An hour passes, and then so do they. Like carved marble she sits up there, unmoving, straining for a cry of surprise or, more hopefully, the sound of Keno's bird call. Neither happen, and though she has escaped capture, Allayria knows she is still in some serious shit. She doesn't know where she is, much less where Keno is, she doesn't have a bird whistle, the Jarles have swarmed the hillside looking for the escapees and attackers, and her friends will not be able to hang around and wait for her all day.
If they are still alive.
She shakes her head, snorting out ash and pulling her stiff fingers from the bark. She has to peel herself off the tree, and finds her arms unsteady as she drops down to a lower set of branches. She adjusts the uniform, trying to make it as presentable as possible, despite the dirt, blood, and scorch marks.
When she tumbles to the ground she's wearing the Jarles walk again too, and the stiff, tight movements do nothing for her protesting legs or ankle. The best way she's getting out of here is to be as unextraordinary as possible, which means she needs to be one of the many soldiers tearing apart the forest, looking for people like her.
She heads north. It seems that she dropped down from a turret on the southwest side of the fort, close to where she and Keno had entered that morning. If that really is the case, then heading north will take her to where they had gone their separate ways, some twenty minutes from the small overhang they planned to meet up at. She needs to keep going north and just keep an eye out for the—
The wooden club catches her right across the head and she slams against rock and tree root. The world shifts strangely, and then she sees the club lift again.
"No," she rasps, and before the owner can swing it again she skills it out of his hands.
"Shit," someone says as the club clatters on the ground a few feet away. "Oh, shit."
The bulky, grimacing man is unfamiliar to her, and he peers down in some confusion.
"Not a guard," she croaks. "D-disguise."
"Yeah, I figured that out," he rumbles with a frown. "I nearly killed you."
"G-glad you didn't."
"That's awful clever," another, thinner, weasel-like man says, hovering over her too. "They won't look twice at you, unless you start that Nature-calling again."
"I can't say I feel very clever right now," she answers, and tries to sit up.
The big one offers her his hand and he pulls her up to her feet. Both he and the smaller man are wearing gray, faded clothing accessorized with matching pairs of black, thick ankle cuffs. Fragments of chain links hang off their sides—someone has smashed through them.
"You don't look like a prisoner," the man says, and he peers closely at her face.
"I was a new addition," she says, rubbing her cheek. "I had just been taken in this morning."
"It's your lucky day," the other pipes in, chewing on a bit of grass. "How'd you get the uniform?"
"Stole it," she replies.
"I hope you made its owner hurt."
She nods, and then someone starts screaming up ahead.
They all look that way, mesmerized for a moment, and then the barrel-chested man says: "Time to get out of here, Bon."
He turns to her.
"Where are you headed? We're setting South. Maybe a Jarles guard could be returning to base with a few captives."
"I've got to go north," she answers. "I need to meet up with some friends."
"Aye," he frowns but holds out a hand. "Well then, good luck, kid."
She takes it, and then shakes Bon's hand.
"Keep an eye out for more of us," he advises. "Most people kill first and then ask questions."
When Bon and his friend have gone a safe distance Allayria resumes her trek north, moving closer to the trees and keeping a roving gaze, looking for more potential problems. She spies a few hiding in the distance: snippets of toes or disappearing patches of clothes, but the other fleeing prisoners seem less aggressive than Bon and the club enthusiast.
The suns start to fade on the horizon and Allayria begins to think she might be in some more trouble. She's taken to leaning on a long stick as she walks; the ankle is only getting worse. Her throat is so parched now from lack of water she can barely croak above a whisper. She knows now she has blown pass their rendezvous time and it seems more than likely she might be on her own tonight.
She finds the spot where she and Keno had last seen the others and begins the long trek up through tangled roots and crumbling dirt. It's exhausting. Her arms shake and slowly deaden with the effort as debris flies in her face, smelling of earthworms and browning leaves. She quickly loses any concern about appearance after that, blearily concentrating on the simple act of pulling herself up farther.
Her hand reaches out and grabs another root, her walking stick digging in as she pushes forward and upward, and she hears the murmur of voices. It's a jolt to her system, and she hikes herself up again, gaining some altitude as she pulls up to face the bottom of an even higher cliff. She snakes an arm around a thin tree and pants. She wants to give in, to plant herself at the bottom here and wait it out until the morning, or even walk further along the side and look for a better way to get up, when she hears it:
"What do you mean you lost her?"
Allayria straightens up, and looks up at the cliff. She hobbles over to the sloping, tangled rock and root and finds a foothold. She climbs.
"One of the prisoners broke through the wall and the crowd separated us, by the time I got up and around the fighting she was gone. Look, I cased the floor, I looked around the building, I stayed for as long as I could, but the battalions were coming in and she wasn't there."
She's half-way up by some surge of untapped determination, crawling up the smaller ridges, pulling herself through the tangled underbrush.
"I'm going back for her."
"Ben, don't be crazy—"
"I'm going back for her. Take them back, talk to the brothers and start planning what we'll do next. I'm going back."
Allayria grips the tree root and heaves up, swinging her bundled leg over the lip of the overhang. She hears their gasps of surprise but struggles to pull the rest of herself up, her arms suddenly heavy. A pair of hands grip her midriff and she's tugged over onto the grass, where she lays for a minute, panting.
There is a chorus of voices, relieved, happy, surprised, and people are gripping her shoulder. She smiles, a hand over her eyes.
"Water." She manages to strangle the whisper out of her throat. Iaves holds out a canteen as she hauls herself up. She drinks for an age. She feels weak all over, now that it is over and she is safe.
"I don't think I've ever been so happy to see someone flop on the ground like trout the cat dragged in," Keno says, kneeling down beside her with a crazy grin on his face. "Where the hell did you go?"
"Balder," she croaks, her throat still raw from dehydration and all the dust and ash. "Clearest way out."
"Are you alright?" Ben asks, crouching low next to her and holding out his canteen as well. He's sporting a nasty cut down his right cheek and there's blood in his hair. "The metal on your leg..."
"Turned my ankle," she answers, drinking from his canteen as well. "Otherwise okay. Hit my head, but my vision's straight."
He presses two fingers to the back of her head, brushing hair aside.
Iaves gives her a thumbs-up and Meg looks pale, but relieved. They too bear signs of struggle: scorch marks run across Iaves' shirt, Rex's tail looks singed, and Meg's left arm is in a makeshift sling. But they are alive and whole. There's another man next to them, a pale blond, watery-eyed sort who peers down at her curiously. He has a gash on his forehead, which he occasionally dabs with a bloodied rag.
Keno is shaking his head.
"How'd you get out?" she asks, her voice regaining some strength as she looks over at him with a frown. "I looked for you in the crowd, but I couldn't find you."
"I ditched the guard suit, made my way over to the prison break, and went out though the path made so thoughtfully by our friends," he says inclining a head toward Meg. "But I didn't see you. How did you get out in that suit without getting yourself killed?"
"I nearly did get killed," she admits, rubbing the spot on her cheek where the club made contact. "But I was already out of the fort. I thought it would be safer to keep up the ruse, I didn't take into account our fellow escapees."
"The wound in back is congealing nicely," Ben announces, and then cups her chin in his hand, turning the cheek toward him. He presses lightly, fingers cold against the welt, and then holds up his index finger to her eyes.
"Follow my finger," he says, and he begins to move it back and forth.
"You seem okay," he admits after a minute. "No dizziness?"
"None."
"So tell us, lass," Iaves presses. "How in the blazes did you get out of there?"
"Uh..." she looks around at them. "I jumped off a guard tower."
They stare at her for a moment before Keno bursts out in laughter.
"You did what?" Ben asks, sitting back on his feet.
"I, uh, made these spike things," she says, gesturing with her hands, "and then half-climbed, half-dropped down the outer wall while they shot at me."
Meg presses fingers to her temples while Iaves joins Keno in laughing.
The other man simply looks at her and says: "That's amazing."
"It wasn't my brightest idea," she admits, looking down at her ankle. "But it got me out."
"That's beautiful," Keno exclaims, grabbing her face, "you are beautiful, you crazy, ridiculous, surprising girl—"
"I don't know whether to be angry or impressed," Ben confesses, and he looks a little shell-shocked as he places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just glad you're alive."
"Me too." She shakes her head. "I really can't believe I did that."
They let her rest for another ten minutes and then begin to put some distance between themselves and the ruined fort, Allayria leaning heavily on Iaves as they go. On the way Keno introduces her as "the girl who saved my fingers and my nose" to his friend, Torkel. The man's hand is callused and warm when it shakes hers and he smiles slightly. He's changed out of the prison garb into dark blues and greens and every so often she can see the glint of steel up his sleeves.
Three hours later they pick the spot for the camp and Ben insists on a low fire, lit only during dusk and then extinguished as the night seeps in. A can of beans and some wild berries picked by Meg and Iaves are split between everyone and Allayria is already tired; she won't have any troubles falling asleep in a tree tonight.
"All in all a good run," Iaves comments, stirring the embers in the fire.
"Yes, but no key," Meg answers, "and no clues as to where it is."
"We've dealt the Jarles a blow, and we're all safe," Ben interjects, his eyes flickering over toward Allayria for a second. "We can talk about the key later."
"The key," she repeats, and she must have hit her head harder than she thought, for it takes her a moment to piece together what they are talking about. When it all returns, she fumbles in her breast pocket, finding the key still cold against her chest.
She pulls it out and hands it to them.
"Is this it?"
Ben stares at it and, leaning over his shoulder, Keno does too.
"Where did you find it?" Keno asks, looking up at her in alarm. "Bloody hell, girl. Who are you?"
"Uh, Allayria," she answers, shifting on the ground. "I found it in the basement. I looked around while waiting for the outside to calm down. There was another door with a lock—like the safe in the General's room. I tried it and the key was inside. I wasn't sure what it was, but I thought it might be the one we were looking for."
"It is," Ben confirms, and then he looks up at her an intense blaze of excitement and—Is it admiration?—in his gaze. He's looking so fiercely at her that she has to look away. "You did it."
"Are you serious?" Meg demands, stalking over. "That's it?"
"Look at the markings, Meg. That's it."
"You, my girl, are a wonder," Keno exclaims, slapping a hand on her shoulder. "My god, why did I even bother coming?"
"For navigation and body heat," she replies tartly, feeling a little woozy from the clap, and he bursts out laughing.
Ben glances at the two of them quickly, but Meg, sitting back with a satisfied smile, interjects: "All in all, a good run indeed."
They all agree to kip in the trees for the night, and as they begin their ascent Keno looks over at Allayria.
"Here's hoping this doesn't end like last time," he says, waggling his eyebrows at her.
"No, let's hope not," she agrees, staring up at the tall, spindling web of branches, all cloaked in shadow. "I don't think I've ever been so miserable in my life."
I just want a friend named Bon in my life.
Note: A full view of the header art can be found on my deviantart account here: http://asimsluvr.deviantart.com/art/Girl-on-Fire-655473562
References:
Girl: Marcus Ranum
Fire: reincarnationOFfoxes