Lady Stagg - Chapter 1: A Foolhardy Charge

The night air was crisp as I sat, swaying with the movement of the coach of which I had gained company. They had picked me up around the last village. I had befriended the driver as he sat at his seat in the inn. The driver had agreed to help me to the next village, a small hamlet of sheep farmers I’m lead to believe. From the decorations that adorned either sides of the coach, one would make the assumption that the man it’s dark, cracked, oaken doors concealed was one of fair importance. I assumed he was an emissary from one baron to the other. Now the provincial battles had ended the ruling barons were involved in a lot of diplomacy. Suddenly I was wrenched from my fancies, as a mighty stag had bolted the road, being knocked dead by the coach. I turned my gaze to the coachman, whom I’d come to know as a suppositious fellow. His face was pale, eyes blank. An amount of curses greeted my ears, as the oaken door was slid open.1

“What, upon this fair land, happened to jolt me from my slumber?” raged an aged face.2

Silence engulfed us, it appeared the coachman was not about to answer, so the glare was refixed upon me.3

“We hit a stag” I replied4

“Well remove it from the track and we’ll be on our way” he commanded with the air of someone not overly used to having such direct commands disobeyed, so I stood to drop from the coach. The coachman grabbed me by the shoulder.5

“The death of the stag was an omen, do not touch it lest we rouse the anger of the ages” he gabbled, and I could see the fear in his eyes, genuine fear.6

“Such nonsense is not protocol!” snapped the old man7

“We should turn back, if not an omen, then what else could have possessed it to charge across?”8

“Silence! I will not hear another word of this, this blasphemy! Now remove the deceased”.9

I felt obliged, there was something powerful in the old man’s words. Besides, I didn’t hold much stock with the old beliefs. I landed upon the hard road surface, sending up a small cloud of dirt to be whisked away in the light breeze. Approaching the fallen creature I was relieved to observe it was all in one piece. I tried not to look at it as I put my arms around the bulk, as if embracing it. It’s head lolled to one side as I lifted it, bringing my eye into direct approximation of it’s glazed lens. In that moment I felt transfixed, as if the eye held sway over me. Looking into it’s hollow, lifeless eye, I was overwhelmed by a great respect for the limp beast, almost hatred for the coachman, and I was then drowned in an unexplainable fear. We had killed something so beautiful, strong and pure. I felt a cold sweat drench my forehead and I woke from my trance. I dropped the body of the beautiful, mangled thing on the side of the track. My cloak whipped my side with renewed strength as the breeze caught it. As I watched I observed a gashing wound in the creature’s side I had not noticed. The blood trickled from this wound and rounded it’s belly. The first drop hit the ground as the wound spilled it’s bloody tears upon the roadside. A few drops of rain spattered my forehead, and I jumped. I climbed back aboard the coach, avoiding eye contact with the coachman. As we set off the rain grew heavier. I was grateful for it, as it hid my tears of sorrow.10