Shades of color shifted before unseeing eyes. Red and orange flame twisted between spikes of green. Lighted gray and inky black bled into the scene and covered everything with their dripping ink. Innocence of billowing white was chased away. Nearby, the mournful song of a bird cut into screeches. Instead the steady thunderous sound of the outside world reached her ears. Before her echoed the confusing noise; behind, in the empty subconscious of her tattered soul, lay only pain and desolation. Some part of her fled toward the noise—seeking relief. But it was not in this world to give. Her despair-induced delirium was fading and giving way to stark reality.
The clamor was that of horses, running across dry ground. Clouds of dust rose behind the two animals, streaking the land with a dying trail to note their temporary presence. This she could see from her face-down position, hanging next to the flank of the gray steed. Stabs of pain, which fought for dominance with her internal torture, jarred through her torso with every bump of passage—a result of the hardened leather saddle beneath her.
Under the horse, dangling uselessly from the opposite side, were her bound feet, covered with dirt and still wearing her soft leather shoes. The tattered hem of her blue night gown snapped back and forth in the whipping wind, the bright color ominous.
Her mind had slowly returned to the present, temporarily pushing away flashes of anguishing memories. Soon, though, the crushing weight of them would return, but for now curiosity of her current predicament drew her away from him.
Above, a man’s voice said something inaudible and both horses slowed. Without the thudding hooves, another sound made itself known: rushing waters.
The saddle beneath her jerked from the rider’s dismount. Rough hands started to untie the knots which bound her to the horse. Were they going to drown her? It didn’t even occur to her to struggle.
“Is she awake?” the gruff voice was not one that she recognized.
“Give me a minute,” the answering demanded harshly. Its pitch too was a stranger to her.
“She hasn’t eaten in three days. The king doesn’t pay if they aren’t breathing,” the gruff voice continued unabashed.
Without answering, the other man dragged her from her prone position and dropped her to her feet. She stumbled, but the man caught and steadied her, tilting her face up. Coal black eyes perused her from behind a weathered face and he sneered at her through an unkempt beard.
“When you aren’t delirious, you’re rather attractive. Unfortunately for you, I don’t mess with Others.” Disgusted by his compliment as well as the hissed insult, she jerked from his grasp.
His grimace became a snarl and he slapped her hard. Defiantly, she glared at him.
“You need to learn some respect girl,” he hissed. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her to a nearby tree. Moments later, she was tightly tied with her back against the hard wood. Only her arms were movable, and those only below the elbow.
From her position, she could see the Ordus Mountains in the far distance. Having never seen anything taller than a tree, she was in awe. Leading up to that magnificence were rolling hillocks, covered in waving grasses. And closer, glistening as the sun sank below the mountaintops was a river. Its many turns through the lowlands made it wide and slow. A white fox drank in the shallows on the other side before flitting away. Home seemed very far away.
Nearby, her captors were setting up camp. One was preparing a kindling pile, while the other, who had a long scar along the side of his face, was struggling to get supplies off the gray horse. Removed from the situation, she could now see that they wore tattered soldiers uniforms with the Lorsa insignia—a silver and blue coiled serpent—in fading colors on the shoulder.
With a chance now to observe the men, she realized that she’d seen them before. Not just once but twice. Three nights ago—though to her it felt as one—she’d served them at the tavern. They had been seated with a few other soldiers who had come to Faridrall with the usual band of itinerant bards, merchants and craftsmen who circulated Lorsa, trading with the towns.
For Faridrall, the traders were essential to getting goods for the year. Only once in her life had they not come. It had been before her mother’s death. Her father had to travel to Makar; minding the tavern without him had been a nightmare. The cause of the travelers delay was later found to be bandits. Now the soldier’s protected the caravans. Rumors abounded at their true purpose. Though one of them she knew. They were Searchers—hirelings of the king who scoured Ryserïa looking for lawbreakers.
“She'd seen the one with the scar before, but it was prior to that disfigurement. He was the soldier that dragged away her mother. Her mother was a lawbreaker—a magic user. Likely she now faced the same cruel fate. Though, how they discovered her magic she didn’t know. The last thing she remembered was Malyïk’s—no she couldn’t think about him. It hurt too much.
Bread dropped into her lap and she looked up. Scar-face held out a water skin and she took it, drinking under his watchful gaze. She handed it back and he walked away.
At least he didn’t hit her again. The side of her face was still stinging from the slap. She was sure her eye would be blackened the next day, though that was the least of her worries.
The water had awakened her stomach and she tore into the bread ravenously, ignoring how hard it was. Even after only crumbs remained, she felt hollow inside. She was unsure how much was hunger and how much was heartache.
The fire was dimming, creating flickering shadows in the moonlight. Her captors had turned in for the night.
Two Aeora—children of the wind—played in the distance, bringing a chilly breeze into the area. Their breathy laughter stirred in the wind, fading in and out. Only spirits could laugh here.
Cinders from the fire stirred silently and she twisted her arms back and forth. The ropes were wrapped around her upper arms, securing her tightly against the bark.
Maneuvering herself around, she managed to slip out from beneath them. Beard snored loudly nearby, causing her to freeze. On high alert, she watched him intently. Her senses were between fight or flight when he started shifting, but he just rolled over in his sleep.
Letting out a silent breath of relief, she glanced around in the light of the dying fire considering her options.
She had no idea how to get back home. No supplies. And she was in a nightdress. Prospects of making it back without being caught were slim. Especially since the only cover this side of the river were these few scraggly trees and as soon as she got home they would know exactly where to look for her. Perhaps she could manage to find a nearby town—though red hair stood out. Regardless, she had to try.
Silently, she crept around the dusky camp, grabbing a pack of food and a water skin. She saw no map in their belongings, but it probably wouldn’t have helped in any case. She turned her back on the camp, heading the way they’d come. And, clumsy as she was, tripped over the lariat that one of the horses was attached to.
The clatter of her fall awoke the solders. With a curse, Beard was on top of her. “Oh no you don’t, sweetheart.” His breath was foul and illogically she fought back, struggling beneath his weight.
Laughing at her efforts, he dragged her to her feet. Her corded necklace caught on the chain binding the horse and she felt it snap. She grabbed for it, and in a stroke of fortune, her fist closed around the metal of the bronze key she always wore.
He didn’t allow her to catch her balance but dragged her by a handful of hair to the icy waters of the river.
“It’s about time we get rid of your disrespect,” he hissed. And before she could prepare herself with even a breath, he shoved her into the frigid depths.
She gasped in shock, inhaling a lungful of water. But the hand was holding her down. She floundered, trying to reach air in desperation. Spots danced before her eyes; her lungs burned.
He dragged her up and she spluttered, managing to drag in a single breath before she was doused under again. Her feet and hands encountered no firm surface against which she could counter his pressing weight. She tried to swim down to escape his reach, but his hand gripped her hair inescapably. Her lungs strained—she had to breathe. Trying to hold back, she reached behind her, hand grasping for his, trying to rip him off. It was no use and the distraction helped her to lose her battle with involuntary reactions. She inhaled, coughing, but the water was drowning her.
This time relief was not found. Her vision blackened the dark waters of the Kiet River the last thing she saw. The bronze key drifted from her lax fingers to the murky river bed below.
Read More: https://www.wattpad.com/story/34064831-shadow%27s-touch
