Vol.4, Ch.5, P.2
At Mia’s suggestion, we had made such a fire as we could, and from there, fled deeper still into the keep. Sprawling this place was; so long as we eluded the flames, there was yet time before their smokes would stifle us.
Many others were fleeing along. Civilians they all were; some even of the caravan that had brought us to this very fortress. And amidst our escape together through the corridors, there visited upon us above all the burning air a slight but acrid stench, the source of which we soon discovered: sealed barrels of terebinthine oil, standing amongst a rummage of stacked lumber, racks of arms, and other articles to be stored only upon this high level. A sure feast for the blaze when it comes, without doubt… and before it can, we must find our escape. But where?
Anxious, I came anear an unshuttered window and peered out for any sign. There upon the yards below were yet the Men in silver. But where they had once surrounded the premises and blocked the gates tight with cold order, a chaos there was now amidst them: hither and thither many of knights scrambled, yelling with voices shrill and angry, with some fighting the defenders in scattered fashion.
Our fire, then, seemed a success. And perhaps soon to come from it: a chance, a way out—one by our own making, just as dear Mia had said. But as through my head this thought rushed, as a faint hope was lit in my heart, mocking it all now was a rumble like sudden thunder: the swords, the screams, the battle—it was increasing.
“I like not the sound of that…” one amongst us said. “…It is nigh. Too nigh.”
“The floor below?” wondered aloud another, who then panicked. “The realmers—they’ve gained the second storey!”
There, my fellow escapees blanched altogether. Just below our feet were the knights, soon to find us. Soon to…
“Everyone! To me!” cried a voice. It was one of the caravaners. By another open window he stood, pointing out and down. Some drew there quick and looked for themselves, myself and Mia included.
“Those be… doors? In the defences?” guessed another.
At the base of the southern wall loomed a two-leaf doorway, nondescript and afore a clutter of miscellany. Quite apart from the south gate it stood—a side entrance, mayhaps…?
“Yes, an access for waggons,” the caravaner revealed. By his words, once upon a time did this fortress roar with battle and death, and was thus needful of unending repair. In succour, through that wall was built a hole and special doors erected, to expedite the constant flow of labourers and the materials they conveyed. “I learnt this from the Arbellite merchants,” explained the caravaner, “though they say it is little used since the taking of this land.”
Hunted by Men… and now to be saved by them. Be that as it may, our way out was clear: descend this keep by some manner, reach and pass through those doors, and out and away from the fortress. And in hearing it was hope renewed in the faces of us all. But for Mia, there was only unease… one I found myself sharing.
“Since the taking of this land…?” I echoed in doubt. “I am sorry, but… would that not mean the access has long served the realmers?”
And still linger thus in their memory—that of the knights, in especial. High did the keep stand, for true, yet what laid immediate outside the southern wall was hid from our view. Who could say those very knights were not loitering out there to this moment? Not even the caravaners themselves; mayhaps it was that very doubt that had egged them up this keep in the first place, despite their knowledge of the access.
“Eva, good Fräulein. I see your worry—and what you mean to say,” the caravaner said quick, “but the knights are made frantic thanks to your fires. Ought this be the fruit of that feat? A chance of escape; a wager worth its reward?”
A wager with evil odds, but such he kept silent. For too well he knew. As did we all. Pursued to the top of a keep, cut off from all escape… For true, if there be the faintest light at the end of our tunnel, so must we seek it. And against this reason, I could but stay silent myself.
“No time. The first wager, I make,” declared the chief of the caravaners, stepping forth. “Watch for my signal. Come when I make it—and quick!”
Climbing out of the window, the chief caravaner took hold of a downspout and descended the side of the keep. With a kick, he fell the short rest of the height, and after a hard landing, went and stooped beside a toppled wain. There he surveyed about, and deeming it safe, crept nearer the waggon access. All the while, we looked on with halted breaths, our eyes daring not to blink.
Squatting low, the chief caravaner unlatched the doors, and with great care, opened them up. Into the crack he peeked, and there, slid through and vanished.
We waited. As livestock biding their doom, to be put either to pasture or to slaughter, we waited. Teeth chattered, breaths panted—we were all of us seized in that moment.
Till again the access doors opened.
And from them appeared the chief caravaner.
A cold sweat shone upon his brow. But with a cautious smile, he lifted his hand and raised a thumb—the access was safe. No knights guarded the way.
A collective sigh of relief issued from us all. Our lives—spared they seemed, and in the nick of time, no less. Catching my breath, to Mia I turned, glad to have bright tidings for her at last. Only…
“Mia…?” I said to my sister, finding her looking elsewhere… and with horror in her eyes.
Following her gaze, I saw them.
Knights.
Men in silver, marching down from the far end of the corridor.
Our doom was come after all.
“Vermin!” they cried, pointing their blades at us. “The running ends here!”
They were of a breed of Men I knew all too well. Men who hunted militants and civilians with equal violence, who made only carrion or slaves of their marks. Men not at all like their kin who had begun dealings with our folk here at this fortress. Men for whom it was sin to save even a different-blooded child… as he once had.
“Aaa—ah!” erupted screams from our number.
Some knights turned behind. “Hurry it up down there!” they barked. “We’ve spotted the dunlings!”
“Little one!” a caravaner cried, bending down to Mia. “Come! Onto my back—”
But at that moment, amidst all the panick and despair, Mia did instead the unthinkable: letting go of my hand…
…she ran in the direction of the knights.
I gasped. “Mia!?”
Little were her hands.
Little, that with one could she scarce bear a jug.
But desperate now they both were, clutching white at one of the barrels set along the hallway. I knew not what her aim was. I knew not, and could act not, frozen and horrified as I was. Yet here was my sister, heedless and reckless and frantic as she tugged away at the barrel.
“…ech…!” she struggled, wrestling with a weight greater than her own.
Of this I had heard, that in peril can extraordinary strength be mustered. The thought whispered in me as I beheld the unwieldy barrel tilting, tilting, tilting under Mia’s grasp, till at last it toppled unto the floor. A thud struck both air and ground; the lid of the barrel jolted free, spilling oil of terebinth across the hallway.
Startled late out of my awe, I began racing straightway to Mia. And ever as I did, I saw my sister then jump up again and again, groping for a large candle clock upon the wall. Catching it, she pulled with all her might, wrenching it off whence it hung. To the floor she tumbled, but in the fall, had hurled the candle clock into the pool of oil.
A brightness flashed. Heat and stench rushed in a gust—the hallway afore Mia was now drowning in a sea of flame.
I winced, recoiling and nigh-falling myself from the outburst. Burnt into my eyes was the sight of Mia, dwarfed by the blinding fires. How? I asked her in my heart. How do you do this? When have you grown so strong?
Till but a moment ago was she trembling. Nay; even now, racing to her again, I saw still that she was. From how her hands shook, from how her shoulders quaked, from how her eyes quivered—I could tell: Mia was terrified, down to the pit of her heart.
And yet, still was she choosing to live.
To endure, to survive, to do all that she could, even as fear was strangling her every thought.
Always was hers a bright mind, and till our great loss, as cheerful as a springtide dawn. But what of that new strength of hers? Whence had it came? From suffering cruelties too haunting to tell? From defying them and coming home alive? Or was it… was it taught? By him?
No matter the way of it, she must keep living on. Scarred, but saved; scared, but brave—there was yet a future for my sister, a worthiness to awe the world, only now just starting to bloom.
Such thoughts flooded all through my heart as I reached forth, desperate to have her safe. Mia, too, cringing from the flames, rose and started back to me, all whilst the rest of us were scrambling out of the window, desperate to flee their doom.
“Come, young ones! Hurry!”
The caravaner’s voice, urging us back—this I heard last, as just before my hand could take Mia…
…another lashed out from the smoke and flame and snatched her by the hair.
“ah!”
“Mia!!”
Failing to save her, I toppled to the floor. Collecting myself, I looked up, and there afore me I beheld a Man tall and dread, his silver armour gleaming hot; and wroth was his face, seeming all the more so as it glowered bright and red against the flames.
“Bloody little imp, you!!” he screeched at Mia, wrenching her farther back. “Sparked the fires swift, I see! Why, ‘twas your tiny little hands that’d set the fort aflame! Weren’t they!?”
This way and that, the Man pulled and twisted at Mia with fists tight and shuddering in anger, and it was then, in my tearful vision, that other silvered Men I perceived, glinting in the distance, but seeming to draw further away from the scene.
“Hannes!” they shouted. “Get moving! This place won’t hold long!”
At once, this “Hannes” turned about, and dragging my sister along with him, disappeared behind the flames. Prompted, I scrambled to my feet, ready to leap over the fires if need be, if only to pursue him. But in that moment, the fires themselves refused me: with a great belch, they plumed and grew to a mass of roaring heat and storming smoke—the other barrels anear, touched by the flames, had ignited.
Back I fell, coughing, blanching from the noxious eruption. Dark and bright both, there was now a scorching barrier—severing me from my sister. Timbers all around groaned and cracked. The world all seemed to burn away as I saw, far beyond smoke and flame, Men bearing away my dear little Mia.
“Come, Fräulein!”
“Miaaa—aa!!”
Back I was on my feet. Delirium had taken hold; I was to cross this inferno, suffer aught and all, and have Mia back in my arms. But these very arms, I found, were now restrained.
“No!” someone cried behind me as he stayed me in my hysteria. “Don’t be mad! That way’s death!”
That day.
The day when our homes were rooted out. The day when all was stolen from us.
The day when I hid in the orphanage. The day when I failed to be with my family.
Ever did I rue that day.
And so on this day did I think not to repeat it again.
To hold dear, with all jealousy, the one treasure returned to me, the one and only preciousness left to me in this life. But ever the selfless child, that very treasure of mine had put herself in peril, all to save us from our own. And what could I do but look on, always awed, always afraid, always struck dumb.
Why…?
Why?
Why!?
Why must I be so weak!?
How much more must be torn from me!?
How much!?
Before I can open my eyes!?
And see the folly in me!?
“Uaaa—aah!!”
Someone…!
Someone, please…!
Save that child!
She is precious to me!
For so kind she is! So loving!
So ready to give when all the world only takes and takes from her!
So willing to soothe our suffering, when it is she who suffers most!
“Mia! Mia!! Aaa───aah!!”
On and on, I screamed.
But ever was my voice lost to the flames.
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