Westward

Chapter 3

////Omg why are you doing this. Well...thank you? Guess you like it then??? Well, this chapter she gets abused so if you are one who has experienced this in real life (I am so sorry, so, so sorry and hope that everything works out fine for you) but just wanna warn you cause reasons.////

Aowyn did not hide from the soldiers, she stood in plain view, only hiding the gun behind her back, waiting solemnly for them to appear. Tears still did not come. She almost wanted them to so she could somehow show her grief to her now dead parents. But no. Tears were only shed by those who were ashamed of themselves. She certainly was not ashamed.

Aowyn's hair was still mussed up from the fight but it stayed it's ground, not bending to the will of the wind even though it tried to blow. A headache throbbed behind her temples as she waited.And waited. And waited.
Soon the soldiers came, an offical of the military riding in the lead. Grey hair that once was black and deep wrinkles carved near his mouth in multitude. His posture was confident though the watery grey eyes showed the opposite: weary and downtrodden. Aowyn watched with quavering breaths, methodically squeezing and releasing the handle of the gun.
"Miss?" He asked though as much of a question as a statement. "Are you in face Thinourian?" The rest of the mounts halted, widely spaced, behind their commanding officer, the same grim expression. Aowyn found that it was hard to speak. The first time it was a sob/croak. Second time was better.
"Yes sir. The messenger." The gun handle pattern was probably engraved in her hand, the grip was so tight. He pursed his lips in a contemplative expression.
"I trust that you have seen the destruction."
"No sir."
"Good. It is not a sight for a woman." Her breath hitched in indignation before she realized that she didn't want to see somthing as horrible as in her imagination. She looked to the ground as her head pounded with pain. Somebody's horse whinnied and they stood their awkwardly, birds chattering in the background.
"May I run along your group? I am hoping to take refuge in Narcia until I find a steadier job. It may be too much to hope for but, does Narcia have any need for a messenger?" She glanced up hopefully, giving a softly shown puppy dog face. He would be able to tell her face was false if it showed too much. The official gave a kind, wry smile and peered behind his shoulder at the impatient troops fidgeting and sneering behind.
"Narcia already has some fine messengers. Ones that could have completed the job you gave failed today."
Aowyn's stomach dropped in time with the horse's stamping foot. Her fault? But.... No. She knew that her face was contorted with bewilderment. It didn't matter this time that sombody knew how she felt. Because how could anybody think that it was her fault.
But it was.
If she had heard those bells sooner and went straight for the mount post, then maybe Thinour could have been saved. Maybe? If she hadn't rushed into town so quickly, intent on fighting the guards, them maybe Thinour could have been saved. Maybe?
This all was her fault.
Aowyn shook her head, jaw slack, glaring at the ground. She stuttered to herself.
"Me? I am responsible?" She whispered shoving a finger at her chest while or ducking her head farward. The official frowned, stepping closer while simultaneously making a gesture to his followers.
"I believe that Narcia has perfect work for a young lady such as you." He drawled. Then as suddenly as they came, they started off. They started off.
"Wait! What is the job?" She shouted waving her arm in no particular direction. They continued on, hooves clattering, expressionless as before, completely ignoring the girl, screaming, next to them. Aowyn stepped back and leapt to a short soldier passing, hoping to gain his attention, she trotted alongside, completely befuddled. "Excuse me mister, do I not qualify?"
What just happened? She watched them trot away. Did I not pass some test? Then as she stood there, glaring at them with an prickly stare, the last soldier was about to pass, it was out of melody with the others which made her unconciously turn. She saw a blur as all her senses tried to synchronize with another but, it was too late. A whoosh of sudden wind made her take in a sharp breath, but it was cut off. Pain and then-nothingness.

__________________________________________________________________

Whap.
Bright pain burst in a solid, fiery explosion down her hands. Aowyn's eyes flew open as a sharp scream jerked her awake. It was her own scream that stopped so abruptly. It was her own hands that burned with ice. Everything was so vivid at the moment that it felt blinding.
"That certainly did the trick." A growl so low that it felt like a mountain had moved.
Aowyn gasped and whipped her head down from its reclining position. She focused her eyes too suddenly that everything turned white, it soon melted into the deep colouring of a room.
A beautiful dungeon.
Then the man now muttering under his breath that was right above her. The man with too blue of eyes like a vulture.
Then her hands that were made of too much hurt to be real. Both of them were splayed out in front of her with a matching gashes across the back of her hand. Gashes that ran red all around her knuckles and between the spaces of fingers. It burned deep into her flesh and coursed all the way up to her head that pounded like a drum- the death beat. There was a metal ring around her middle that drew out into two different, smaller chains. They connected to the wall in loops that bore rusted keyholes. There was no breaking out.
Aowyn whimpered and let out a bleary "oh" that had not been planned. A sob broke her dry throat that hurt so much, that it made her sob more. The man that loomed over her did not grin like a wicked man should, he just stared back into her blurry eyes. Into the face that he caused to be contorted in pain. Just stared. Calm as a madman.
A tear leaked out, just missing her hands.
"You dropped this after we hit you." The madman continued to stare in her eyes but blindly reached for something.
It was the gun.
Chester's gun.
Did that really happen? How could Chester. Our Terri... And Ma and Pa...
"Do you understand the importance of this discovery? And how it could mean you life?" She stared, not planning to answer. Everything was too painful that if she spoke, she would pass out.
The man had disgustingly brown teeth that were spaced too widely. Crows feet wrinkles crowded around his eyes, reaching up to his eyebrows that stood straight out. Dandruff clouded his hair so that when he stood, it drifted down to the floor. He pursed his lips and glanced at her blood, drenched hands
"We've gotta make sure ther'll be no 'scaping." He muttered, then leaning down and snatching up her left hand. She convulsed and cried out. His oily and salt sweaty fingers stung in the wounds. She closed her eyes and turned away, but not a moment later, the knife came slashing down on her palm. She screamed but the knife worked away at her flesh. Forefinger to the heel of her palm. Middle finger to heel. Ring to heel. An "X" across the pad of each finger. He worked away like he couldn't hear her screams and pleads. The world was made of red and blood and tears and drums. She blindly tried to struggle from the grip but it hurt too badly. The blood made it slick and hot, but it had already burned. He released her hand so that it dropped onto the table with a slippery thunk. She held it on the side and jerked the other hand away so he wouldn't do the same. But the madman used his forearm to hit above the elbow which made a burst of tingles. He caught the arm that was forced to stop and did the same. Every time it was screams and sobs.
A puddle of blood had formed on the table her left hand rested on. Her hair was absorbing it quickly, but more came. She had lost a lot of blood. Finally, he was done. The air sung her skin like salt and everything hurt worse than the second before. Aowyn tried to kick to man but he was too far already; watching her like he might have read a map. She cradled her hands, carful not to touch any of the wounds.
The man wiped the blood on his fingertips to his trousers and glared, nostrils flaring. Then, reaching for his back pocket, he pulled out a cloth.
"Here. Would'nt want you t' bleed t' death." He smirked and tossed it over landing inches from her wrist. She gnawed at her lip and glared at the wooden floor, hoping that he would go. Go drown. Replacing the knife in his belt and promptly leaving the room.
Aowyn tried to sort things into a list of where's, why's, and how's.
They had evidently hit her on the head and brought her...where? In Narcia? Were those troops possibly disguised but we're actually Sarasonions? Maybe it was one of the farther cities such as Withon or Cirio. That was highly unlikely though.
Where was she now? It certainly didn't look like a prison. The room was fairly small and deep, dark, midnight blue. A night sky was painted above with constellations laid out in circular form. The floor was simple wood strips but not splintery like usual, it was delicately sanded to smooth any rough spots. Aowyn was sitting upright against the wall, a board was positioned on her lap to catch any blood. Strange thing to give to a prisoner. The board had been covered in red and was already starting to dry along the edges. A Blue Prison.
How was she going to escape? It was no question of yes or no just, how? The ring around her middle was unbreakable and so was the chains. She never knew how to pick a lock and couldn't anyway with these wounds. Aowyn pushed her elbows against the ring but, it got caught at her hipbones. The wall behind was most likely clay and wood maybe she could scrape away at the wall and take the chains with it. How would she scrape? No chance of stealing a key.
She gritted her teeth and blinked back tears. Aowyn remembered the cloth. Her hands persisted to sting and bite at every move but she braced herself and placed her hands palm-up on the towel. Red crept through and ran off her fingers, eager to absorb. The sweet scent of blood pounced on her nostrils making a cringe. Each finger relaxed and curled up in its own time yet, no matter how she tried to drive a the pain away it continued to endure. Blood poured from each slash, not giving any sign of stop. Her arms looked pale, so did her feet. Maybe she would die of blood-loss. Or maybe starvation. What if they planned to execute her?
No.
She was delirious. Why would they bother to keep her alive this far? Wouldn't that meant that they wanted her for some reason. A couple cuts on her hands wouldn't mean death. Right? Aowyn simply needed to work on her wounds and wait for eplanation. Or possible abandonment.
But what about that gun?
If this was Narcia, they probably assumed that she was Sarasonion. What do they do to Sarasonions? Kill them most likely. Then why had they kept her alive? If this was Sarason, they might have thought she was a loose ammunition packer. Maybe a runaway.
The gun was too far away.
If she could get ahold of that gleaming metal she could make quick work of threats.
But it was too far away.
Maybe if she streached out her leg a bit, and balanced out the chains...
It was too far away.
That mad-man had put it deliberately in front of her just to prove how weak she was.
The wounds began to slightly recede in pain, it was down to a sharp throb. She tried to tilt her hands away, to make the gathering blood dribble off of her creased palms. With the backs of her hands, she managed to lay the cloth somewhat flatly on the blood drenched board. Grabbing a corner between the pointer finger and middle finger Aowyn was able to roll both ends of the fabric to the center, encasing the slashes in a warm, wet bubble. There was nothing else to do or decide or help with. He mind was trapped inside herself.
Everything that you need is inside of you. That's what her mother used to say anyway.
Here she was. A white faced girl with bloody hair tips and scarred hands. And this girl would never see her mother again.