Young Writers Society

The cloaked woman hurried through the dark streets, bent protectively over the basket in her arms. A tall man strode swiftly beside her, his own footsteps muffled by the cloth over his shoes.

“Miriam, this is a terrible idea! The palace is guarded, for Dagger’s sake. What if you’re caught? Then what will happen to the baby? I beg you, come back! Do not risk your life over some prophecy half-fulfilled. Miriam, don’t ignore me! Your child will not prosper if you give it to the king!” Rasem’s whispered words had no effect on the darkly clad lady, who briskly hurried on.

“I’ve already broken a hundred laws, Rasem, what’s a few more? This child must live, don’t you understand? The fate of the kingdom depends upon this little girl! You can turn back if you feel the need, but I continue on in the face of this peril, for I have read the fire and the stars. Even the creatures of lore, who speak only to those of pure blood lines, agree. The time has come, and my child will change the future. She must live. No guards will kill her if she’s well hidden, and I must do my duty to the higher powers.” Rasem sighed softly, and glanced up at the moon. It was full, and pale. The Goddess was watching over them tonight.

“Fine, let the girl live. But why the palace? Why not leave her on the doorstep of some childless nobleman? The palace is a dangerous place in these times, more dangerous than even your Temple!” Miriam pursed her lips and shook her head. They were too close to the gates now to speak, lest the guards hear them and demand a reason for breaking curfew.

Miriam looked down into the basket, where a small infant slept peacefully. The girl would grow up into a magnificent destiny, with a burden unmatched upon her shoulders. Miriam could only hope that there would be enough time for the child to grow and learn before Fate cast the die. Goddess, she prayed softly, let this child be happy. Let her live. I implore you, Goddess, who I have served so faithfully, let my daughter live!

Rasem flinched as the back wing came into view. His mind was shouting for him to turn back, even to grab his headstrong sister and flee. He could put her on a ship, send her to some other place. Miriam was a strong woman, but he was a man. Though she was High Priestess, he could still control Miriam by the law, especially with the high rank he's scraped and scrounged and slandered for.

At last, Miriam and Rasem reached the small side door hidden by swinging ivy. A thought flitted across Miriam’s mind, disturbing enough to make her pause. Would she ever leave once she crossed this secret threshold? Rasem looked at her face, wondering why they had stopped, and she pulled forward again, determined to fulfill the prophecy even at the cost of her own life. She had, after all, offered up her life to the Goddess. If she must die in service, let it be so.

The door was not well oiled and creaked as Miriam dragged it open. Rasem winced, afraid. They were in a small antechamber, which Miriam knew led into the Library of the Palace. They wove their way through the rooms, watching scrolls and books slide by their lines of vision.

Miriam found a table, and gently placed the basket on top of it, leaning swiftly down to kiss the child on the forehead before straightening and turning her back, forcing the tears away from her eyes. She would not cry for doing her duty. But she could not leave the child without some sign, some hint of love, either.

Bending again, Miriam unfastened the finest necklace from her many prized chains, and laid it on the child’s body. The sleeping infant curled her chubby hand around the chain and smiled, the moon pendant resting on her stomach. Rasem tugged at Miriam’s arm, and led her from the chamber , seeming paranoid of every whisper of the breeze they made striding past pages and pages of writing.

The ivy door was just a hint ajar. Had they been so careless? Miriam felt the back of her neck tingle, and drew her dagger, but it was too late. Hands, strong and callused, gripped her arms, forcing her to stand straight and drop the silver blade. She turned, crying out, fear and horror overcoming her.

Rasem smiled bitterly, even sadly, at his almighty sister. He was unbound, untouched, and the guards were thanking him. Miriam felt the sharp sting of betrayal, and her face twisted and contorted in fury.

“Rasem!” Her voice was full of raw emotion, and for a second Rasem’s face seemed sad, wan. Then it cleared, and his eyes were blank, cruel. “How could you do this? I’m your sister, fool! We share the same blood!” His eyes closed for a moment, but then opened and met Miriam’s eyes.

“I serve the king before you, Miriam. You speak so much of duty, and I listened. I did my duty. You are a traitor, above being my sister. You will get what you deserve, Miriam.” But as the guards pulled her away so cruelly, a single shard of pain fled her heart. For leaning so close no one could hear but her, Rasem had given her a ray of hope. “The child will live. She is as of yet undiscovered, and I’ve spoken not of the prophecy, and I will not tell. My father’s grandchild will not be left to their mercy.”

Miriam’s resistance dropped, and she strode at equal pace with the guards, her head high with pride, her eyes blazing Rasem, the traitor, had spared her daughter’s life. If Aliya, her child, would live, she could die in peace. The Goddess would welcome her, and Miriam could watch her child from afar. From death, even.

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“… And thus, it has been ordained that Miriam Swallow is convicted of betrayal of the king and kingdom, breaking curfew, and trespassing of the palace. It has been decided that the sentence for such crimes is death.” The speaker finished, and looked at the young woman he’d just announced was about to die. She was unkempt from months of living in a dungeon, but still had great beauty. It was really a pity she’d committed such crimes.

Miriam stepped forward before the guard could drag her, and knelt down before the executioner. Her dark hair swung forward, and she pulled it back. There was no fear in her eyes, and she didn’t beg or plead like so many of the other prisoners. It was like she was happy dying.

A tall man among the noblemen stood higher, and stared. Rasem felt a sting of regret that he’d done this to Miriam, his only sister, but she had truly deserved it. She worshiped the Goddess, and listened to prophecies not made by the king’s oracle. Rasem had had to make a decision: him or Miriam. And he’d chosen.

The sword swung down with a sickening thud, and the light in Miriam’s eyes went out. Her body was hauled away by men in hoods and black garments, faces hidden from the public.

Rasem felt cold, sick. He gulped, but could not tear his eyes away from the head of his sister. His little sister, dead? Dead, with her blood on his hands, or as good as? [i][i][i][i]Mercy, Goddess! Please, I am sorry. Let Miriam, who served you to the end, be happy next to you, looking down at the child. [i]Let her forgive me, though I’ll never forgive myself.[/pre][/i][/i][/i][/i][/i]