by Kai Widdeson
Perhaps this isn’t so bad, I think as we disappear below street level, remembering at the last moment to take a single deep breath. I swear the rat eyes us curiously as we vanish below it. A curious last thought.
SPLASH!
Iciness surges through me as my head disappears below the water’s surface. I spread my arms and legs wide above me towards the departing light, desperately trying to slow my fall. Ground slaps against my back hard and I catch myself from releasing some precious bubbles. I sink a little before coming to a stop into a sticky cushion that sucks at my skin.
I detach myself, placing my feet in the mud and kicking upwards, invaluable breath escaping through my lips. Something solid smacks me in the face, it feels like a foot, I push the obstacle skyward as I temporarily lose altitude. With my path clear, I propel myself upwards, one arm outstretched for the seemingly untouchable surface.
As the last of the breath leaves my lungs, I emerge. Cold, fresh, evening air invades my gasping mouth. The intense freeze of the moat chills the blood beneath my skin and my breath clouds up before my face.
Looking around at the splashing heads next to me, some of which are already making their way over to the side of the trench, I almost laugh out loud. It worked! We actually survived the jump. Even Horas’ injured companion has made it. He splutters next to me in shock, momentarily back in the world of the living after I would imagine a rough and terrifying reawakening. It must have been his foot who had collided with me.
I help keep an eye on the injured man as together he and Horas swim over to Orrian who has already begun to scale the steep muddy side. A tribesman below him gives his shoulder for support, allowing his king to climb higher upwards. The woman now moves forwards, using the man and Orrian as a ladder and managing to get a grip on the edge of the stone street.
Horas ushers the injured man forwards, manhandling him up the chain until he flops onto the solid surface above. His watery blood trickles down to us and loosens the dirt between our fingers.
One by one, we scale the human ladder until we all reach ground level, those of us at the top leaning down to pull up those still clinging against the sides. With the wooden wall behind me and an outline of disfigured stone beneath, we have come up directly beneath where the bridge will be lowered.
Orrian is already on his feet, of course he is, we all should be. He roughly pulls each of us up in turn. Above, bodiless heads continue to shout from the top of the walls in our direction. They will have their reinforcements before long, we need to get moving whilst they still have the bridge up.
Orrian picks a side street, a little way off from the main one which we came down and takes off running. The rest of us chase after him, desperate not to fall behind. This new street is less well-lit, with only nine of us weaving our way through the shadows the guards atop the wall should lose our position in no time. There are no hearty taverns casting their light and their life down here, just rows upon rows of houses.
We turn left, right, continue forwards, down a side alley, right, left again. We have no way to know which way we’re going other than to aim forwards, occasionally getting a glimpse of the monstrous outer wall between the rooftops. Even with having to drag the wounded man behind us we are still passing rows upon rows of houses at an impressive pace. With so few of us and no carts or supplies, the tribespeople are finally having the opportunity to put their athleticism to good use. I silently thank Randall and our training, had we not spent so much time running in Avlym I doubt I would have had much chance at keeping up.
So long as we don’t encounter guards, we may have a better chance at getting out of here. As much as I regret having to leave everyone, I feel a twinge in my heart as I remember my mother, there is no denying that we are faster with fewer of us. Those who have made it so far did so because they managed to get through the fighting, meaning that all of us are, or at least were, capable. I would of course always have preferred to have brought as many of them with us as possible, but we would be much slower and considerably easier to find. Our improved chance has come at the expense of so many others, it’s up to us to seize the opportunity and not let it go to waste.
Occasionally a side street appears on our left as we continue down a stretch parallel to the main street. I look for landmarks, anything I might have noticed from that first night, but come up empty handed. Each opening also grants passage for the chilled evening wind, biting at our wet and exposed skin as we pass.
Even through the numbness my feet eventually begin to burn, imprinted repeatedly by the many slabs below. We can’t be far now, I try to remember how long our journey took in the cart, but I can’t put it into perspective with how long we’ve been running so far.
Surely the guards will be out in the main city and after us by now. I have no idea how difficult it is to raise and lower the bridge but if they do it every night then it surely can’t take too long, besides, I would have thought that lowering it is considerably quicker and easier than raising it. They will have lost where we are specifically, but they will sure know where we are heading. With their numbers and their armour, I would have hoped that we may be faster than them, but with the wounded man stumbling often and Orrian having to restrict his speed for the rest of us, I would guess that we run at a similar pace. I hope that’s enough, it should be if we had enough of a head start.
Only one final part of the plan is left I realise as a dark barrier begins covering the stars above. This entire plan, all the fighting in the dungeon and our efforts so far, rely on us being able to get out of the main gate before anyone else can get it our way. I know there must be some guards atop the walls, but I wouldn’t expect the gates themselves to be shut. After all, they surely can't enclose the entire city within these walls every night, there must be travellers and traders, correspondents like Becker and others alike. Then again, I remember the gates having to be opened upon the army’s arrival. I sure hope that was for show, they had certainly seemed to put on one at least.
Finally, we break out onto a wider street. There is no missing the wall now, it rises from only a few houses back so that we must crane our necks to find the top of it. We cross the road and into the shadows of the buildings on the other side, from here we should remain hidden from anyone above for at least a little longer until we are upon the gates.
Orrian slows marginally in front of us, we need to quieten now. There are surely going to be guards that patrol this area. Surprisingly, with each corner we check, there are no patrols in sight. In front, the sounds of cascading water flow through the night.
Orrian stops completely, the silvery reflections of the water almost close enough for its sprays to catch us in the wind. He turns and checks on all of us, now is the time. We need to sprint and get out before the soldiers know what’s happening. With nervous, shivering nods, we indicate our readiness to the king.
The forest king sprints forwards, the back of my throat burns as I chase after him with everything I have left. One final push and we’ll be free. Our bare feet smack against stone as we come charging out into the fountain courtyard, the feature’s solitary figure still stands proud facing outwards towards where I know the gate will stand. We round the final corner, I swing around Orrian’s outside as the nine of us bunch together.
No.
A small group of over a dozen heavily armoured soldiers stand between us and the gate. The entrance is not clear either, the iron mesh has been lowered and blocks our path. Through the gaps in the metal I can see the outside world, the forest calling for us.
The soldiers draw their sword and take a step forward. They can’t be the same ones from the inner walls, I refuse to believe that they were possible of overtaking us, they must have had some way of signalling to this second group.
Orrian raises his own blades and around him we all follow his lead. I don’t know if they’ve been instructed to keep Orrian alive but there’s no way we’re letting them take any of us back there without a fight. The soldiers advance anothe
r step as we spread out to meet them. The others will be on us before long and we’ll be overwhelmed if we’re not careful.
A commotion among the ranks. Thuds and clashes fill the air but none of us have made a move. At the back, someone crumples the ground and another is sent flying forwards, blood oozing from a wound in his neck.
Our weapons lower in confusion, some of the soldiers at the back seem to be fighting amongst themselves. We stand and watch as a pair of them cut down another couple facing us from behind.
“Well come on then!”
I know that voice.
We attack, barrelling into the remainder of the force. Next to me one of the tribespeople is instantly brought down by an enemy sword, I avenge him as the inflicting blade is withdrawn from his gut.
With us at their front and the colony traitors already amongst the bloodshed from behind, it doesn’t take long for the two groups to meet in the middle. We step over the bodies of the fallen. The last couple of the soldiers block our blows, fumbling to remove their helmets before we can strike again.
Jaq and Ryfon stand before us. They are dressed identically to the dying men at our feet.
“I’ll explain later. You two come with us,” Jaq pants, gesturing to two of our group. He heads inside a door leading inside the wall with Ryfon and the others.
Orrian manoeuvres the rest of the group so that we have our back to the gate. I quickly check on the tribesman who fell next to me, but he has already left us. Even if he had been alive, I know we wouldn’t have been able to get him the help he would need in time. We face outwards, waiting for more colony men to appear at any second. We are so close, backup must be approaching nearby, but we can almost reach out and feel the leaves between our fingertips.
Lights begin flickering in the distance of the main street, they’re on their way. Somewhere above, shouts accompany torches that trail a path high above the walls. I don’t need to guess who they’re running towards. We stand on the balls of our feet, soon we’ll be surrounded and cornered.
The clanking of heavy chains above startles me as hidden winches are brought into motion. The dirt by my heels uproots slightly as spikes are slowly pulled out of the ground. Inch by inch, the gate begins to rise.
The screeching stops once the spikes are level with our thighs, moments later the wooden side door smashes against the wall as the remainder of our group break out.
“OUT! OUT!” Jaq shouts, we don’t need to be told twice.
We all fall to our stomachs and crawl beneath the risen barrier. I try not to picture the unimaginably heavy spikes positioned directly above my back as I push myself forward. Once through, I grab the injured man’s arms and drag him the rest of the way. Meanwhile, the last of us leave the colony’s territory.
I sling the man’s arm over one shoulder as we follow the others into the nearby treeline. The comfort of the forest surrounds us and still we don’t stop running. I slip into old routines as we jump over roots, duck under low hanging branches, and dart through the random scattering of trees. The grass brushes between my toes and welcomes my stone-worn feet.
We continue running through the night, the forest gifting us with renewed energy. The shadows are darker here, where even the moonlight doesn’t reach. The leaves rustle and branches snap behind us, giving the constant illusion of being pursued but we know there’s nobody there.
I ache for my mother, and for Astera, Tharrin, Medea and all the others who should be running alongside us. They will experience this exhilaration like the rest of us one day, we’ll make sure of it.
Finally, there is no more colony around us, no more soldiers chasing us. The stone tunnels with their stale air have been replaced with the protective forest canopy and its fresh wind.
We are free.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We don’t stop until the first rays of dawn make their way through the leaves. Our clothes have long since air dried, we elected not to risk a fire. The colony shouldn’t be able to find us now so long as we keep moving but risking them spotting the smoke would be unbelievably foolish. Instead, Ryfon and Jaq had both offered up an undershirt from beneath their armour to cover myself and Orrian. The fine cord for Orrian’s pendant peeks out from above the neck of his shirt.
We come to a stop by a shallow brook, the water rushing noisily over many layers of rock. It’s as good a place to stop as any. Even if anyone happens to be near, the noise of the rushing water should hide our location. Orrian takes a couple of the tribespeople foraging, they remerge a while later using their fabrics to carry a fair cluster of berries and fruits. Orrian has also wrapped some vines around one arm at Ryfon’s request.
I put down my sword and take the fruit out of the young king’s arms. I busy myself for a short moment washing the food in the running water. As the current washes over my fingertips it begins to take the dirt with it. I carefully lay the clean meal down before rinsing the entirety of my hands and arms. Old dirt and mud disappear into the crystal waters until only scarred skin remains.
Leaning over the small rocks, I catch a glimpse of a stranger. A man looks back at me, his hair is curled and dishevelled and unkempt bristles creep around the edges of his jaw. His lips are dry and cracked and small dark cuts draw random lines across his face. Dirt and grime have been ingrained in every crevice of the man’s beaten skin, darkening around patches covering one side of his face. His eyes, or rather my eyes, are all that remains untouched by our travels. Somewhere in there is Dale, a child of Avlym, but he hides behind this mask.
I remove Jaq’s shirt and lower both hands, cupping the water and bringing the stranger closer. His face ripples and is distorted as the mirror is disturbed within my palms. I bring my hands to my face, allowing the iciness to embrace me, cascading over my cheeks and running down to the crevice of my neck. I cannot help but sigh, relishing the feeling. I repeat the process several more times until finally I being to recognise my reflection.
I have still changed; the stubble is a new sight and I will carry my scars with me for a lifetime. My hair has grown out and poor feeding has tightened the skin around my bones. A boy no longer looks back at me, instead is someone who has travelled the world, but also someone who has seen too much. I have lived and experienced more than perhaps any other villager, yet young features remind me that I am still some way off from resembling it.
I dry my face with the hem of the undershirt before draping it over myself again. I collect up the fruits and head towards where Orrian and the others sit. Throughout the night we had kept our swords close by our sides in paranoia that the colony will appear at any second, but they have all finally let them down onto the grass.
The wounded man has allowed himself to pass out on the floor and I watch as Ryfon begins tightening the vines around the man’s bleeding leg. The man is pale, too much has been drained from him over the course of the last few hours. His eyelids open slightly, squinting against the harsh morning light.
“What? Where-” the man asks confused. Sweat beads his forehead and his eyes move unfocused. He tries to raise his head, but the movement causes him to pass back into oblivion.
“His pulse is weak,” Ryfon informs us from his crouched position, “I don’t know if he’ll-”
Ryfon doesn’t need to finish his sentence, we all know where it ends. We all bow our heads towards the resting man.
“Is there anything we can do?” Orrian asks, his voice is thick with pity.
“He’s lost too much blood, his fate is in the gods’ hands now,” Ryfon replies with a heavy voice.
I had never found time to get to know the man at our feet, I still don’t even know his name. If Ryfon can’t do much for him then he can’t have long. He’s come all this way. He survived the Great Fire, he made the journey through the mountains, fought in the battle of the beach, and escaped from within the colony itself. All to come to an end at a single blow from another, one unfortunate strike that managed to slip through his guard. He had been right beside me, wh
at if I could have blocked the attack? I know these are only the woes of survivor’s guilt, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering if I could have managed to deflect the blow that had felled him.
The man dies a few hours later. We haven’t moved as the sun has curved across the sky to where it now pauses above our heads.
The man had never reawakened, he had peacefully drifted away in his sleep. I am at least glad that he died a free man, amongst the trees where he belongs. His last sight could have been the cells, or the wall, or the moat. Instead he got to enjoy one last picturesque morning of the golden light reflecting off the leaves as he is surrounded by his people, not a pavestone or iron bar in sight.
The seven of us wordlessly dig his grave at the base of an old oak tree. We break the ground with branches and our swords, using our bare hands to tear up the loose turf. The dirt works its way beneath our fingernails and sweat drips into the pit as the sun reaches its peak. I don’t mind. This man made it too far to be abandoned now. The work is slow going but eventually we are left with a hole big enough to accommodate him.
Orrian lowers the body, throwing the first of the dirt over him before stepping back so that the others may finish the job.
“What was his name?” I ask gently.
“Thyon,” Orrian replies.
Thyon. I silently thank him for serving his king and his people well, until the end. I crudely scratch his name into the old trunk, it’s not neat, and I slip and earn another couple of light cuts as I try to handle the tip of my blade, but it’s something. Even when we have all joined him in the afterlife this oak tree should still stand. He will not be forgotten.
