Road of Woe: Twelve

Although the ground and the sky would not stay in their places, Sabit’s eyes were locked on the implement of her death. A jagged tip of broken bone hung in the air above her, the plant-prince ready to drive it into her heart.

The throbbing pain in her head kept Sabit trapped on the ground. Her legs twitched dizzily, but she could neither stand nor kick. Her arms flailed at her sides, but could find neither cover nor support. The life that she saw all in a single moment was a pitifully short one: A name. A spear. A man’s soulful brown eyes. The sound of cheering voices. A woman’s touch on her shoulder. The heft of cold iron in her hands.

Her fingers held metal! Without thought, Sabit thrust the fragment upward just as the plant-prince drove downward with his jagged arm bone. The iron bit deep into the thing’s chest, the force of the blow jolting her arm painfully. Cool blood and warm sap covered her hand.

“My heart … again,” the plant-prince sputtered and then moved no more. Its waxy leaves drooped under their own weight. The circlet of silver and jade dropped from its head, clattering to the ground.

Sabit worked to slow her labored breathing, as the world righted itself around her. First the lurching ground beneath her resolved to a mere wobble. Then, the white-blue sky agreed to remain overhead.

With a mighty heave, Sabit tossed the stump of the plant-thing to one side. It landed with a woody thump. She examined her sap-covered hand. The piece of iron she held was nearly the length of her forearm, but as narrow as two fingers. Its sharp point dripped thick blood from the two sharp edges. The solid tang felt thin and awkward in her hand. Although she could not remember the first time she had ever seen this spear point, Sabit knew immediately what it lacked: a shaft.



Wayfarings of Sabit: Road of Woe is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters are posted on Monday and Thursday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: or