Chapter 104: Runaway Girl

Book 3, Chapter 3 - Runaway Girl

Eksa stepped down from the carriage, raising her shoulders to hide her hands into the sleeves of her fur coat. Grey skies above matched the grey and slushy ground below. The cutlass at her side dragged through the slush. It was too long for a girl her size. Her high boots sank a full inch into them, their smooth black surface sullied. She marched to the campsite with her head hanging low and a scowl set upon her face.

Eksa sat down on a thick log, poking her hands out to warm them by the campfire. Two guards made a point of sitting on either side of her, causing her scowl to deepen. She glared at a boy sitting opposite of her. He shrunk back. The fear on his face was hard to make out with half of it bandaged. Rakis von Eisfaust, the twelve year old son of a wealthy merchant from Grace, was her fiancé. They were to be wed in ten years. He was three years her elder. And a rotting piece of swine flesh.

Rakis had broken all of her porcelain dolls that Eksa's late father, Mikael, had gifted to her. One of the only memories she had of him, gone. And so she'd broken Rakis' face. She stared into his hateful blue eyes, pouring ice into them with her own glare —a glare colder than what his snow-like white hair. He squirmed back further. His mother —Mirailla— came to sit beside him, staring daggers at Eksa in turn.

“Just look at those eyes,” Mirailla began. “Such indecency. Hmph! This is the reputable Raudsols? They've taught their daughter nothing. It's no wonder their wealth and standing have been falling of late.”

“Shut up!” Eksa snapped.

Mirailla sniffed, glancing at Irey, a guard sitting beside Eksa. He put a hand on her knee and the white haired woman smirked. Entirely inappropriate behaviour for a non-blood related man to be touching a maiden. But then, these guards would get on their knees and eat out of Mirailla's hand if she asked them to. “You've much to learn, poppet,” the woman sneered.

Eksa shoved the thick hand away, reaching for the cutlass at her waist. The two guards at her side laughed.

“Girl fancies herself a swordsman,” said Ain, the one to her right.

“Humor her,” Mirailla smiled, flashing her teeth. “Her father must have given that to her. Well, we'll be taking that once we arrive at the city of Grace. A lady has no need for a sword,” she flicked back her hair as if reveling in her own beauty.

Eksa flushed. “You'll take nothing!” she growled, half drawing the cutlass. Her wrist was caught by a thick hand before she drew it further. Ain squeezed as if meaning to grind her bones. Eksa clenched her teeth to hide her pain. The cutlass was her last remaining memory of her father. A gift for her ninth birthday before he set off for another expedition to the ruined nation of Vyetrim. One he would never return from.

“Mhm,” Mirailla muttered.

Eksa struggled against the ironclad grip around her wrist. It wouldn't budge. She wasn't strong enough. “Let me go!” she cried, clawing with her free hand's nails. “I said let go!” Tears welled in her eyes. The guard's grip tightened around her wrist until she let go of the cutlass hilt. She was a prisoner. With her father's death, her family had no income. There was no one to run the business. Reputable though the Raudsols were, they couldn't survive without funds. Eksa's mother, Cailina, sold the crafting and exploring company off to Rakis' family, practically selling her to them as well. An agreement was achieved with Eksa as the final bargaining chip, her freedom stolen from her. And the person she was promised to was no better than back alley dregs. All she had left now was her cutlass. And in time, that would be taken as well.

Servants hung a cooking pot over the campfire as the sun began to set. Eksa's stomach growled. She tried not to show her eagerness. They hardly fed her, saying a lady needed to maintain a thin figure. She watched in spite as Mirailla doted over Rakis and fed him stew and cake by hand. Eksa was given a quarter bowl of stew to eat without any pieces of meat inside. She blinked as a drop of saltwater fell into her bowl. The weight in her chest grew with each spoonful put in her mouth. Everyone ignored her as they ate.

Her hand slowly reached for the cutlass again. The guard to her left noticed it and caught her wrist once more.

The guards had not been ignoring her.

“Let go! It's not fair. That twig broke my dolls. But my ma had to pay up extra for medical fees. You're poor! You're petty alleyway thieves! The evil Flames will burn you one day. Then you'll see,” Eksa cried as her voice cracked and tears flowed. “Let me go! You shouldn't touch a lady without permission!”

Mirailla took out a whipping reed. “I see you need another lesson. You're hardly lady material, poppet.”

Eksa squirmed back but the guards held her in place. They rolled up the sleeves of her coat to reveal her pale arms filled with red lines from the night before. She blushed as her skin was revealed for other males to see. “Piss off!” she cried —more pleading than screaming. Vulgar phrases of her father's drunk sailors came to her mind. “Let me go you pigs! Dogs! I bet she whores for you doesn't she? She whores for you and Rakis watches it with his pants down!” Mirailla's face twisted. Eksa smirked, though feeling hot from the inappropriateness she'd just uttered. Regardless, she opened her mouth to continue. A gasp escaped as Mirailla struck her face with the stick. Eksa felt a line of blood flow, following the path set by her fallen tears.

“How dare you!” Mirailla cried, whipping Eksa's arms. “You've learned nothing since last night! Shows the kind of parents you have. That sailor's mouth of yours—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Eksa cried, struggling to escape the grip of the guards. She tried not to cry, but each lash was excruciating. Red lines crisscrossed on her arms as if a child were scribbling with red chalk. She squeezed her eyes shut each time the reed struck.

They were stealing her away from Cordia and to Grace to have her learn a proper lady's mannerisms. Proper. Eksa seethed. Grace where Empire legionaries roamed. The same city of Ashlay von Solsetur. The lady of the city who'd sold her own home out to Tarmia. Eksa didn't want to learn any mannerisms stemming from that city.

Rakis and his mother eventually left the campsite and went to their own designated wagon, leaving Eksa to sit by the fire with bleeding arms. Her bowl of food lay spilt before her feet. The wagons were large enough to fit makeshift beds upon.

Eksa cringed. A twelve year old still sleeping with his mother. The insults wrote themselves. She kept her tongue imprisoned, rising from the campsite to go to her own carriage. The two guards hounded her. They wouldn't leave her, a mere nine year old girl hardly half their height, alone. Just because she'd managed to thrash their master's son. It was a small satisfaction to know that she was the cause of such fear.

Eksa climbed into her carriage. The guards slammed the door shut behind her. She in turn locked it from within, feeling much more comfortable alone and in the dark. The carriage's seats weren't cushioned. Mirailla said hard seats would encourage good posture —something a proper lady needed. It also meant Eksa had to sleep on a hard surface.

Well, that soon wouldn't matter.

Eksa had planned her escape for days. She needed to leave before they arrived at the city of Grace. Once there, the walls would pose too great a challenge to get by. She knew all the habits of the guards. The time they rotated night watch. The times they began drinking when Mirailla was asleep.

She took out a sketchbook from her travel pack. It would help her pass the time until the deepest hours of the night. She held the book against her chest, knowing that she wouldn't see it again. Most items in her travel pack were luxuries that would only end up being a burden. She flipped through its filled pages one last time, squinting to admire the lines of her own handiwork in the dark. They were replicas of her father's sea charts. She'd always wanted to be a sailor. Still was determined to be one.

As time fell further into the depths of night, Eksa made her decision. She stuffed biscuits and jerky she'd stolen over the days into the pockets of her fur coat, tapping her trousers to feel for her father's silver compass. She swallowed as she unlocked the carriage door, the dull click echoing in the utter silence as if it were bells chiming to warn of an impending raid. The carriage door creaked open. Eksa stopped breathing as her boots sank into slush again. Her heart drummed in the anticipation of freedom. Cold air swept her cheeks. She heard low mumbles of the guards sitting outside huddled around a campfire. They didn't notice her. They were drunk. As always. Once they were certain Mirailla had fallen asleep, they began drinking.

Eksa tiptoed her way away from the group. Her mouth went dry. Her mind screamed at her to run. To grasp at that strand of freedom dangling before her eyes. She turned back, slowly making her way to the provisions cart. There was little of it left, signalling that the group was nearing the city of Mirrod which lay between Cordia and Grace. Eksa greeded for more jerky, stuffing her pockets further. She then dumped out the remaining food, stomping over it as a measly form of revenge.

She turned to leave once more, but her feet carried her to Rakis' wagon. She stood before it, frozen, a war drum pounding inside her chest. She wanted revenge. They ruined her family. Slandered her father. Broke her dolls. Whipped her arms. Ashes, but her arms . They stung so terribly. She wasn't even allowed salve or bandages. Just bloody arms and a bloody shirt to cover it.

Eksa's eyes blurred. Her hand reached down to her waist, fingers wrapping around the hilt.

She couldn't. A single scream would end her chances of escape.

Eksa fled into the night, red hair dancing like a solitary flag surrounded by lightless enemies. Small legs sprinted forward and away from the road. Boots crushed hardened and untouched snow. She pulled out the compass, squinting to see the needle. Her course was set southwest. Her heart throbbed, telling her to turn around. Telling her that she ran in the wrong direction. But Eksa couldn't go north. Couldn't go back home to Cordia. They'd find her there. And her mother would just send her off again.

Eksa ran as tears flowed. She did want to go home. She was afraid of stepping into an unknown world all alone. But home would lead to imprisonment again, would lead to her freedom being robbed again. She grit her teeth. Her plan was simple. Get to Mirrod and follow a merchant caravan heading towards Xenaria. She could only go southwest. Down to the Aegis Basin to realize her dreams. To become the sailor she always wanted to be —an adventurer seeking to uncover the world's mysteries. Seeking to reach the ends of the Illusterran map, to find the truth behind the whispers of a multi headed serpent far off the southern coast of the Euralite kingdom, or perhaps to sail west and see if she really found herself in the east, if the world was truly round as loremongers and optics wearing bookworms claimed. Or even perhaps sail to the deadly Arachan Isles wherein a fabled horror was said to rest.

Most of all Eksa wanted to be a sailor to make her father proud.