Prologue
Down the muddy streets, dodging mud flinging cart wheels all the way traveled the young woman. She was cold and lonely, seeing nothing but vague images of what passed her by on the street. She has gone a long way these last few days and has even further to travel in the coming days. Why she did it even she didn’t know. Something called to her on the wind, a soft melodious tune that she couldn’t quite make out the words too, and yet, she could feel them in her very bones.
The shanty houses and poorly dressed beggars on the street watched her pass, wondering if she would be the one to deliver them salvation in the form of a silver coin or a loaf of bread. So easy it would be for them to be happy, to not be hungry. She kept walking though, she did not stop to give anything to these unfortunate wretches, she had nothing to give. They didn’t know this though so they looked upon her with scorn and resentment.
A small child came ducking out of a nearby alley, running at full speed with a small puppy hot on his heels, nipping all the way. They ran and weaved around the other residents of the area, a smile on the child’s young face and the small dogs tongue lolling out of the side of its small mouth. Run and jump, dance and play, without a care in the world they passed the days away. Around the legs of an older man he went, dashing out across the muddy street towards his mothers waiting arms in the doorway of their run down house. Out across the streets went the boy, into the way of a fast moving horse drawn cart with a driver who cared not for the people of this lowly neighborhood.
A woman’s scream and the slight jostling of his cart, and he was beyond that decrepit part of town, a little bit closer to his destination and a warm meal. He had travelled for over a week, driving hard and pushing his animals to the limit to deliver his cargo. This run would make him enough money to live the rest of the year quite comfortably. He had no wife or children, so the money was all his own and he planned on spending a good portion of it on strong drink and good company. Soon after, he was taking the last barrel off of the wagon bed and being paid a large sum of money for a short trip. Tipping his hat to the innkeeper he moved into the common room, grabbed a bottle of wine and a good looking lady, and headed upstairs.
The man behind the bar shook his head ever so slightly as he watched his daughter walk up the inn stairs arm in arm with a complete stranger. He was partially to blame for her profession; he was never smart enough to take up a real trade and had been working in this inn for years, for little pay and a place to stay. When the innkeeper told him that his young daughter must also work for him he almost left on the spot. They lived in the inn though and had nowhere else to go. She agreed to do it and everyday when he watched her go up the stairs with another drunken man, another piece of him died. He put down the glass he was cleaning to hand a nearby slob a bottle of mead and spits in disgust as the man trudged out of the inn and into the street.
Only the drinks can ease the pain, life was a curse that was placed upon him thirty odd summers ago and he has had to put up with it ever since. He lost his whole family when he was very young to a fire and had been living off of the streets ever since. The only respite he could find was in the bottom of a bottle of hard liquor. He pulled the cork out and threw it aside as he stumbled into the side of the inn he just exited. A long hard swig and the wipe of a dirty forearm across his lips and he was off again. People looked at him with pity and disgust as he passed them by, he didn’t care though…none of this really mattered.
As he watched the drunkard walk down the streets he couldn’t help but feel anger well up in his chest, what a waste of a life. He curled back his lip in a sneer and left the small store he was shopping in. Across the muddy streets he stomped, right in front of the drunkard. He stood right in front of the man and started screaming at him about his station in life. He didn’t even hear his own words as things begin to go red, the man wasn’t even listening to him, he was just walking by! He couldn’t let that happen! He moved after the drunkard, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, throwing the bottle from the man’s hand in the process. As the drunkard groggily looked towards his lost bottle he got a hard right fist in his gut. It was all red now, the anger had built up to a breaking point and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, contain it anymore. He began beating relentlessly on the body of the drunk. Seconds and then minutes went by and soon his fists were drenched in blood; his clothes, as well as the nearby building, had spatters of blood splayed across them like a morbid painting. Panting, he rose from the broken body, his anger spent. As he looked around at the nearby people he found that their glances of pity and disgust were now aimed at him. It didn’t matter though, he walked to the half full bottle of alcohol, picked it up, took a long swig and kept walking down the street.
The young girl watched in amazement as the town militia ran by the body of the broken man to chase after the bloodied assailant. As people stopped to stare at the spectacle that just occurred she walked over to the fallen man. Never before had she seen death; the cold, glazed over eyes under the swollen and bloody eyelids. The white of exposed bone contrasting with the crimson red of the man’s life blood in the hole that was once a man’s face is sickening to the innocent girl’s stomach. As she looked at it she couldn’t help but feel the bile rising in her throat and so she turned away and emptied the contents of her stomach around the corner of the building. Wiping the phlegm from her lips with her sleeve she started wandering home, images of violence and death flitting through her mind.
As he watched the young girl walk down the street he had to smile. Girls her age were his favorite kind. They were so soft and innocent and there was nothing he liked more. As he moved down the street shadowing the little girl his thoughts swirled in growing anticipation of the coming events. What a glorious day it would be for him. He didn’t even see the other people he passed on the street as his eyes focused on the beautiful little girl. As he passed by a dark alley he heard a soft voice calling out from the shadows. He stopped but a second and glanced around as he heard the soft voice saying something about a real woman. When he looked into the darkness he saw a very pretty woman beckoning him; poorly dressed and dirty, but undeniably attractive under the dirt and grime. Normally he was not drawn to women her age, but something about the way she moved drew him to her. She beckoned and backed away like a dancer, moving to a rhythm that nobody else could hear. To his own surprise he followed her back into the shadows.
She watched as the man followed her back to the end of the ally and she reached up with her left hand to caress his face and chest. She moved in slowly and methodically and her sensual touches and whispers quickly encouraged the man to take a more active role in the encounter. Soon she could feel his hot, slobber filled kisses on her neck and his hands grouping her ample breasts. She backed away from him a step then and held out her left arm to keep him at bay. With her right hand she reached down under the fold of her long skirt and slowly started bringing her hand up the inside of her right thigh. The man’s eyes closed and she could hear him take a deep breath in anticipation of the coming ecstasy. When he opened his eyes again he saw only the glint of metal flash before he felt a burning pain between his ribs. She tilted her head slightly to the right as she watched his eyes look down at the knife hilt protruding from his chest, and then as they slowly glazed over as he slumped to the ground. She pulled her knife free from his chest and cleaned the blood off and replaced it in her sheath. Off she walked, not knowing what she does but with a tune to guide her…a song in her bones.
