Coming From the Shadows Series
1911
French Countryside
The air was crisp and hung heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth as Lydia and Thomas made their way along the rough road; they were needing to reach the train station before the Orient Express left France; they had been travelling for a few days now; Lydia, with her deceptively innocent features and quiet demeanour hardly seemed to be the type to attract unwanted attention, but Thomas; a seasoned British soldier, he knew better; he had witnessed this girl in action.
He had witnessed that glint of steel in her silvery-grey eyes, that predatory shift in her stance when provoked and the effortless grace with which she wielded her sword; a slender, wickedly sharp thing that currently rested within its scabbard attached to her bag that swung about from her movement.
Their journey to Paris had been plagued by an unsettling premonition, a sense of being watched; now, that premonition was solidified into a tangible threat; a ragged band of men, their faces obscured by shadows and grime emerged from the woods, their numbers too many to ignore; their lead, a hulking brute of a man, with a cruel scar across his left eye; he stepped forwards as Lydia and Thomas came to a halt; his eyes were fixated onto Lydia.
“Eh bien, eh bien” he leader rasped, his voice a gravelly growl “Regardez ce mignon petit oiseau” »
“What?” Thomas said with a confused expression; when Thomas spoke, the gang of men realised that they were not French, but British.
Clearing his throat a moment, he spoke again “Well, well” he said; his voice still a gravelly growl “Look at this pretty little bird” his words were a thinly veiled threat, and the subtle shift in his companions postures confirmed this.
Thomas glanced at Lydia as she was looking about carefully; he decided to move in front of her, his hand now resting on the revolver holstered on his hip “Gentlemen” he began; he kept a calm but firm voice “I believe we may have a bit of a misunderstanding here” he said “My companion and I are in a bit of a hurry; we mean you no harm, we’re just passing through the area.”
The leader let out a harsh throaty laugh which echoed through the trees “Harm?” he said “We’re not interested in harm, soldier; we’re interested in…, ah.., acquisition” he gestured towards Lydia with a cruel smile “She seems a prize worth a lot of money.”
Journeying to Paris, Thomas and Lydia are stopped by bandits, confirming the threats they were worried about. Thomas glanced back to Lydia; she seemed to be maintaining her rather innocent expression; his attention returned back to the leader, he knew that negotiations here were going to be futile; this gang was not interested in a simple robbery; their interest was Lydia, and that interest was clearly sinister, he tried a different tactic.
“She’s…., protected” he told the gang leader “Highly protected, you wouldn’t want to test your luck I assure you, not with someone that can…” he paused a moment “She can defend herself” he subtly emphasized the last part, hoping the implied threat would sink in.
The leader though remained unimpressed; he examined Lydia, his eyes lingering on her slender frame, the way her hands seemed to fidget absently with the strap of her bag; he saw only innocence and fragility; he couldn’t see the coiled spring of deadly potential hidden beneath.
Lydia however had heard enough; she’d keenly observed each members position, calculating how long she needs; and having also observed their leader’s gaze, how it had been lingering on her with the way his hand rested against his own knife; the almost imperceptible tightening of muscles as he had been assessing her; she understood exactly what they wanted, it wasn’t money, they wanted her.
The flicker of darkness; cold and utterly predatory ignited within her eyes, the innocent façade crumbled, replaced by a gaze that could curdle milk; the transformation was instantaneous, terrifying; her slight frame seemed to tense, radiating an aura of lethal intent.
Before Thomas could even react; Lydia’s arm raised up quickly; her hand nearing the hilt of the sword; fingers unclasping it from the scabbard; the slender blade emerged with a whisper of steel against leather, glinting ominously in the faded light; the innocent looking girl vanished, replaced by a whirlwind of motion desperately attacking in a blind fury.
The air crackled with a sudden violence; Lydia moved with speed and precision, the first member of the gang wouldn’t even have a chance to draw his own knife before he found the world spinning; Lydia’s fast movement had severed the head in one motion; her following movement as she slid sideways, thrusting the sword on an angle led to her spearing the second member of the gang who was in mid movement to draw his own knife; she was a blur of motion; a glint of steel.
The others lunged for her; but Lydia’s skill and speed allowed her to move economically; brutally, with breathtaking efficiency; every one of her strikes was precise, her parries timed perfectly, the sword sang a deadly song, a macabre ballet of death, the ground became slick with blood, crimson staining the fallen leaves.
Thomas was stunned for only a moment before he found himself caught in the brutal dance; he momentarily had to shield himself from flying bodies and splashes of blood; he watched, awestruck and horrified as the gang, initially confident in their numbers, fell before Lydia’s furious onslaught like wheat before a scythe; her previous serene face was contorted in a mask of righteous fury, her silvery-grey eyes burned with cold, implacable rage.
Within minutes the woods fell silent; the only sound was Lydia’s ragged breathing, a heavy thud of her heart echoing in the stillness; the air, heavy with the scent of blood, the chilling realisation of what they had intended for her if they had gotten what they wanted.
Spinning the sword around, she sheathed it, the movement was almost casual, as though she had just dispatched a particular irritating insect; the predatory gleam in her eyes slowly faded, leaving behind an unnerving emptiness.
She looked at Thomas offering a small apologetic smile “I apologise for the mess” she said, her voice as calm as if she’d poured a cup of tea “Shall we continue on to Paris?”
Thomas stared at her; he still was not used to this, there was a mixture of fear and grudging admiration within him; he knew she was dangerous, but this was just something else entirely; the cold slaughter was calculated and brutally executed with chilling efficiency.
He smiled after a moment and nodded “Yeah” he said, they continued on their journey, leaving behind the scene of carnage that would serve as a grim reminder of the terrible storm that had been unleashed by the appearance of an innocent-looking girl.
Written By: Westley H.
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