HeatMarie

Section 2 – The Fragile Crossing

Fine! I guess he’ll learn soon enough, she thought as they reached the bridge. The Witch’s Daughter dismounted and led Nyx to the edge. The mare hesitated for a moment. “Come on, girl. You know we have to,” she said, placing her hand on Nyx, and together they stepped out onto the narrow stone bridge. Its array of colors faded to a dull, grayish hue, revealing its age and fragility. Loose flakes scattered with each gust of wind, while tiny pebbles tumbled under Nyx’s hooves.

At the bridge’s center, it groaned under their weight as a breeze swept over it. The Witch’s Daughter took steady breaths, forcing herself to ignore the unsettling sounds and the sinking feeling in her stomach. When she stepped onto solid ground, she turned to watch the Prince and Thorne. 

Thorne tossed his head from side to side, nostrils flaring. “Don’t be like this,” the Prince demanded. His voice, calm despite his command. “You’re a warhorse, Thorne.” The stallion took a few steps backwards, grinding his hooves against the loose rocks on the path, as if he was saying, “Not today.” The Prince squared his shoulders, muscles tightening as he drew the reins with a gentle, insistent pull. He reached for Thorne’s muzzle, brushing the soft hairs in a wordless plea. 

“Prince, I’m coming back for him!” 

“No,” the Prince insisted, determination hardening his features. “I’ve got this. Just give me a moment.” 

“You don’t have a moment!” she snapped back. With trembling fingers, she held out her hand and focused on soothing Thorne. The space between them felt thick. Instead of an immediate response, Thorne only flicked his ears with agitation. It took a few more long moments before his muscles loosened. The Witch’s Daughter sighed, grateful that, even with the distance, it managed to persuade him, allowing the Prince to guide him across the bridge. 

“You need to move faster!” she screamed at him.

“We’re doing fine.” They were standing in the middle of the bridge when the first hyena lurched from behind a boulder, its eyes fixed, its teeth bared in a snarl. Another one followed, its laughter echoed through the pass, followed by another, and another. Within seconds, the pack poured onto the path behind them, their eyes glowing with starvation. 

Thorne reared, letting out a panicked scream, his hooves striking the air. The Witch’s Daughter’s heart dropped. “No! Stay calm, Thorne! Stay calm, please! Prince let him go and he will just come to me,” she shouted. 

The Prince released Thorne’s reins, and as the horse galloped away, he drew his sword, preparing for battle.

The frantic movements, combined with the hyenas’ advance, sent a tremor through the bridge. She felt it then–the moment it began to break, the monster’s laughter echoing in her ears, mocking her for thinking they could escape. 

“Run!” she pleaded again, her voice breaking. “You can’t fight them!”

He hesitated, and then he saw it–the first stone crumbling away beneath the hyenas’ feet. He turned, sheathing his weapon, and ran, stones falling around him, the bridge collapsing piece by piece. He was almost there, just a few more steps. The ground beneath him crumbled. He leaped out, reaching his hands out in desperation, attempting to grab hold of the other side. 

His fingers grazed the edge, and he clung to the ledge with one hand, his body dangling precariously.

The Witch’s Daughter darted forward. Reaching for his hand, she listened to the hyenas’ laughter echoing even as half of them fell into their deaths. A few remained on the other side, and she saw Darkness swirling around them. Finally, she latched onto the Prince’s wrist, gripping him with a strength that surprised even her.

“Don’t you dare let go,” she said. Feeling the weight of him pulling against her made her uncertain if she would be able to lift him, but she planted her feet, digging into the earth and pulled with every ounce of strength she had.

“Let…me…help,” he gasped, trying to find a foothold.

“Shut up and hold on,” she snapped, her muscles straining. Slowly, painfully, she pulled him up, inch by agonizing inch. 

They collapsed together; the Prince falling on top of her, their breaths mingling as they struggled to catch it. The usual sharpness in his eyes softened, replaced by something she couldn’t quite understand. Something she had never seen before. The look pulled at her. Was it gratitude, admiration… something deeper? His hand lingered on her arm, his fingers tracing the curve of her wrist.

“You…” he started, but words failed him. 

She raised an eyebrow, a faint smile crossed her lips. “You should’ve listened.” Her voice was soft, no longer laced with irritation. 

He laughed, a sound that was warm and genuine. “I should’ve. But I couldn’t resist proving you wrong.” Pausing, he glanced down at their position, “and here I thought when we got to this moment, you’d be the one on top.” 

“Get off of me,” she said, trying to hide the elation in her voice, “or I’ll make you wish you had fallen into that ravine.” 

He moved, still laughing as he rolled to the side. As his eyes met hers, his laughter stilled. He looked at her, truly looked at her. “Thank you,” he whispered. For once, there was no arrogance, no sarcasm–only sincerity.

The Witch’s Daughter sat up, brushing dust from her clothes. “Next time, trust me,” she said. “I know more than you think.” 

“Now, what kind of fun would that be?” he asked with a roguish grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Arrogant ass,” 

They gathered themselves, mounted their horses and continued along the winding mountain path. As they descended, the landscape shifted, revealing a wide open valley.

“Well, now that you’ve saved my life,” he said, a hint of amusement threading through his voice, “I suppose it’s only fair I call you something other than ‘The Witch’s Daughter, don’t you think?” 

She arched an eyebrow. “Why ruin a perfectly good habit?” 

“Come on,” he coaxed, nudging Thorne to keep in step beside her and Nyx. “You must have a real name. Something a little less… formal.” 

She turned back to the path; the shadows deepened as the night crept closer. “Names have power,” she said. “And giving mine to a Prince who nearly fell to his death because he wouldn’t listen to me seems a bit reckless.” 

“Ouch,” he pressed a hand to his heart, “You wound me yet again. But in all seriousness, what’s the harm? If I fall to my death, then your name would die with me.” 

She hesitated, letting the silence stretch between them. 

“Fine,” the Prince said, “I’ll go first, then. My name is Caius–Cai, if you prefer. But please, don’t stop calling me Prince. It’s grown on me.”  

The Witch’s Daughter shook her head with amusement. “I knew that already.” Her stomach turned as she considered telling him hers. 

“Ya never let ‘em know yer name, girl,” It was her mother’s voice protruding from her thoughts. “… a thread”. 

Still, there was a desire to hear it, a need finally to say it. Her mother always called her ‘girl’, and the rest of the kingdom had known her only as the Witch’s Daughter. It had been years since she’d spoken it aloud, even longer since anyone called her by it. “Kali,” she whispered, her voice soft, as if she wasn’t certain. It felt strange, foreign. “My name is Kali,” she repeated a little louder, a little more sure of herself. 

“Kali,” the Prince repeated, rolling the syllables around as though savoring them. “It suits you.” 

She snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” 

“Oh, I fully intend to,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with that infuriating charm. “After all, it’s not every day a Prince learns the secret name of a witch.” 

Kali rolled her eyes, a small twitch curved her lips. She never imagined how comforting it would feel to hear her name, how secure it would make her feel. Guilt flooded Kali’s chest, What have I done?