottom of the stake, drenched in oil.

  “It’s a good day for a burning,“ an overweight peasant woman said to her stick-like husband as she placed her large basket of apples down onto the ground.

  “I wonder who it be?” the man said, “There’s been no burnins since that mad woman of a queen ruled many years ago. I remember that young beauty be killin every one when we were youngins. Remember?” he said, taking a puff from his wooden pipe.

  “Oh yes, I do, I do. I was just a wee girl on my mother’s arm,” she said as she shook her head slowly. “I wonder who the unlucky soul is?”

  “It be the head-maid of the royal family and household,” a small old woman said, standing next to the large women.

  The old hag looked like an old rat standing next to an elephant.

  “What a shame that is,” the overweight women said, shaking her round face slowly. “The royal family just has to make a horrid scene and burn some poor soul.”

  “Entertainment!” the stick man shrieked as he picked at one of his six crooked teeth, flicking whatever came out, onto the ground.

  His overweight wife hit his arm as she chuckled at his comment. Small drops of saliva shot out of her large mouth and landed on the old woman’s face. The shrew didn’t even seem to notice as she stared off into the crowd, stuck in thought.

  “She be killin other handmaidens of the royal family—yes. Yes… It be happenin again. Evil things be brewin—like in the old days. When I was much fairer, before the many rough years got the best of me, these same things be happenin,” the old woman said, interrupting the large woman’s chuckles.

  The odd couple became quiet, wide eyed, as if shocked but fascinated by what the old woman was saying.

  “A servant found her performin some kind of ritual deep down in that old dungeon of the castle, lit candles everywhere. A poor young maid was found lying on her back, a bloody gash from ear to ear. Poor hussy—it be evil craft I tell ya!”

  The startled woman hugged up against her little husband, as if scared of what she had just heard. Her plump pink hand cuffed over her mouth, eyes still wide open like that of a fish.

  “They found other dead maids hidden in strange places in that dark old dungeon. The stink probably be tellin on that witch. They be findin some old skeletons and dead animals too, under piles of dirt and stone. Oooo, that old castle be full of secrets and horrid acts!” The old woman shivered, from either the cold or from her own tale, and then pulled her ragged shawl tightly around her bony frame.

  “That same thing be happenin about forty or so years ago. After the death of his grace, King James—the mighty God rested his soul—the evil poured out of that queen! Queen Karnidge was her name and she tore this kingdom apart. She be burnin everyone at the stake for five years, I believe it was… I remember, as a young maiden, how horrid the kingdom be smellin because of the burnin flesh of the people. My poor mother was burned… Gossip had it that she started hiring many young peasant girls as help in the castle. They say she sacrificed those poor young darlins to the dark father himself—bathin in their blood… She did this for five putrid years! When she died—the whole kingdom celebrated.” Amused at what she just said, the old woman let out a loud cackle as she shook her shriveled little head.

  The couple just looked at each other, speechless.

  “Can you believe that trollop thought she would stay beautiful and live forever if she be doin such a disgustin thing?!” She let out another cackle, creating more wrinkles on her face then she already had.

  The overweight woman let out a laugh along with her, but a forced laugh that went along with her odd facial expression.

  After a minute of awkward laughter, they noticed that the sky began to get a little darker. The dark, blue-gray sky looked as if it were about to rain an ocean. The winds picked up a little more, making the atmosphere even colder. The town’s people began to light more torches. Nearby pub and shop owners lit their lamp posts, making sure that the people could see that they were still open.

  “I have heard some old legends and stories of what happened long ago—they used to frighten me as a child. But what a shame, the poor dears,” the large woman said, shaking her swollen head.

  Her cheeks looked like two bright-red apples as the chilly wind hit against them.

  “How do you be knowin such things, old woman?” the stick man asked as he took another puff on his pipe.

  “I know everything!” the old woman cackled as she pointed her bony finger towards his face. “I be a very old woman, around for a long time, my man. I be knowin all the juicy gossip around this kingdom. Son, you should know gossip and brew be a woman’s best thing!” The hag began to cackle again as she smacked the back of the large woman.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” the large woman responded.

  “Speakin of brew, that’s what I be wantin right now,” the man said, and then spat something ugly onto the stone ground. “I be off to da pub,” he said. He left quickly off to the chaos of the pub, which was in eye sight, and looked very busy.

  “I be meetin you there soon!” the old woman hollered to him.

  He shooed at her with his hand as if he were shooing at a lost mutt. His wife shook her head in disapproval as she looked around the town square. With all of the commotion, it seemed as if festival season had just arrived.

  “Oh, but what about that poor dear?” she asked, pointing her plump finger at a small red-headed girl across the way.

  The young girl shyly stood, snuggling up against a young-looking servant woman’s dress. Her long red hair fell in waves over her little white gown. She looked about six years old or so. She seemed scared and timid even though she was amongst all of her five personal handmaidens, as well as courtiers and other important people associated with the royal family. The handmaidens comforted her and would lean over to talk to her every now and then, to console her.

  “Oh, Princess Marrisa, the little jewel,” the old woman said with a crooked smile. Her rotten teeth looked like little raisins between two flaps of dried bread.

  “The poor deary is probably scared to death,” the large woman said with a frown. She tried to get the young girl’s attention by waving to her without being noticed by any of her several handmaidens. “She is too young to understand such things. She shouldn’t have to be out here in this mess! Oh, what without her mother and all, she should be so terrified,” the large woman fussed, watching every move of the small child.

  “It be a sad thing,” the old woman said, shaking her head. “I do remember when the poor Queen O’nessa died from illness. That day be a sad day. That beauty was a loving one too. She always be there for us people in this kingdom. She spread her love and faith till no end. But she do be in a better place now, with his holy majesty of light.” She looked up to the sky while smiling her odd smile again, then back at the crowded scene of the marketplace. “Ever since she died, strange things be goin on around here. And the king,” the old woman said with that glazed look in her eyes again, “oh has he changed! You can feel the sadness comin from him when he comes into town. The king must be goin mad from everything that be happenin in that castle. That little red beauty child be the only light of hope in that castle…”

  †††

  The crowd was loud and filled with strange excitement. Everyone seemed to be talking at once and about the same subject, but different versions. Along with the ruckus of the people, there was the sound of music. A small bard and musicians were dressed in odd costumes with masks, playing music and acting out a strange scene of what they thought was about to happen that evening. Many people circled around the scene, watching, laughing and dancing all around the strange performance.

  The racket of nearby pubs could be heard as well, with the sound of laughter and drunken gibberi
sh. Although the odd weather and nippiness of the air continued to be rush in, the people of Minslethrate didn’t seem to want to rush away to their warm homes. It had been many years since a burning, and this one seemed to strangely excite the people.

  The king and his band of soldiers finally arrived on horses. The town’s people split like the legend of the red sea as they made their way into the town square. The soldiers stopped their horses at the small platform, pushing the people away from it. The king stayed where he was at, a couple of yards away from the soldiers, still sitting on the large black horse on which he arrived.

  The jewels on his velvet red tunic sparkled as the many torches of the marketplace gleamed off of them. A long golden chain with a brilliant deep-red pendant dangled on his chest. He was a middle-aged man with a stern face. He looked fierce and intimidating, but still had a glimpse of sadness in his black eyes. He had never been caught smiling by anyone, or even laughing for that matter. His eyes had dark circles under them, indicating stress and lack of sleep. His beard and long wavy hair was dark-brown with a touch of gray. His crown gleamed elegantly as he sat straight up on his large horse.

  Marrisa was excited to see her father. Because, even though they lived in the same abode, they rarely saw each other. Marrisa only saw her father at dinner, Sunday church, and sometimes in the halls of the castle. She tried to wiggle away from the band of handmaidens, but they held her back, worried that she would come up missing in the ruckus of the town square. But Marrisa knew she couldn’t go see her father anyway. She could tell something bad was going to happen. She could tell by the look on her father’s face, the sadness amongst her servants and the number of people in the town square. Instead of fighting her handmaidens to get to her father, she decided to stay tightly gripped to her handmaiden, Lilith.

  Lilith was the new head-maid of Marrisa’s servants. She was younger than her other maids but acted older. Even though Lilith was strange she was usually sweet and gentle, but lately, she wasn’t as warm and kind as Marrisa remembered her to be…

  Marrisa’s other handmaidens kept asking her questions while touching her hair and face. They kept trying to talk to her. She didn’t like any of it; she didn’t understand what was going on. All she knew was that Moira had done something awful…

  Her father had told her that Moira was a bad woman, and then told her that Lilith was her new guardian—replacing her beloved Moira. But she didn’t understand how Moira could do anything remotely wrong. How could she be a bad woman? Moira was like a mother to her—the only source of comfort she had ever known. After the death of Queen O’nessa, Moira watched over Marrisa. Moira was always there by Marrisa’s side, feeding her, bathing her, and telling her bed-time tales while she brushed her long red hair. How could she do anything awful? Marrisa had this question whirling around in her young brain as she looked around at everyone.

  The crowd seemed to quiet down now that her father arrived. Marrisa looked around at everyone; some people were shouting, some laughing, some dancing to the music, some even still shopping around at the random carts and small shops. Some of the people looked very different to her: some ugly, some beautiful, and some—really odd looking—like the large lady who was standing next to a small, haggard old woman, who kept waving to her. The lady looked really nice though—and appeared as if she could bake really delicious breads and pies…like apple pie. Marrisa’s young mind kept wondering from one thought to another. Is she ever going to eat apple pie with Moira again? What will even happen to Moira? Why is it so dark in the middle of the day? Why does katrinka the handmaiden’s breath smell so bad? And why is everyone here? Marrisa didn’t know even one answer to any of her questions.

  “Do you want to leave my lady?” katrinka the handmaiden asked, while bending over to look straight into Marrisa’s clear blue eyes.

  “No, she does not!” Lilith snapped as she rudely put her hand in front of Katrinka’s face. “I mean—she needs to learn,” she said, in a now softer tone. “She is a princess after all Katrinka, a young queen; she will see this again...”

  “Lilith, this is no environment for a young maiden, princess or not,” Katrinka said, trying to be bold. Her face was down, not even looking into Lilith’s dark-brown eyes.

  The silence between them was intense for a couple of seconds, feeling like an hour. Marrisa peered up, looking at the two women. Lilith’s face was straight with no sign of emotion, just blank, which made her look frightening to Marrisa for the first time. Katrinka slowly moved back to the other side of the group of handmaidens, hoping not to be scalded later for talking back to her new superior. Lilith’s stare seemed as if it could burn a hole straight through Katrinka’s face.

  “Do you want to leave my lady?” Lilith now asked with a smile, breaking the silence.

  Marrisa’s bottom lip began to quiver as fat tears swelled up in her big blue eyes. It used to be Moira’s kind face she would look up to. It would be Moira who used to console her. Marrisa’s sweet face turned sour in a quick second.

  “No! I want my Moira!” she screamed as she folded her little arms.

  Lilith just patted the top of her head, looking up to the platform of wood with a strange smile.

  “You will—soon enough.” Lilith said, then looked back down at the teary-eyed child.

  Marrisa looked back up at her and noticed how different she looked, somehow. Her dark-brown eyes seemed darker than usual, almost black, and her smile was kind of scary looking.

  Just then the crowd roared as a small carriage was pulled in by a large bald man sitting atop a black horse.

  “There she is now,” Lilith said, with that same strange smile and dark eyes. Her voice was low and smooth.

  Even though Marrisa didn’t want to, she held tightly onto Lilith’s gown as the crowd got louder.

  As the warden pulled the small carriage next to the wooden platform, two armed soldiers walked up next to it, ready to pull whomever out of it. The large bald man hopped off the horse and stood between the two soldiers. His massive shoulders and broad back blocked the view of the small carriage door. A ring of keys hung from a rope around his waist. He looked through the keys, found the right one, then unlocked the rusty lock-pad that hung from the door. He pulled the small, heavy door open, and then hopped back on his horse as one of the soldiers pulled a middle-aged woman out.

  It was Moira! She was crying and pitiful looking, with her hands tied behind her back. Her long dark hair was down and knotted and she wore a long black dress, making her look even more depressed-looking. Her face pointed down, allowing her knotted hair to cover most of her countenance. But even though she was pitiful looking, she was still lovely. She had a striking face and once was one of the more attractive handmaidens.

  One of the Soldiers shoved her towards the platform, not caring when she fell to the ground. Her lovely face hit the rough stones of the ground, marking a gash in her left cheek and bottom lip.

  “Get up witch!” the other soldier yelled as he yanked her up by her bounds.

  He shoved her as well, but she didn’t fall this time. Her face looked strange, as if she had no idea what was going on. She looked confused and shocked at the same time. She looked dreadfully—innocent… Bright-red blood trickled down her cheek and lip. Tears flowed down her dirty cheeks, leaving streaks of dirt behind.

  “Moira!” Marrisa shrieked as the two massive soldiers dragged her up the wooden stairs, to the stake.

  The atmosphere screamed with pandemonium. The crowd roared and shouted out obscene words at her as the soldiers shoved Moira against the splintered stake, tying her tightly to it. The crowd seemed to be angry at the woman, hating her, and she appeared as if she had no idea why. People began to throw things at her, like rocks and even their fresh apples and other produce that they apparently had just purchased. Some of the people even threw their mugs of brew at her!

  “Let me go!” she screamed, shaking her frazzled head.

  Blood poured from her cheek and lip and she be
came sopping wet from the thrown brew.

  “I’ve done nothing to no one I tell you! No one!” she cried out to the king who was still sitting on his horse.

  King Julpen’s face was blank, as if his mind was whirling with questions and thoughts—and doubts. His eyes looked sad and dark.

  “My king, do not let this happen!” she screamed out, and then her head lowered as she began to weep uncontrollably.

  The king said nothing, didn’t even look at her. He then raised his hand into the air as if signaling something, then rode off between the crowds, not even looking back. The two soldiers nodded their heads, then signaled to a soldier who was holding a torch, next to the platform. The soldier then lit the oil-drenched sticks and hay beneath the hysterical Moira.

  Marrisa’s servants began to cry as they covered their mouths with their shaken hands, some not even looking but burying their faces into each other’s shoulders as they consoled one another.

  The aggressive flames rose up quickly, becoming bigger and bigger.

  Moira became devoured in it…

  “So it begins…,” Lilith said in a low voice to herself as she held a crying and screaming Marrisa.

  “She will cry out to Him through her black, burning and gnashing teeth… And her heart shall pump no more… And she will go straight to the lake of fire—and scream out in eternal darkness…”

  Ten years had now passed upon the earth—ten peaceful and silent years. The burning of Moira was the first and last burning that had ever been ordered by King Julpen, leaving him in a state of heavy sadness.

  But Princess Marrisa became to be the most beautiful and loving woman to ever walk upon Minslethrate. Just like her mother, the princess spread her love and kindness upon the kingdom—giving them a glimpse of hope.