Ravenous

Prologue: The Death of a King

The demise of King George the Grunter came swiftly; right after the King himself came— if you’ll forgive the crude correlation. With his royal member buried deep inside the bottom of a junior guardsman, his heart gave up trying to force blood through thickened arteries. It emitted one final, feeble pump, as did the King’s arthritic hips. An already syphilis-ridden brain was thus denied oxygen, and it gave up in solidarity with the long-suffering heart. The corrupt ruler fell forward over the guardsman with a grunt. Dead.

Young Prince Erik peered from behind the parlour curtains, touching himself. He enjoyed watching his father punish those that dared cross the royal family. But this time Daddy wasn’t getting up. He lay there, still. Like the criminals after being cut down from the gallows. The guardsman extricated himself from under the corpse and hobbled away. Prince Erik emerged from the curtains and walked over to his father. He realized that somehow the great and powerful leader, his hero, had died. It would fall on Erik to continue the family’s legacy and rule the land with the same iron fist. He stroked his father’s slack chin as the realisation dawned on him.

His lips curled into a cruel smile.

“Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ll be a fine king, just like you!”

Movement from the doorway startled Erik. His mother stood there in her nightdress, hands on hips.

“Not yet, you won’t, you scamp!” She laughed. “So, my filthy old husband has humped himself to death, has he?” She walked over to inspect the ruins of her marriage. “And not before time.”

She wrinkled her nose at the smell of George’s final emissions. “But you can’t be king yet, my lovely little Erik,” she said, patting her son’s head. “You’re too young. You spend half the day playing with yourself and the other half peeing on the privy floor. How can a king lead an army when he can’t even aim a stream of piss? No, I’ll be taking the reins of the Kingdom, until you’ve grown half a brain— and what’s more…you’ll need a wife. We have to find you some dizzy wench that can at least balance a crown on her head. Come on lad, there’s much to do!”

Chapter One: Jenny

Some years later

Prince Erik stood at the chapel’s altar in his finest royal attire. He also wore a lecherous grin. Erik considered himself handsome. And in fairness, his features were not unpleasant— if one ignored the menacing glint in his eyes. Erik existed to make other people’s lives miserable. And what better institution than marriage, to administer misery upon someone.

Earlier that month, his search for a worthy bride had come to fruition. He’d discovered the only maiden that showed no interest in becoming a princess. A rather mysterious peasant girl with jet black hair. She’d paid him no heed during his visit to her village, tending instead to the local orphanage’s crops. The other girls ran to his carriage, throwing flowers and blowing kisses. But not the dark-haired figure in the field. Her failure to fawn over him drew his ire and stoked the fire in his loins. Erik’s perverted sense of entitlement—among his other perversions—determined that she should be his wife. He’d punish the rude little tart for ignoring him!

The wedding guests fidgeted. Erik glanced back between the pews for a glimpse of his bride; he was eager to get the nuptials done and the honeymoon underway. But of her there was no sign. The damned girl was late, leaving Erik exposed; standing up there before the Kingdom’s noblemen and women.

Five minutes earlier, Jenny had excused herself from her maids in waiting. She kicked her shoes off and hurried through the atrium, out into the courtyard— around the back of the chapel.

A raven slipped from its perch on the outer castle wall and glided down; flying tight circles above her. As black as his mistress’s hair, he seemed to create a hole in the sky. Jenny knelt on the cobblestone path and tugged an iron grating aside. With a quick check to see that no-one was in pursuit, she dropped six-feet into the murky depths below. The raven followed.

The wedding dress caught on rough brickwork as she stumbled through the dark. She cringed at the sound of silk tearing— not because she felt anything towards the dress, but because the noise, amplified by the sewer tunnel, might alert those above to her whereabouts. She wanted a good head start.

Filthy and reeking of putrid waste, Jenny ventured further into the castle’s bowels. The dress tangled her feet, almost sending her sprawling. She shrugged the garment off. Clad only in white underclothes and a raven adorning her shoulder, she made better progress. By now they would have found the grate, and even Erik’s stupid soldiers would surmise her escape route.

“It’s okay, Croak,” Jenny whispered. She stroked her raven with one hand, her other tracing the slimy wall in the darkness. “We’ll make it.” Croak lived up to his name and croaked back. He gave his mistress a quick peck on the ear in agreement.

The two fled through the tunnels. Somewhere above, Prince Erik shouted orders at everyone that hadn’t sneaked away to avoid his wrath. The prince’s guard found the open grate and began shedding their bulky armour to give chase.

Jenny slipped and slid through the muck; she rounded a corner. A faint light bathed the brick walls. “Almost there, Croak,” she whispered. “If I’m right, this tunnel comes out at the river.” Croak croaked his approval.

A clattering noise behind them hastened her speed. Up ahead, a vertical iron grill blocked the exit. Bright daylight shone through the bars. A cruel tease. Privy water splashed into the river twelve-feet below. Jenny picked Croak off her shoulder and nuzzled her cheek against him. “Fly away now, my feathered friend. See you soon. And if I don’t make it, come visit me in the prison tower each day. I’ll wait at the window for you.”

She pushed Croak between the bars and watched him glide out over the river. The clattering behind her grew louder. Jenny took ten paces back toward her pursuers. She said a prayer to the gods of peasants, farmers and common folk, then turned and shoulder charged the iron grill.

The rusty ironwork broke free and tumbled into the river, followed by a filthy peasant girl in shit-stained bloomers.

Jenny’s good luck held— the water offered enough depth to prevent injury. Shocked by the cold, she let the current carry her downstream. Up at the castle, guardsmen peered from the sewer outlet. But none were willing to jump in the river and give chase.

Soaked and shivering, Jenny clambered up the muddy bank a mile downstream. A farmhand tended goats in a nearby paddock. He looked up to spy a youthful woman striding towards him; stringy black strands of hair clung to her cheeks. Whatever she was wearing— and it wasn’t much— appeared silky smooth, wet, and hugged every crevice and curve. It left little to the farmhand’s delighted imagination. He dropped the stick he’d been using to prod the goats— and stared. The smile that spread across his features reminded Jenny of Erik. With adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she was in no mood for this. She picked up the stick and brandished it.

“Strip!” Jenny commanded.

“You what?”

“I said strip. Gimme your clothes!”

“I will do no such thing, you crazy river hussy.”

Thwack!

The stick produced a very satisfying noise as it bounced off the goat herder’s head.

"Ow! Okay! Just don’t do that again.”

Croak circled overhead, cawing his approval.

The fellow handed over his working garb; grey hessian pants and shirt. He shivered in the late autumn air.

“You think you’re cold! Try swimming a mile down that river.” Jenny scoffed as she took the bunch of clothes. “Turn around while I put these on.”

He reluctantly turned away and Jenny peeled off her soaked britches. The exercise proved quite a challenge while wet. She shimmied into the clothes. The goat herder sneaked a peek at pert breasts, shapely hips and a rich bush of the darkest downstairs hair he’d ever seen.

Thwack!

“I said don’t look, you scoundrel.”

“Ow! That one hurt" He shrunk back and covered his head. “Worth it though.” He grinned.

“Humph! Bloody men, you’re all the same.” But a thought occurred: she needed his help in buying time.

“How about, if you don’t tell anybody you’ve seen me? Even if questioned by the guards. Then I’ll return this way and give you a better look.”

“Deal!”

“Okay, not a word to anyone, mind!” Jenny shouted as she ran away across the field, tossing the stick aside.

“But when will you be back?” he shouted after her.

“Soon! Just wait for me and keep quiet.”

Croak descended, taking up his usual perch next to her left ear.

“Men are so stupid, aren’t they Croak?”

The raven agreed with a throaty cry and a peck.

“You don’t have to peck my ear every time we talk, you crazy bird, soon there’ll be nothing left of it!”

A short time later, the sun set behind the distant castle. It created an eerie silhouette. A dark and foreboding shape on the horizon behind them. Jenny wondered if Erik would call off the search for the day. Or perhaps guardsmen were right now interrogating the pervert with the goats. Either way, she couldn’t afford to linger.

The girl and her raven pressed on into the night.