Ferry Across The River Of Death [Fiction]
Find me, Emilia. Before I cross over.
Emilia St. Clair inhaled deeply, then gulped. The familiar scent of death burned her nostrils, her mother's last words echoing on repeat in her head.
Tears welled in her eyes as the events of yesterday rushed back, sharp and clear.
Five clergymen led the crowd. Behind them stumbled three women dressed in coarse sackcloths, their hands bound at their backs and heads covered with black hoods. The crowd yelled, "witches! burn them at the stake!" They repeatedly struck them with dry pine sticks, the sharp edges digging into their skins. Cuts and bruises marked their frail bodies.
She was at the apothecary when the news came. She couldn't run fast enough. The crowd had reached the gallows and the women had been strung up when she arrived.
No, no, no. She had cried, hands stretched toward her mother when an old man pulled her back so roughly, she staggered and fell on her buttocks.
“Don't be a fool, girl” he growled at her, his eyes burning with anger and unshed tears. “One look at you and they'll hang you as well!”
Then came the whisper as their hoods were removed. She locked eyes with her mother. Find me, Emilia. Before I cross over.
She heard the words in her mind and nodded frantically as her tears flowed. The ferry across the River of Death. Pay the Admiral.
She nodded again, snot streaming down her nose. Don't look, child. Close your eyes.
She did and heard the loud gasps and cries from the crowd as the trapdoor dropped. She felt herself falling, just like her mother, but the old man grabbed and held her against his chest.
Now she stood at the river's edge, trembling under her heavy coat, as the fog thickened around her.
She was just shy of fourteen and had barely begun her training in the old arts and herbal remedies with her mother. Was she strong enough to seal this bargain?
The eerie silence was broken by the sound of a boat tottering across the water. The fog slowly parted like a curtain, revealing a tall, gaunt figure in a long gown, rowing the boat. His face was obscured in shadow.
Then she saw the ring—a skull carved from gold, worn on his bony index finger. It gleamed in the dark. Legba, The Admiral.
Emilia took a deep breath. Her grip tightened around the gold token in her palm. She wouldn't leave this place without her mother.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "ferry across the River Of Death".
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