A vow of Justice

A Vow of Justice  

by L. Laurence 

The first thing I knew was the wind. It roared past my ears, a deafening rush of air that sent it’s icy fingers clawing through my hair. The second thing I knew was pain, an aching throb at the top of my skull, like something inside of my head had been smashed apart. And then, I opened my eyes. The world tilted. No, I was tilting. Falling. Or flying? 

My breath hitched as I registered the figure holding me. His face was unreadable, his grip iron-tight against my body, almost bruising. Considering the speed at which we were streaking through the sky, I was grateful. 

A sudden shift in direction wrenched my stomach, and instinctively, my fingers clenched his shirt. His powerful charcoal-black wings beat against the wind as he glanced down at me with a solemn expression. 

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Where are we going? What happened?” 

Something warm trickled between my fingers. I glanced down. Crimson. My blood. It dripped from my palm, staining his shirt, splattered across my white laced dress, no, not just a dress. A ballgown. A wedding gown. My breath caught in my throat. “Why am I wearing this?”  

Pain blazed in my skull, sharp and cruel. I tried to look up at him, but my neck locked in place, frozen by the ache. My thoughts swam, sluggish, desperate to grasp something, anything, that could explain all of this. But my mind was empty. I raised a hand to my head, searching for the root of the pain and let out a sharp hiss when my fingers grazed the deep gash across my crown. 

His jaw twitched, and for a moment, I thought he might speak, but he remained silent, perhaps too focused on getting us the hell away from whatever had hurt me. Hurt us. 

Drops of blood trailed down his neck, staining his bright white beard and the dark fabric of his uniform, I couldn’t move my head to make out just what kind of uniform it was but the blood was not just mine, it was his too. 

I swallowed hard and glanced down, instantly regretting it. I had a feeling I had always hated flying. The world below was a blur of motion, but something about it was familiar. The winding roads, the clustered buildings, the vast stretch of forest. 

My home. My city. My people. 

A memory surged through me, a beautiful woman laughing, chasing me down the streets. "Get back here, little witch! We need to go home, it’s dinner time." My chest tightened. “Are you taking me back to my mother?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. She would know what to do, what had just happened to me.  

The stranger stiffened. His grip faltered just slightly. “Your mother?” His voice was rough, almost lost in the wind. Then, a bitter laugh. “Is this another sick joke?” Confusion knotted in my gut. “I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. Wrong move, the world span. My mother had always talked about leaving our city, moving somewhere far away. Maybe she had, and maybe it was another thing I had forgotten. 

His grip tightened and his eyebrows creased. “You really don’t remember?” 

“No—I—no! Remember what?” 

He let out a dry chuckle. “We’ve been hunting you for years, and now all of a sudden, now you have been arrested, you claim you have no memory? How convenient.” 

My pulse thundered in my ears. “Hunting? Me? Why?” That was when I heard it, the faint clinking of metal. I looked down again. 

Shackles. 

Thick iron cuffs clamped around my ankles, their weight dragging against the wind. I kicked instinctively, but his grip on me tightened like a vice. A smirk ghosted across his lips. “Remembering, are we?” His tone dripped with mockery. My stomach lurched as we descended further into the city and passersby looked up. 

“It’s Captain Rock!” someone shouted, pointing. Children stopped in the streets, waving excitedly. Smiles spread across faces until they noticed me and their joy twisted into horror. “The Widow Maker!” they cried. “It’s her!” another screamed, “They found her”  

I stiffened. My stomach turned to ice and I turned to look up at Captain Rock, my voice shaking. “Widow Maker? Who is that?” 

Flickers of something dark and familiar ghosted through my mind, stories whispered in hushed voices, ink-stained pages recounting a tale of vengeance. A scorned bride. A woman left at the altar who, in her fury, stood before a priest and the Gods, vowing to destroy the happiness of others starting with her own mother. A traitor, she said. A woman who had warned the groom-to-be of her daughter's violent temper, sealing his escape before the vows could be spoken. Betrayed and humiliated, the bride had disappeared into the shadows, evading capture for years. She resurfaced at weddings waiting for the moment when lovers pledged their forever, only to rip the grooms’ throats out as soon as the words I do left their lips. 

My stomach twisted. A sickening heat rose in my throat. 

I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit. “No. You’ve got the wrong person. I can’t be this Widow Maker. I would never—I couldn’t.” I loved my mother with my whole heart. And I had never even loved a man before, I wasn’t even old enough to be married. Before I could process any of it, we landed. The King’s palace loomed before me, its towering spires of dark stone piercing the sky like jagged spears. I remembered watching the palace from my home as a child, dreaming of the day I might set foot inside. 

But not like this. Not in chains. 

As soon as my feet touched the courtyard grounds, strong unforgiving hands grabbed me. Tugging. Pulling. Shoving. Officials dressed in dark uniforms with black wings, matching Captain Rock’s, dragged me forward, my wrists now shackled behind my back. They forced me through the towering gates and into a grand hall where a man perched on a golden throne in the centre sat expectantly, his crown rested proudly upon his greying hair. 

“Here she is, Your Highness,” Captain Rock’s voice echoed behind me, his footsteps heavy and judgmental. “Her magic has been subdued by the iron around her feet. She claims to have no memories. She believed her mother was still alive.” 

The king clicked his fingers and a man in what I vaguely recognised as a physician’s robe stepped forward, hesitantly, almost trembling with fear. He avoided my eyes and glanced at the chains bounding my body as if making sure they were still secured. I felt so confused, he had nothing to fear, not from me, I would never hurt him. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

He raised his shaking hands, a soft golden glow flickering at his fingertips and warmth spread across my forehead as he inhaled deeply. Then, he exhaled, taking an exaggerated few steps back from me. “She tells the truth, Sire. The gash on her head has caused some memory loss.” 

I let out a breath. “I-I don’t have memory loss—well, I think I do, but I know I would remember if I were a-” I gulped, the thought so sickening, so preposterous “a murderer” tears spilled down my cheeks as my body shook violently with fear but the King’s cold gaze didn’t waver. 

“She shall be sentenced to death.” 

Panic surged through me. “Wait, no!” 

“Immediately” 

Guards stepped forward. Angry hands hoisted me to my feet, ready to drag me away. I thrashed against my chains, against the horrible men, desperation clawing at my throat. “Please! I didn’t! I swear, I would never—” 

The King’s voice rang through the chamber. 

“Justice is not a matter of what you recall, but what you have done. We know beyond a doubt that you have committed these crimes, and your life will be taken for the lives you have taken.”  

“Justice?” I cried “What about mercy?” 

The guards showed me none as they dragged me to my fate.