Once upon a time, there was a site called Clever Fiction Short Story Prompts that provided weekly writing prompts. Quite often, they were 3-words that weren’t always easy to work together but ended up pushing us as writers to create great stories. Many of the stories I wrote to those prompts were incorporated into longer short stories, novellas, and full-length novels. The Chase was written to the prompt: Broken, Desert, Voices. Give it a try and enjoy!
The Chase by Linda Boulanger
Her chest heaved with every breath, straining against the bodice of the silk gown. Silk - supposedly spun by the gods, meant to entice as it fell in revealing layers over the satiny skin of young ladies waiting for the men for whom they were chosen. To Elenya it only impeded her escape through the thick brush. She pushed the hood of the cloak-like dress from her head, releasing a magnificent mass of red tresses that matted against the trickle of sweat running down her back, now bare from the unusual cut of the dress.
What a waste. She thought of her trip to the courts as well as the expensive fabric and the excitement that had surrounded picking it out, fashioning it into a body-covering masterpiece that represented her future, her dreams. Her family should have saved their reserves, her destiny decided many years ago by higher authorities anyway. The only thing she’d needed to entice her warrior was her scent. Or was it his scent? She wasn’t sure, knowing only that she’d been marked, ceremonially injected with his blood as a child to belong to him when her season came – though neither of them would know the other until the appointed time.
Even aware that she’d been marked and her future assured, Elenya was no different from the other girls who dreamed of a lifetime dance with one of the elite warriors of the court. It meant she and her family would return to the luxury of the circle of the chosen once she came of age.
Only the moment Elenya realized the Masters had matched her with Tahruk, she knew that would not be the case. Tahruk! Why? Their families had been enemies for generations. There had to be some mistake. She knew she had to find a way, to find someone who could make it right. Her only chance was to get to the house of the Masters.
Ignoring the aching in her legs and lungs, she refused to pay heed to the burning of the cuts and scratches inflicted on her limbs by the cruel sticks and whipping grasses. She would not cry over the sounds of her beautiful black dress ripping as she ran. She glanced down at what now looked like shredded rags. Careful! Taking her eyes off the terrain could have made her lose her footing and then it would all be over. She could hear him not far behind. Only her slight size lent itself to her ability to outmaneuver him through the dense brush.
Elenya longed for the smooth desert sands of home. Life had seemed so promising then as she’d played and worked beside her sisters, making sure they stayed within earshot of the voices of the elders whose sole purpose was to protect the future of their people: her.
There it was! She could see the house of the Masters. Elated that her uncanny sense of direction had led her right to it after seeing it only once, she was concerned about the clearing that lay before her. Her pursuer would be unhindered.
A man opened the house door causing hope to surge, hurling Elenya forward. He had to be one of the Masters.
“My Lord! My Lord!” she screamed, garnering the attention of men she hadn’t realized were there. Panic rose as they converged on her, though she dodged them, stopping only when she had thrown herself at the feet of Dahru, the head Master. Only when her arms wrapped around his legs did she dare glance back at the warrior who crossed the clearing at a more casual pace. Anger burned behind his eyes, their dark depths glowing within his sun-bronzed face. Even as she shivered, she was unable to break away from his gaze. She felt the pull of the marking as she watched him run a hand through his night-black hair. She fought against it.
“Tahruk? What is the meaning of this?” asked the voice above Elenya’s head.
“I wish to know that as well, Lord Dahru.” As the warrior spoke, his chin tilted upward and he sniffed the air.
Dahru looked at his brethren before addressing the other man. “She … the woman is yours then?”
Tahruk nodded. He glared down at the beauty who attempted to scoot around the strong legs of her refuge, seeing her clearly for the first time. His anger spiked as he took in the honeyed cinnamon hair, sun-kissed ivory skin, and soft pink lips, full and enticing. He watched as Dahru’s hands locked on her arms and lifted her to stand before him instead. She tried to look over her shoulder. Again, the unmistakable pull warred against her fear.
“Look at me.” The firm voice denoted care. He smiled as he wiped some of the grime from her face. “Why would you do this?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “What is your name, maiden?”
Her voice trembled as did her body. Gone was the brave woman who had fled her warrior. “I am Elenya Avenille of the Aleone Drille,” she answered quietly, listening for certain response from behind.
Having recognized her by her appearance as the Aleone woman, hearing her speak it pushed the warrior beyond reason. “Aleone!” he roared. Elenya pressed herself against Dahru. His strong arms encircled her small frame.
Dahru silenced the younger man with a raised hand, though the outburst was understandable. The disdain felt by the two Drilles, one for the other, had been passed down from generation to generation.
“There must be a mistake…”
“No.” Dahru stopped Elenya’s verbalization of the thought that echoed through many heads. “The Masters do not make mistakes. You must go with this man and fulfill the obligations imposed by the marking.”
“I… I am afraid…” Elenya whispered before looking over her shoulder at the stiff form of the warrior for whom she was chosen. “My lord, please. You see how he looks at me.”
“He will not harm you, child. He is honor bound, like you.” Dahru made certain the young warrior heard as well.
After a moment, Elenya nodded. She looked up at the stars, sucking in and then slowly exhaled breath before turning toward Tahruk. Head bowed, she followed, not bothering to fight the tears. Her dreams were shattered, the broken pieces washing away with each teardrop that fell onto the hand that held hers. Honor would have her pay for the sins of her ancestors.
She had been chosen to dance for a lifetime in the arms of her enemy.
At the request of readers, The Chase was expanded into a full-length novel, Dance with the Enemy.
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The Chase A Short Story ©Linda Boulanger
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