It's cold. Summer has definitely left us behind. The cool, dry air whips us eddies of grit a lashes them across my face, but I couldn't care less. As I stand beneath the Autumn sun, arms spread wide, eyes closed to the glare, I can't stop myself from smiling. I am so happy to just be out. The group of six that accompanied Archer and I were currently somewhere releasing the wolves, who had all been locked up as extra protection against discovery. I breathe in deeply, the smell of the earth, and crisp air centring me, and making me more determined than ever to get out, to get home. I belonged under the open sky. "Fran?"
I don't open my eyes as I reply, "Yes?"
"When you open your eyes, try not to be alarmed."
I stiffen at his tone, "What do you mean?"
"Just...don't panic." I open my eyes slowly, and do almost just that.
"Oh my God!" The Marsh wolves were much larger than I'd always imagined, their heads reaching chest height. Each was the dusty red of the desert around them, and each had a large pair of large amber eyes. But that wasn't what really freaked me out, what scared me half to death was the fact that I was surrounded by nearly two dozen of them.
"They can smell your fear," Archer calls over, and I glare at him, "just relax."
"That's easy for you to sa-eek!" I break off in a squeal as one nudges my stomach with its nose.
"Put your hand out!"
"No!"
"Just do it!" he nudges me again, harder, and I growl at him under my breath, before thrusting a hand out. He jerks back, then sniffs warily for a moment. Then, as I watch, he opens his massive jaws, flashing razor canines, and closes it over my hand. My eyes snap shut and I wait for the pain involved in losing a hand, but it doesn't happen. Instead, I only feel a gentle pressure, then nothing. I open my eyes to see him padding off, and the others turn to follow
"Wha-what just happened?"
"He has accepted you," Gabriel, the Master of Hounds tells me, jogging off in the direction they'd gone.
"What does that mean?" I ask Archer as the others slowly trickle off in the same general direction.
"It means that if he hadn't, you wouldn't have a hand right now."
"What?"
"Never mind that, I wanted to show you something, come."
"Archer-"
"Let's go!" He is already moving away, and I groan in frustration. He just couldn't answer anything I wanted to know, could he? We trudge along the base of the mountain for some distance, before turning left sharply and climbing into a wide, v-shaped crack. There is a flattened path that we follow in silence for several minutes, until Archer tells me we have to squeeze through a narrow gap between two crumbling boulders.
"Is this safe?" I squeak, fearfully tracing cracks in the rock above my head.
"Our Tribe has been coming here for as long as we've lived here," he replies pulling me along encouragingly, "you'll like it, don't worry."
"That's if I'm not crushed before I get there," I grumble. I don't get crushed, however, and I am so happy that I didn't. "Oh," I can't think of anything else to say as I gaze at the luminescent blue pool before me, with beautiful flowers floating in the water. Vines crawl up the damp rock, snow white flowers in full bloom sprout from their stalks. I move closer, then drop to my knees to peer into the clear depths as something orange flashes past. As I watch, large, brightly coloured fish swim lazily towards me, and I gasp in delight. I slip a hand into the cool water, and wiggle my fingers, giggling with delight as they nibble my fingers. "Oh Archer, it's so beautiful," I feel tears well in the corner of my eyes, and they drip down my cheeks. If Archer hadn't taken me from my home, I never would have seen anything like this. "What are they?"
"Japanese koi, there are very few left so we try to take good care of them, that is why they are so friendly."
"And the floating flowers?"
"Water lillies, and before you ask, the white vine flowers are Ombreesh flowers, they are harvested to make Ambrosa."
"An alcohol?" I ask, turning to look at him as he kneels beside me.
"Not quite, it brings out the rage in those with Berserk predisposition. It is good to have before a battle."
"Have you had it before then?"
"Only once," the plains of his face are shadowed curiously in the strange light, but I can see the tightening in his jaw as he speaks.
"What happened?" I whisper, feeling as if he was about to reveal some huge part of the complex man beneath.
"I hurt someone very important to me," his tone is hard, and it is clear he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. But I am sick of him avoiding my questions.
"Who?"
He looks at me, eyes hard, "Someone who is not any of your business." Ouch, that hurt more than I thought it would. More than it should. He must notice this because his expression softens. "I am sorry, I just..." he sighs, running a hand down his face, "I am not ready to face those demons, come, we had best go back."
"Wait," I stop him as he starts to stand, "can...can we just stay a little longer? Please?"
His eyes dart around my face, his expressionunreadable, but then he nods, "Of course, just a little longer."
It's as I am carrying a load of dirty laundry to the laundresses that I feel it. A cool, finger brush of air. With it comes the aroma of rain on sun-baked rock, and I stop as I come to an intersection. Straight ahead was the direction I needed to go to get to the laundry room, but the breeze was coming from my left. I bite my lip in indecision, this could be the chance I needed to find an alternative exit, but what if it was nothing, and I got lost? How could I possibly explain this one away? The last time I'd gone 'wandering,' I'd ended up confined to my room for four maddening days, under constant guard. Now I stand, hopping from one foot to the other, indecisiveness beginning to build pressure up in my temples.
I'd have to be quick.
This could be it, my escape path.
They'll notice, they'll know.
What about Artie.
I'll be confined for a month.
Don't I want to go home?
I drop the basket, setting off at a jog through the familiar parts, before slowing to walk when I reach new territory. I go as fast as I can, conscious that there is an invisible clock ticking over my head, counting down the seconds until someone is notified of my absence. I takes a few minutes, but suddenly I see a greyness. I start to jog, then I am running as I see that the dull light comes from a sky heavy with thunderclouds. I burst out into open air, dropping to my knees and tearing the scarred skin. I start to sob, my relief so great that all energy escapes my body, causing me to lie limply on the ground. I know I can't stay like this, I have to move, get back. But I don't want to, I just want to crawl away, away from everything and everyone, I want to be free. But in order to be free, I need to make sure no one notices anything amiss. So with huge effort, I haul myself to my feet and willingly walk back into the place that has been more of a prison than a home for the last month and a half. I get back, and only receive a minor scold for my dallying. I am already planning as I go about returning cleaned clothes to their owners. I would have to get out before Winter, when snow drifts could get up to a storey high. Too high to travel. I am supposed to be harvesting next week, I can take some things then, and dry them out in my bathroom. I will have to be careful, if I am caught stealing I will most likely be whipped, or worse. I shudder at the memory, my mind casting back to last Wednesday...
It's early, and I am on my way to the kitchens, where we make large batches of tough, dark bread. I have to walk through the markets to get there, and even at this early hour there are plenty of people up and about, keen to get the first pick of new stock. I am used to weaving between the clumps of bodies, and they don't tend to take much notice of me anymore, although I do get the odd look from new travellers as they notice my unmarked skin. I am skirting around a group clustered in front of a junk stall when I hear an angry shout, and suddenly everyone is turning a moving, pressing in together. I am shoved and elbowed, somehow finding myself near the front, and I struggle between the packed bodies as I am guided into what is now a tightly pressed oval. I break free just as a scrawny, weaselly man is hurled at the ground by one of the stall holders. "Deib!" The man roars, towering over the other as he scurries backwards desperately. Unfortunately for him, there is an impenetrable wall of bodies in his path. He hauls the man up from his sprawled position and the jeering crowd parts to allow him through. We all move in unison behind the two, the pleading and wailing if the captive man drowned out by the shouts. We are moving towards the end where Enoch's chamber is when Archer exits with Silas. He stops, taking in the scene before him before his mask falls into place and he strides over. There is a moment of conversation before the crowd is silenced.
"Die hand oder die peitsche?" He demands, and there are cries of 'hand' and 'peitsche.' Archer's eyes roam the group, and land on me. "Die hand dann."
"Nein, nein, bitte!"
The man is dragged, screaming, to a blacksmith's anvil and I am shoved forward. The man's hand is held to the anvil by two men, and as I watch in dawning horror, Archer steps forward and pulls out a short, fat sword from a weapons barrels. He stands next to the struggling group, and growls, "Wir haben keine diebe hier!" His eyes met mine momentarily, before he raises the blade, and severs the hand from its wrist. His screams of pain can be heard, even above the cheers. I turn away as they pull stolen goods out of his pockets, and push away from the horrible scene behind me. I am gasping for breath, sobs constricting my chest as I stumble into a side tunnel, where I sink down to the ground and tremble, trying not to vomit as the scene plays over and over in my mind.
I snap back to the present and scurry to the kitchen, where my next chore begins. It's hot, the air so stuffy that for a moment I can't breathe. A row of seven huge earth ovens in the walls contain roaring fires, and there are already four people preparing dough and throwing round balls in on trays after proving. There are already two people kneading, so I go over to the cupboards where yesterday's dough has been stored to rise. I take the first large bowl out and start separating the large amounts into smaller balls. Erin brings over a tray for me, and I place ball after ball after ball in rows. Each time I fill one, she takes it to an oven, and I get another bowl and begin again. It takes nearly three hours, my hands and arms are aching, and I have to stop every few minutes to wipe sweat from my red face. Finally the last yay is done, and the last bowl is stored in the rising cupboard. For a moment, we all stand in silence, then collectively release a sigh and start talking as we file out.
"Thank goodness we do not have to tend to the fires as well!" Erin cries as we exit.
"Of goodness yes!" Brenna sighs, "will you join us for a drink, Franceska?"
"I can't," I reply regretfully,"I have to get to the nursery straight after dinner."
"Oh, okay. Maybe next time?" I agree as we make our way through to the main dining area. I finish eating quickly, not engaging in much talk, before heading to the nursery. I spend most of the time caring for the babies, with a small amount of teaching. I am near the end of the entrance cavern, ready to head through the arch leading to my bedroom when a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Turning to get a better view, my eyes adjust to the gloom. This section of the cavern hasn't been fitted with enough lights yet and leaves shadows in areas where rock juts out. From what I can tell there are two people standing in a shadowed alcove, very close together. The smaller form giggles under her breath and I cringe as I recognise the sound to be that of Margaret. Not wanting to hang around any longer I turn to go. But then the man's voice comes to me, and I freeze. For a moment I feel numb, then rage pulses through my veins. He knew, he knew how much she detested me, and he still goes and messes around with her? My clenched hands tremble, and even though I am furious, I can't think of what to do next.
Just go, it doesn't matter. He can fool around with whoever he wants. It's not your problem. Just go. I am just about to take my own advice when they peel away from the wall, both laughing drunkenly with linked hands. They come towards me, Archer in tow, and Margaret bumps into me as she passes. She doesn't stop, just keeps pulling him along. He stops next to me, eyes meeting mine. I stare back, angered further by his indifference. And then, as if to spite me, raises an eyebrow, half-shrugs, and moves past me to follow Margaret. Isuck in a breath, my entire body trembling, and suddenly I don't want to go tobed anymore. No, I want to go somewhere else.