The tri-color bunting hanging from nearly every lamppost mocks me.
Coming back to Zesa was a strategic move; the Kaval would likely expect me to run away from the capital city, which is swarming with guards, Kaval, and loyalists, especially so close to the Freedom Day festivities. After two years on the run, I've learnt that the unexpected can be a valuable friend.
The one thing I failed to consider in my strategy, though, was how much coming back to my hometown would hurt.
Everything about it is wrong. The red, white, and green of the bunting is wrong. The red, white, and green flag flying from the highest spire of the palace is wrong. The fact that anyone could possibly be celebrating the day I lost everything is so wrong, so unfair. How can anybody smile when all I want to do is cry?
It's hard to grasp, how the people who made up my entire world were mere blips in other people's lives. That the world keeps spinning on, even though it feels like my entire world has stopped.
But I see the evidence of it everywhere, in the way people smile and laugh, their worlds still intact. In the way people cry out as they discover their wallets or purses are missing, likely stolen by a pickpocket, who doesn't care which family might go hungry tonight. And in so many other ways, ways that humans hurt each other without hesitation.
I wander through the streets aimlessly, feeling incredibly lost in the city that I grew up in. I'll have to find a place to sleep for the night soon. An inn would probably be the best choice, but I don't have enough mirra left for that. I'd prefer to avoid sleeping on the streets, though; that option leaves me uncomfortable and far too exposed. Unsavory characters, or, even worse, Kaval, could sneak up on me, and I'd be none the wiser.
And getting a job will be even tougher, since I don't have any legal documentation. It's easier to get a job in rural, or even semi-rural towns, like Soria. Often, the people there don't ask for papers, just happy that there's anyone willing to work for them at all. But in cities, especially large ones, it's near impossible to get a job without proper documentation.
Well, near impossible to get a respectable job.
I heave a sigh. I'll have to scout out some not-so-legal bars later. Honestly, I'd take a job any of them, as long as they don't try to put me in some short dress.
I'm doing what I have to to survive, but there are some lines I refuse to cross.
It took me a while, at first, to get used to that concept. Survival, and the lengths I would have to go to to ensure it. The thought of working in illegal bars used to repulse me. Sleeping in alleyways? Forget it.
It's astonishing, how fast we can adapt when we're forced to.
There's a tug on my dress. My heart jumps, and I swiftly spin around, hands balled into fists.
If it's someone looking to turn me in, they'll have to drag back my dead body.
But there's nobody there. I pause, hands drooping from their positions in a sloppy fighting stance.
There's another tug, and a small voice. "Excuse me, miss?"
I look down, and my eyes lock with the culprit's. It's a little boy, no older than five or six, with black hair, tan skin, and deep brown eyes. Although he's speaking Ayeran, his accent is distinctly Azovi.
I can feel my own features soften as I take his appearance in. Children have always been my weakness.
I crouch down until I'm at eye level with him, noting the numerous rips and patches in his outfit. I make an effort to smile. "Hey there, bud. Where are your parents?"
He points into the crowd. "Mama's over there."
Well, that doesn't tell me anything.
"Want some ki-kiova!" He sounds out each syllable of the word, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. He moves his hand so it points at the stall right next to us, which is piled high with the sweet orange fruit.
"We can get you some kiova." I assure him. "Let's go find your mama, first."
"No! Kiova!" His lip starts to tremble, and a telltale sheen starts to appear in his eyes.
"Okay, okay." Slightly panicked, I reach up to the stall, blindly probing until my hand closes around one of the smooth, heart-shaped fruits. I hand it to the little boy, hoping it'll appease him. The last thing I want is for the mother to think I'm abducting her child. "Now let's go find your mother, okay?"
"Kiova!" He beams, all traces of tears gone. And then, as swift as a horse, he bolts.
"Wait!" I lunge forward, desperately trying to keep track of him, but it's like the crowd has swallowed him whole.
I rise to my full height, trying to push through the people blocking my way. But before I can take even a full step away from the stall, a hand grabs my wrist.
"Pay up, girlie. Fifteen mirra." The voice of the stall owner is low and menacing. "That kiova didn't grow itself."
Lost for words, I nod. He lets go of my hand, allowing me to reach for my pocket and my coins.
Stupid. I scold myself for what I just did. I shouldn't have given the little boy the kiova. I shouldn't have assumed that I'd be able to find his mother, or that she'd be able to pay for it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
My dread grows as I dig through my pocket. Nine, ten, eleven... eleven mirra. That's it.
I curse under my breath. I can't pay for the exotic fruit. And if there's one thing the people of Zesa hate, it's thieves.
"I... I don't have enough." I dare to look up at the stall owner, swallowing hard.
He's silent for a second. But I can see the building fury in his eyes, his form.
"Thief!" He finally yells, loudly. People around me stop, turning to stare at the commotion. He lunges for me, trying to grab my wrist again, but I jump back. "Get her! She's a thief! Guards!"
His words send a lick of fear down my spine. I can't get caught by the government. I can't. Not after how hard I've struggled to evade them. Whatever crime they'd make up for me, it would definitely be a lot worse than theft.
Already, I can see the glimmer of metal as the guards manning the marketplace shove their way through the crowd, trying to get to the disturbance. To me.
Out of options, I do the only thing I can. I run.
People exclaim and curse as I weave around them, ducking under arms and avoiding any grabby hands. I ignore them all, focusing only on getting out of this crowded area.
If I can escape the crowd, I'll be able to put some distance between myself and the guards. Distance is good. It'll give me time I desperately need, so I can find a place where I can hide until the excitement dies down.
Crouching. Evading. Pushing. My world becomes a blur of motion as I fight for my life.
I burst out of the crowded area surprisingly quickly, and my strides elongate as my feet hit open ground. Already, my breaths are short and strained, and I can feel sweat beading on my forehead.
I reach an intersection, and there's a yell from the right. Sparing a glance at the source, my stomach lurches at the sight of more guards, barrelling down the cobblestoned roads towards me. How did they get here so quickly?
I go left. Although I'm out of Zesa's main marketplace, now, the area is still decently crowded. Surely, the guards wouldn't risk shooting at me? The bullets are much more likely to hit the civilians gaping at us.
My feet pound against the stones as I sprint away from them, a repetitive thud-thud-thud in my ears. My heartbeat is just as fast, if not faster, and it makes itself known in my throat, which burns with every inhale. My eyes dart around wildly, searching for any way out of this mess.
Not going not going not going with them-
My ears pick up more shouting, more heavy boots, and my stomach churns violently. I want to throw up.
More guards, bursting around the corner of the intersection ahead of me.
I'm being pinned down, trapped between the two small groups of guards.
What do I do what do I do whatdoIdowhatdoIdo-
The main roads are not an option anymore. That leaves me with only one choice; the alleyways.
Veering to the side, I dash into the nearest one, hoping against hope that there's something, anything, I can use.
But there's no door, no gate. The only thing here is a bunch of old wooden boxes. The alley dead-ends at a high fence that I couldn't possibly hope to scale.
No no no no no-
I can feel my breaths growing even shorter, my heart beating so fast that I'm surprised the guards can't hear it.
This can't be it. Two years of escaping the Kaval, and it can't be ending in a dirty alleyway, all because of some stupid exotic fruit.
But there's nothing I can do. I've trapped myself in a corner, with no way out.
Before I can work myself into a full-blown panic, my wandering eyes land on the wooden boxes again. Unless...
I rush over to the boxes, praying that they'll hold my weight. Please, Tavono-
I step on one. It holds.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I get to work. The sound of boots hitting the ground is getting closer, and I have no time to lose.
As fast as I can, I lift the boxes, arranging them until they form a rickety staircase. I set down the last box just as the guards reach the entrance to the alley.
A loud crack rings out, and I duck instinctively, my fear skyrocketing. Gunshots. Right. Since I'm not on the main road anymore, guns are fair game.
I scramble up and over the wall, kicking the boxes I can reach with my feet right before I jump down on the other side. Indignant shouts follow my escape - I probably hit a guard or two with the falling boxes. Good.
As soon as my feet touch the ground, I take off again. I've bought myself perhaps two extra minutes, at most, and I need to make maximum use of them. I tear out of the alley and down the new road.
There! I spot the outline of a doorway in another alley, and change course, heading for it. I nearly barrel into the door as I come to a stop, breathing hard. I grab the handle, shaking it frantically, and, thankfully, it opens.
I stumble inside the building, all but collapsing as I slam the door shut behind me. Once inside, I strain my hearing, hoping that I've managed to evade the guards.
For a few scary moments, the sound of their shouts grows louder, and I brace myself for the door to be kicked in. But then, slowly, they grow fainter.
With my back against the door, I allow myself to breathe.
I let my guard down too soon.
Faster than I can blink, someone jumps out of the shadows. And then, I'm on my back, my arms and legs being held down.
And the cool metal of a knife rests against my throat.
* * * * *
Current word count: 9095
Well, what did you think? I don't write much action, so this was a new experience for me! I found that I quite enjoyed it! :)
Also, should I start a glossary for my made-up terms in this book? I'm leaning towards no - none of them are particularly important to the plot, as of now - but I'm already starting a dictionary of plants in my notes app, and I could definitely put it up if anyone wants to see it.
Well, thanks for reading! I'm going to go stop procrastinating on all my work now.