CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
*~~~**~~~*
Alana Hurd
*~~~**~~~*
27th of Decepter, 935 PC
----------------------------------------
Alana lifted the axe, bringing the piece of wood with it, and slammed the whole thing down on the tree stump. The blade slid all of a few inches deeper, nowhere near enough to snap the fucking thing in half. “Ah! Damn thing! Just break!” She’d offered to wash dishes in the pub’s kitchen but this was the only task the innkeeper would trade for a few nights of shelter. Her mother would have called him a curmudgeon with the permanent frown on his face and perfectly crisp shirt that was the dullest shade of brown she’d ever seen. She’d almost grabbed him by the thin strands of hair he tossed across his bald head and beat some friendliness into him when he’d led her outback.
She lifted the axe again, not as high this time, and pounded the block of wood on the stump several times, begging the dull blade to work. When it didn’t she put her boot on the wood and yanked the blade out, stumbling backward. The firewood wobbled then stood perfectly still, staring at her mockingly with that gap tooth grin she’d given it. For a moment she thought she could see Commander Caylen’s resting eyes in its jagged angles. “Fucking thing!” She swung the axe like a club, missing the piece of wood entirely and wrapping her arms around her body enough to turn herself around. The axe made an axe-shaped hole in the snow when she tossed it on the ground.
She leaned against a nearby tree and stared at the stack of wood she’d somehow managed to cut. Two successful cuts in an hour of work. At this rate she’d never make it to the room she was working for.
A man came stumbling out of the back of the inn with a mug of ale in hand. He was drunk enough not to notice the fact that she was dressed like a woman three times her age because that’s how old the innkeeper’s wife was but wearing a Lotus uniform was dangerous enough when you had tons of support around you, doing so alone was asking for trouble.
The drunk man smiled at her, lifting the mug for a toast she couldn’t participate in. He downed the ale and tossed the mug into the snow before finding a place against the back wall of the inn to take a piss.
Quite the crowd had formed inside for the first of several celebrations for the coming new year. She wanted no part of any of them. This year had been awful and the next one would be worse. Shorter and worse.
She pulled her Lotus Army gloves off to look at the rash that always formed when she wore them for too long. The red, blotchy skin on the top of her hands made her scowl. The purple glow of fingernails made her frown. The ends of her fingers were black and stung like she’d touched a hot pan. The more a Lotus used their magic the more the sizzling blasts charred the ends of their fingers. Nothing so horrible that it was anything worse than an inconvenience but for someone who didn’t want to be a Lotus anymore, the black skin felt something like the yellow teeth of a Red Fox addict or the blinking eyes of a Sundrop user.
Again, she fought the urge to sulk in her sorrow choosing instead to figure out a way she could finish this task so she could lay down. To her surprise, she came up with a decent idea. She waited by the wall of the inn for the drunk to find his way back inside then headed back to the tree stump for some revenge. She took a deep breath and threw her magic at the wood, hitting the roots of the stump and sending bark into the air. If she could hit the damn thing she’d kill two birds with one stone. She thought about Commander Caylen. Instead of one bird with two stones. Killing the old women – Bethunia and what’s her name – had felt horrible but it hadn’t taken that long to justify her actions. It was Rouille’s idea anyway. She’d never had done it on her own. But Commander Caylen. That was selfish and uncalled for. She could have found another way but something inside her wanted to kill the woman and what she represented.
She threw another streak of magic, missing the wood entirely. It soared off toward the trees that sat at the back of the lot, lighting up the shadows between them briefly. She looked at the back door of the inn. Nothing. Why would anyone care what was going on back here when they had things to celebrate inside? Suddenly, a tap on the window behind her made her jump. She spun around to see the curmudgeon wagging his finger and shaking his head. He pointed at the axe-shaped hole in the snow and mouthed the words, “Get back to work.”
*~~~**~~~*
Her eyes closed the second her head hit the pillow. Unfortunately, they opened immediately when the image of Darrius lying beneath that hefty Purist appeared. The whole terrifying scene played out in her mind; how she’d told Darrius to shoot the bitch with white hair so he’d be distracted enough for her to slip away unnoticed, how the first scream was horrible but the louder scream would haunt her the rest of her life, how she had run through the trees before they exploded, how they’d peppered her gambeson with a thousand little pieces of wood and bark. She was lucky they’d been too small to do any major harm but they had left parts of her head and face bleeding and stinging as she stumbled through the mud.
There was a knock at the door, not a tap, a knock. Then another before she could get her feet on the floor. It was most certainly a curmudgeon’s knock.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“What?” she asked through the door.
“Open up. Right now.” The innkeeper’s voice grated on her nerves so badly she glanced at her glowing fingernails.
She pulled a blanket from the bed and covered herself up. Her days of letting men see her in her undergarments were over.
She kept one hand on the door, ready to slam it shut if the innkeeper infuriated her too much. “I cut your damn wood,” she said, seeing the piece of singed firewood in his hands.
“No! You destroyed most of it with that filth in your fingers.” True, but she’d also gotten a little better with her aim. He pushed his spectacles higher on his nose then lifted the wood toward her face. “No more of that or you can’t stay here. This is a clean establishment. No magic of any kind!” She had half a notion to remind him that he only had his inn because the filthy magic in his fingers had given him the opportunity to run a business.
“I can’t chop the fucking wood, Elroy. That’s the only way I could split it.”
“All you split was my supply of firewood! Right in half. You good for nothing fool!”
“I told you I’d wash the dishes! You cut your own throat!”
He tucked the wood under one arm and made a fist with his other hand, shaking it furiously. One of the pointless strands of hair on his head slid down his forehead and got stuck above his eyebrow. “Sunrise! I’ll show you how to do it properly.”
She slammed the door in his face and locked it. Just like she used to with her father.
“Sunrise!” he yelled through the door. “Or you’re out of here!”
She wanted to yell back but the pain in her stomach bent her over before she could. She covered her mouth, doing everything she could not to vomit. When she tried to stand the pain worsened, forcing her to her knees. She caught herself just before she fell on her face. The burgundy rug turned black quickly.
*~~~**~~~*
She was still on the floor when Elroy came knocking the next morning. And awake. She’d barely slept all night. Twenty minutes here, ten minutes there. Every time she managed to doze off a sharp pain would shoot through her abdomen, seizing the muscles there and curling her up into a ball.
“I can’t get up!” she yelled at the door. She probably could have but she hoped it would send the asshole away.
Unfortunately, the jingle of Elroy’s keys being pulled from his belt trickled through the door before it swung open violently. “What are you doing in here?!” His eyes went from the empty bed, to the floor, to her, then to the vomit. “No dammit!” He stomped a foot and flailed his pudgy arms. “What have you done to my beautiful rug?! All the way from Amberwood! Amberwood, dammit! Took four weeks, three merchants, and the promise of a free room to get that rug all the way to Mire.” He stomped his foot again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Get up. Get up. I’ll be back with a bucket of water. You’re cleaning this up girly. And don’t think you’re getting out of cutting wood.” He waddled around the corner of the doorframe. “Matilda! Where’s the bucket?!”
Alana rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, letting her chest rise and fall slowly in hopes of thinking clearly but before she knew it her hand covered her face, fingertips on her forehead, thumb and smallest finger on her cheekbones. The pulse of the lotus magic thumped angrily. One blast. That’s all it would take. One blast and it’s all over. No more pain. Just a walk on the road home. Good health and good fortune. Lords know I never got any of that here. About time I get some of both.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” a man said from the doorway. A gentle voice. It didn’t belong to a curmudgeon, that’s for damn sure. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you when you weren’t decent. The door was open.”
“It’s fine,” she said, pulling her blanket over herself.
Her mother would have called the man in the doorway an academic with his pale skin like Alana’s and spectacles like Elroy’s. His brown hair needed combing but something about him said he wasn’t one to do that. His long tan coat was nothing like she’d ever seen before. Not quite a cloak and by no means meant for combat; stylish but not fancy.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She sat up, surprised that her stomach allowed it. “I think so. Had a bit of a fit in the night though.”
“I see that,” the man said, taking his spectacles off and cleaning them with a handkerchief he produced from one of the many pockets on the front of his coat. He slid his glasses back on and offered her a hand. “Let’s get you into bed.” She hesitated. She’d never heard that suggestion without a hard cock coming after her behind it. But this man was different. Or maybe she was too gross for that right now. When she took his hand he paused for a moment, studying her magic. There was no judgment, just curiosity. “You’re a Lotus…”
“Unfortunately.”
“But you’re here?”
“Unfortunately.”
Elroy came through the door as she sat down. Bucket of water in his hands. He stopped like he’d been caught in a crime. “Oliver. What are you doing in here?”
“I heard some commotion. Thought I’d check it out. Make sure you aren't giving a sick woman a hard time.”
“I never give anyone a hard time. She’s the trouble. Not me.”
Oliver turned to Alana. “Don’t mind him. My father is a bit of a stick in the mud.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said. Oliver’s smile made her smile.
He walked toward Elroy. “You weren’t really going to have her clean this up, were you?”
“You know the policy. If I have to do it, you have to pay for it. And since she’s fresh out of coin as she put it…” He shoved the bucket of water into Oliver’s stomach. “I don’t care who does it but it better get done.” He stormed out of the room. “I’ll see you at the firewood when you’re done, Lotus!”
Oliver sat the bucket on the floor and got down on his knees. “Rest. I’ll take care of this.”