The Cradle (Book 1)

Chapter 17

She spotted a stall with similar, opaquer, shawls put up for sale among many other things. She carefully made her way to it, ignoring the pain for the moment, and walked between the customers, pretending to scrutinize the materials. She took a glance around to make sure no one was watching and slipped it out of its hook and held it hidden by her side. Making sure to stay with the crowds, she moved towards one of the newspapers and wrapped the shawl in it.

Her old self would never be proud of her current one. Stealing, of all things.

Her eyes went up to the numerous cloaks put out for display just as a cool breeze made aware of the biting cold. With her strength so depleted, she wouldn't be able to keep herself warm for long. And neither would it look normal if she walked around in this cold without proper clothing. They would do for to cover her blood-stained shirt.

Stealing a cloak would be tricky. And she had never stolen before to have any practice in it, albeit for the shawl just now. But she might as well try her luck. There wasn't really much for her to lose at this point.

She sidled up behind a man who was trying on a new cloak from the stall. She closed her eyes and pulled his old cloak from the table it was resting on and let it fall to the ground in a heap, bracing herself for getting caught. She paused for a second, surprised no one noticed. Thanking her lucky stars, she gathered it into her arms and got out of there as fast as she could with her stolen goods.

When she had put a safe distance between herself and the stall, she felt safe enough to wrap the shawl around her hair and face, mimicking the women she had seem earlier the best she could, and threw the cloak over her, pulling the hood up. Now she looked like everyone else. If she ever got to visit the stall again, she would make sure to pay them back.

She hugged the cloak close to her against the chill, refraining from heating herself up with her gifts for the moment, and looked around for a way to get somewhere she could find help. Maybe she could find a ride to another part of the Cradle, somewhere far away as possible from Isia. Maybe eyen to one of the other two countries. Maybe Almore, she mused, remembering how colorful the Dockstorm brothers had made it out to be. Yes, Almore sounded wonderful.

She noticed that some people were crowding together at one area in the market. Curious, she limped over to them, maybe it was something she needed to be aware of. When she pushed through the people, careful to not irritate her wound—whose pain had strangely dulled—she stared in wonder at what she saw.

It was a monument, several marble statues mounted together in a triangular formation. With awe, she realized she recognized the sculptures—or rather, she recognized the people depicted by them.

The Legion stood at the front in full costume, her mask up, a roughly made bow in her hand, black metal sticking out at the edges, the drawstring pulled back with three equally roughly made arrows. Lake. By her feet was a giant wolf, its teeth bared and muscles taut, ready to pounce at its prey. Jamie.

To Lake's statue's right was Hana's, a foreign sword-like weapon hanging at her side, a tassel attached to its hilt, several daggers strapped to her. Parallel to Hana was a man in white armor that must have drawn inspiration from the medieval times, the visor down to hide his face. The tip of his sword was on the ground, both his hands resting on its hilt, his head bowed. Link, she guessed. The three siblings plus Jamie.

Behind Link was Donna, her hair depicted in soft, wavy curls, in her black and white "Reaper" dress, her wicked double-sided axe resting on her shoulder, daggers and knives strapped to her thighs and hips and biceps. Even in a sculpture, they managed to capture her unsettling smirk. Opposite to Donna was the Necromancer, Dune, wearing a cloak with its hood up, his face barely visible, a sword limply held in one hand to point to the ground. The Underworld, she thought, remembering all of Claire's rantings on mythology. She felt proud she figured that out herself.