Peace was all she needed. For herself. For the others of her people, and for all those who didn’t know any better.

The thought of being able to live a peaceful life seemed pleasant, but it was not enough. It wasn’t what she needed to do to put a smile on Mireille’s face. Not what it took to be a superhero.

“I can’t,” she finally returned to the man. Her decision found little acceptance in the face of the best options.

The chain remained firmly in his hands. The rattle of metal invited her to a dance, brought Salia slowly to her feet. For once, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She had come too far to bend to someone else’s will again.

Slowly, she brought herself back to an upright position. The friendship she could have had faded into the background of the facts she embraced both. His gaze was glued to her as if he were trying to corner a frightened rabbit. But Salia wasn’t a rabbit. Not for a long time.

Before the stranger could react, she rushed forward. Calling Aywotoc was pointless. Those seconds were her fight. Her decision. Her will to change something significant – to prove to herself that she could fight.

Her skinny arms flailed around his torso as the rest of her body bumped against him, almost like a light breeze. Still, he let go of the chain in the purest surprise, sending it crashing to the ground between them. Simultaneously, Salia gathered what little courage her will could muster. The throbbing in her chest burned. Her hands stuck to the fabric of his clothes. And when she opened her mouth, she thought she could already taste him.

But his taste only really reached her mouth when her teeth dug into his throat. Skin pressed against her tongue, and blood filled her mouth. A scream escaped her companion, making him grab Salia’s hair and pull hard.

She slipped off, tearing part of his skin with her as if it were made of paper, and spat the blood into his eyes. Then she let go, stumbling backwards as he rubbed his face to douse the flames of his own life. Part of his top turned red. Spots spread out.

Without thinking, Salia started moving. The kettle was still standing around, near the fire, which crackled meaninglessly. She reached for the heavy iron but failed because of the weight. So her fingers wrapped around the top iron handle.

The stranger, meanwhile, sought a foothold. He staggered, trying to follow Salia, though he could barely see her and his hands still rubbed over his now watery eyes. He opened one a slit wide now and then, only to comment on the pain with a snort. Still, he drew closer and just when he seemed within reach, Salia tightened her grip.

With all the power her puny arms could muster, she yanked the kettle aside. The momentum of her whole body helped, transferred to the iron, which swept her along barely a second later. Once around her own axis before she aimed the second turn in her last breath and it bounced against heavy resistance.

The dull throb that came up and travelled tremulously through Salia’s arms made her let go. The stranger crashed to the ground, kettle and all, a laceration on his head and blood on his face.

The rattle on his tongue still conveyed life. A fight he would win if she found someone to help him. A brief, loathsome thought. There was no help on her path. He had jumped her with all his conviction and she had to kill him with all her heart.

The saliva on her tongue was too dry to swallow silently. Her shoulders shook. Her perception wavered and yet dared not rob her of her senses. Instead, Salia made a decision.

In a few steps, she went to the horse to untie it and harness it once more to the cart. Then she sat down in the seat she had previously shared with someone else.

A quick twist of the reins set the horse in motion, and a tug to the right side steered it. Unlike her, the animal had no reason to look down and while it advanced, the wheels cracked as they rolled over the man. The weight would do the rest.

Only when she had gained a few metres of distance, did she cast another glance over her shoulder. He was still lying there, motionless and abandoned. The blood had stained the dirty ground beneath him a little darker, and although the sun wouldn’t rise for the next endless hours, Salia was sure it was enough to confirm his death.

The journey remained in her hands alone.

And she began the trip with a faint beat of the reins.

----------------------------------------

The walls of Couvia were higher than anything within. Not even the royal palace, built on ten-metre-high marble, peeked out from behind.

Someone had once told her it was a sixty-metre high stone structure in which people had been walled in, as had been the case many years ago. And as creepy as this story had sounded ten years ago, Salia was sure it was true.

The cloak, equipped with a hood, that covered her body, had carried her across the track unseen. No one had asked questions and guards had simply passed her by because no demon was rich enough for a cart and all the goods the previous owner of it had carried.

The ugly horse had done faithful service all this time and its clattering hooves as they entered the stone of the city, ignored by the guards at the side posts, had something distantly melodic about it.

Wheels rattled over the bumps, joyous chatter of the people filtered through to her and though the last deeds had brought a bit of freedom, all that remained in this place was memory. The narrow confidence that what she was planning was the right way to make a significant difference.

Heavy fabrics adorned the bodies of well-fed women. Sticky perfume polluted the air. Jewellery jingled and if Salia hadn’t known better, she would have guessed it was a rich country with pampered figures. But she knew the truth.

Couvia had constructed itself in a way that beauty was the first thing to be seen. Everything the heart desired was available on a main path that led straight from the gate to the palace. Those who wanted to see the truth had to turn and follow the alleys. At the edge of the wall waited the slums.

The slums of this city were so crowded that some people even had to sleep under the same roof with demons. They were useful gatherings that only served the purpose of someone selling a demon to the guards and making ends meet for a fortnight with the money. That was how most of the prisoners came about. The guards didn’t bother looking for the plague when most would have sold even their own mother for money.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Wrinkling her nose, Salia lowered her head. Probably it looked like this in every kingdom because one wanted everything and left nothing for the rest. The kingdom’s fighters ate themselves fat, and the citizens got the bones.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” The sudden voice that followed Salia and immediately brought a little girl to the fore made her pull on the reins of the horse.

When she stopped, the girl stumbled in front of the carriage and tilted her head. Her wild blonde curls and big green eyes made her look like a doll – like one of those porcelain things you could find in shop windows if you looked hard enough.

“Where’s Grandfather?” Her innocent, childish voice sent goosebumps down Salia’s body. Her mere presence conveyed everything that had gone wrong in this kingdom – she was one of those children who knew no danger because the main path was always safe.

“Grandfather?” Inevitably, Salia raised her brows.

The girl nodded. “That’s his cart. I know Poppino.” She put a hand on the horse’s thigh. “He always takes Grandfather where he needs to be.”

Briefly, Salia glanced at the horse. It had a name, an owner, and probably even a family. She knew nothing about this animal except that it worked and lived on reins. Learning more made it a little more familiar – even if it didn’t matter anymore. This horse would take her as far as the palace and then he would be free.

“Where is he?” the girl meanwhile repeated. Her tiny feet bobbed up and down and the gleam in her eyes spoke of expectation that Salia could only smile at. “Did he jump off the wagon to buy hot potatoes? He does that a lot. He says Couvia’s potatoes taste the best!”

The breath on Salia’s lips remained strangely loose. Seeing this girl with those big eyes, hearing her voice and seeing her hopes blossom, put a fine tingle on her skin. A feeling of satisfaction because she knew what those seconds in a child’s skin felt like and also what would happen if she told her the truth.

The dirty, bloody truth that would turn those shining eyes into dull balls. Just as it had once been with her.

The same look. The same hope.

The laugh of a man.

The fact he had let her go then, so she would grow up and be more fun to chase.

Salia still remembered his words, and she took them in deeply as she leaned forward a little to be closer to the girl.

And she heard the man’s voice as if it were only yesterday.

“Your parents are dead, dear. They tried to fight back – now don’t cry, of course they did – and that’s why I had to kill them. But I can assure you it was painless. Your exceedingly ... rotten mother only needed two blows to the chest before her ribs cracked. Her lungs quickly filled with blood. I swear. Here, I raise my hand and swear. Your father took a little longer. His fangs were really a challenge for the iron chains we used to tie him down to pull him behind the cart. So we shipped him off to Aywotoc, as good guardsmen should. Now don’t look like that. Drowning is quick.”

“What?” The girl’s question snapped Salia out of her thoughts.

Her mouth closed and although she thought she hadn’t said a word, the child’s chalky white face spoke of something else.

She had spoken. And she had adapted it, certainly, to set the scene for her grandfather’s death.

“As I was saying,” Salia began consciously once more, “your grandfather is dead. And you should leave before you too fall under the wheels of this cart.”

The little girl opened her mouth in disbelief, but closed it again. Her shoulders shook, her fingers had clawed into the light blue dress she wore, and her sparkling green eyes reflected half the world as the first tears broke from them.

Had she looked like that then, too? Had she also stopped when she had been advised to run away because otherwise they would tie her to the cart in her father’s place?

Salia’s lips pressed together. She had reacted almost exactly like that girl, except that she had been dirtier and thinner and less pretty. She had simply become an orphan in one blow – just like so many others.

No big deal.

Not in the slums.

But here it was different. This girl was sobbing and snot was running down to her mouth before she wiped her nose with bare arms, only making it worse. The tears wouldn’t stop running, and the sudden hiccup that settled in her throat made Salia wince.

Inward satisfaction suddenly hung leaden in her chest, complicating every other breath and tugging at her shoulders. But that too was a price she had to pay. This girl wouldn’t have to suffer any longer than necessary.

And besides, they deserved it. All of them.

Still, she only hesitantly snapped the reins and continued to spur the horse on. The girl jumped to the side, clung tighter to her dress, and yet only watched as Salia continued on her way to the palace. She neither made a sound nor drew more attention to herself than necessary.

Bony hands wrapped tightly around the reins, Salia tried to banish the memories in her mind. The nightmares she had dragged with her then had only faded when, six years later, she had believed that perhaps she still had a mission in life – a reason they hadn’t killed her that day. A vague idea that had turned out to be true and had ultimately stuck to her like resin when now, a few years later, they had wanted to drown her in Aywotoc.

The rattle of the cart no longer allowed her to drift away, pressing her into the here and now, where people went about their business as if she were nothing more than a shadowy figure, with goods on their way to a place they didn’t imagine.

It was only when the dwellings and stalls thinned out, when a fountain of clear water and marble fish statue came to the fore, that Salia’s grip loosened. The throbbing in her chest squeezed the air from her lungs. Heat warmed her skin from within. A tingling sensation stretched across her back and though she tried to suppress it, her shoulders shook in resonance.

Slowly, she circled the fountain and approached the steps to the palace. Gleaming white that led up to the entrance and at the foot of which two guardsmen waited wide-legged for troublemakers.

“Stop right there!” When one of them caught sight of Salia, he raised both hands. An almost friendly gesture, which she complied with. “Who are you? What are you transporting?”

She had no clue what she was transporting, and her name would mean nothing to anyone. She was left only to stare at the man trying to fathom her presence as the other approached in ambling steps.

Once, Salia took a deep breath. She had to be ready, had to dare, had to make her way. So she reached for the hem of the hood and slid it down with a quick pull.

The reaction followed immediately.

While the man in front of her stumbled back with a sharp hiss, the other ran the last few feet towards Salia – but not fast enough when she raised her hand.

“Aywotoc! Be on my side!” Her voice seemed to echo. Barely audible, yet louder than the sound of water lapping over the marble fish.

As she curled her fingers, ready to hold something that would bring her victory, cold steel rushed into her hand. She found a grip.

And her first movement chased the tip straight down to the guardsman, who had finally reached her and placed a hand on the hilt of the sword. The diamond coursed through his throat as if he were nothing more than an overripe apple.

Blood spurted up in tiny beads and dried up in an instant, merely pooling on stone as the man toppled backwards and hit the ground.

The other, who had stumbled back, brought no motion to himself. He simply watched as Salia leapt from the cart and, with nimble movements that hardly seemed hers, cut the horse’s harness. Then she slapped the horse’s backside, giving it a reason to run away.

Not for a second did she take her eyes off the dead man. The gurgling for air had only lasted a moment. What remained was a lifeless body, a lost life that she might have snatched from a family or someone else. A death that made her heart flutter.

It was wonderful.

Shoulders straightened, she swung the spear in her hand. It was a part of her, a weapon she could wield without knowing how. Aywotoc taught her how to fight and she gave it the opportunity to be guided in her hands. A balance they created that made her steps more confident as she strode towards the remaining guardsman.

Instantly, he opened his mouth. He could have shot her. For sure. Hanging from his belt was one of those pistols you sometimes saw when you weren’t fearing for your life. But his trembling fingers remained immobile enough for Salia to lunge out with the spear.

The blade slashed his head from his shoulders. His skull slammed dully to the side, rolled in a semicircle back to his body and bumped against his now motionless hand. The rest of him toppled backwards to dip the stone in a bloody mosaic, graced by the shocked expression that would adorn his face until he reached the ground – if he ever got there.

The lightness Aywotoc left in her body made Salia’s next steps bouncy. It was too good to be true. For once, she had the upper hand. The clouds in her mind blurred the worries of what was to come next and revenge seemed all at once a game of purest satisfaction.

It filled her, pressed against her skin, and promised never to let her go.

If she stayed on this path, happiness would finally be on her side.