Zia had never felt so free. She had no place to go, no place to hide or sleep, but she had never felt better. She walked down the dirt road with a new spring in her step. She never knew why her father had beaten her, and she didn't ask again after he beat her for asking, but now that she was away, she didn't care. All that mattered was that she would never have to put up with her abusive father ever again, and she couldn't be happier about it.
The dirt crunched under her worn-out shoes that were much too small for her, and the darkness of the night wrapped around her like a blanket. It was cool, and she could hear the creek that ran by the market just a stone-throw away.
She found herself in the city market. During the day, the market was loud and crowded and full of people; but at night, it was dark, empty, and quiet.
It was getting dark quickly, and Zia knew she must find some sort of shelter. She found a closed fruit stand and crawled behind it as silently as she could. She would be thought a thief if she were caught trying to get behind a market stand in the dead of night, so she moved as silently as a shadow.
She flipped herself over the stand and onto the dry earth below. She pulled her moth-eaten blanket out of her bag on wrapped herself in it. She was cold from the steady wind that had picked up. She knew she would never find her way to safety in the dark by herself, so she decided to sleep here until morning when there was light, warmth, and people to comfort and protect her.
She listened to the cold wind rush by in a low, soft moan that sounded like a sweet lullaby in her happiness.
She woke a few hours later, shivering from the cold. Her threadbare blanket had done little to shield her from the chill of the night. The sun was starting to come up, the horizon just showing the pink and orange colors of the sunrise.
Zia knew that the market would open within a few hours, and she knew that whoever owned the stand she was sleeping behind would think she was a thief and call for the Royal Guard to arrest her, so she stood, stored away her blanket, and started on her journey to nowhere.
She walked calmly, knowing that her father wouldn't wake for hours from his alcohol-induced sleep. He had had lots to drink before, and the supply of mead in his meal was enough to knock him out for at least a full day.
She had nowhere to go, and the thought both excited and terrified her. The thought of being on her own, no abusive father and no cleaning, was absolute music to her ears. But not having a home, nowhere to keep warm at night, that's what scared her. But she assured herself that she would find someway to live. She could stay at the local inn, the Fallen Goose, for a few days earning her keep by cleaning out stables or serving tables. She was a strong girl for one her size, and she was convinced she could do the hard work that inn-keeping would require of her. Then, she could move on to somewhere else. Perhaps she could go to the castle and beg to be hired as a servant. She couldn't stay in the town, she knew, at least not long. She knew once her father woke and realized that she was gone he would hunt her down like a wolf hunts a deer. But she also knew that this might be her only opportunity to explore the market and see the town, and she just couldn't let that opportunity slip past.
Comforted by the thought of a plan, she walked along, trying to warm her muscles so it would be easier to move if she had to. Once she was well-warmed, she noticed that the shopkeepers of the market had gathered and were getting ready for the day- laying out fresh fruit, heating up the ovens, and displaying clothes and jewelry that no one could afford.
Zia decided to stay in the market for a while. There were plenty of places to hide if need be, and there would be plenty of people to talk to and be around. The thought of having company thrilled her. Zia had never had any friends- her father had not allowed it- but she didn't necessarily want friends, just people to talk to; someone who could give her a comforting smile. She was starved for a sliver of kindness, and she was convinced that the browsing shoppers of the market could give her that.
The castle where the King and Queen lived towered over the small town and its market, even though it was many miles away. Zia guessed it was the fact that the castle perched atop a large mountain that gave it extra height. It was a beautiful sight. It had a large field surrounding it on all sides that was lush and green. Tall walls were built around the castle and even in the dim morning light Zia could see Guards walking across the battlements.
Out of the corner of her eye, Zia saw a group of children about her age, throwing an inflated pig's bladder to one another, playing some strange game that she had never seen before. It seemed to require the child who threw the bladder to spin in a circle before another child caught it. She was intrigued by this game and yearned to join in the fun, but at the thought of speaking to the other children she decided that it wasn't worth it.
As more and more people began to arrive at the market, Zia realized how hard it was going to be to get a warm smile. The shopkeepers were wary of her, and waved her off if they felt she was standing by their shop for too long, or if she ran her dirty hand across the goods on sale. The shoppers weren't any better. They pushed Zia aside to get to the things they wanted, and knocked her back when she stood too close. One even shoved her into the stand that held the wool carpets and rugs, and the shopkeeper chased her around for ten minutes with a wooden pole.
Zia couldn't help but wonder why she was being treated so unfairly. She hadn't done anything to any of these people to deserve such terrible treatment from them. Why did everyone seem to hate her? What terrible crime did she commit that had forever labeled her as an outcast?
After staying in the market for three whole hours, Zia began to lose hope of ever finding direction or light in her dark, bleak world.
Arch was a poor old farmer. His wife had long since died when she had given birth to their son, Ike, Arch's pride and joy. He was a good man, and a hard worker, but he could never manage to put enough food on the table because of the outrageous taxes that he was forced to pay by the King and Queen. Just like everyone in this blasted kingdom, he thought.
Despite his kind and gentle nature, Reems wasn't a push-over. In fact, he was quite strict. He loved to laugh and be happy, but he could clearly see the fine line between happiness and stupidity, something that he believed most strongly lacked.
He was in town shopping in the market for some new cloth to patch up an old pair of trousers for the winter season. It was getting cold, and with the snowy month loomed ever nearer, he would need something warm to wear while he worked in the cold mines until spring came, brining the planting season with it.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a little girl, no older than his Ike, running from a crude-looking man with a pole raised over his head. The girl was covered in multiple layers of dirt and grime, and her wavy blonde hair was pulled back into a tangled mess that streaked behind her and she ran. Arch was too far to tell for sure, but he thought he saw petrified terror in the little girl's eyes. The girl rounded a corner, dashed behind the bakery, and disappeared from Arch's sight.
The man perusing her finally gave up the chase, too winded to go any further, and walked back to his shop, cursing and sputtering about thieves and vermin so loudly Arch could hear him fro several stalls away.
I wonder who the real vermin is, Arch thought angrily. Couldn't he see that the poor girl was terrified? Outraged that someone would treat someone so young and helpless in such a heartless manner, he moved through the crowd of pushing and shoving people to where he had seen the girl disappear. There were less people at the bakery- everyone shopped for their bread or rolls last so that they would still be warm by the time they brought them home.
Arch rounded the corner and saw the little girl, sitting on a wooden crate in an alley, her soot-covered hands in her face, her body shaking with racking sobs. Arch approached her carefully, as though she were a wounded deer. She didn't appear to have heard him when he stopped a few feet away, so he cleared his throat and the girl's head shot up, her eyes wild with fear. Her face was streaked with marks from her tears cutting away a layer of the dirt on her face. When she saw Arch, her eyes were wide, as if she couldn't believe someone had actually noticed her presence.
Her eyes momentarily caught Reems off guard. Her eyes were lovely. They were a bit too large, and they were blood-shot and puffy from crying, but the color of her eyes was most interesting, and that's what had caught Arch's attention. Her eyes were the color of glinting gold. It was as though when she had been created, God had melted down the precious metal and had poured the mixture into her eyes. They sparkled as they caught the sunlight and it created a mesmerizing effect.
"Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?" Arch asked once he has gotten used to her eyes.
The girl just stared at him for a moment, and then seemed to get over her shock. She nodded and moved herself to the edge of the large wooden crate she was sitting on. Arch sat down next to her, grunting on the way down.
The girl didn't look at him, but just sat silently beside him. Arch could see deep, heavy bag beneath her eyes, and Arch could tell from the way she kept slowly shifting and moving that she was very sore.
"And what might your name be?" he asked her gently. When she didn't answer, he said, "Where are you parents?" No reply. He sighed and shook his head softly. "I'm Arch Reems, by the way, miss," he said as he stuck out his hand for her to shake.
The girl stared at the hand like it had dropped out of the sky, but she gripped it firmly and gave it a shake. "I'm Zia." Her voice was soft, and Arch had to strain to hear her, but he smiled at her name.
"Zia? That's a beautiful name. Perfect for a pretty girl like yourself."
Zia looked at him, her head cocked to the side, as if she wasn't sure she had heard him right.
"And how old are you?" Arch asked her.
"Six," was her reply.
Six. That made her a slightly the same age as his son. "Well, for one so young, you seem to have faced so much. I saw that storekeeper chasing you about."
Zia looked down at her hands. "Everyone seems to think that I'm a thief. That's the fifth stall today I've been chased from."
Arch's heart ached for the young girl. "Where is your home? What about your family?" Arch wondered.
"I don't have a home," Zia said. "Not anymore. I ran away."
Arch was saddened by the news. Zia reminded him of his son, and it broke his heart to think of him, or this girl, with no one to care or love for them.
"Who is your father?" he asked. "Where's your mother?" And what have they done to drive you to the point of running away? he thought.
"I don't have a mother," Zia said. "I don't have a father, either."
"Then where did you run away from?" Arch wanted to know.
"My father's house," Zia replied shortly. "I never knew my mother, and the man I lived with was no father."
Arch was heart-broken to hear this. It pained him to hear that at only six years of age this young girl had already seen the darkness that the world had in it. All he could think to say was, "I'm very sorry to hear that. Where does your father live?"
"Just a short walk from here. He'll never find me; he's too drunk to put two words together," Zia said bitterly.
Arch felt his hands curl into fists in anger. There could only be one person she was talking about- Daxtor Myrna. Daxtor was well known throughout the town as a drunk and as bad-tempered. He was found in the pub every night, and would get so slobbering drunk that he couldn't pick up his own glass. Arch never knew he had a daughter, but if this girl was his, then he could only imagine the things she had gone through.
"Daxtor Mryna," Arch growled.
Zia nodded. "That's him. I'm never going back."
"Well, personally, I can't say I blame you for leaving," Arch said.
Zia smiled a bit and laughed without humor. "I'm glad someone agrees."
"Do you have a place to stay? It's getting cold at nights."
Zia shook her head. "Not yet, but I was going to go to the inn and petition the keeper there to let me do a few chores to earn my stay for few nights in the stables."
"Inn-keeping is very hard work," Arch warned.
"I'm used to hard work," she replied. She rubbed her arm subconsciously, and Arch wondered briefly if Myrna had ever struck his daughter. He certainly wouldn't put it past the old drunk.
"But your father- I mean, Daxtor- it sure to find you at the inn. He is known to frequently drink there."
Zia shook her head. "He does go there often, but he prefers to drink at the tavern just down the road from his house. The drinks are cheaper there and it's a shorter walk home, which most of the time he can't do in the state he's in when he comes home."
"Even so, it's very risky." Arch hesitated for a moment before asking, "Would you prefer to stay with me? I have a son your age that I'm sure would be more than happy to have you."
Zia examined Arch with her strange eyes for a moment, as if to discern whether or not he was joking. When she was satisfied that he was not, a huge grin broke over her face. But, to Arch's confusion, it quickly disappeared.
"Thank you very much for your offer, sir," she said politely, "but I think it's better if I stay at the inn. If Daxtor wakes up and orders a search for me and I am found at you house, the Royal Guards would assume that you stole me."
Arch sighed. She was right. It probably would be best if he left the girl to find her own way, though he did not want to. Every parental instinct told him to take the girl home with him and throw caution to the wind.
He checked the position of the sun in the sky- a habit that he had developed from his years of toiling away in the field. He wished that he could stay and talk to the girl, but he still had things to do in the market before returning home. "Well, Zia, I best be going. My best wishes to you. If you need anything, feel free to ask." He dug around in his pocket and fished out a gold coin. It was the money he was going to use for the fabric he needed, but this girl needed it more than him. He could live with a little cold.
He pushed the coin into her hand and walked away, leaving the girl staring wide-eyed at his back as he left her in the alley.
Zia's day seemed to get better after her encounter with the kind farmer. The sun seemed to shine brighter, and the air wasn't as chilly as it had been. Zia stood in the market, looking at the coin that Arch Reems had given to her. It seemed to shine and glimmer like a miniature sun in the palm of her open hand.
Zia had a large smile on her face as she made her way through the crowd. She felt nothing could ruin her newfound happiness. With the money she had she could actually pay for a night at the inn. How wonderful it would be to rest in a real bed for a night!
She passed by a large group of women huddled in a corner discussing the town's freshest batch of gossip. Zia couldn't help but overhear some of their conversation as she passed.
"Did you hear about the attack on the southeast boarder?" one woman asked.
"Yes," another replied. "I heard that it was the Skilaens stirring up trouble again."
"Well, I heard that it was the Thieves of Otar," the first woman said. Her friends leaned in closer at this proclamation, intrigued.
"The Thieves?" one woman asked. "Those scoundrels!"
"Well I heard that the Thieves are very peaceable," one tall, pale woman said. "They only take what they need to support families from those who have more than enough."
"Peaceable?" the women looked scandalized. "Peaceable? Anyone who takes that which does not belong to him is hardly peaceable."
Zia was walked on through the busy market, staring, hypnotized, at her new treasure. She wasn't really watching where she was going, and she ran into a man who had stopped abruptly in front of her. She bumped roughly into him and her precocious coin went flying out of her hand and fell to the ground a stone's throw away.
The man turned around and glared at her. He began to yell at her, but Zia wasn't listening. She was too worried someone might steal her coin.
She pushed the man aside and ran to her treasure, but the man grabbed her arm, twisting it at an angle that caused searing pain to go up Zia's arm.
"Let go of me!" she shouted, but the man just twisted her hand even further and the pain worsened.
"Get out of here, you little pest!" He shoved her away from him, and her coin.
Zia surged forward, but the man threw her back again. Zia glared up at the man. Nothing was going to stop her from getting to her gold coin.
She ran forward, and as the man reached out to grab her, she brought her fist up to his jaw, where she heard a satisfying crack. At lest, she thought she did. She knew she was strong for a girl her size and age, so maybe just had just heard the crack in her own mind. Regardless, she ran ran past the man after he hit him and dove to where she spotted her coin. She gripped it in her hand firmly, determined to never lose it again.
The man, holding his face in his hand, gripped her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet, almost pulling her arm out of its socket.
"Why you little-" Whatever the man was going to say, he decided not to, and instead, his eyes took on an evil glint. "Guards! Royal Guards! This girl attacked me!"
The Royal Guards, who were stationed at every entrance of the market, marched forward, and the people milling about silenced, and stepped aside to avoid being trampled on by the twenty men who came forward who were clad head-to-toe in armor.
All the members of the Royal Guard had a sword strapped to their belt, silver helmets hiding their faces, and the royal seal born proudly on their chests. The seal was a perfect blue with a silver rim, with the Silver Dragon curling around itself in the center, making it appear as if the dragon were flying in the sky.
The Royal Guard closed in around Zia and her captor, blocking both of their escapes. One man, obviously the leader, strode forward and said, "What seems to be the problem, sir?"
The man pointed accusingly at Zia, like he were pointing out a murderer. "This girl attacked me!"
"This girl attacked you, sir?" The disbelief that a girl of Zia's stature could launch an attack on a full-grown man was obvious in his tone. He was a strong man, built like an ox, and had an air of superiority around him. His men seemed nervous around him, like they expected him to hit them all at once at any moment. Zia couldn't see his face, but by the way the men were acting, she imagined that a cruel, ugly, scare-bearing face was hidden behind his sliver helm.
"That's right, sir," the man said promptly. "Hit me square in the jaw, she did."
"It's true!" someone from outside the circle yelled.
"I saw it with me own two eyes!" cried another.
"No, sir, please," Zia begged the Guard. "He was hurting me. I was just trying to get my-"
"Quiet, you!" the man snapped as he tightened his hold on her arm. She turned back to the Royal Guard Captain. "Look at the state of this vermin. She was probably trying to nick something from my pockets! Goodness knows she could use the money!"
"But I've already got-"
"Shut up!" the man said again. He yanked on her arm and the movement jarred her bruises and scars that had not yet healed from her latest beating. Zia let out a cry of pain.
The leader of the Guard took a step forward and removed his helmet. Behind it wasn't an ugly face- just the opposite, in fact. He was young and handsome, no more than twenty years old, and he had untidy brown hair that needed grooming, but somehow it made him all the more attractive to the women of the town. His face was young and happy, and his brown eyes looked like he might spout into laughter at any second.
"Let the girl speak," he said. "There are always two sides to a story. And while you're at it, I see no reason why you need to hold her, seeing how we have you both surrounded."
The man let go of Zia's wrist, and he didn't seem so confident in his manner anymore. He stopped making eye-contact, and he didn't stand as tall and proud as he had. The fact that the young man said that they had both him and Zia trapped really undid him.
The Captain knelt down so he could look Zia in the eyes, and when he did he looked startled for a bit, but quickly recovered and said gently, "Now, child, what happened?"
Zia told him that she was just going around the market browsing the shops when the man stopped in front of her, and before she could do anything, she bumped into him. She told him how he had pushed and shoved her when she was trying to get to her most prized possession- that's what she referred to as her coin; she didn't want him to think she had stolen it- which she had dropped in the encounter, and when he wouldn't let her past and she was afraid someone was going to steal it, she punched him to get to her treasure before someone else could. "I only acted in self-defense, sir," she added once she had finished.
The young man rubbed his chin and stood. He turned to the man who Zia had punched and said, "And what's your side of the story?"
The man told an elaborate story of how he was just doing his shopping, when a girl came up, and pushed him, nearly knocking him off his feet. When he went to confront the child, she punched him in the face before he could get a word out, and that he'd have to go to the town healer to get checked for broken bones.
The young knight rubbed his chin for a while, which didn't have any hair on it, which just proved how young he really was.
"As leader of the Royal Guard in this area, I could have you executed for laying your hands on a child in a violent way-"
The man's face paled, and he started to shake.
"-but, since she also laid hands on you violently, it's hard to pass judgment."
Zia felt the blood drain from her face. Would the Captian decide to have her executed alongside this man? She hoped not. If she was going to die, she wanted it to be all on her own, in her own way and at her own time.
"I'll let you both off with a warning," the young Captain decided. "If I have any trouble with you two again, we'll have to take it in to official court before the King and Queen."
A flood of relief rushed into Zia. She wasn't going to be killed. She was still safe.
"Now, young miss, if you'll come with me, we'll return you home," the man said.
Zia looked up at him in shock. "Home?"
The knight nodded. "I think it's up to your father to give you a punishment, if he sees it fit."
Zia gulped. She knew that if her father found out that she had tried to run away, the beating would be awful, plus the fact that she hit someone in the market would double the pain she would feel.
"Now, where do you live? Who's your father?" The knight's tone was kind, but also very strict.
"I don't have a father," Zia whispered.
"Then who is your mother?" he asked, his voice gentler.
"I don't know, sir," Zia said. "My father didn't say anything about her. He didn't allow it."
The young man looked at her strangely, almost like a look of pity. "Well then, where do you live?"
"I don't have a home to return to, sir," Zia said. It wasn't a lie. Like she had told kind Mr. Arch Reems, that place where the man that had raised her lived was no home, and he was no father to her.
"That's a lie!" someone from outside of the circle yelled. "She's Daxtor's girl!"
"Daxtor? Myrna?" another person asked.
"The old drunk?"
"That's the one."
The Captain looked at her, but instead of being mad about Zia lying, he seemed saddened that he had to take her back to him. "Come on," he said. "I'll take you home."
"Please, no!" she cried. "Please, I can't go back!" Tears swelled in her eyes. It was the first time in a long time she could remember crying.
The Captain studied her for a moment, a look of pity in his eyes. Daxtor Myrna was infamous even among the Royal Guard as a drunk that often times had to be escorted home from the local tavern.
He was silent for so long that Zia thought that perhaps he was considering other places for her to go. But any hope she had was quickly dashed when he said, "I'm sorry, but we must return you home."
The Captain gave one hard, sharp knock on the door of Daxtor Mryna's house.
After the market had closed and everyone had gone home, he had taken Zia on his horse to the old drunk's untidy little shack of a house. The Captain held a strong but gentle hand on Zia's shoulder to keep her from running away, which every instinct in her body was telling her she should do. Her pulse quickened and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Her gold coin had turned cold in her hand and she clung to it, desperate not to lose it again.
"Hold on to your tunic!" a drunken, booming voice called out. There was some shuffling around the house, and the door opened to reveal Daxtor Myrna. His brown, thinning, greasy hair was a mess, as usual. His blood-shot brown eyes were like slits, glaring at the Royal Guard at his doorstep. He sneered at the knight and revealed crooked, yellow, beer-stained teeth.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Daxtor didn't have any patience for people.
"I am Jay Holden, Mr. Myrna," the Royal Guard said. "I came to escort your daughter home from the market. There was-"
"Who are you?" Daxtor growled again. "Is the name 'Jay' supposed to mean something to me?"
"I'm the Captain of the Royal Guard," Jay said, his voice hard, his eyes narrow and dangerous.
Daxtor's drunken eyes widened. "My apologies, sir," Daxtor said quickly. Then his eyes landed on Zia and he glared at her. "Why you little-"
"She was in the market today. There was a little situation-"
"What kind of situation?" he demanded. "No doubt it was caused by this piece of skin and bones."
"It was nothing," Jay said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I just thought your daughter would need a safe escort home."
"Well, I thank you, sir. There's not many decent people out there no more."
Jay narrowed his eyes. "Indeed."
Daxtor grabbed Zia's arm and pulled her in the house. "Why don't you go get some rest, sweetheart?" Daxtor said in false sympathy. "You look exhausted."
Zia nodded and ran to her room, but kept her ear right next to the door so she could listen. She heard Jay and Daxtor exchange a few more muffled words, and then Jay leaving, his horse trotting up the hill.
"ZIA!" Daxtor's voice rang through the house as soon as he was sure Jay'd gone. "Get out here, NOW!"
Timidly, Zia opened her door and walked out to face her raging father.
"What were you doing in the market?" he demanded.
"I was going to buy food," Zia lied quickly. "We're out."
"Liar." He smacked her across the face, and Zia yelped.
Zia ran and huddled in a corner, trying to make herself as small as possible.
"Liar!" he shouted as he kicked her. She yelped again. "Why do you make everything difficult?!" Hit. "You fifthly scum!" Kick. "JUST GIVE IT TO ME!"
Zia had no idea was he was yelling about, but she didn't care. All she could focus on was trying to avoid the worst of her father's blows.
Now, Zia was used to beatings, but Daxtor knew that she had tried to run, and in his drunken anger he made sure she knew that she was being punished. The beating was worse than any Zia had ever had. This beating put all her previous ones to shame. He kicked her and punched her and smacked her so hard she could feel the bruises and bumps forming as soon as he touched her. She felt like her bones were breaking and shattering with every kick Daxtor threw at her. The pain was unlike any she'd ever had. It was as if she were re-living all the beatings she had ever had in one giant, bone-shattering go. Tears sprung to her eyes, and they just kept flowing. She didn't even try to stop them; she didn't have the energy to. She just held her golden coin close, hoping to draw some kind of hope or sense of peace from it.
The pain was unbearable, and every time Zia yelped with pain, Daxtor would hit her harder, and harder, and harder. Zia screamed like she had never screamed before. She screamed until her throat was raw and dry, and with every blow, the pain just got worse, and worse, and worse.
Daxtor took another swing at her head, and finally Zia blacked out from the pain.