The war had been raging already for more than two centuries when I came to realize that it was my destiny to kill King Aslan. It was a feeling that I wasn't longing to feel, but rather a need that erupted from the unprecedented events. I had no choice. With a brush of my nightmares I've painted the perfect revenge. Picturing a perfectly polished silver blade, heavy in my hold, finding his throat so effortlessly. Our eyes locked in the final battle while he would choke on his blood begging for forgiveness. His eyes would widen, as the flooding darkness would consume him before he would realise who stood in front of him. I burned with desire to hurt him, to take away everything he ever loved, everything he ever held dear and everything he touched. I wanted him to see me killing his family, to make him feel what I felt that day, when he decided to take everything away from me.
Now, sitting under the shade of time-worn willow on the ground of Royal Military Camp of Rasfalia, I've rehearsed and lived through that moment over and over again. In these unprecedented times, more than ever, my purpose has never been clearer. No matter whose propaganda you believed in, there was more than one reason why King Aslan had to die. But for me there were only two. The day that something died in me, and the day he turned my world into ashes. And it was the day something died in me, that he took away my mother, and when he decided that it will be the last time I see her, that it will be the last glance she'll ever give me before he boarded her on that forsaken ship.
It was the harshest winter I've ever faced. Midswick – a little village where we lived was an odd place to be indeed. Cornered on one side by the longest trail of cliffs in Rasfalia overlooking the North Sea, and on the other side tucked away by the Bealyn Mountains. Winters? Back then, especially the ones sinking their claws through your bones in the frost, as you chatter your teeth trying to catch the steam coming out each time you open your mouth. No, there were no winters like this in Midswick. Thick ash color clouds darkened the sky charged with the heaviness of what was about to be unleashed. So alive with the looming certainty of the snowstorm. First one in what it felt like a lifetime.
Swaying my legs back and forth I sat on the old wooden bench overlooking the sea, moving swiftly little pebbles through my fingers, amused by a new trick my mother taught me just that morning. She called it – gravity bonding. I wasn't sure I was doing it right, but I loved how it slid away with ease, as I could feel a flicker of energy similar to static pinching my fingertips. The bench was far enough from the house so I was barely seen, but close enough so I could see my mother's silhouette roaming around the kitchen. The trees shifted and creaked, patiently waiting for the snow to cover their bare branches, while the sun-burned grass was getting a first coat of white paint. It descended so elegantly. I took a deep breath. And the air snapped from salt and moisture to creeping cold sinking through my bones and gripping my veins.
I was seven at the time, when the shadows of nearby swaying grim trees suddenly multiplied into peculiarly human-like shapes. Soldiers don't come this way, I remember thinking to myself. Especially the ones holding swords the size of a half a man. They don't come to these lands. All five or six of them were clothed in metal armour encasting their chests with a black cloaks swooping their shoulders, all so jarring in the advancing whiteness. The hushed voices tangled with stealthy footsteps grew bolder. They creeped into the wooden cabin without making the sound, imprinting on only the freshly fallen snow giving them away. They didn't see me, not even looked my way. I had no time to think. Quickly tossing the pebbles aside, I ducked low crouching under the wooden bench – just as my father drilled into me. Holding my breath I gripped tightly the edge of the bench trying to lean out from behind unnoticed – when I saw my father standing-in-between the two wooden barrels of the entrance. The soldiers shoved him, hard, he dropped to his knees, bones rattled onto the ground. He did not resist. Tight ropes bound behind his back sank deeply into the raw wounds. Slowly one of them drew the sword with precise movement, like he did it before, many times before that, pressing the tip of metal against my father's throat, then dragging it deliberately down and hovering it above his chest. My father didn't do as much as blink. No fight. No defiance. I crouched low, frozen in anticipation and hallowed by disbelief that he let them do this so easily. And then turning his head towards the sea – his gaze snapped to me, he looked at me, tipping his chin towards the spot behind the tree – then intensely glaring back. But my body refused to move, locked between scream and panic– I froze. He looked at me again, just before looking right past me when one of the soldiers tilted his head towards where I was hiding. Unfortunately, something else caught the soldier's attention. From the gap of an open door, the dim light of the cabin shone on the dark blond hair of my mother, while two soldiers held her tightly by her shoulders. She kneeled as her light blue dress touched the mud. Now she'll fight them, she had to, I thought. Ready to bear the consequences of her magic I covered my eyes, as she with just one tilt of her finger would drop all these men to the ground. But then she didn't. Everything inside of me sank, when I saw her hands tied behind her back and squeezed into a iron chain bound – luminite box. One metal that would weaken any magic bond, one metal so precious and yet so deadly for the bonders. The soldiers knew exactly who she was.
I stayed hidden, while snow petals grew relentlessly wild, blurring the whole scene into white. The sea howled louder crashing its waves onto the shore. My whole body trembled in fear and terror, I screamed inside trying to make my bond appear. Tears went down my face, I tried clenching and unclenching my hands, over and over again. But I was too weak. My bond was too fragile. I didn't feel anything at my fingertips. No energy flow. Asleep. In the moment when I needed it the most. One of the soldiers yanked my mother to the ground so savagely while slamming her face into the mud as he stepped with his dirty boot on her right cheek pressing it deeply making her lips touch the soil. Bastard. The other one towered her, standing right above her head.
"There was a rumour about a girl," The voice of the tallest one, who looked like the leader of the group, broke the silence. "And from my experience, most rumours have very strong roots." There was silence. My mother lifted her eyes glaring back with disgust at the soldier standing right above and with all the remaining force she spat on his black polished shoe. He didn't flinch, yet his jaw tightened as he exhaled deeply. Then, with a force he lunged at her with the same spitted shoe driving a powerful kick right into her ribs. Suddenly, my father jerked forward with fury blazed eyes ready to snap the man in half, when my mother crouching through pain shook her head 'no'.
"She died," My father said through his teeth. "Couple of months ago from infection." His voice cracked, still the soldier looked at him suspiciously. My father dropped his gaze before turning it to my mother, like it was the last time he'll see her. Panic was clawing my chest, I panted with trembling fingers not knowing what to do and how to save them. Hopelesness paralysed me. I was stuck.
"You know all of this, could've been so different if you just left," The leader said in a low and commanding voice as he hauled my mother roughly from the ground. She tried twisting out of his grip, but he only held her tighter. "I believe you Eleonor, but will He believe you as well?" My mother's eyes widened snapping to my father – a single glance heavy with something that both of them couldn't say. She yanked again now in explosive charge, only fueling the soldier's fury as he slapped her across her face leaving a hand-size crimson mark on her cheek. I gasped, snapping out of my shell, I needed to run, help them, save them. Hunching down with my heart pounding hard against my chest, I edged towards the tree, desperately trying to get close without being seen. But then a sudden violent roar of the wind ripped away my father's last words to the soldier, before he shot me yet another firm look. The soldier barked something with a smug look on his face, when my father answered back, a fist slammed against his face as he smashed to the ground and into the snow, but I couldn't hear anything that was said between them.
Low to the ground I crept towards the large stone couple of feet away from the scene. I peeked slightly from behind the stone, but it was too late. My chest tightened in rapid palpitations when I saw soldiers disappearing with my mother into the skyline, as the storm swallowed them whole. Frozen pain wrapped around my legs burning it with exhaustion, still I ran faster than I ever knew I could. The world shattered around me in a blink, yet in slow-motion at the same time. Beaten up and bleeding, my father laid on the porch of our small cabin. Snow cloaked him like a feathery blanket while he looked straight into the emptiness where my mother laid just a second ago. With fingers rigid from the cold and my body shaking from panic, I couldn't untie him fast enough. The second ropes felt looser, I bolted falling over the slippery path, standing up and running towards the hill they took my mother to.
"LYRA! Don't! Please…" I heard his begging scream from behind, but I was already running at a breakneck speed. Nothing around me existed. I was petrified that it was too late. That I won't be able to save her. My bare feet were barely touching the glossed white canvas of snow. The phantom distant cry of my mother was cutting my heart like a knife. The image of her pleading for her life and crying for someone to help her, filled my vision to the point that I felt no pain, no cold and no exhaustion. I just ran. The tranquility of the first snow in years in Midswick now seemed so violent and dark. That night I didn't come back home. Shivering, with barely a cloth over my body – I stayed. And it didn't matter. Nothing mattered after they took her. The horror of the night vanished alongside all the traces of blood and footsteps, replaced by the early dawn gently caressing my face. Midswick yet again looked so remote and untouched, like nothing ever happened, like no one ever came. My father drank in silence. And we never really spoke about what happened that day, some things were better left unsaid. Winter stayed then for the whole two years, and since then I despised nothing more than – winter.
The day King Aslan turned my world to ashes, was the second reason why he deserved to die. That day was no different from any other day. My father stood up from the velvet armchair putting down his sword back into its sheath, after sharpening it for hours with a whetstone, as he in the most casual manner told me – he had to leave. It wasn't a peculiar announcement, he was a royal servant indeed, which meant following shadows of their will, or so at least I thought. Leaving every couple of months and then coming back with a woven bag filled with sweets and small gifts – carvings, fabrics and relics from all the Kingdoms he visited while deployed, was something of a ritual of ours. Looking back now, I never really knew my father. Colors of the firelight danced reflecting the smooth texture of the black metal armour, each breath of his looked like dragons twisting in the gold and blood-red shadows. He straightened the wide shoulders that took up the space of two grown men, looking down and ignoring the weight of my stare. I swallowed hard. He was gone already even if his presence still lingered. Rough and battle-worn palms wiped my tears before he leaned in giving me a kiss on the forehead. His gaze drifted back to the cabin, as if it was the last time he saw it as it is. Picturing every book and painting, every scrap of paper lying around as it is, untouched by time and war. Ruthless weather awaited him outside. Window glass quivered in its frame, rattling like mad serving only as a small warning before the force of nature truly arrived.
Our cabin stood in the way of the chaos, and although in no way remarkable, it was home. The scent of aged wood and lacquered pine floors clung to the cabin, infused with heavy woodsmoke that drifted away from the stone-framed fireplace. Till this day, I never fully discovered where all the green purple velvet armchairs and plush sofas came from. Regardless, it looked like it belonged here and would rot here till the end of time, even if my mother heavily disliked it, calling it frumpy. Bleached by dust and years hung ancient flags of the Continent, which now became faded fabrics with stars, moons and ornaments, leaving too much for imagination. Every wall wore a clutter of shelves filled with meaningless brass candlesticks, handcrafted wooden animals depicting all the wild beasts of the woods, thousands of books with crumbling spines and washed out titles. It was a noisy chaos taking up every tiny corner available pulling you in all different directions at the same time. There were too many details to remember for a child, and as the war was raging outside of our doors, no one ever bothered explaining it to me. Yet, something was odd about the way he pushed the armchair to the side and adjusted the cushion. Like he hasn't spent hours on it and like he knew he would never touch it again.
"Lyra," My name landed hard in the unnerving quietness. He sat beside me, hesitating over the next words he was about to say. "Everything we did, we did for you," His hoarse voice frayed, as I looked up at him yet he only stared ahead. "And no matter what anyone tells you, me and your mother thought it was the best option. You are your father's and mother's daughter and don't let anyone define you." There was a long pause, as if he was looking for the best words to say it, but each time he was about to open his mouth, he would pause. "Just promise me one thing Lyra, promise me that you'll never set foot in Erdonal Kingdom, promise me you'll never even think about crossing their border, am I clear?" His last words came out sharp and firm as it suited a military man. I hastingly gave a small nod, unsure what the right response was. Erdonal were enemies, the evil kind and their king Aslan was the man who I hated the most. He was the one who took my mother, so naturally I wanted him dead, but Erdonal was the last place you would want to end up in. A sharp pull twisted low in my stomach and the question pounded my head. Why would I ever set my foot in that place?
He rose slowly, without looking back as his heavy steps carried him to the front door. Even the handle felt rigid. The door slammed shut and the silence I once enjoyed so devotedly, now felt like a curse. I waited. Pretending that my eyes did not just fill with tears and my body did not hurt like it just got punched. I am grown up, I told myself. I won't cry. I fought it. I'm not a child anymore. I tried keeping it together, when the picture of my mother and father on the small bedside table burned into me too much. And then I collapsed. Running frantically I threw the door open. But he was long gone.
"NO!" I screamed with tears pouring down my face. "No, no, no!" I couldn't stop as if my chest got torched with fire. Whole body was shaking from sobs, my lips barely able to touch.
The leaves of a cold rainy autumn day covered his tracks, like nature itself didn't want me to find him, and like that, he was gone as if he was never really there. The friendly neighbour Lady Madelline with her two small boys would appear soon after like clockwork. With the same red scarf covering her shoulders and brown hair with silver streaks pulled back in a bun, she brushed my cheek tenderly offering me a warm smile, as the two boys hiding behind her skirt peeked at me with curiosity. Later that day, we had cake, as if nothing ever happened.
In the span of months, each morning I ran towards the path coated in deep tree roots and wet soil, every time to find no one waiting for me by the old willow tree. I would spend my evenings running by the shore on the lookout for any boat approaching, but aside from local fishermen that in a way were part of the landscape, there was no one. Months passed, and there was no news nor a single sign that he'll be back soon. After yet another couple of cold months, the warmth of the summer crept in and the frozen sea from winter no longer stood in a way for him coming back home.
A wide smile tugged my lips when one day carefully tucked in under the front of our door stood a dark wooden box. It was from my father. I knew it instantly. Even if the box on the outside looked unusual, circled with unknown sigils and two dragons guarding the delicate latch on top. Yet, it was so typical of my father. Part of me wanted to cling to my frustration and anger, but I couldn't hold the excitement that rushed from my chest. It was a gift from a faraway land, from somewhere unknown and chances were – he was already on the way back. Thrill of opening the box was too loud to ignore. The box was heavy, that kind of heavy that made you wonder what was inside. I gripped it tightly with both hands while steading it with my knee then slowly with measured steps proceeded carrying it inside and placing it gently on the table. There was no hiding how ecstatic I was to see what was inside. From dresses and ribbons of Talka, to brushes and pigments of Erdonal and from knives of Isildra to copper pans of Husemid. The suspense was too much. My fingers moved fast, I released the latches on both sides, savouring the moment of the opening. Here it was…
It crept out slowly, lazily revealing itself – an insect.
Another insect came out crawling out of the box. That's odd, I thought. And then another. Immediate thought that crossed my mind was – sweets or pastries, thus explaining the insects. They reached it first, and after weeks of travel it was theirs. Now, whatever that was belonged to them. The thick wooden piece on top of the box screeched as I forced my way in. More insects crawled slow and fast making their way out of the box. I had to see what's inside. The shadow of something pale and cracked looked back at me with empty sockets. But the second it's emptiness caught my eyes I felt like my heart dropped to my feet. I fell to the floor hard, wrinkling in pure revulsion. Folded in a tight ball I pushed myself backwards from the horror as bile rose in my throat and I vomited up whatever I had for breakfast that day. I was shaking from the inside out with my head spinning in waves as I vomited again, and again. My eyes burned from the pain. Weeping and screaming I staggered to my feet when the whole world broke loose as I stared at my father's severed head without eyeballs and it stared back at me. With agonizing slowness insects were crawling out, stomachs full from feasting on the flesh and bones mummifying the head to the point that I wasn't sure what I was looking at. What was left was the severe stink, bare skull and the hilt of my father's sword. I backed away, step by step, my heart hammering with immense force against my chest. I couldn't. I ran out of the door, not looking back. But the weight of grief and fear chased me down as I was stumbling over my feet running and falling, my legs buckling beneath me as I crashed and stood up, then dropped again and rose, when finally the saltwater pulled me in. Each wave was slapping me harsher while drifting my body fighting to stay afloat, but my mind was already going somewhere dark, unsure of the decision. Evidently, that was the last time I saw him.
When a sudden rupture of an ear-splitting percussive siren wailed across the sea. The distant scream of Lady Madelline yanked me around immediately. When the scorching fireball hurtled above my head from the dark outline of the ship emerging from the fog. The shoreline screamed, swallowed by amber and scarlet colors, smoking grass into a charred wasteland. Everything burned. Then another blazing fire tore the sky slamming onto the houses. A pit in my stomach dropped when I found the bow of the ship heading straight for me, creeping closer, the fire cannons flared again. There was nowhere to run. Fear infused voices screamed in panic, shouts and overlapping cries for help. The sound of sirens repeated itself again, when some arms wrapped around my waist ripping me out of the grasp of the sea.
Lady Madelline's wide eyes met mine laced in terror.
"HIDE!" She cried frantically. "NOW. LYRA!"
In the far distance, right before molted flames swallowed the horizon, fire was devouring every inch of my home. It consumed in ravenous gulps, stripping and melting every letter, crumbled book, pillow, every toy ever I played with, melting every piece of the furniture and every scrap into junk. Wiping away every piece of my existence.
The blaze of the fire reflected in my eyes – looking back at what it birthed. All the pain and destruction around me was not comparable to the fire that was born deep down in me that day, as I realised two truths. First, I won't be able to keep my promise to my father. Second, that I will spend every day of my life hunting down a way to kill King Aslan. No matter what it takes.
He took away everything I ever loved.
I reminded myself of these reasons every single day. As the war continued.