She could see ghosts.
The young maiden crouched low; slick sweat made the collar of her blouse cling to her like a second skin as she dug the damp soil, her thin, long fingers carving out a shallow hole for her rosemary seeds. She had grown familiar with the silent shadowy figures that lingered at the edge of her vision, their soulless eyes watching and following her every move. But today it felt different. She froze, feeling a sharper, heavier gaze press down her back. She released a slow breath as she turned, only to find those hollow, unblinking eyes fixed on her.
Her heart skipped. Yes, she could see ghosts, and she had grown accustomed to their presence, but this time, a chilling dread crawled its way up her spine, settling in her bones like a warning she could not ignore. Then she heard it – the thunderous clatter of thick hooves hitting cobblestone. The ground trembled, sending pebbles and stones into frantic dances. Her pulse quickened as she shot upright, gathering her skirts hastily in one hand. She threw a glance over her shoulder at the shadow. They never spoke to her, but in that moment they mouthed the word 'run'.
She rushed towards the narrow passageway of their home, her heart pounding in her chest. Time seemed to slow when she recognised the horses and their riders. Her throat ran dry, the heat building up sweat was far gone and now replaced with a nerve-wracking chill. Three horses draped with the red-coloured fabric adorned with the emblem of the three-headed dragon. Their silver-armoured rider gleams in the harsh afternoon sun, stirring clouds of dust that gather in the wake of pounding hooves, scattering birds from their branches.
Arwen's heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She had begun yelling her sister's names before she turned and sprinted towards their small stone-built cottage, "Izara! Rhea!" Her mind raced, each step filling her head with images of what the king's men did to those with magic ---gruesome scenes she wished she could unsee.
She threw herself at the door, wrenching it open. Breathless, she called, "Izara, Rhea, we need to leave." Her voice wavered. She prayed for their safety as her eyes darted across the room. There was Izara, calmly sewing thread into a brown cloth, oblivious to the danger, while Rhea climbed down the crooked stairs, her steps unhurried.
Izara's eyes dropped to Arwen's mud-caked feet, her lips curling in disgust. "You filthy pig!" she snapped. "You're going to drag mud all over the floor."
Arwen barely heard her; the approaching thunderous hooves grew louder, each beat sending a wave of dread over her body. She dashed towards Rhea, who was about to reach the last step, eyes wide and confused.
Arwen whispered in a strained voice, "We have to go now," her grip on Rhea's wrist firm and tight. Her eyes darted to the small wooden hatch tucked behind the stairs. There, that would be the way out.
But Rhea was not budging. Arwen glanced back, and her heart dropped when she saw Izara holding Rhea's hand tightly.
"What is the matter with you?" Izara's voice was sharp, confusion flickering in her eyes.
Arwen's chest rose; she cast a glance over Izara's shoulders to the door, half expecting the king's men to burst in any moment. "We need to leave! The king's men are coming!" Her voice trembled, her breathing ragged as her eyes flashed between her sisters, pleading for them to act.
"Now," her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, laced with urgency, "we need to leave, now."
Izara frowned. Her eyes narrowed at Arwen as she successfully yanked Rhea from her grasp. The sound of the thunderous rhythmic hooves now echoed through the air, filling the small cottage with the unmistakable sound of soldiers approaching. Both Rhea and Izara froze, their faces mirroring Arwen's dread as realisation dawned.
Izara's eyes flashed with anger; she sneered at Arwen. "What have you done?" she demanded, her voice low and sharp. Her eyes flickered between the door and her sister, accusation heavy in her eyes and tone, her voice nearly a growl, "You performed your stupid magic out in the open, didn't you?" Izara's heart raced, her breathing quick and shallow.
Arwen shook her head, eyes still flickering between the door and her sister, her heart pounding loud in her veins.
Despite the chill that crept up the eldest's spine, Izara made a visible effort to straighten her shoulders, drawing in a deep breath. She pulled a trembling Rhea to her side and faced Arwen, tilting her chin up defiantly, masking her own fear. Izara tried her best to sound calm, her tone gentle, her words slow and deliberate. "If we run, they'll catch us," she breathed, her voice steady. "You insist you didn't use magic in public? Then there is no reason for them to suspect you," she added, her eyes locked onto Arwen.
The air turned still, thick with unspoken fears as Izara and Arwen locked eyes, each clinging stubbornly to her own plan. Their focus was so fierce, neither noticed Rhea, who stood between them, eyes wide and silent. Her hands gripped and fisted her gown tightly, knuckles paling as Izara's words sank in.
Izara finally shifted her gaze to Rhea, her eyes softening as she slowly but eventually smiled at the youngest, oblivious to the storm in Rhea's eyes. She unclasped her hand on Rhea's arm, her fingers sliding down to hold Rhea's hand, entwining them gently. Her voice was low and gentle, almost like a murmur meant to calm a skittish rabbit. "There is no need to panic," she whispered calmly, firm assurance in her tone."We'll stay here, calm and quiet. No one will suspect us if we don't act like we're running." Without waiting for Rhea's response, Izara turned, guiding her toward the brown, worn, sagging three-seater in the left corner of the room, her steps steady, pulling an unresponsive Rhea along.
The two sisters went and sank on the couch, trying to mask their fear with forced composure. Izara picked up her cloth and needle, resuming her stitching with hands that appeared surprisingly steady, though her heart felt like it might burst out of its cage. Beside her, Rhea fumbled for the sewing manual lying on the floor, flipping the pages slowly without seeing the words, her fingers still trembling slightly. From her place near the staircase, Arwen watched and stared, unable to understand how they could pretend to be calm.
Images of the king's punishment of those that performed magic flashed through her mind, making her shiver. Just then, the shadowy figures wandered into their home, hovering in her vision. One of them leaned in closer, its hollow eyes locking on her as its mouth parted, mouthing a single word: "Run."