Chapter 107: From one Cell to Another

Chapter 6 - From One Cell to Another

Eksa fell to her knees before a barren tree. Her chest burned with every rise and fall. She coughed violently, her legs shaking from an endless run. With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned the front of her thick fur coat to let the cold northern air touch her sweat damped clothes.

She hadn't expected Mirailla's guards to have caught wind of her escape so soon. Eksa swallowed back phlegm at the back of her throat as a gust blew by, her red hair dancing like the flame of an unsheltered candle. Morning was just barely creeping up, spilling pink into the scattered canvases above.

Her ears had caught the shouts of guards some time into the night. Eksa had run hard since then, unmindful of her surroundings and location. She could no longer hear them, but the threat plagued her mind. The very thought of once again being a captive forced her back on her feet. One step forward was all she could manage before collapsing again, face pressed upon moist ground.

There was nothing before her but an endless expanse of rocky plains that stretched to the horizon with an occasional barren tree sticking out. Such was Estraea. A fruitless and cold land. Eksa rolled onto her back, munching on a few biscuits to appease her growling stomach. Not soon after did cramps start clawing at her side.

Snow was scarce. Hardly a few patches here and there. Eksa wondered if she'd lost the guards because her boots no longer left prints. She sat upright, biscuit crumbs spilling into her open coat. Her surroundings were wholly unfamiliar. She put her hands in her trouser pockets, fishing for her father's compass. So long as she continued south, it didn't matter. The city of Mirrod would be in her path. And from there, she could—

She could…

She blinked. Her hands roughed through every opening in her clothes. The compass was gone.

She swallowed, rising to her feet in an instant, head spinning around as she scanned the ground. Nothing. She didn't know where she was, had no means of knowing in which direction to continue, and was left stranded nowhere with limited provision.

Worst of all, her father's compass was gone.

Another token of which to remember him by, lost. First was her dolls. Then the compass. All she had left was her cutlass. Tears welled in Eksa's eyes. She gripped the hilt of her weapon. It gave her no confidence. She drew it, the removed weight at her side making her feel even more abandoned. The weapon felt unnatural in her hands. It wasn't for her. She was too small to use it. But her father had given it to her all the same.

Eksa sniffled. She stared at the beautiful and polished surface of the blade, staring back at the blurred reflection of her own eyes. A teardrop fell upon it, rolling down the small carved letters at the blade's center. Eksa v. Raudsol it read. A carving made by Mikael. Eksa let the blade touch her cheek, imagining the warmth of her father's kind hands. She flinched, instead feeling the biting cold of iron. The beautifully made silver hilt slipped out of her hands and the weapon clattered before her.

Eksa sat mute, sobbing and cold. She pulled out a piece of jerky and chewed. Chewed until it was all gone. Then pulled out another. And chewed till it was all gone too. By the time the sun had reached its peak, her rations had run out. Her coat felt terribly light without them. And less warm too. There was nothing left for her. Nowhere to go. No one to turn to. She was going to rot and die in the middle of nowhere, she realized.

At least she was free.

Eksa sheathed her weapon and carried on in what she could only assume was the right direction. Only luck could save her now. Determined to know how much of it she had, she picked up speed. She ran forward again, her lavish meal filling her with newfound strength.

And leading her nowhere. Before long, her lungs burned anew and her feet slowed to a walk. The sun set. Eksa collapsed, hungry, weak, cold, and alone. Her eyes closed as she waited for death's embrace. Her sole saving grace was the thought that she might soon see her father again.

***

The first Eksa heard was the crackling of flames. The smell of burning wood entered her nose. She groaned as she moved around, limbs stiff. Her dry mouth opened to yawn, causing her to wince as her lips cracked. Eksa blinked. Her vision slowly cleared, a splitting headache plaguing her and urging her to close her eyes again.

She froze.

Her hands and feet were bound. Her coat was missing. The cutlass was still at her waist —a small comfort. She at first thought Mirailla had found her. But the two others sitting around the campfire were unfamiliar faces. A man and a woman with greying hairs. The man was drinking while the woman rummaged through Eksa's fur coat.

“Hey, that's mine,” she croaked, her voice barely escaping her lips. The woman didn’t even spare her a glance. Eksa's struggled against her binds. “That's mine,” she said again, louder this time.

“Not anymore,” a hoarse voice said.

Eksa's head snapped to the side, searching for the voice's owner. To her side lay a large wagon. A wagon with bars and multiple frail people inside. A wagon of slaves. Eksa processed her situation, eyes moving back and forth between the wagon and the woman holding her coat. Horror dawned upon her. The tears returned. She was imprisoned again. Now, she was nothing more than a slave. Nothing more than a commodity to be bought and sold. She'd escaped one prison and ended up in another.

Eksa screamed. She tried standing but fell in an instant, her bound feet not letting her get more than a few inches off her rear. She writhed on the ground, thrashing and struggling. Malnourished limbs tugged at their binds. All futile. The hilt of her cutlass poked into her ribs as she rolled around. She reached down, trying to draw it, thoughts in a jumble. If she could cut her feet binds, she could run. A shadow enveloped Eksa just as her fingers grasped the silver pommel.

The woman who'd taken her coat.

The woman bent down and backhanded Eksa's face with a ringed hand, drawing more blood than her cracked lips were already shedding. Her hands were pulled away from the weapon at her side. The man came over. Eksa's hands were unbound. The man rolled her onto her belly and pressed his weight on her to keep her down. Rasped wails continued to escape her mouth. Someone grabbed her wrists and squeezed them together. Her hands were bound again. This time behind her back.

“No! No!” she cried. “Let me go. Mummy! Mummy, help! Someone…” She inhaled. Her screams continued. “Daddy! Please. They're taking me away! Help! Anyone…!”

And then her mouth was gagged. Eksa was rolled to her back, her bound hands scraping against the rough ground beneath her. The grey haired woman leaned over her, dark eyes glaring. Eksa's cries were muffled. Her tears rolled down the sides of her face and touched her ears.

The woman backhanded her again. “Shut up. Stay quiet and you'll get to eat! If you make another ruckus,” she pinched Eksa's side hard, “You'll regret it.”

Eksa could only whimper. The light of the campfire was reflected in her captor's eyes. She had a few deep wrinkles set on her face. Wrinkles that likely came from too much frowning. The woman returned to the fire, examining Eksa's coat again.

“That'll fetch a nice price,” the man said, his voice higher than what his rugged appearance would suggest.

“Hmph. Not sure about the girl though,” the woman said. “She's thin and frail. Too young for the brothels. Too rebellious for any moderate house. At least that sword she's got might sell.”

Eksa bit down on her gag, the pace of her breaths increasing with every second. They were going to take her sword. The last memory of her father. His final gift to her. The only remaining piece of his affection.

“Doubt it,” the man said. “That sword's a work of art it is. But it's got a name scratched into the blade. No one'll pay more than a few coppers for that. Best price we'll get is probably from a smithy.”

The woman's eyes narrowed. “You're saying we should let her go then?”

“So she can go run off and report us? Look at her hair. That's pure fire. And that coat she had. She's likely a highborn. Those Estraeans are master craftsmen, no? We could sell her on that. Let her keep her sword as proof. Sell her as a master craftsman and show the blade to any that doubts us.”

Eksa's breathing relaxed. Her sword would be with her a while longer.

“Are you mad? The moment any buyer finds out she's useless, we'll be hunted down!” the woman cried.

“Oh settle down. We'll be long gone before then. Else the only other option is finding those… dark types.” The man shook his head, sparing a glance at Eksa. “You don't have to worry about that, lass. I'll buy and sell slaves, but I won't give a child to child abusers. I have some bit of decency.”

Decency. Eksa curled into a ball. When was the last time she'd experienced any decency from others. Her father had died. Her mother, struck with grief and panic, had sold the company and her only daughter off to foul people. People that insisted on agitating her and claiming her behaviour as incorrect. People that destroyed her belongings and trampled on her feelings. And now, she was a captive of slavers. There would be no decency from them.

Eksa's fingers stung. The skin had torn in multiple places. She sniffled, stomach growling. A single moon, Vega by its small size, poked part of its face out from behind a thick cloud, providing a sliver of icy light. Wet eyes closed. The conversation of her captors were lost on her. Her mind drifted. She fell asleep, listening to the sound of Estraea's breeze accompanied by the crackling of a heatless fire.

No dreams accompanied. None remained for her to dream.