SWEET MUSIC, nikolai lantsov

xiii. faith built on sand

The rotten, deserted ports had been then taken over by slave traders.

Anya had noticed the arrival of these two cargo ships the night prior. She'd been only passing by on her way to Udova, using the coastline as a guide in the long journey ahead, but the sight forced her travels to halt. Just their mere arrival in such a place was enough to know what, or rather who, these men would try to traffick. 

In the last few years, Ravkan and Suli children disappeared frequently, and though people rarely had the courage to speak the truth, most everyone knew these missing kids would be sold off to brothels in Kerch. That rotten country had no trouble covering slavery under the guise of contract ― no one cared that the people signing those contracts rarely had another choice if they wanted to live. One stroke of pen, one signature and at least half of their life would be spent trying to pay off a debt they didn't earn.

After Anya had stayed observing these ships long enough to see the arrival of containers and crates, there was no doubt in her mind that they were filled with people. Bound, afraid and defenseless, captured to be sold.

Someone else would have ran away as soon as they realised who the travelers from these ships really were. Maybe at best, they'd try to look for soldiers of the king and send them to deal with the traffickers. Anya wouldn't be able to live with herself if she reacted that way. After everything she'd done, she owed something to the victims of this world.

Anya Vinogradev was a lot of things, but she suspected brave wasn't one of them. Still, there are moments when you just can't turn away. You can't, or it makes you a monster. And she'd met enough monsters in her life to know she couldn't let herself slip through ignorance into becoming one.

She'd spent three hours after midnight hidden in the trees on a nearby cliff, waiting for the people to fall asleep. Then, she spent mere minutes murdering them once they did.

At some point after her first attack on the group, she'd opened the crates and was greeted by the sight of sulken, terrified faces ― that was when a new wave of enemies arrived at the scene, probably back from one of the nearby towns. Anya cursed the world for making her murder these men while their prisoners watched; not because she pitied the men, but because children shouldn't have to experience things like that. Death no longer had an effect on her, but she vividly remembered being scarred by her first encounter with that merciless deity ― all Anya could do was hope the children had averted their stares.

In the end, these scum never stood a chance against Anya and the forces of nature that answered to her. Just the sea water would have been enough to deal with them, but she'd felt enough rage to justify burning a few of the slave traders alive and listening to their screams. Anya wished she could drag those burnt corpses to Os Alta, throw them in front of the king and scream in his face the question, How could you allow this? How could you allow this?

If the rulers didn't protect their own people from a fate like this, who would?

The question ponded at her skull as she looked at her blood-soaked hands. Who would protect these people?

I would. I will.

Anya didn't know how long she stood motionless and stared at her hands without really seeing them, before a muffled wail brought her out of the haze. Suddenly, she remembered that the rescuing part of her rescue mission had been interrupted before. Anya turned around and ran up to the imprisoned people to help them, apologising in quiet Ravkan to soothe their nerves.

Despite having Etherealki powers, Anya always carried a ― stolen, of course ― dagger in the pocket of her coat. She begun making her way through the thick, dirty ropes, prioritising the children.