Katherine

She woke to the stench of rotted food and rancid waste.  A stray animal had died close by, its carcass adding to the horrendous smell.  Pale sunlight illuminated the narrow opening of the alley, leaving the rest of its filth-strewn length in shadow.

          Katherine pushed the greasy strands of hair away from her face as she uncurled her body on someone’s doorstep.  Another dejected tramp stirred two doors down, his hollow-cheeked face riddled with age.  He struggled to his feet as she slunk past, his ancient arms clinging to the nearest wall.  The man did not ask for assistance, and she offered none.  In the carnal world of the alley thieves, the weak were left to perish.

          Life had not always been so dark and cruel.  Her eyes had once been greeted by extravagantly furnished living chambers and flocks of servants.  But that was before they came.  She paused in the cobblestone street and glared at the foreign warships looming over the fishermen’s boats in the distant harbor.  A chill crept up her spine as memories of the invasion swirled in her mind.

          Two of the nightmarish figures emerged from the bustling crowd, as if her memories had conjured them.  Sunlight gleamed off their array of barbaric weapons and illuminated the beast-like masks concealing their faces.  One of the monsters dragged a young man unceremoniously up the avenue, scattering the human throng in its wake.  Judging by the brutal treatment, the prisoner had to be a Rebel.

          “Joshua!” a woman screamed as she exploded from the mass of villagers.  The burly guards shoved the frail creature aside and continued their march.  The woman remained where she had fallen as her tears spilled onto the grimy street.  The crowd hurried past, ignoring her grieving presence.

          Katherine turned away as the girl’s sobs tore at the wall she had built around her soul.  The incident continued to haunt her as she weaved through the mass of sweaty bodies converging on the market square.  Pairs of masked soldiers flanked each of the colorful booths lining the broad street.  More armed monsters hunted among the throng for potential victims.  Katherine grimaced at the unusual concentration of foreign authorities and moved toward a vendor’s cart.  A thief caught by the guards was as good as dead, so she had to time her move just right.

           A cry of alarm rippled through the crowd as a company of elite soldiers shoved the villagers aside to make way for a massive horse and rider.  The demon mounted on the stallion’s back glared at the throng from beneath a wickedly horned helmet.  Sunlight danced off his armor and the blade of the sword he menacingly held aloft.

          “Haza-stan,” Katherine spat, the warlord’s name stinging like a poison on her tongue.  The last time she had seen the barbaric ruler, his polished armor had been splattered with the blood of the Rebels.  A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she realized Haza-stan and his legions had returned to finish off what remained of the Resistance.  She ducked down the nearest alleyway as images of past slaughter threatened to overwhelm her.

          “Out of the way, filthy urchin!” a guard commanded as he and his companions shouldered past her.  One of the brutes paused, his cold eyes boring into her as if he was considering slitting her throat.  At the sound of the captain’s impatient grunt, her attacker quickly rejoined the rest of the band gathered around the doorway at the end of the alley.  Katherine pressed herself deeper into the shadows as she heard the ominous hiss of blades being drawn and the resounding crash as the soldiers threw open the door.  The piercing scream of a child inside the house flung her back to the night the masked demons swarmed into her estate.  Tears streamed down her face as her mind relived the brutal massacre of her faithful servants and once again heard the desperate plea for mercy from her dying father’s lips.

          A sharp wail penetrated the swirling fog of terrible memories and Katherine looked up to find a little boy huddled against the opposite wall.  After wiping her dark eyes on her ratty sleeve, she crawled over to the child and wrapped her arms around his trembling body.  He collapsed against her and whimpered.

          An instant later, the masked warriors emerged from the blackened depths of the boy’s house, their swords stained from the heinous crime they had committed.  Her gaze fell to the crimson pool seeping over the cobblestones, the only evidence of the innocent lives that had been taken.  Anger swelled inside her and she turned to glare at the receding soldiers.  “I won’t let it happen again,” she whispered and stroked the boy’s shaggy head.

          The dock planks were cold and smooth beneath her bare feet as she slipped in between the mounds of empty crates.  Black water churned below, mirroring the anxiety that coursed through her.  Most of the guards were in town celebrating the supposed victory over the Rebellion, which left the docks poorly guarded.  It was the perfect night for what she had planned to do.

          Katherine crawled up the grimy gangplank and crouched on the deck of the monstrous warship.  Nothing stirred in the enveloping darkness as she moved toward the cabin.  Her fingers brushed one of the silent cannons and she remembered the shower of missiles that had ravaged the once peaceful town.  She dared a glance upward to see the invaders’ flag hanging limply from the top of the mast.  The hideous image of a snarling demon printed on the crimson standard still haunted her dreams.  She froze as her eyes fell upon a figure sprawled on the deck a few feet from her.  The overpowering odor of liquor assaulted her nose as she neared the motionless guard.  With numb fingers, she pulled off the hideous mask and gazed into a face that could have belonged to any villager or townsman.  She recoiled in disgust at the depths of cruelty these masked human beings had been capable of inflicting.  It has to stop!   Her courage rekindled, she stepped over her inebriated enemy.

          She pulled the matches from her tattered pocket and lit the lantern that had been left on the captain’s desk.  Her eyes narrowed with hatred as she fingered the corner of a map that illustrated the vast empire Haza-stan had built.  “This is for you, Father,” she declared and hurled the glass lantern.  The hungry flames reduced the parchment to ashes and eagerly spread to the desk itself.  In a matter of moments, the cabin walls were glowing with fire.

The cold light from the distant stars dimly illuminated Katherine’s thin frame as she stood on a shingled rooftop.  She watched as the flames coiled up the warship’s masts as easily as they had the pearly towers of her estate.  Her bruised heart gathered little satisfaction from what she had done; revenge could never bring back what she had lost.  A slight breeze whistled past her face as the villagers’ cheers of hope floated up to her from the streets below.

                               Sarah Crumpton