Far behind the Manor, the grounds bled into a canopy of dark leafy jungles where, under the shades, she rested on the soft summer grass, staring up at the cloudless sky. In Patun, the weather was welcoming for the most part. Never too hot or cold. The air always laced with a moistness that would stick to your skin. She was told by the Patun women, who never seemed to age, that the humidity was good for the skin. In reality, it seemed to make the mild weather more extreme. The warmth would turn into heavy heat. One that sometimes made it hard to breathe. Patun had no seasons; instead, the summer months bled into rainy spells. Here, they called it the Monson season. The rain lasted for months, the winds would roar with great force, and lighting would scald the earth with its lethal bite. The rain. It truly went on for eternity. Sometimes, months would go by without seeing the sun peak out behind gray skies. She had never known the rain to be more violent than in Patun. So, they existed in a perpetual state of wet warmth and being soaked to the bone. But when the weather was perfectly mild for a small part of the year, Patun became beautiful. So, one had to take the time to enjoy such rare days.
She had purposely hidden away from the chaos of the Manor. Hidden away behind the fields of tall grass, where the Manor seemed to be almost a dot amongst the landscape. The grass hid venomous snakes. The maids feverously avoided areas where one could not clearly see the ground. But after years, she had trained herself to sense movement within the forest of grass. It was worth it. No one dared follow her here. Even if momentarily, she wanted to escape practice. If anyone, especially her mother, was to find out where she had gone, she would never hear the end of it.
Her mother was truly a woman scarier than any monster. She was inhuman.
They had always been on the run. No one had ever told her why. No one had ever told her who was following them, she had to pick and prod, getting small bits of information from her mother. That was until they had made their way to Patun and settled down. Somehow, these unknown people who had been after them disappeared. Life was shrouded in secrets, and even at the age of 16, no one wanted to tell her anything. All answers were shrouded in mystery. Nothing was ever explicitly stated. Who was she? What happened?
It wasn’t as if she was lacking in wit. As much time she spent training, she also spent learning, just not about Rus. She was taught language, geography, vague political information, vague histories, and a plethora of other vague topics. Topics that avoided Rus were like the plague. It was as if her mother feared that knowing anything about Rus would kill her instantly. At times, after hours of nagging, her mother would give in and tell her small details about her homeland. Rus, the word seemed too foreign to her. It did not sound like home.
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But her mother’s words were always calculating. At times, she could even see the wheels turning as her mother contemplated her next words. Joseph told her things more freely, especially after a few drinks.
He was a bear of a man who towered over those around him. He was not a handsome man by any means. His nose was broken, a line that was never fixed; it looked like a ragged road. His lips were thin and constantly cracked. A scar ran across his lip and left eye. It had left his left eyelid deformed, and his lip had never fully gone back to its normal shape. His hands were rough and callous from years of welding a sword in battle.
As a curious growing woman, she had wondered if she could enjoy a touch as rough as his. And if not, could another woman enjoy that? She had come to the conclusion that he was unwed for that very reason. He had a massive black beard and beady black eyes. Even though he was scary, he was kind. He had always been one of the kindest people she knew. To her, he was as close as a father she had ever had. Jacob having spent most of her younger years with them. But once she turned twelve, he left and never came back.
He had once told her about her father; she had just turned 12, and he had come for a visit. He pulled up a cup for her and poured some ale. She felt so small holding the huge tankard. Her father was not a great man. His rule had been followed by poverty and hunger. There was no space for Rus in his heart. And under his rule, the empire continued to suffer. Wars were waged and lost due to his poor leadership. As a monarch, he used his power selfishly. The state was sucked dry of its resources and money. All that he cared about was living luxuriously. Eventually, he became a pawn in the hands of a few greedy noble houses. Why they had to flee was never spoken about.
Jacob also told her about his adventures. He talked about the sweet wines of Oceana. The plains of the Wind and the young lord who ruled them. Her mother swore that Jacob and his stories were a bad influence on her. But, nonetheless, they all huddled together around the small table in the kitchen as Jacob shared his adventures with them. They would talk into the wee hours of the night, and then she would go to sleep, leaving Jacob and her mother to talk about “adult” things. She sighed. It had been four years since they last sat around like that.
Today was an off day; she did not quite know what was wrong, but there was something that did not feel quite right.
A slight tingling sensation ran from the back of her spine to the back of her neck. As if on cue, like an ominous sign the wind picked up. And a fear grew in the pit of her stomach.