Meira became aware of the rolling first. It reminded her of floating in the waves, and for a moment she thought she might have reached the Fasillian coast. But the smell was all wrong. The brisk air settled thorough her aching body in a way the coast never had.

Her head bobbed in the continuous rhythm, cheek scratching against the haunch of the horse across which she was bowed. Meira tried to move ever-so-slightly, but the agony of her injuries pierced through her. Oh, right. The pulverized arm, hanging heavily towards the ground, throbbed with its own heartbeat, and Meira’s fleeting thoughts ran to how long she may even be able to keep it. A tentative flex of her fingers was futile.

Meira’s awareness grew to include the pounding of other horses marching in time with her steed. Her gaze drifted down, noticing the nicely shoed hooves of her ride. Indignation welled. These people were not only kidnapping her, but the horses and belongings of her dead companions.

She lolled her head towards the front, and the surrounding conversation stopped. Her abductors waited, but began speaking Juri’a again when Meira stayed still. Her lack of understanding frustrated her; the words muddled by the sounds of the forest and their trek along the trail.

Take; running; bean sprouts; her. Meira picked out a few terms she had heard from the servants in her childhood home. Khaantul was the only language allowed in Datran, and in the Empire, but the many domestic workers in the region still spoke their own languages. A curious child like Meira was bound to pick up a few things. She continued to listen, a plan forming in her mind as the group rode on.

***

The Juri’a and Meira journeyed until the graying light of dusk. The same serious brunet who had stopped her attack on the red-head pulled Meira from the horse. His umber eyes revealed little as he pushed her towards a log to sit. She cradled her arm and watched the rest of the group, making calculations.

The woman with the scarlet hair was tying up the horses, pulling off their packs and saddles with care. A stout man Meira had not seen before looked to be gathering supplies for a fire. Two other Juri’a, a man and a woman, were carrying a limp companion toward Meira. One spread a bedroll from an Empire pack and the other placed the body gently on it. Concern tangled their brows as they murmured to each other and gestured at the pale man. His brassy hair was soaked against his sweat-slicked forehead, and his ashy appearance made the medic in Meira falter. While her own left arm trembled with agony, they had wrapped his with bloody bandages, ending sharply at what had been his wrist.

The sound of a great match being struck brought Meira’s attention back toward the rest of her captors. The man who had gathered wood now held a ball of flame in his hand as he stood in front of the tower of kindling. With a small motion from his other hand, the flame arched from his palm and into the pile of wood, smoke drifting with the catch. The others huddled close, warming themselves with their comrade’s work.

Meira watched silently, waiting. They had left her unguarded, but she continued to feel Juri’a eyes on her huddled form. The intervals between their gazes stretched with the night, and the tension in their backs eased as she stayed in position. Still, she remained.

The shadows swallowed her seat at the edge of the camp. Jailors relaxed, Meira began to edge herself from the log and through the forest behind them, bending with the curve of the campfire’s light. Her eyes stayed on the Juri’a as she stepped carefully through the underbrush. Time was agony but Meira didn’t rush, each movement painstakingly deliberate so that the plants only whispered her flight. She just needed to reach Shadow.

Five yards to go. Then four. The horses seemed to understand the stakes, their usual skittishness suspended as they watched her progress. Three yards. Two. A rabbit darted from the growth, and Meira sucked in a breath as the horses nickered and whinnied in surprise. The Juri’a around the fire turned towards the sound, and she froze in the darkness, willing them to miss her. The group settled again, but the somber Juri’a who had escorted her from the horse earlier narrowed his gaze. Muddy brown locks slid across his shoulders as his head turned to the spot where Meira had curled herself against the log prior.

Even without understanding the language, his cry of alarm was unmistakable, and Meira ran the last six feet to Shadow. The other horses bucked and pulled against their ties, pinpointing her location for the group by the fire. Shadow’s burnished coat was free of a saddle and it was now painfully obvious that Meira would be unable to get up on him one handed without the aid of stirrups. With the horse no longer an option and voices frighteningly close, Meira turned to run into the darkness.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She took three steps and collapsed, the air from her lungs disappearing in a manufactured whoosh. The pain of landing on her broken arm was overshadowed by the burn of her stolen breath, no air moving between her gaping lips. She turned her head to see the brunet approaching, hands held towards her in clenching grasps. It was as if his very fingers gripped her lungs.

“Farren!”

The admonishment in the tone was obvious and the man’s fingers relaxed, even as his look did not. His invisible touch released, and Meira could breathe again. She pulled in air raggedly, unable to move from her position on the damp ground.

The woman with flaming tresses talked to Farren, tone sharp, as he continued to frown at the feeble captive in the dirt. Black spots were still dancing in front of Meira’s eyes as he hauled her to her feet roughly and dragged her back to the spot by the injured Juri’a man. This time Farren had rope, and he tied her feet and hands together with a complicated knot Meira wasn’t sure she could have undone even with two good hands. They traded no words, and he stalked back to the fire, obvious displeasure ensuring even his associates gave him a wide berth. Meira’s head fell back against the tree the man had propped her against and she let the terror fall silently from her eyes.

***

Meira dipped her head into her shoulder to wipe her tears as the Juri’a leader approached some time later. The woman walked to the injured man. He’d been quietly moaning since shortly after Meira’s return to the log.

She kneeled near his head, running a hand lightly over the man’s clammy forehead. His brows pinched in pain, and his eyelids fluttered in a fevered dream. Meira watched the female captor’s face with fascination, the expression remarkably tender. The long, pale fingers of her right hand hovered over his sweat-stained temple. Her middle finger began moving in slow circles through the air, never pausing as her left hand uncorked a small flask hanging on her hip. Meira’s breath stilled for a moment as water wound in a thin trail from the container, spirals following the leisurely movements of her fingers. With the extension of the woman’s left hand, the liquid spread across his forehead in a thin sheet. Her ministrations continued, the water ebbing and flowing in tandem. The man’s face relaxed, and his groaning ceased. The woman moved her hands and returned the water to the vial. She touched his cheek fondly as his breathing evened.

Meira started when the woman’s emerald eyes turned on her. She crossed to Meira’s captive form and sat in front of her, reaching her hands for Meira’s severely swollen arm. On instinct Meira pulled herself back from the woman, a hiss escaping her lips at the movement. The tree at her back stopped any further retreat. The woman continued to catch Meira’s gray stare while soft waves of red fell across her deep green eyes as she tilted her head.

“Kirsi,” she said, her palm to her chest. “I am Kirsi.”

Meira stayed silent. With slow movements, Kirsi grasped Meira’s wrist gently, waiting for her protest. When none came, she used her other hand to once again draw water from the container. A cooling sensation overtook Meira’s forearm as the water curled around it with Kirsi’s fine motions. The hand holding her wrist let go, drifting along the length of her arm while it hovered above the skin.

The feeling hit Meira in her core and injury at the same time. It reminded her of the time Caelum had taught her to dive off of the cliffs by the lake. Her brother had shoved her off of the limestone edge without warning, and the drop of her stomach and thrill that prickled through her body that day was present again. She had the near irresistible urge to laugh out loud; but if it was out of fear or delight at the sensation of her bones knitting together once again, she wasn’t sure.

Kirsi’s movements slowed, and so did the sensation. Meira felt it being pulled through her limb that was now returning to a normal size. When the water unwound from her forearm and returned to the flask, Meira looked back up at the woman staring at her with a small smile, eyebrows raised. Meira’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to sift through the legion of questions rioting in her brain.

“I heal you,” she answered the unasked question.

Meira knew Kirsi was right as she slowly rotated her arm, feeling none of the pain that had populated her consciousness for the past hours. Though the act of kindness was appreciated, it wasn’t understood.

“Why did you save me? Why am I here?”

Meira was tied to a tree at the mercy of people who she knew were hostile at best. The leader’s kindness was only delaying the inevitable. Kirsi appeared to roll the words in her mouth, testing them as she translated her thoughts from Juri’a to Khaantul.

“You are D’Vasia.”

Meira recognized the word. The old woman in the Juri’a village kept saying it in what felt like a lifetime ago. There was a ringing certainty to their voices as they said the word that Meira couldn’t share, its meaning unclear. Kirsi looked at her like the crone had as well, the firelight highlighting an awe Meira knew her bloody and dirt-stained image didn’t deserve.

“But why?” she begged. These people had killed her friend and then proceeded to heal her injuries, and she could not conceive of their motive. Kirsi held Meira’s shaking hands in hers, but still did not untie the ropes that bound the frightened woman. Her words made Meira’s heart seize in dismay.

“You will save us all.”