Westward

Chapter 5

////Hi again.... ugh. At this point, I'm just smashing my keyboard. Id even know what is going on and just um....she has some sorta fever maybe idk>>>> Thx for continuing to read.////

The rest of the day was long and painful, filled with the agony that pounded through her body like a steel drum. Her feet bled for hours until a thin layer of stabbing stanched it. Though they hurt like mad. Everything felt so burning.

Her head seemed to fill with dizzy visions of black and white, strange faces being crumpled before her eyes like brittle parchment, stretching long and empty. Screams split her skull until only white buried her own thoughts in knifes and needles, spikes and swords. Aowyn clutched her head, trapped inside the pain, begging for the respite that would never come. Her mind was trapped inside itself, unearthly screaming and whimpering, never stopping. When exhaustion overpowered, it was brief and filled with vague, insane thoughts of, don't lie down until the pain stops. Even when unconciousness overpowered her completely, her stomach itself kept awake, roaring and convulsing and shrinking and making her groan and-
Aowyn woke with start, head shrieking and pounding so loud it was deafening, the most excruciating silence she had ever heard.
The creak of the door immediately made her lip quiver. She pretended to sleep for no other reason then not feeling well enough to open her eyes. Muddled thoughts crept into her head of who it was.
The ditsy scarlet-girl? That mad-man who cut her hands?
The chain around her middle cut into her sides but it almost felt good from the numbing ache that was everywhere.
Almost.
She felt a hair slide over her cheek as a light breeze stirred up the stone of air that had formed around her. The same temperature. The same smell. The same voices going round. The same feel to everything that made her head spin. Now just a small breath of different-ness that made her mind clear. Just a bit. She didn't know she wanted it until it came.
No sound came from whoever had entered. Good. Maybe they will go. Then the sound of footsteps. Hard, clomping steps. Then a cold finger brushed across her cheek, lightly erasing the crusty heat that the tears had left.
"Miss Dulay." A voice murmured, deeper than her mother. Papa? No.
"Miss Dulay?" It said again, this time sounding worried. The cold fingers lifted her left wrist tenderly, making Aowyn internally cringe dispite. They pressed gingerly on the open side with the pad of their fingers.
Her addled thoughts managed to surface to a conclusion. Three, in fact. That this was a man. That this man was checking for a pulse. That this man that was checking her pulse was that strange guard.
A sigh of stanched concern struck the air. All of the sudden, things sounded clearer.
His icy hands were held to Aowyn's face, pressing on her cheeks and forehead, it felt good. So good.
The guard started to move the metal ring to the side, finding the backboard test held it in place. And this was the point the Aowyn managed to crack her eyes open. The room was dark except for his pale face and pale hair that seemed to glow in the night. He was crouched over, working intently on the ring, eyes squinted.
Escape? Came the groggy thoughts. Escape?
She stared down at her hands, bloody and scarred, comparing the redness to the white of that Jay was made of.
His blue eyes stared at them too. Now knowing that she was awake.
"What are you doing to me?" Aowyn murmured too disconcerted to pay attention to the nagging word that flashed, over and over, escape!
"The first step in erasing our scars." He replied in a whisper, continuing to silently work away.
"These ones?" She held up her hands and all of the sudden, felt a release on her waist, she fell limp to her side on the floor, neck bending uncomfortably.
"No." Was the stunningly complex reply.
He repositioned himself, holding the ring and gently lowering it soundlessly to the ground. Aowyn curled up on the ground, savoring the sensation of the weight being lifted away. Her side didn't ache and the cool air felt good and now she could move her legs and-
"Let's make sure you don't have a fever and we will head off. It should be fairly simple by going through the servant halls and passing- hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?"
Aowyn stared at a fallen tear that lay, unabsorbed on the floor, still a tiny bubble. It was almost funny except that she didn't have the strength to laugh. Another one landed beside it.
"Everything hurts so much, but I want to go so badly," Aowyn whimpered, still confused and so, so hot. Jay knelt again, a strange expression on his face, worry, understanding, impatience. The cool fingers touched her forehead again, imaginary steam drifted away.
"Let me see your hands. They might be infected." Aowyn lifted her hands to her own face, staring at the red slits, the jagged lines of pain, each X on the tip of her finger. They were stiff from lack of movement and felt as if a layer of stone had frozen them. In the dark, she couldn't see much of the dirt that she knew was caked over. The guard lifted one of them toward him and apparently managed so see it well enough. "I don't see infection, but it would help if you sat up." Aowyn squeezed her eyes closed and groaned quietly.
"Why are you helping me?" She asked, mimicking his whisper and tried to lift herself. It only halfway worked, the guard hefted her the rest of the way starting to peer at her feet, if it didn't hurt, maybe she would have smiled at the feel of his hands on her hip.
"Fever." He muttered.
She sniffed, staring at him wondering if this was all a dream.
"Are we going to escape now?" She asked through her breath, watching the hypnotizing swing of a lock of white hair, back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, back-
"Can you walk?" Jay asked. At first, this seemed a silly question but then Aowyn gained a bit of sense.
"No, I guess not." It was a bit of a surprise to say. "I could hop." Aowyn managed to raise herself to one foot, balancing on the side so as to not step on the wound in her toe. Muscles stretching out and joints moving again, it felt so good. She leaned against the wall and breathed deeply, absorbing the cool air into her skin and willing away the pain. Jay also stood, peering at her with arms crossed, only about six inches taller than herself.
"You can't escape on one foot." He shook his head.
Then Aowyn started to giggle. Everything seemed to make all the sense in the world while not making sense at all. She didn't have one foot, she had a half a foot. If they were escaping, why were they so loud?
"Shhh. Miss Dulay, stop." Hands out, almost touching her, Jay glanced over at the door, simultaneously lifting the shotgun and tucking it into his holster. "You are adorable but I need you to stop. Good girl. Now, since you can't walk-" He scooped his hands under her knees and neck in a swoop of breathlessness and lifted her off the ground.
Aowyn gasped and instinctively curled her fingers to her chest.
"Only my father has ever done this." She giggled. "Why are we being so loud?" Jay streached and popped each side of his neck, making a faint pop on each side.
"My assigned consul is asleep and this is a specially designed building separate from the other sleeping quarters." He breathed deeply and steadily though Aowyn could feel his heart beating like he had just ran a mile. She gave a deliriously pinched smile at the thought of him carrying her, almost beginning to giggle again. Grimacing, he turned and nudged the door open, still limping.
Fingers of cool air crept through her dress and gave a chilled shiver that was soon to be stopped by the warmth of the guard. It gave her the sudden and clear thought, through the fuzzy, fever ridden ones, that it must have been extremely painful to add weight to the wound in his side. She peered up to Jay's pale face that was shown at a low, side angle and studied the determined peace on his face, not the stoic, uncaring man that was reserved for his consul. Somthing deeper and kind.
The hall was thin and tight, painted the same chalky blue as her "reserved" room. Slits in the wall alternated sides, sending a beam of moonlight through each crack making it possible to see in the otherwise, pitch black.
The hem of her dress swung in beat to his steps, she managed to pinch it between her fingers to halt the exposure.
Jay did not pant or look strained in the slightest. Maybe he was attempting to hide it.
The door at the end of the hallway was not enourmous like she had expected, like the front doorways she had seen in Narcia before. It was nearly a perfect square, still fairly large but not like before. Slightly lowering her, Jay grasped the door handle, twisting it with his fingers, not his wrist. It cracked open, sending a dissipating column of chilled air near Aowyn's bruised side. Aowyn shivered and tucked her head under the guard's chin, ranking pin pressed against her temple. A vaugue voice in the back of her head told her that it was far to intimate for such a soon meeting but she ignored it, pain and cold beating it away.
Maybe if I hold still, the pain will go away.
She tried but couldn't stop the shiver that ran through her body, sending fractals of ice piercing through her chest and fingers and toes. Connecting with the scabs and blood, turning them to ice too.
He stepped into the chilled air. Out of The Blue Prison.
The world was almost entirely saturated in shadow, except for the edge of moonlight over the sky, sending a silver glow over the trees and illuminating the frost tipped grasses. The sky seemed as dark as it could get until she looked at the mountains nearby which were even blacker; like holes thought they were the opposite.
There were small homes lined in front of The Blue Prison slightly smaller than her own in Thinour and quite a bit less cozy looking. These were hardly more than a skeleton of a house; square, tight, unpainted, splintery and had cracks between the flat wood boards. There was about fifty going on in a line to the east and only about ten going west. Colossal peaks rose from the ground only about a fourth of a mile west, just enough so that a mild snow collapse would not hit the buildings. A couple a far spaced trees made the distance easier to estimate.
Jay's breath hitched and he grimaced, stumbling slightly. Aowyn examined him as he squeezed his eyes tight, warding off pain.
"Miss Dulay, I will fetch my consul's mount, but I am afraid that I can only steal one. To cross the river is the only way the tracking hounds will never find us. There is a peak that may offer refuge. Here..." He slowly lowered her down against The Blue Prison wall. "You should be safe here, I don't see why anybody would be looking at me his hour." Jay touched his side as Aowyn peered up at him noticing how his hair glowed in the night. He headed off in strides that would be graceful except for the limp that disrupted the pattern. Almost passing for a swagger.
A bout of dizziness sprung from the serene night sending everything rocking about. She clutched the side of her head and pinched her eyes shut until they hurt. As they opened again, white flecks of light floated in her vision. The pressing of her hands on her ears made the slashes sting so badly it drove away the spots. Water. She needed water.
Ignoring the excruciating pain in her fingers she grabbed a handful of grass, ripping it from the earth where clots of dirt sprinkled down, roots hanging like white tentacles. She sucked the tips of the grass, gathering frost crystals on her toungue. Not enough.
Never enough.
Aowyn groaned and released the grass, letting it tumble down her lap. Grass and dirt stuck to the cuts and made it burn. Burn. She would do anything for water. Just a drop on this parched mouth. Aowyn collapsed onto her side, whimpering and clawing away the dizziness from her ears. She caught the scent of blood on her hands which triggered the memory of her family. Dead.
Dead.
She needed water. She needed her family. She needed escape from this pain.
Aowyn convulsed and curled up on the ground, pain intensified by a thousand. She didn't know if she was screaming or dying or sleeping because surely, this could only be a dream. Thoughts so loud and bright, filled with resounding whispers, mind-splitting screams. Nails bit into her scull. Surely nothing could make her want respite from this thirst and want and pain.
It was so loud. So loud. But nobody can escape from their own mind.
She felt hands lift her up. Warm, strong hands that cursed and lifted her on somthing thick and moving. A dog howled. Or maybe it was a wolf, come to eat her up and bring her away from this torture. A curse and a thunk then a whimper then bumping and twisting. She opened her eyes but only saw a thousand stars. They converged and shrunk until blackness swallowed her up.