Ughhh…
“Gyaahh why am I upside-dow-OWWW!”
A quick sharp jab to my thigh shuts me up fast.
“Keep it down. We’re nearly there.” A different voice says. I go to look up, but there’s those same eyes whose glare could bake a potato, trying to burn a hole in my forehead.
“Hi, Einar. Glad to see you’re still with us.”
Einar scowls, going to draw a dagger attached to his belt.
“How do you know…” An elbow to the gut from another member of the group cuts Einar off… a member that looks like a girl? With a soft face, gentle brown eyes, and perfectly wavy orange-red hair… wow.
“Quit staring, captive.” A young-looking guy butts in front of the girl (?) I was staring at, with a voice to match that young-sounding one from earlier, and eyes matching those of the orange-haired girl.
“Arshak. Keep in line.” Rann calls from the front, and ‘Arshak’ begrudgingly trudges past me to return to his position. The orange-haired girl walks up with him, flicking me on the nose on the way past.
Guess I deserve that for staring.
Well. I’m awake, and I’m still in hell, so this probably isn’t a dream. I’m not blindfolded or gagged at least, but I’m still tied up and being carried on some guy’s shoulder. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but it seems a bit brighter than it did yesterday, so I assume this is what counts as daytime here.
I’m pretty sure… the sun was going down when I died. It was night time when I arrived here, in what is presumably hell. Are the day-night cycles synced up? Maybe. There’s no other way for me to tell. As for wherever we’re going, it must be far away from wherever I ended up if we’re still moving. As for the group that’s more or less abducted me… they don’t seem like the average pack of brigands. Most such groups wouldn’t have a young looking girl like the one with wavy orange hair as part of their group.
I settle back down as best as I can while being tied up and carried over someone’s shoulder, watching the ground go by as they keep on the move for what must have been hours by now… until the group comes to a stop.
Everything goes still. No murmurs, no movement, not even the wind blowing through the trees. The shoulder I’m slung over is tense again. It’s so quiet, I can hear the man carrying me breathe slowly and cautiously. I’m also doing my best to stay still. If anything happens and I get dropped, I’m probably dead, so, I’ll be a good captive for now and follow along…
Silence hangs in the air. Tension slowly rises. Every second feels like it’s an hour long. Are we about to be ambushed by something? A predatory beast? Another group? Am I dead weight waiting to be dropped?
“There!” Arshak shouts.
An arrow flies through the air, hitting a tree a few dozen metres away with a thunk. The underbrush rustles, something squeals and scurries away, squeaking as it runs off.
The tension lasts another moment, before it drops, and the shoulder beneath me relaxes.
“Just a Jackhorn. It would have run towards us if something bigger was chasing it.” Rann says, as the rest of the group breathes sighs of relief.
“You missed, boy.” Einar states, disappointment in his voice.
“Like you could have done better… and it’s Arshak, not ‘boy’.” Arshak growls, walking away from the group to presumably recover his arrow.
“Next time, hotshot, if ya gotta yell, do it after ya shoot. Tch… we ain’t had meat for weeks. Coulda made one hell of a stew outta that jackhorn…” That accented voice sighs.
Again, what the hell is that accent?! Is that what people from the Imperial Colonies sound like?
“The sooner we get back the sooner we can organise a proper hunt. Get a move on.” Rann says, as the group starts to move again.
“Why are we bringing back another mouth to feed? Why another drain on our supplies-” Arshak groans, before being cut off as the group suddenly comes to a halt again.
“When you’re in charge of the expedition team, Arshak, you get to make the decisions. Until then…” Rann trails off.
“Y-you make the shots. Yes sir.” Arshak finishes, his voice shaking a little.
“Hah… got his tail between his legs now, don’t ya think, big guy?” The accented voice quips.
“I just want to get home… This girl’s starting to get heavy with how long I’ve been carrying her…” The ‘big guy’ carrying me sighs.
Heavy?! I- wait, no, calm down Marina, let’s not agitate these people… I mean, I am bigger than I used to be, and I don’t know how much these wings actually weigh on top of that. Man. I’ve never been called “heavy”. I didn’t get why people took issue with it until someone called me heavy.
The group falls back into line and resumes their course towards wherever their home or base is. It’s nice not being blindfolded, but it’s hard to keep track of where we’re going when there’s just… dirt, and mud, and trees everywhere, and that I’m kinda upside-down. We don’t seem to be following a clear-cut path, either, as we weave and wind our way through the rough terrain for… an hour? Maybe two? Just quietly trudging along.
Given we’ve travelled so far, I’m kind of thankful that I’ve been carried most of the way. We’ve been walking for a good part of the night, and now, at least several hours of the day. These people sure came a long way from wherever they’re from, especially if they were just harvesting the maple syrup or “sweet tree sap” as they called it. I guess none of the trees near where they live produces a similar kind of sap, if they came this far. Maybe it’s their only source of natural sugar.
Sugar, huh. My family was well-off enough that we’d always have a jar of sugar in the house, alongside a number of herbs and even a few spices. My mother’s cinnamon biscuits were nearly as famous as the violins our family were renowned for. Not as widespread, sure, but we got a special discount with the spice trader if he got some cinnamon biscuits back as payment. I’d sit and watch those biscuits bake in the oven, from the moment my mother put them in, til the moment they’d cooled down enough to eat.
If this really isn’t a dream, I’ll never taste anything like that ever again.
…
I’m running out of things I can think to think about. There isn’t much else to do when I’m being carried through a seemingly endless sea of reddy-brown mud and dark brown trees. The only notable landmark we’ve passed, from what little I can see from my upside-down vantage point, is a small stream lined by coal-black rocks either side of it. Pretty normal, if the “water” wasn’t blood-red and didn’t stink of rust. While not as deathly silent as before, after the escapade with whatever the “jackhorn” was, my captors have been pretty quiet ever since we crossed that stream.
“Gh… how much longer do we have to march, Rann? We’ve been moving for hours and all this sweet-tree sap is heavy enough on its own, yet you have to bring the captive back with us…” Arshak whines. Guess I spoke too soon.
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“Are you volunteering to carry the captive, Arshak?” Rann asks.
“... N-no, carrying the sap is fine…” Arshak says, reluctantly.
“I’d like a break from carrying ‘er…” The big guy carrying me mumbles.
“Given how far I am off the ground and how muscly this shoulder is, I can’t be that heavy to you, dick.” Is what I’d like to say, but I’m doing my best to behave right now. I’d be happy to walk myself if it meant I wouldn’t feel sick from being upside-down this whole time.
“To think, you complained so much about comin’ along for a “borin’ sweet-tree run” and how you “wished somethin’ excitin’ would happen”, then when somethin’ does happen, you spend the whole trip back complainin’ about it. Everythin’ could go your way and you’d still be complainin’ about it. Just no pleasin’ you, is there kid?” The accented voice gives Arshak’s a thorough dressing-down, as a few other people in the group murmur in agreement.
“Tch… there was no “excitement”, that dumb girl just ran straight into Einar’s club…” Arshak huffs.
A club, you say. I didn’t run straight into it, but it sure knocked my lights out and is still… ringing in my ears. Having my head hanging down like this probably isn’t good post-concussion.
After a short while, the group comes to a stop again, spreading out. I’d like to look around, but Einar’s still standing behind the guy carrying me, watching me like a hawk in case I try to make a move.
One of the group members whistles, imitating a songbird’s call; like those that visited the trees around my house in the springtime. It feels really out of place in hell.
A loud rumble shakes the trees, accompanied by the grunts of people as something heavy is pulled through the mud.
“Welcome back, Expeditionary Team. See you’ve caught yourselves a stray?” Someone calls out from a higher-up place.
The group starts moving again, as the familiar hustle and bustle of village life reaches my ears. From what I can see, we’re now inside a walled compound, with a dozen people or so gathered around the gate. The walls are in fact palisades carved from straight, dark logs, with platforms along the inner sides for guards to patrol. Large trees loom overhead, their leaves all yellow, orange, and red. It looks like a relatively normal village, with houses, workshops, a market, guards, children playing among the fallen leaves; a small parcel of normalcy in a world of cruel absurdity.
I’d love to look around, but by now I’m just… trying not to be sick. Please let me down. Just let me stand up straight….
“Found them near Dead Man’s Dream. Brought them here to have the chief interrogate them. Rob, take her to the Cellars. The rest of you, unload what we gathered.” Rann orders, and the group begins to disperse, as ‘Rob’ carries me off elsewhere. So that’s the name of the “Big guy” that’s been lugging me around like a corpse.
I catch glimpses of other people; all with pointed ears and white pupils, and varying degrees of red eyes and reddish hair leering at me.
I just… have to keep quiet and not do anything.
“Hey Rob, show us the stray you caught!” A different voice calls.
Rob stops in his tracks, and several people gather around me, gawking and leering.
“Oooo, this one’s a looker… any idea what mob she’s from?” One of them questions.
“Definitely not the Breakers, her clothes are too nice for that.” Another quips. They’re getting closer to me…
“Where did you find her again? Near Deadman’s?” The first voice asks.
Arshak shoves his way past the one who just spoke, with the orange-haired girl following close behind him. Arshak’s wearing a hood, but I see the same orange curly hair that the girl has peeking out from under it. Huh. Could they be siblings?
“She ran right into our camp as we were gathering sweet-tree sap. She caught most of us off-guard, but Einar dealt with her quick. Now get back to work, Nate, you have a wall to watch.” Arshak states matter-of-factly, clearly annoyed with ‘Nate’.
“Oooo, is Arshak all ruffled up because someone got the drop on you?” Nate responds mockingly.
“Yeah, you shoulda seen him. Nearly jumped out of his skin when the girl ran in outta nowhere!” The guy with the accent joins in on the conversation, teasing Arshak. Arshak turns on the spot.
“Like you were any better, Johnny! You had your mouth full of juice, then when she turned up you nearly choked on it!”
Arshak yells back at ‘Johnny’, the accent guy. Another name to another voice.
Arshak, Johnny, and Nate seem to get distracted with their own argument, so now it’s just me, Rob, and another guy who’s more interested in me than watching the argument unfold. He’s standing close to me, right beside Rob. His hand slowly reaches up, as he grins.
“Say, that’s a nice cloak ya got there, It’d be a shame to let such a well-made thing go to waste on a prisoner…”
He grabs the hem of the cloak, trying to pull it off.
“I’ll just- GYAAARRRGHH?!”
I blink.
I’m several feet off the ground. The ropes binding my arms have been cut. My wings are fully outstretched at my sides - a spray of blood hangs in the air—long, sword-like metallic feathers flash in the dim light, and several slashes line the face of the man who grabbed my cloak. Did my wings suddenly figure out not only how to fly, but how to cut things?
The moment passes, and I land face-first in the mud. Pushing myself up, I hastily tug at the ropes around my legs. Damnit, wings, can’t you cut these too-
An arrow clangs off one of the outstretched pinion feathers of my wing, falling to the ground harmlessly. My other wing slashes the ropes around my thighs, so I quickly jump up to my feet as the adrenaline overrides all other feelings. While these wings are otherwise covered in soft feathers just like a bird, it has some as hard as steel, with the reaction time to intercept an arrow. The people of this settlement quickly move to surround me, numbering… five, six… fourteen… nineteen… twenty-four. I’m not quite sure why I’m so certain that there’s 24, but I can save that question for later.
Opening my eyes, and it looks like there really are about two dozen of them, weapons drawn, with several archers pointing at me. My wings restlessly shift and flap, trying to warn those surrounding me to back off. I appreciate the effort, wings, and the fact that you can apparently count; but could we fly out of here now?
My wings make that same shrugging motion again. Guess not. Are we fighting our way out instead?
“Rann, the fuck did you have us bring back to Haven?! Some new monster that pretends to be human to lure us in?” Johnny shouts, pointing his spear at me.
Rann steps forward, pulling a giant, flat-tipped greatsword from over his back. Now that I can directly see him, he’s a full head-and-shoulders taller than me, and he can wield that greatsword that looks over half as tall as I am like it’s a butter knife.
“I don’t know, John, but I’ll take care of it myself.” The grim determination in Rann’s voice makes me shake on the spot.
“Kill the bitch already! She’s got knives or something in her wings!” The man with the slashed face screams. I don’t know if this situation would have been made worse or not if my wings went for his throat rather than his face.
Fighting it is. I’ve had a few sword fighting lessons, sure, but I have no weapon by my side but these wings. Whatever happens, I’m not falling face-first into the mud again.
Rann approaches me as I stare him down. The more I look at him, the less sure I am that I'll survive this fight. He’s old, large, and commands authority and respect amongst his peers. Draped across his shoulders is the red pelt of a wolf-like creature with its head resting on his shoulder; baring fangs as long as knives. His boots are large and caked with mud, chainmail covers most of his left arm, while his right is bare, showing deep scars across his elbow. A solid metal breastplate protects his chest, with a leather brigandine underneath, and several belts around his waist holding a number of pouches and daggers. He looks like a man who spent his whole life fighting, who died fighting, who woke up in hell and chose to keep on fighting.
Who am I? Some teenager who on her first day here was knocked out and kidnapped, with nothing but her clothes and a pair of wings that don’t even know how to fly stuck to her back. What are my chances of coming out of this alive?
None. Screw fighting, I have to get away from here instead. Where? How? I can’t go through them, I can’t go up. I need a distraction. Something. Anything.
“Rann!” A loud female voice shouts.
Everyone stops and looks up behind me, as I turn to face the source of the voice. Standing on a balcony is a hooded woman, with long raven-black hair that turns blood-red at the tips cascading down her shoulders, a large gold pendant around her neck, different-coloured eyes of gold and silver, holding a large wooden staff with a gloved hand, and an aura that exudes power and authority. Besides her stands a man of strikingly similar build and looks to Rann to the point I think I’m seeing double, but he looks a few years younger than Rann as the shock wears off.
The woman glares at me. She raises the staff in her gloved hand - and bright golden chains suddenly appear around my body, binding my arms, legs, and wings, then yanking me to the ground. I struggle, trying to kick them away, but the more I move, the tighter these golden chains constrict, eventually holding my arms and wings perfectly still as my legs are dragged down to the ground, unable to struggle any further.
“Now! Knock her out!” A male voice yells.
Wait, no, please don’t knock me out again, I’ll behave-
A hard blow hits the back of my head, and I’m out like a light.
Fuck.
So much for not falling face-first in the mud again.