Kristin, Chapter 1-Scarlet

       Smelling the savory scent of leek soup, Kristin stood up, brushing her coal-black hair away from her tanned face. The red sun was a hairsbreadth away from disappearing completely behind the distant mountains. Laying her hoe aside, she turned to her old, worn-down farmhouse and hollered, “Momma! Dinner done yet?” Her mother’s shrewish reply came winding back to her from around the house, near the kitchen.

“Dinner will be done when those potatoes are finished bein’ weeded!” Kristin sighed, did her best to console her angry stomach, and reluctantly returned to her work.

They hadn’t had much to eat since papa had, like so many other men, died in the wars. He had had a wonderful innate ability to make any plant grow anywhere, even in the thin, rocky soil of the desert foothills, where only sturdy, knurled old pines and the occasional manzanita bush grew wild. Her mother, as her father used to say, couldn’t grow a dandelion in a dandelion patch. The only person in the family who had in any way inherited his gift was Kristin, and so to her fell the responsibility of tending the crops. It was difficult work for a twelve-year-old, but it was needed to feed her, her mother and her three-year-old sister, Clara.

      It was pitch black when she finished. Dragging her tired body to the barn, she threw the hoe into the pile of tools, fed Ol’ Betsy, the mule, and on her way out locked the door against bandits. You couldn’t be too careful these days, even in the barren desert foothills. Stomping into the warm kitchen she was shrilly greeted by her mother.

“Do you think I’m going to feed good soup to a girl with filthy hands? Go wash up or you aren’t going to get a half-spoonful of anything!” Kristen irritatedly went and washed her hands and face in the basin by the fire. Clara was playing with a home-made doll on her little cot next to her mother’s bed. Seeing Kristin, she squealed and ran into her arms, almost upsetting the basin.

“Sissy! Sissy!” That was, by far, Clara’s favorite word. Before their father had died, when Clara was just a baby, Kristin would play with her all day and kept her entertained while her father worked in the fields and her mother did housework. Kristin grinned, hoisted her up in the air and spun her around. “Ahhhyay! Siissyy!” Clara exclaimed, giggling. Putting her down, Kristin gave her a quick hug and then went to see about the soup.

Her mother scrupulously examined her hands, then without a word gave her a carefully-filled bowl of steaming leek soup. Kristin sat down on the rickety old chair at the rickety old table and greedily spooned down her dinner. It was gone much too fast, and her stomach growled for more. She considered asking for some, but she knew what the answer would be. They needed any leftovers for lunch tomorrow, anyway. She got up and set her bowl in the dish-basin.

Exhausted, Kristin then crawled into her pile of warm furs near the fire. Her mother was getting ready for bed, carefully changing from her coarse working-dress into her treasured silk nightgown, a leftover from better days. Clara, her hair brushed and her face scrubbed, crawled over and snuggled up in Kristin’s arms. Today had been a hard day. Kristin was looking forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow, Alex, her best friend, was coming over, and they were going out to see if they could find blackberry bushes. That would mean a hike over to the nearby forest, which was lush and cool. They might even catch a few squirrels. She fell asleep and dreamed of Alex, of blackberries, and of squirrels.

She woke to a sword at her throat. A tall man with dark hair and a scar running from the left side of his forehead to the top of his right cheekbone was standing over her, wearing a black cloak and an eye-patch over his left eye. Surrounding him were five or six men that, from their tattered old clothes and miss-matched weapons, looked like mercenaries. The tall man smiled evilly. “Sleep well dearie? Get up. This hovel and the surrounding area are now the property of Her Highest Excellence, The Sorceress Kimber. You are required to serve at her House. Resist and you face a fate that makes death seem like a priceless treasure.”  Kristin scrambled to her feet stupidly, the tall man lazily keeping the sword at her throat. Her mother and Clara were nowhere to be seen.

“Wha – where are my mother and sister?” She inquired groggily. A few of the men around her gave a low chuckle. She was still trying to process just what was happening. Then, with horror, she saw the scarlet spots covering the usually spotless floor. A sick feeling lodged itself heavily in her stomach.

“They’re…unavailable at the moment,” said the tall man, a hint of sick amusement in his voice. She started to panic. Kristin had heard of Kimber, the Dark Sorceress who had conquered many of the homes which were rendered defenseless by the absence of their men. Hundreds of women and children had been killed. But that was north. Far, far away. They couldn’t possibly be here. Not this far south! Her mother and Clara couldn’t possibly be…

“Please! Where are my mother and Clara! Tell me! Please!” She sank to her knees, surrounded by laughing men. She put her hands to her face and began to cry, silently. No. They couldn’t be dead. Not Clara. Not Clara. No. “No,” she whispered. Then, “NO!” she leaped into the air and began hitting and scratching any of the men within reach. “NAAHHOO!” The men rushed to pull her off. She was soon subdued, with one man on each arm. The tears were now running freely down her face. Again, the tall man stood over her with his sword at her throat, this time with a nasty look on his face.

“I should slit your throat for that one, girlie.” The man growled. He still seemed rather amused at the situation. She glared up at him with blind defiance.

“Slit it then!” she cried, and spat up at his repulsive face. With a snarl, he took something out of his pocket and pressed it up against Kristen’s nose. The last thing she remembered was the stranger’s dark, black eyes boring maliciously into hers.