“Very good, Lady McLarin.”
“You know you can call me Shae,” she replies.
“Yes, Lady McLarin, I know. My mother would not approve of it, however. And I respect that.”
“Very well. See you this evening.”
And the McLarins step out the door one by one, leaving me in their wake. Jay wrinkles her nose at me on her way. I playfully stick my tongue out at her.
I start down the road in the opposite direction on my way to the market.
Overabundant crowds, brash bartering, and unnecessary knick-knacks are all I find. There are a few eye-catching booths here and there—a gentlemen boasting to be something called a chemist with unusually colored vials of liquid, and a woman claiming to be selling artifacts from the Old Races that I pass off as a ruse. For the most part, I force my way through zealous bodies eager to find the best deals. I quickly move on from the market.
The ports are just as busy. Not with crowds and consumers, but grunts. I walk down one of the piers and get shooed away by a member of the Crimson Guard. They litter the streets of the Crimson Capital. They’re everywhere. You can typically see one in any given direction you look, so I didn’t think he’d pay me much mind. But he insists I am in the way and don’t belong here. He’s probably right.
I do, however, find it to be far more entertaining than the market, even though I am not allowed to walk the piers. Simply viewing from afar, seeing the vast quantity of vessels coming and going, and trying to predict the logistics behind moving the freight from one barge to another, or from a ship to the dock—It is astounding. It is an evolved, living mechanism with multiple moving parts all working together for a higher purpose. One large organism, like Azure, in which all the cells are communicating and doing their duty.
I look at the back of my hands. Flip them over and look at my palms, wondering if there is a microbiome within our bodies. A similar occurrence to the larger biomes of the moon we live on. A curiosity for another day, perhaps.
The port entertains me for quite some time before I decide to move on. I stroll to the museum next, where I know I will relish in the expanse of consumable information. If I’m not careful, the day will be gone before I realize it, and I’ll miss my invitation to the McLarin’s banquet dinner.
The first exhibit I encounter is an armory with augmented armor and weapons of all kinds. Most of the armor is made from preserved and reinforced lightweight wood of many different assortments. And the curators have draped the armor over petrified deceased bodies to realistically emulate how it wore. They carry weapons, such as petrifying lances, decaying maces, and inflating clubs that would swell up the flesh of a man, rendering them immobile. The most curious of all the weapons is a sword said to resurrect. A weapon that doesn’t do harm, but instead brings life. The exhibit clearly notes this as legend, and they have displayed only a replica of what the stories describe. Which is even more curious. Why would the curators of the Museum of Artifacts put on display something that only exists in legend?
I walk into the next chamber. A giant bird of prey floats in the center of the room—likely hanging from thin strings. It’s an eagle owl, and the information tablet explains that it was used as cavalry in the ancient wars. I couldn’t imagine sitting atop this thing, flying high above the cities and forests.
Lining the perimeter of the chamber are all the other beasts of past days. The first one I approach is a horse with wings. They called it a pegasus, but it was a mere experiment of man and not natural to this world. It goes on to explain several other grand ideas man attempted to create and utterly failed. Makes me cringe. Why would someone want to create a beast with the legs of a cat, the armor of a turtle, the ears of a doe, and the fangs of a viper? It’s revolting. But I’m curious how they did this. I shake my head and move on.
Throughout the rest of the chamber are massive brown bears, miniature tigers the size of a large dog, and horned beasts called rhinoceros, plated in a thick natural armor. The exhibit even displays men mounted upon wild horses. Disturbing are the tales that come along with these exhibits and how man has inserted their agendas into the lives of these beasts. Using them for their own purpose and greatness. Not much different than a parasite.
After overwhelming my head with facts of the Old Races of Azure, I realize the hour is getting late and it’s time to head back to the inn to meet up with the McLarins. Rather than traveling the exact route I came, because it would have been a round-a-bout way, I go as the crow flies.
The museum and its grounds are well kept, so I don’t realize I’m centered in an intimidating neighborhood until I am well on my way. The homes are no longer stout wood or brick structures, but tents or makeshift lean-tos. The roads have faded from cobblestone to thinned-out cobblestone and rock to mere dirt roads with deep ruts caused by heavy traffic. Even the trees and bushes are grim with minimal brown leaves. The captivating scenery of the main thoroughfare does not exist in this part of town.
The crowds of consumers don’t exist in this neighborhood either. Instead, it is littered with the type of folk that cause you to walk on the opposite side of the road. Unfortunately for me, they’re on both sides of the road.
“What’s a fancy-pants like you doin’ in Tombtrough, lad.”
Oh man, that’s where I am? A sour-looking individual glimpses past me then up and down the road.
“All alone? Lose your mummy?” He approaches with a limp.
“Er…yes, I did. And I best go find her. Thank you, sir, for reminding me.” I shift to his right and push my legs as fast as they’ll go. When I look over my shoulder, I see him throw his hands in the air and wave me off. He’s not going to follow. I slow to a walk after turning a corner and let out a sigh of relief. I bend over to catch my breath, and examine my pants. They’re not fancy. I suppose they’re not frayed or plagued with holes, but they’re not fancy.
I straighten my attire and harden my stance as I rise, regaining my confidence to carry on.
I shuffle along at a faster pace, fearful of the what if’s, but I know going back the way I came will take far too long. And I don’t want to upset Lady McLarin. I’ll tough it out and avoid eye contact. The daylight is still plentiful, so I have that on my side. It won’t save me from any aggressors, but at least I’ll see them coming.
Several blocks into Tombtrough, it appears I’ve made it past the brunt of thugs who looked desperate. Hopefully it’s easy treading from here on out.
Another furlong and the neighborhood isn’t any friendlier as the skies grow darker. The same crusty homes and thirsty vegetation with every step. Though, there are several more trees lining the road in a manner that forms dark alleys between the makeshift homes—just what a criminal-infested area needs. I did read in the museum this city was once magnificent and full of wealth. A wealth that couldn’t be used to barter with. The soils were full of nutrients with thriving crops, and the Scarlet River was pure and full of life. The combination of the two brought flocks of travelers that came to stay. This area may have been some type of orchard in the past and eventually evolved into what’s here today due to overpopulation of the city.
One dark alley after the next with minimal threats lurking down each. I scurry past them all, until I hear a struggle. I pause, hidden behind some trees, out of sight from whoever is causing the ruckus. There aren’t any screams, just a few angry threats and a…a woman’s voice. I poke around the corner.
There are five of them. Maybe twice my age, twenty-one, twenty-two. One is a bit husky, but the others all appear to be strong, confident young men. Capable men who wouldn’t need to sink to the level of acts they have chosen at this moment. But I suppose I only judge. I don’t know their stories. Desperation can cause a man to do things he wouldn’t normally do.
As of now, it looks as if they are doing no more than groping her and teasing her. Judging by their crude comments and gestures, their intentions are clear. They intend to force themselves upon her. But she doesn’t cry for help.
>
She is a beautiful young Sprhowt with a red patch over one eye, dark hair, and almond-colored skin, and she appears to be my age, maybe a couple seasons older. Thirteen or fourteen seasons at most, I would say. She’s young, but she has a womanly figure with a small, perky chest and alluring curves for her youthful age. Her form-fitting garments don’t help the situation either. I find myself wondering why any father would even allow his daughter to be roaming such alleys, let alone roam these alleys with scanty attire.
She is defending herself quite skillfully with some rope vines and a miniature dragon staff as though she’s been trained. But it won’t last. Not against five brash young men. I must make my presence known. I can’t let them continue, even if it means I will endure a severe beating. I can’t.
Lurking down the alley and attempting to sneak up on them won’t do me any good. They would eventually become aware and think me an idiot hero or a scavenger looking to get in on the action. So, instead I stroll down the alley casually, deathly afraid inside but calm on the outside. I clear my throat as I get closer to make my presence known. The lot of them stand up attentively.
She takes advantage of the distraction and sends her dragon staff into the skull of one of her assailants. He collapses to one knee, grabbing at his head. Why didn’t she run? They were all staring at me. She could have run.
“What are you doing, boy? Get out of here! This isn’t for your eyes!”
I quietly move closer.
“Are you deaf? I said I’ll smash your face in if you don’t get the fuck out of here.”
“I—I—I…” My legs are shaking. My hands are trembling, but I saunter closer.
“You what? You want to get fucked like this pretty little girl? We’re not fagolets, boy. You’ll have to try the next alley.”
I manage to squeak out my intentions. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Well, you can’t stop us either. Carib Reign will be your king one day.” He thuds his chest with a proud grin. “Do you think it wise to disobey your king?”
Carib Reign. That name is familiar. I focus my gaze on the entitled young man putting himself above everyone else. He looks familiar. A king? I read about those in the museum. A term the Old Races often interchanged with the Taoiseach. A time with more chaos.
The larger of the men lumbers toward me. I don’t know what to do. He is twice as tall and probably four times my body weight. This isn’t going to end well.
I freeze. The other men continue gallivanting around the young girl while the big one approaches me. For some reason I am more transfixed on what is happening to the girl than the behemoth coming to eat me alive.
A hasty scream escapes her, but she muffles it, pursing her lips tight. Almost as though she doesn’t want to be heard. They wrangle her, using her own weapons against her after an admirable resistance. They tie her arms with the green rope vines and confiscate her dragon staff, giving her several beatings with it before forcing her to the ground.
With my attention fixated on the young girl, the fat man grabs me by the collar of my tunic and deprives me of the comfort of solid ground below my feet. I scramble and kick my legs wildly. I give him a good thump in the gut that forces him to let go.
I scurry past him to help the young girl, but my effort is meager. He grabs my tunic once more and this time doesn’t waste any time. He flogs me in the side of my skull with a fist of equal size.
“Ugh.” A blacksmith forges steel inside my head. I squeeze my eyes tight and wonder why I instinctively add more pressure to what already feels like it is going to explode.
I black out momentarily. I lie on the prickly dried grass in the alley, hearing hoots and praises not too far away.
Despite the immense pain driving through my skull, I open my eyes just enough to peer through my eyelashes. What I see, I will never be able to forget. The young woman’s torn garments are strewn about her, and she lies nude with her hands bound behind her back. One of the men forces himself between her legs and pins her shoulders to the ground. The other four men are circled around them. She grunts and thrashes, but she doesn’t scream. Why doesn’t she call for help?
I attempt to get up but find both my hands and legs tied together, leaving me immobile. They’re tight. Too tight for me to wiggle my way out. Unable to intervene, I continue to watch. Not because I want to, but to remember. I want to remember every feature of each one of these men so they will pay for their actions today. No, I will not forget. Because I don’t want to forget.
The young girl’s grunts transform from pain and struggle to screams chockfull of rage. The man rips the patch from her face, and her head turns to the side, facing me. Her eyes are wide and intense, one pale green, the other almost black in this fading light. Certainly, an Imp. There is no fear in those eyes. Only murder.
The man forcing himself on her screams. Not from climax, but agony. He pulls away and his entire groin is shaded in black. He looks down upon himself, sitting on his knees, screaming in pain. The others stare at him in disbelief. They haven’t grasped what has happened. As the screaming man continues to writhe in agony, his penis falls to the ground and splashes, making a black puddle of flesh. He keels forward and lies motionless on the alley floor.
“She’s not a Sprhowt. She’s a fucking Graft! An Imp!” One of the men points at her and yells. “Look what she’s done to Carib. Kill her!”
The four men advance on her while she lies naked on the ground, hands behind her back. It’s not a fair fight. If only I could…
Suddenly, she does a skilled maneuver to leap off her back and land on her feet. The rope vines fall from her hands, and she attacks.
One of the four receives a roundhouse kick to the jaw, accompanied by a crunch, leaving a black footprint across his face. Immediately after that, she seamlessly moves on to the next, assaulting him with a knee in the gut and jabbing him right in the nose with an open palm, causing him to spurt blood from his face and fall backward.
The next two look at each other, wide-eyed, then attack at the same time. The girl lunges forward and rolls between them, quickly popping back to her feet. She acquires her dragon staff from one of the bodies lying on the ground as she rolls and extends it out forcefully, smacking one of the men in the mouth. He spits crimson and ivory, then attacks. Fearless, she performs skillful twists with her dragon staff then spins her body through the air and wallops the man across the head. Lands and spins again, walloping him a second time across the back of the neck. And spins again, walloping him a third time on the side of his knee, forcing his legs to buckle. He collapses to the ground. She then punches her fist into his chest and pulls it out. In her hand is a beating heart. It turns to mush and she squeezes it through her fingers, letting it drip over the man’s body.
The last man standing, the fat man, turns and sprints down the alley. Heavy footsteps thunder past me and get fainter until I can no longer hear them. The young girl doesn’t bother chasing after him.
She looks around. The rest of the men are either dead or lying unconscious on the ground, and the intensity escapes her. She suddenly looks like a scared young girl again, roaming a dark alley. And in need of a garment.
She ventures toward me and kneels beside me. “Thank you.” She withers my bonds. I need to learn how to do that.
“For what?” I ask.
“For attempting to help me. I’ve never experienced that before.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” I rub at my freed wrists. “I merely approached them to defend you. What any normal person would do. Are you alright—”
“Not what any normal person would do. I’ve never had anyone defend me before. I’ve never had anyone try to protect me. It was… Never mind.”
Despite the current situation, I am finding it hard to not stare at her naked figure, and it is making me feel outright creepy. I take off my own tunic and hand it to her. “Here, put this on. You shouldn’t be parading around without any clothes on.”
She willfully takes
the garment and slides into it. It fits her just well enough to cover all her lady parts.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her.
“Sorry for what?” she asks.
“Sorry you had to experience what you did. If I could have prevented it, I would have. I didn’t know what to do.” I lower my head, ashamed of my pitiful attempt at rescuing her.
“It’s not the first time something like this has happened,” she admits.
I look her in the eyes, unsure how to reply. She knows it’s an odd confession.
“This was a test.”
“A test?”
“Yes, and not the last. My mentor sends me out here to train, knowing the scum lurking around here will try to prey on an innocent girl. He allows me to have at least one form of defense and encourages me to use all my assets to defend myself. He always tells me I’m turning into a beautiful woman at too early of an age, so I figure it one of my assets. I thought the form fitting clothes and perfume might allow me to seduce my way out of the situation, but it proved to work against me, obviously.”
“Why didn’t you call for help?”
“I can’t accept failure.” She gives me a hardened stare. As if my question was blaspheming.
“A girl of your age shouldn’t be seducing anyone. You’re only a few seasons older than me.”
“I’m thirteen,” she states. “You can’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. You don’t know me.”
I’ve clearly touched on a sensitive spot.
“What about your parents? How do they feel about this?” I ask.
“I have no parents.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any siblings or family of any kind?”
“No. Just my mentor. He’s the only family I have. He’s like a father to me.”
“Most fathers wouldn’t allow their daughters to roam alleys looking for trouble,” I say, hoping I’m not out of line.
“Yeah, well, it’s all I have.”
“What about me? I can be your brother,” I say to her. She remains silent and looks at me as though I’m a halfwit. “Well, maybe not a brother, but I could be your friend. Everyone needs someone whom they care about in their lives.”
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 35