Photo credit: John Morgan
Parrean pulled her silk robes away from the smelly locals crowded behind her. The innkeeper kept chirping, currying favor.
“All the major criminals are brought through the traitors’ gate. You’re lucky you’re here to see Wicked Ouayno. Looking for her for years, they’ve been.”
“How was she caught?”
“Turned in by accomplices in Harran, for the reward.”
Parrean shivered. “Dangerous prospect, crossing a criminal like that.”
A boat appeared around the bend. The pale woman in chains was bloody, bruised, filthy. Onlookers jeered, throwing rotten fruit.
Parrean’s first two tosses landed short. The third burst against a guard’s face.
“Oops!” The innkeeper giggled.
The heavy gate was hauled open, link by link. The gate through which nobody ever returned. Well, almost nobody.
Ouayno scanned the crowd. They booed louder at her defiant scowl. If her gaze paused longer on Parrean, or on the position of her hand, it was so quick nobody noticed.
As the crowd thinned, Parrean watched the gate close.
My love, I’ll be there soon. Then we’ll deal with those betrayers in Harran. Stay strong.
Back at the inn, she fainted.
“M’lady, do you require rest?”
She smiled weakly. “Be sure I am not disturbed until morning.”
Word count: 200. Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. Thanks as always to Alistair Forbes for hosting the challenge, and for providing this week’s original prompt photo, below. I thought I’d try something radical (for me) this time and write a story that’s actually about what’s shown in the original photo. The photo I use above is also of the real Traitors’ Gate, by the way (but without any English words showing).
Click here to read the other stories, or to submit one yourself!
Photo © Al Forbes