Now We Are Free (Part 2)

Horses' hooves pounded. Fire crackled. Her pulse roared in her ears.

Rat-ta-tat-a

She whirled around, dancing. Faster, faster, faster. She saw the blurred faces of people. The old woman. The chief's painted face, glowing orange. The women who would pass her cell, defeated and broken and soiled. The man who had saved her from such a fate ever again. Faster, faster, faster. Soon she was seeing the faces of people she had forgotten, who she hadn't seen for years. Blessed mother and father gone to the Mother too early, a baby her mother had lost, grandparents, friends ripped away by time, by death, by marriage.

Suddenly, she realized they were all chanting. Chanting one word.

Free. Free. Free. Free.

Free us. Only you can free us. Free. Free. Free.

She shook her head, stumbled, fell, but the faces kept whirling by.

Free. Free. Free. Free.

She closed her eyes to block out the faces.

Free. Free. Free. Free.

She covered her ears, but now it was in her pulse.

Free. Free. She had to get free. Free.

The prophet's face glowed behind her lids. "Don't forget the Sound of Freedom."

And somewhere, an eagle screamed.

Mirna woke with a start, drenched in sweat, and stared up at the ceiling. She threw of the blanket weighing down her legs and got out of bed slowly. Her heart slowly stopped pounding, but the song didn't stop, the unending chant within her.

Free. Free. Free. Free.

She wondered if it had ever not been there, patiently waiting to be heard, and she opened the window to let the cool breeze kiss her burning skin. It rattled against the window.

Fly away free, free, free.

And the crickets sang as the hoot of an owl floated over the still night.

Come and be free, free, free.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember a song of a past that seemed to be an eternity ago.

The wind sighed and the crickets sang.

But she could not find the Sound of Freedom.

.               .               .

She doodled on the edge of the parchment, forgetting verb conjugations and spelling for a moment. She drew the wild rose bush her mother had been buried under and the horses her people had herded and tried to tame. She drew an eagle and sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She looked up and realized that a tear was slowly plodding down her face. Wiping it away, she smiled and shook her head.

He got up from the bed he had been lounging on and walked behind her, looking down at the sheet she was supposed to be practicing on. "What marvelous doodles," he laughed softly, teasing, "If only we spoke like that." His hand brushed against her shoulder, and she did not flinch as she should have.

She stiffened as he froze and looked up hesitantly as a new song whispered through her, stopping to twist in her stomach. The pen slid from her fingers, and she held her breath as he was completely still, completely silent for an eon. The quiet made her squirm, and she turned around to see what he was thinking.

His hand trembled by her face, seeming to have forgotten to move. “Can I…” His finger traced her cheek gently.

She closed her eyes, head tilted toward his touch, and a smile shadowed her lips. He had been very patient, she thought, and kind.

He bent slowly, cupping her cheek, and brushed his lips against hers softly.

Rat-ta-tat-a…

Suddenly, fear swept through her, fear she thought she had locked away, had smothered. She jerked away, breath coming fast and quick.

He stood, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I thought I understood, I thought…” He whirled around to run away.

She banged on the desk with her hand, unsure of what she wanted anymore.

He stopped, hand on the door knob and looked back.

She held up the book. It read, Listen. She stood and slowly approached him, her eyes never left his.

And he heard what beasts she was fighting, what shadows she was trying to chase away. He had faint ideas of what she had endured, but he had never asked, terrified of the answer.

“I don’t want to rush you into anything you aren’t ready for.”

She edged closer to him hesitantly, that foreign song still knotting in her stomach. The fire crackled in a melody that made her burn hot, hot, hotter.

Rat-ta-tat-a-rat-ta-tat-a

And she realized she was afraid of more than Magn, but of herself and this new song pulsing within her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and opened her arms for him.

He went to her slowly and gently took her into his arms. He felt her stiffen, stopped, and only continued when she nodded. “I’ll be careful,” he breathed and kissed her softly.

He heard a song then, and it was not forged of fire or wind, but of him and her. Indeed, the throb he knew as Lust was a part of it, but what he lost himself in as he brushed her fear away seemed far too permanent, far too deep within himself to allow him to stand in the morning as the same man.

He stopped thinking when she began to kiss him back.

.               .               .

Mina watched the sun rise from the bed and smiled. Sometime in the night, she had discovered it once more. The Sound of Freedom thrummed through her blood, rising from the ashes of the cage built of terror. She started as Magn mumbled dream soaked nothings and sighed.

He had burned her cage and introduced the Sound of Freedom.

There were three loud knocks on the door. “Your Highness!”

She frowned at the title, unsure of what it meant as Magn swore himself awake. She rolled over to look at him and smiled shyly as a grin spread across his face.

He tucked her hair behind her ear and opened his mouth to say something.

Three more knocks. “Your Highness!”

“Damn,” he sighed and crawled over her, falling before he could find his balance on the edge of the bed. Disoriented, he looked up and saw her shocked face peering at him. He watched her lips twitch up rebelliously and tried to narrow his eyes at her, but he couldn’t help but smile as well. Soon, his shoulders were shaking with chuckles that failed to be suppressed, and she was silently laughing.

“Your Highness!”

Still laughing, he pulled on clothes and opened the door just enough to see out. “Yes?”  He stared at the eight men standing before his door, five looking at the floor dejectedly.

One of his men pushed an elderly prisoner forward. “This scum was trying to escape.” The prisoner looked up, a hard glint in his eye that challenged.

The months with Mirna had allowed him to learn the movements of a person’s face. These men would not bend.

“Well,” Magn sighed tiredly. “Let them defend themselves before the Council.” He lowered his voice, “And prepare the gallows.” He closed the door as the soldiers laughed cruelly and returned to bed. He saw her question, but he kissed her instead.

And the song of Freedom was replaced with the song of Love.

.               .               .

A wail went up an undulating chant of Mourning.

Mirna stared through a window in the halls she was now allowed to roam in horrified fascination as five of her people were led out onto a wooden platform in front of her people who had been gathered in a courtyard.

Magn stood in finer clothes than she had ever seen, and he began to speak though she couldn’t hear what he said.

She glanced around and opened the window.

“-a warning to any who should attempt an escape again.” He stepped back.

Each of the five men’s heads was covered with black hoods. As the last man was being hooded, he struggled free and pointed at Magn. “You are ruled by a coward!” he screamed. “Your King is no more than a fearful little boy, and you are-“

A sword ended his speech.

The sorrowful peal of the prisoner’s voices rose to a high pitched cry.

Mirna’s knees threatened to give out as her mind whirled. Magn was the King. He was the god she had scoffed at, blamed. She felt vomit burn at the back of her throat and had to look away. Magn was the one she had sworn to take

vengeance on.

The chains she had freely accepted that had been forged upon the burning of her cage tightened around her. Her heart pounded in a horrified beat, and she jumped at a familiar cry. She whirled to the window again and stared up at an eagle as it soared over the square, screaming its presence. She backed away from the window, her mouth a grim slash.

She ran down the hall, flew down stairs, and the eagle’s cry reverberated through her. She had to get out. He was killing her people. She had to get them out.

In the square, she slipped into the crowd of people, her mind frantically pulling at half formed ideas. She skid to a stop at a hand tight on her arm, sickeningly familiar to that horrific night, and turned to fight. A gaunt, unbelieving face beamed at her, and she took a clansman by the shoulders, relieved. She tapped a rhythm on his shoulders, praying he hadn’t wasted away too much to recognize it.

He stared into her eyes, a frown of concentration wrinkling his brow, men and women glanced at them, ceasing their dirge. Those taken by the eerily familiar rhythm looked up at the Lone Eagle’s scream and laughed as the Wind ruffled their hair. They took up the pulse happily. She quieted them and framed the first clansman’s face, knowing her people had come to know what she said long ago. He nodded and muttered to his fellows. His voice rose and fell in a forgotten song.

So they went, spreading the Sound of Freedom. Mirna did so with them, silencing the Sadness, the Hopelessness, the Despair. Suddenly, there was complete silence.

The guards on the edges of the crowd and on the gallows looked around nervously. Magn was completely still, face hard. He leaned to one of the men beside him and said something. Rope went around the first escapee’s neck.

Silence.

The Lone Eagle screamed.

The clanspeople rebelled in a wave. From their throats came a song of Outrage, of Power, of

Revenge. The boom of guns echoed over the courtyard, but instead of confusing the song, it fueled it. Soon guard and clansman were struggling for weaponry.

Mirna clambered onto the gallows, the guards having gone down to attempt to control the wild mob. She unhooded and unbound one of the remaining four damned men before she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye.

It was Magn.

His face was blank, his eyes dead.

She was so angry at him, she trembled.

They stared at each other for a long moment. His shoulders sagged, and he approached her.

She slapped him, barely knowing what she was doing before he was gingerly touching his cheek, a great sadness deep in his eyes.

“Perhaps I should have told you sooner,” he murmured and rubbed her arm gently.

She tried to jerk away but couldn’t.

“My father was King before me.” He stared into her eyes for understanding. “I’ve only ruled for the time you’ve known me, and I've been weak here.” He ran his finger over a strand of hair, unable to properly meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."

She blinked several times, feeling as though she couldn’t properly draw air as tears stung her eyes. She softly brushed her fingers by the red handprint on his cheek.

“Go.”

She looked up into his sad eyes, frowning.

“I said go.” His voice was harsh, rough with tears.

She hugged him tight, pressing her lips against the cheek she had just slapped and ran off the gallows, the freed man having already unbound his cohorts.

“I love you,” he breathed and stared after her.

.               .               .

The recovering clanspeople worked in the spring morning. Mirna looked over the horizon as she had come to do, listening to the lilting songs of Contentment, of Happiness, of Peace. The Sound of Freedom had replaced the constant beat of Fear.

She watched two young people slip behind the tents and felt a pang of envy.  Horns called out, breaking the silence, and warned of something approaching. She shielded her eyes and peered into the sun. A single rider galloped towards the camp, and a familiar song tinkled in the air. She smiled and looked down at the babe in her arms as it began to cry. She kissed its forehead and ran a nervous hand through her hair before looking down at herself. She looked up at the figure once more and hurried into a tent, excitement tingling through her.

And somewhere an eagle screamed, free, free, free.

***I liked Part 1 better, but I was on a bit of a time constraint.***