I came to life gradually, becoming acutely aware of sandstone beneath my cheek and the sensation of heat from the near-burning fire. I squinted, trying to will the throbbing sensation of pain from my head; a full blown headache that had made camp at the back of my skull. Reluctant to move my head, I explored the room with my eyes; a wooden table near the stone fireplace, a shelf filled with seemingly useless odds and ends, a wooden footlocker near a door that may or may not lead to the outside. I took a visual inventory of every item in the room as I tried to stave off the fear that was quickly growing within me. Where was I? What did they want with me? The woman had said something about a work house, hadn’t she? A work house…I tried to recall my memories but life on the campus didn’t provide much insight. Furthermore, my memories of Axock were fading faster than I wanted them to. Emptied of memories; was there a scarier concept than that? Death was nothing compared to the prospect of losing one’s entire identity. I bit my lip and tested my wrists, trying in vain to separate my hands, but they were bound firmly behind my back; no amount of squirming and twisting would free them and the rope cut mercilessly into my skin as I tried. My feet though, my feet were unbound; not that that would do me any good. Instead, I inhaled heavily and worked my way up, using all of my effort to raise myself into a sitting position. It was difficult and by the time I managed to force myself upright, the front of my shift was soaked with sweat and my legs were rubbed raw against the sandstone. A cough escaped my lips, tearing through my parched throat and further exacerbating the throbbing pain in my head as tears burst forth, rolling down my dirt-caked cheeks.
“Girl’s awake,” The voice of the barrel-chested man carried through the space like doom itself; I froze as I realized I wasn’t alone; he was sitting on a stool near the fire - I could see his outline now and wondered how I’d managed to miss it before. His declaration was followed by the sound of plodding footsteps on a brief set of wooden steps to my left. The woman, now in a light brown dress, descended into the cellar and stood over me as I rolled my head back slowly and gave her an exasperated look. Her hair was still bound in the white kerchief, black and oily, long bangs framing a round, lightly scarred face. In her hands she held a wooden tray, which she set down in front of me. I glanced half-heartedly at the tin cup and wooden bowl set haphazardly on the tray. Soup? A piece of bread? I looked from the tray, up to her, then to my legs which were sprawled out on front of me.
“If I loose your hands, you gonna try anything?” She demanded of me. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, the headache was really beginning to sear into my skull. Why couldn’t she shut up? “Oh, what’s this then, you going to cry little girl?”
I shook my head; she sneered and snatched a handful of my hair, jerking me forward as a low yelp escaped my lips. Then came the knife, slicing swiftly through the bindings and freeing my hands. My wrists throbbed and I struggled to make my fingers work as I grasped each wrists in front of me, trying to massage them as my mind began to wander. I wanted to be anywhere but here. Goddess if I could take it all back; I’d failed her. Failed my sister and this was the consequence, wasn’t it?
“Y’gonna eat or not?” The woman demanded.
“Aye, if she won’t eat might well force it down her throat then,” The man said. “Old Jaf likes it when they can work straight outta the gate.”
“Old Jaf would buy a girl with no arms or legs, ‘sposing she was useful,” The woman smirked.
“Your mind goes places, Greta,” The man took a long pull on a bottle, the glass glistened in the firelight. “What we do here, it’s bad enough without you…you know.”
“In for a shilling,” Greta smirked, kicking the tray toward me. “Eat up girl, mayhap the last good meal you get for a time.”
I stared at the tray, my eyes beginning to glaze over as a throbbing pain began to overtake my wrists. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want anything. Sheena. I’m so sorry Sheena. Greta growled and snatched the piece of bread from the tray, stepping toward me shoving it past my lips as she took another handful of my hair. I choked, nearly spitting it out onto the floor as she released my hair and brought her hand down onto the back of my skull.
“I said eat!” She said sharply. “Ain’t ta’ have you starving yourself before Old Jaf lays eyes on ye!”
“You do understand,” the man said. “that the girl can’t eat if she’s choked. If you’ve her dead on the floor how much is she worth to you?”
“Quiet your mouth, Arn,” Greta snapped. “I’ll deal with defiance in ways I see to. If the girl wants to rugg me I’ll rugg her back.”
“As you see it,” Arn said with a resigned sigh. He took another pull on his bottle as I struggled to breathe, eventually managing to sit up back up and nibble at the bread as she glared at me, hands on her hips. “But also as you see it, you ain’t to feed your boy without a payout.”
“What’s that then?” Greta demanded, turning to Arn. “Mind you keep my son out of your mouth!”
“All’s in my mouth is a bit of liquor, and even that’s wanting,” Arn shrugged. If I hadn’t been completely terrified I might have rolled my eyes. “You ought ask the obvious, seein’ as the girl was dressed fine.”
“Aye? you think she’s someone?”
“Could it hurt to ask?”
Greta turned to me, a look of suspicion about her face as her eyes bored into my soul.
“Who are you, girl?” She demanded. “You worth something?”
“No,” I shook my head, confused.
“Spawn of some noble? Someone would pay for you?”
I shook my head again. What was she talking about?
“I’m just…Lyra,” I said confused, my voice quivering. “What do you want with me?”
“Want you to eat,” Greta snapped. “Then you’ll get to work. Mights well do some such for us before we get some shilling from your hide.”
I choked down what was left of the food, barely even taking time to notice that the ‘soup’ was barely even soup at all. Rather, it was just a watery concoction with a few mixed vegetables floating around in it. As I finished, Greta pulled me to my feet and dragged me to a wash basin tucked away in the corner of the room, behind Arn who still sat at the table nursing his bottle.
“Aye, take care of these dishes,” Greta snapped, throwing the empty tray into a bin of murky water. “Then you can see to the floor, got a year of dust on it just waiting for you.”
“Mind you don’t break her, Greta,” Arn sighed. “I keep tellin’ you-”
“And I keep tellin’ you to shut up!” Greta sat at the table beside Arn, wooden stool dragging across the stones as I tried to focus on the task in front of me. I kept my eyes front as I rugged a dirty rag across the surface of a tin place, hands soaked in dirty ice-cold water. As they made idle conversation, I searched my immediate surroundings with my eyes, doing my best to find some way to escape. What did I know so far? From my poor vantage point, I could see a set of stone steps to my left beneath a shoddy arch framed with brass. I knew that behind me was the table, the flickering fireplace, a high window set into the wall, too high for me to climb out, too high to see out of. Where did it go? to the street? Yes, we were in a cellar, underground. In front of me, a set of three shelves set into the wall, wooden, stained, their contents nearly invisible save for a few glimpses of brass and tin illuminated by the leaping, crackling flames at my back.
“Any word from Marcus?” Greta asked Arn. I could hear him shrug.
“As much as can be expected,” Arn told her. “as much as you’d ‘spect to hear about any of them.”
“Hear about plenty of them,” Greta scoffed. “Hear about them dead in the pits, hear about them shipped off to Axock. Hear about them shot dead in the streets.”
“Ain’t heard about Ched, and not hearin’ means he’s not laid out somewheres. I’ll count the blessing’s the Goddess gave me, if you not be minding.”
“I mind,” Gretta growled. “I mind that his life’s to be snuffed out for somethin’ so small as not payin’ a tax no one ever agreed to.”
“By the same,” Arn said. “He knew what it is he was steppin’ into. He knew that buyin’ from smugglers instead of respecting the High Lady’s tariffs was gonna see him done in the end. Just as what it is we do is gonna see us done. You can see it now Greta, all this, it comes to an end whether we wish on it or not.”
“It ain’t ta’ end so long as we’ve kids to sell,” Greta said. “Unless it be that your feet are feelin’ the chill?”
“Could be so,” Arn shrugged. I listened intently as I scrubbed a tin cup and set it aside. “Could be that I’m thinkin’ bout what if it’d be your boy?”
“I told you to stop bringin’ him up,” Greta said, irritated. “‘sides, never going to be him.”
“You ain’t to know that,” Arn said, exhasperated. “Besides-”
I don’t know what overcame me, but I knew that it was either this moment, or none at all. I bolted to the left, toward the brief set of stone steps leading to the surface. I barely heard the shout of surprise as Greta and Arn jerked, rising from the table and kicking their wooden stools across the stone floor. My feet moved, one in front of the other, the ascent of each step seeming to take a lifetime. It was as if I were trapped in a dream where I needed to run, but my legs simply wouldn’t cooperate. Running through mud, doing my best to lift each knee but failing miserably. The wooden door at the top of the steps came closer and closer as the rugging footfalls of my captors sounded clumsily across the floor. I could practically feel Arn’s breath on the back of my neck as my footfalls sounded against the tread.
My hand was on the doorknob, I fumbled with it, twisting and groaning as I tried to release the latch. The door opened outward and I stumbled from the cellar and into an almost spartan-bare room with a table, a few chairs, and scattered dishes across a basin counter. I didn’t stop, I shot past the table, my eyes searching desperately for an exit. Not finding one, I settled for rushing through an archway into the next room which wasn’t quite as bare as the last, but rather it was filled with barrels and crates stacked against the wall, sprawling outward to create a narrow path that was barely navigable. My eyes searched the space, eventually traveling upward to see high ceiling lined a rickety wooden catwalk along tan and brown walls. This place, what was it? It wasn’t a house, was it some kind of storage facility? I warehouse?
“Lyra,” A voice said suddenly. I froze briefly, looking for its origin. It was barely a whisper, maybe I’d imagined it. I pushed forward, barreling through the pathway between the crates, ducking behind a corner. I could hear the footsteps of both Greta and Arn as they approached the mouth of the barrel maze and my eyes went wide as I realized I had only seconds to make a decision. They would find me and this time there would be no escape.
What do I do?
Where do I go?
“Lyra,” The voice came again. “This way.”
Felt a cold, invisible hand take mine and less than gently pulled me further into the maze.
“Duck!” The voice said; I immediately complied, ducking behind a crate just as Arn ran by, a glint of metal in his hand.
“Ain’t no use hiding!” Arn shouted. He slammed his fist against one of the crates; I felt the reverberation of the wood in my soul.
“I’ll skin you alive!” Greta screamed at the top of her lungs. “I’ll gouge your eyes out an’ make you eat em’! You don’t need your eyes where you’re goin!”
“Aye, that’ll make her come out,” Arn said with mock encouragement.
“This way Lyra,” The voice whispered. I turned my head in the direction of the disembodied voice and saw that there was a gap between the crates. I swiftly crawled through, my sides scraping the wood noisily as I emerged onto the other side. I was stuck up against a wall, and toward the center of the room I heard the sound of wood splintering.
“Greta lay down that sledge!” Arn snapped. “You mean to break the girl’s spine?”
“She won’t need no spine!” Greta snapped. “Old Jaf’s just gonna need a torso at this point!”
“Climb,” The voice whispered to me softly. I turned my head and saw it; an old ladder set into the wall. Not really a ladder - just handholds. I looked up into the darkness and saw that the handholds led up to the catwalk, through a gap in the center. “You are brave, Lyra, be brave a little longer.”
Be brave a little longer. I could do that. I could do that.
I grabbed the handhold and pulled myself up, my back rugging against the rough wood as I ascended into the darkness. Slowly, carefully, one hand, then the other. Up, up, up. I could do this. I could do this.
“She’s up there!” I heard Greta shriek as I reached the halfway point. I quickened my pace, but nearly froze as I heard the sound of the sledge slamming against a crate.
“Just move it out o’ the way, Greta!” Arn said angrily; I heard the sound of wood scraping against stone , followed by a crash. Arn was below me, his feet on the ladder. My heartbeat quickened, my palms began to sweat as I continued my ascent. I was lighter than he was, that was my only advantage.
“Kick.”
I heeded the words of the disembodied voice and drove my foot downward, right into Arn’s face. He cried out and dropped, but as I looked down, I could see him snatching the next handhold before he could plummet all the way to the ground. I gasped and pulled myself through the gap, sprawling across the surface of the catwalk. My body ached and the wood creaked as I worked my way to my feet, looking desperately for something, anything. Where had I gone? Where was I going to go? How did this help me? I could hear Arn struggling with the handholds, Greta screeching, my own heartbeat pounding in my chest.
“Door!”
There was a door on the other side of the catwalk, small; Arn would probably have to duck to get through it. I took off running, barreling down the catwalk, my feet thudding against the wood. Each of my footfalls elicited a tired creek from the wood as the tension pulled against aging supports set into the ancient wall. I turned the corner, sharply and caught a glimpse of Arn mounting the catwalk in his delayed pursuit. Greta was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed the door handle, actually it wasn’t even a handle, just a horizontal bar laid into a pair of old brass brackets. I twisted it, rotating the latch upward and slamming it to the right. As I did, the door drifted open slightly. I pushed it, hard, and emerged onto a rooftop. The slums laid out in front of me, dozens, no, hundreds of rooftops laid out in an uneven cascade as far as the eye could see. Buildings connected with electrical wires, lights sparsely bringing sections of the city to life, the distant buzz of laughter and conversation in the night beneath a blanket of of stars. The roof laid out in front of me, leading to a gaping hole presumably dropping to the sidewalk.
“Jump.”
It made no sense, why would I jump? Wouldn’t I die? What was waiting for me down there in the blackness? No, I didn’t know for sure; I pictured myself tumbling downward into the cold, into the black, my bones cracking and shattering as I came into contact with the rough cobblestones. I could do that or I could stand here, waiting for Arn to burst through that door, waiting to be dragged back into that cellar. My hands bound, my mouth gagged as I awaited my fate. But now, right here in this moment I was free. In this moment I could make the decision.
“Jump.”
Jump. I had to jump. No, I couldn’t jump! I didn’t know how high up I was!
“You are brave, Lyra!” The voice hissed with more urgency this time. The night roared as I lurched forward. My ears registered the sound of Arn bursting through the door and Greta’s continual shrieks as she followed him. “Be brave for a while longer!”
My feet carried me onward, to the edge of the roof, and I hesitated only briefly, teetering on the edge as I looked down into the blackness.
“Be brave.”
Closing my eyes and sucking in a breath, I jumped, tumbling into the blackness, toward my fate. Toward my death.
“I’m sorry, Sheena.”
