With each inch the sun creeps across the clear blue sky and with it, a cool crisped breeze offers little relief for my blistered skin, scratchy throat, and dry nose. By the time the glowing orange ball sunk behind the alpines and the stars and moon twinkled in the night sky, my beaten body is ready to be risen out of this grisly pit of charred bones and ash. Twisting and pushing my body into a sitting position with the still warm bodies and the blacken bones takes more effort than I expected. In the mines, I gotten used to the stench of sweat, feces, piss, vomit, and other stomach-churning scents, but having my first inhale of fresh air, the scent of rotting flesh and ash is causing my head to spin.
Breathing through my mouth, I climb to my feet. Luck must be on my side because the edge of the pit is chest high that even with my tight and heavy muscles, climbing out shouldn't be that much trouble.
Planting my arms on the edge of the pit, I swing my right leg up onto the blacken ledge, then I push the rest of my pummeled body onto level ground. It takes more effort the expected, though nothing is ever easy after a beating and wasting away in a flesh pit.
A sob forces its way through that I have to bite down on my wrist to silence. Not giving myself a moment to compose myself, instead taking a quick assessment of my surroundings.
To the right, about 300 hundred feet I can see the soft glow of torches lighting the entrance to the cave. Two guards stand facing front and not watching this way. Though, I doubt they will be able to see me if I stay quiet and low. To the left is a winding footpath with torches lighting the pathway every so many feet with guards. Around the pit to the back, and down the side of the dark mountain, I see soft candlelight glows from windows from what I can only assume to be a small village.
Embarking down the side of the mountain and hiding in that village until morning is my only option. I'm not fool enough to pass that village and go to the next until I can actually see and most importantly, not look like I belong in the mines. That's asking for a one-way ticket back to that hell hole.
Following down the winding path, but making sure to stay in the tree line and out of the glow of the torches. Scampering over tree roots, rocks, and keeping the torchlight in my peripheral view makes scrambling down the mountain a little difficult and quiet, but not impossible.
After most of the night and many trips over tangled roots and loose rocks, the first building in the grey light of the early morning comes into view. The first sounds of life begins to stir. Roosters crowing, pigs oinking, the morning dew glistening on the small vegetable garden being licked by small little critters that resembles mice, the dying crackling of small fires in hearths, and the smell of cooking bread floating in the breeze causing a grumbling in my stomach loud enough to wake the village.
The building is straight out of a fairytale. The building a rainbow that is oddly fitting for the village distanced not far away from the lone house. The trimming of the house is a flashing green and the rest of the house a bright yellow with vines climbing one face of the two story house with little flowers of pale purples, tangy oranges, and pastel reds. A basin of what looks and hoping is clean water sits below a window with 2 loafs of steaming and delicious scented yeast bread cooling in the breeze.
My stomach resembles a monster at the heavenly sight and scent of the loaf of bread.
Peaking between the two bushes at the tree line, my eyes do a quick assessment of my surrounding. I can hear shuffling in the house, the windows are covered with fabric to keep the cool breeze out, but no one was by the windows. The roosters and hens are in the hen pen and the pigs oinking merrily in the mud. The path to the basin and bread clear.
Laying low and creeping around the thankfully even and clear path, reaching the window is easier than I thought. Though the guilt's eating at my gut as I guzzle all the water first and ravage the first loaf in less than a minute back hidden from view behind my hiding spot in the bushes.
By the time the first loaf is resting like a rock in my stomach and the hunger pangs and water gone. I am able to think clearer with my throat no longer feeling like a desert. Taking another look around, behind the house is a clothes line with hanging garments
Perfect!
God only knows how much I stick out like a soar thumb in the raggedy strings acting as shorts.
With the second loaf securely in my hands, I sneak around the tree line and make my way over to the clothes line. There are a few plain dresses of reds and browns, along with some clothes that will fit a little boy however at the end of the line are men garments. A few pair of grey tight pants and woolen tonics with studs of browns, black, and a dark red color. Sitting by the post a pair of boots with a little bit of mud on them and a bar of soap placed on the bench by the wash bucket.
Snatching the closest tights, the boots, soap, and the brown tonic along with a pair of long socks, its not but 30 seconds and I am back into the woods. During my quick assessment, I saw a creek that flows through the town, still staying in the tree line, I hightail it over to the creek and follow it down a ways so others will not see as I bath as best I can.
I've never taken so much joy and felt so much relief at scrubbing away the grime, the blacken ash, the stench of mushrooms, and the memories of that hellish mine. Hysteria bubbles in my chest, my breathing short causing black dots around my vision, and my hands shaking with every scrub of the soap over a wound or a blacken spot that just won't fucking come off.
Trying to stay quiet becomes difficult, my body acting with a mind of its own, my knees buckle, and I fall face first into the shallow creak. Though the pebbles dig into my cheeks, hands, and knees and the water washes away a bit of blood from the stabbing rocks, its a much needed distraction. The icy chill bringing sense back into body and mind.
For good measure, a few more spent seconds under the water washes the last bit of hysteria from my chest and the last bit of filth. A few seconds is all I need to catch my bearings.
Rising to my knees, I check to make sure my body is cleaned and then work on my hair and ears. By the time I am fully clean, half the soap is gone and I am laying slab of stone warmed by the sun to air dry and chase away the bit of chill in my bones from the icy stream.
After fully drying and the sun high in the sky, I dress in the stolen clothes. The boots were a little tight, but I think will benefit me as the landscape isn't exactly flat and loose boots will surely cause a tumble or a sprang ankle if I am lucky not to break it. The pants were a little loose along the thighs, but the laced string was easy to tighten to keep them on my butt and the tonic was also loose but allowed for free movement and wasn't restricting. After wearing nothing but tattered shorts, being fully covered makes my heart leap in my chest with joy!
Once dressed, I climb my way back to the village by following the creek, eating the second loaf of bread. After stealing, wouldn't want the owner to accused me, just hoping the clothes won't be noticeable, but surely a loaf of bread in my hands will.
Treading along the creek, I notice a road that runs parallel. Hopping on the rocks to not get my feet wet and crawl up the bank until I am on the road and follow the road to the village.
The village is a bustling hub.
Children ran after one another with wooden sticks, kicking up dust, a blacksmith was banging on a horse shoe with sweat dripping down his face and dropping onto the heated anvil with a hiss, some women beat at rugs with sticks and yelled at the children to be careful and other women were plucking feathers from a chicken.
Everything was lively and colorful.
And the other end of the village on a bridge that crossed the creek was an inn, The Speckled Gem.
Surely a homage to the mine...
Crossing the village had me paranoid and trying to not appear that way is even harder. Everywhere I looked I saw the mine's guards, the beasts that tormented the slaves, the pile of blacken bones, and the phantom whips on my back. My lungs squeezes the breath in my lungs, my legs turn to jelly, and a warm liquid drips down my back sticking the tonic my open wounds.
My knees hit the trampled path...
In the bustling of the villagers, a lone and hazy person hurries from the crowd, straight towards me. They to fall to their knees in front of me, grabbing ahold of my face and trying to speak to me. I can see their lips moving but no sound, I couldn't even make out his face, the light from the sun shielding his face from me.
The stranger pulled me to his chest when he saw my body swaying, my chin resting on his shoulder. He smelt wonderful, like roses and fresh cut grass. For some reason, his scent relaxes me, pulling me to a place when I last smelt roses.
My last thought before my world goes black.
Mama always smelt of roses....