Short Story Sunday.

MAERA

By Bridget Messi

The clear spring night had a slight chill as the whisper of wind washed over Maera. She stood on the grassy hillside, staring at the flickering light of torches that illuminated the stone castle a few feet from where she and the army were stationed. Tonight they were to attack and they should take hold of it fairly easily, they already had their inside man who, in just a few minutes would open the large gate and allow them to infiltrate the enemy from right under their noses. 

She wouldn’t join the men in their victory, she simply just was there as backup. She was the person who came in if things went wrong. But they wouldn’t, she was sure of it. So she stayed on her hillside as the heavy wooden gates opened, and the men flooded inside. The clashing of swords was heard and shouts from men echoed to her hillside. The battle had begun. She squatted down in the long wild grass and waited. 

After ten minutes it became clear to her things hadn’t gone as planned. This should have been over by now—the castle sieged. Something was wrong. It was time for her to take matters into her own hands. So shifting into a lion, she sprinted towards the building, her paws kicking up the dirt behind her. 

Maera was through the gates within a matter of seconds; the courtyard was filled with soldiers fighting over the bodies of those who had already been slain. She leaped and landed back in her human form in a crouch, her blades striking many as she whipped them out from where they were strapped against her back. As she sat there, crouched like a snake ready to strike, the air shimmered and the energy shifted as time seemed to slow and every head in the blood-filled courtyard turned in her direction.

She’s here, their eyes screamed.

An Assassin who ends all other assassins. 

The Empress of death.

A smile tugged at Maera’s lips. She loved the attention, the fear she unleashed in these men.   With a mad cackle, she unleashed herself. Her blades swiftly struck here then there—always taking a body down with them—always striking to kill. 

Her body twirled between the men on the battlefield, her knives so sharp they didn’t even feel it as she slashed through their throats. So fast, they didn’t even get to think about their death before it engulfed them. She was here for the thing she hated yet loved the most. 

She was here for killing. 

Maera’s men ran past her and back out through the gates, retreating now that she was handling it—for they knew what was to come. She itched to shift now—to bring down the true power of her fury, but she had to be patient. 

Well, somewhat patient. 

Sheathing her twin blades, she leapt and shifted to her favorite feline form and began her massacre again with teeth and claws. It may have been messier than using a blade, but it was so much more fun to her.

The lioness prowled and devoured any man who came her way. They made to strike her, but even their blade’s slashes on her flesh didn’t phase her. She had been trained not to feel pain—programmed even.

The syringes had provided all the pain in the world and after so much of it, she became numb to it. For her to truly feel anything, it would have to be a killing blow to her heart or even a beheading. Both of which didn’t scare her. For that would still only slow her down, but never stop her. It would only give her attacker false hope of a win before her body remade itself from the corpse, and she finished the job. 

She was invincible. The perfect weapon of destruction. 

Hoofs beat against the cobblestone, and she looked up to see Turstin riding through, his sword gleaming red in the moonlight as he slashed his way through the enemy soldiers. She cleared the way for him, and finally, he rode out. 

Time to end this, she thought.

Jumping into the air she shifted once more, this time into a bird-like creature, and climbed higher and higher towards the great dark storm clouds above. She heard the whistles of arrows as they flew past her, but she was too swift for them to land their mark. 

Disappearing into the thick cover of the clouds, she let the lightning power her final shift. The magnificent electricity struck her here and there making Maera grunt in discomfort. As the lightning struck her the feathers were replaced by scales and her beak with long wicked teeth. She spun in the air, letting her mighty leathered wings expand into all their glory. 

It was time.

She dove back down toward the earth, picking up speed as she watched the castle become closer and closer, the screams louder and louder. Then with a mighty roar, she let her hellfire rain. 

Turstin watched as the flames engulfed the stone—the heat kissing his cheeks even from the lengthy distance away that he and his men stood. The army, his army, cheered as they watched Maera destroy the enemy, but Turstin stayed silent—his chocolate eyes hard. 

He hated this side of her—the part of her that had been created by an evil man to do horrific things. Every time she let her animal instincts win, she lost a part of herself and Turstin hated watching the sweet innocent girl he had fallen in love with slip away. He had been there the first day she had been brought in—well all of them brought in actually. She had been the only survivor of the vile testing that had been conducted on them. Even after the tests and surviving the unthinkable, Maera had miraculously kept her humanity, her sense of humor, and her kindness. Until one day when everything fell apart and it had been too much for her to handle. 

During those days, Turstin had stood by her side as she cried, his heartbreaking along with hers, but as a soldier, he couldn’t console her in those moments and it resulted in the monster her master had intended in creating. Even with her giving in to her dark side, Turstin had been there for her. He knew that the old Maera had to be in there somewhere, and he had been right.

After a few years of chaos and bloodshed, the Maera he had known and loved broke free from the control and came back to him. But the animal side was still a part of her—still needed to be let out. At first, it scared him, but after time he learned to love that side of her and realized it wasn’t necessarily evil or bad, but fiery and passion born from her desire to help save this world in any way she could. Her shifting was just a sign of how strong she was—she survived hell itself yet she walked out of the flames kinder and gentler than before. It’s one of the reasons he loved her, not many people could be crushed and broken time after time and not let the darkness encompass their spirit. But she had and it made him look at her with admiration and respect and love above all else.

After a bit of brainstorming, they found a way where she could kill, but not lose sight of her morals. So here he was watching the woman he loved murder a slew of men who wanted nothing destruction of anything that wasn’t in relation to their particular belief system. 

The deed was done and so the troops turned and began to move once more, Maera circling above. It took a few hours for her to calm back down after her killing high, but he would be there for her when she joined them on the ground once more just like he always was in those dark times. He had never doubted her, never questioned her judgment even if it may not always be what he would have done in certain situations. Turstin was a rock for her as she was for him, and he honestly believed, even with the killing and plunder, they were leaving the world better than they had found it.