Faith: Prologue

Yah, this is my novella. I posted the intro to this, and I highly recommend reading that first.

The prologue is a flashback to the night the Skeletal Hand killed all the Moon Children. Please read and review!

Courage ran; she might have had wings in her heels. She had no lungs, but her diaphragm burned like tires screeching on asphalt. She had no heart, yet her chest was filled with beating blood. Death-cold wind roared, pushing her back, threatening to tear her banner-like ears from her head. She felt like she was running up the nasal passage of a great beast in the middle of a sneeze. Every muscle in her powerful body was stretched to the breaking point. The Moon only knew how she kept going.

The Moon.

The Moon hung deflated and pallid in the sky, exhausted from her birth. She seemed to have sighed in deep content and resignation. This was the end. It was all over. Courage’s navy eyes were pained at the Moon’s sickly luster. She couldn’t believe it was over.

She could feel it hunting her, tracking her down. It was almost laughable, really. What was she running from again? It was a fragment of a living thing, yet it had destroyed Joy, Beauty, Protection, and so many others. Now only Courage was left. Courage, and the small treasure she carried with her, close to the place where her heart would be.

The child snuggled into her breast fur, and she was beautiful enough to melt a scorpion’s spiny heart. She glowed with the radiance the Moon had lost, and Courage feared she was like a silver beacon, giving their position away. But she couldn’t let her go. She held the future in her paws, and the future must survive, even at the cost of her own life.

The sound of rushing water met Courage’s ears. She slid down the wet, clover-choked bank and huddled in a small ditch by the waterside, ignoring the stagnant mud seeping through her fur. The roaring of her overheated body was so loud that it drowned out the sounds of the night. She willed it to stop, wished desperately for the silence she needed. The Moon shrugged in apology. She couldn’t do anything more. Her work was done.

The Fall of Paws thundered a few hundred feet downstream. Its liquid bulk surged like a black serpent over the cliff, shedding foamy scales into the dark sky. Courage sighed heavily through clenched teeth. She would be safe here for a while. Some of the Moon Children’s magic still remained in these sacred waters. With that thought, Courage gently slipped out of the Shield strapped to her back. She fingered its broad, sturdy edges, traced the symbols etched in its concave face. Then she slid it into the water. It stood still a moment before bobbing downstream, rocking, and sinking.

Death hit Courage like a charged arrow.

Not physical death. Not yet. But she could feel it now, breathing down her neck, winding its unrelenting fingers around her neck like poison snakes. It wasn’t death that she feared—it was death now. It was too soon. Not yet. Not yet.

Courage was on her feet again…or not even. She was a crimson blur hurtling through the forest. The child was crying now, but Courage didn’t try to hush her. She vaulted fallen limbs without slowing her pace, leaped gorges and scaled rock walls, until finally she could see lights.

The warm, buttery glow of stained-glass windows was near enough to touch. Courage broke through the brittle foliage and out onto the drawbridge. She threw herself against the door and wailed loud and shrill, “Maid!”

Courage moaned with anxiety. What if she was too late? Death was squeezing her like a vice now, like she was its stuffed animal. But she didn’t look over her shoulder. She was afraid she would shatter her chances if she did so.

The door was flung open. Illuminated in the doorframe was a shapely woman with hair just turning gray at the roots. She wore a modest black dress and frilly white apron, and was comically equipped with a feather-duster. Courage smiled weakly. This was her savior, her warrior, her knight clad in cleaning supplies.

But the Maid’s face was grave as she knelt by the Moon Child’s side. “Courage…”

“I’m the only one left, Maid. Besides the child. Here. Take her.” Courage’s voice was raspy and desperate, almost crazed, as she shoved the child towards the Maid.

The Maid hesitated. “This can’t be the only—“

“Maid, listen to me. She’s safe here, and nowhere else. If you don’t take her now…even I can’t predict what disaster could fall on the world. Whatever happens, the Skeletal Hand must not find her, or the Flute of Paws. I have that with me as well.” From a pouch at her hip Courage drew a slender wooden instrument.

The maid stiffly took the child from Courage’s arms. A huge shudder ran from under her frilly bonnet to the tips of her slippered feet. She couldn’t describe the feeling. It was almost as if destiny itself were nestled in her arms. She hastily took the Flute as well, less reverently, and turned back to Courage. It pained her heart to see this ancient creature in her last moment of life. Courage’s deep navy eyes, wiser and more majestic than bottomless lakes—those eyes that had seen the Earth through its violent infancy in the days of volcanoes—were dead. They were the first thing to die.

“Go!” Courage yelled.

The Maid was surprised at the anger in her voice.

“Now! Go now!”

The Maid shut the door.

She leaned against it, shaking, trying to hold back tears. A satanic shriek split the night; there was a sickly thunk, a spattering of blood. All Courage left her then.

Gone. All the Moon Children were gone. All except for this precious piece of life in her arms.

For the first time, the Maid allowed herself to look at the last Moon Child. She was beautiful, more so than the Moon herself. The Maid steeled herself then, promised herself she would defend this helpless creature as long as there was breath left in her body. She held the child close to her heart and whispered soothingly to her. She was only a human. What could she do? Her best, she decided, and nothing more.

Maid and Moon Child sat huddled on the cold tiles for many moments. It might have seemed that all hope was gone, were it not for the small bit of Faith the Maid held in her arms.