A MOTHER'S ESCAPE

Chapter 9

Anabel's breath came in short, panicked gasps as she clutched her twin daughters, Ella and Isabella, pulling them toward the wooden door at the back of their home. Behind her, the village was drowning in chaos, flames devouring rooftops, screams slicing through the night, and the metallic clash of swords ringing out like a cruel symphony of war. The acrid scent of smoke filled her lungs, stinging her eyes as she fought to keep moving. The cries of the wounded mixed with the triumphant shouts of the attackers, a chilling reminder that time was running out. She had to escape, before they were next.

She had seen Johnny fall.

One moment, he had been fighting, cutting through the bandits with everything he had, his every move fueled by sheer determination. The next, a blade had struck true, slicing through the chaos with merciless precision. He had crumpled to the ground, his body motionless in the dirt, his weapon slipping from his grasp.

A strangled sob rose in her throat, but she shoved it down. She couldn't break, not now.

She tightened her grip on the girls and forced herself forward.

"Hold on to me," she whispered urgently. "Don't look back."

With trembling hands, she pushed the wooden door open and slipped into the darkness beyond.

Through the Wilderness

The cool night air was thick with the scent of burning wood, mingling with the acrid sting of smoke. Anabel's bare feet pressed into the damp earth as she darted into the dense brush behind their home, her breath ragged with fear. Branches tore at her dress and skin, but she didn't slow down. The twins struggled to keep up, their little legs stumbling over the uneven ground, whimpering with each misstep. Behind them, the distant shouts of the raiders grew louder, their torches flickering like demons in the darkness. Anabel tightened her grip on the children's hands, willing herself to move faster.

Her heart pounded like a drum, her ears straining for any sound of pursuit. Every snapping twig and rustling leaf sent a jolt of terror through her. The wailing cries of villagers still echoed in the distance, the chilling noise almost swallowed by the crackling fire consuming the homes behind them. Smoke stung her eyes, making it harder to see the path ahead. The acrid scent filled her lungs, mixing with the coppery tang of blood from unseen wounds. She tightened her grip on the twins, whispering urgent reassurances even as fear clawed at her throat.

"Mama, I'm scared!" Ella whimpered, clinging to her mother's arm.

"I know, baby," Anabel said, her voice strained but gentle. "We have to keep moving."

Her own fear threatened to paralyze her, but she forced her legs to keep going, keep pushing forward. Every step took them farther from danger, yet safety still felt so far away.

She could hear them. The bandits. Their shouts grew louder, their torches cutting through the dark like hungry eyes searching for prey. They were hunting.

Anabel swallowed her fear and pressed on. The underbrush clawed at her, her foot landing hard on a jagged rock. Pain exploded through her sole, but she bit back a cry, scooping Isabella into her arms as she pushed forward. Blood seeped into the dirt beneath her, but she didn't stop. She couldn't afford to.

Ella clung to her side, stumbling, her breath ragged. Anabel knew she was pushing them to their limits, but there was no other choice.

Ahead, the trees stretched endlessly, offering both danger and refuge. She prayed it would be the latter.

Then, a rustling sound in the darkness.

She froze, pulling her daughters close. Her breath hitched, her heart hammering in her chest.

From the shadows stepped a broad-shouldered man, his face illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight.

Marcel.

The fisherman. A friend.

Relief and fear collided inside her. Was he alone? Was he in danger too?

"Good Lord," Marcel murmured, his eyes scanning her torn dress, the fear in her face, the exhausted twins. "Are you hurt?"

Anabel's throat tightened, emotion threatening to crush her. "Johnny…" she choked out. "They..he…" She couldn't say the words.

Marcel's jaw clenched, sorrow flashing in his gaze. But there was no time for grief.

"We have to go," he said firmly. "Now."

She nodded, too numb to argue.

Marcel took Isabella from her arms, cradling the little girl with surprising gentleness as they hurried through the trees. Anabel clung tightly to Ella's hand, stumbling over roots and uneven ground, her vision blurred by exhaustion and pain.

Then, through the trees, the river appeared, a thin silver ribbon in the moonlight, shimmering like a lifeline. The water moved swiftly, its rippling surface reflecting the eerie glow of distant fires. Smoke drifted overhead, carried by the night breeze, a stark reminder of the destruction behind them. A small wooden boat bobbed at the shore, tied to a sturdy post, its worn edges hinting at countless journeys before this desperate escape. Anabel's breath hitched with both relief and urgency. If they could reach it, they had a chance. But the distant shouts were growing louder. Time was running out.

Marcel wasted no time. "Get in," he ordered.

Anabel didn't hesitate. She stepped onto the boat, settling the girls beside her as Marcel untied the rope and pushed them off. The boat rocked beneath them before gliding into the current, the water carrying them away from the burning village.

Anabel turned back, watching the distant glow of fire consuming what was once their home. Smoke billowed into the night sky, swallowing everything she had ever known.

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She couldn't break. Not now.

Marcel rowed in silence, his expression unreadable. "We'll reach Ashford Bay soon," he said after a moment. "You'll be safe there."

Safe.

Anabel let out a shaky breath, pulling her daughters close. She didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain.

She had survived, Though not without some psychological and physical wounds.