Chapter 4 | PoV: Sanya
Sanya's jaw clenched. She bit down hard enough to shatter all her teeth and send them splintering into her mouth (an exaggeration, for Sanya still had all her teeth).
So much for not looking back. So much for keeping her pace easy.
Sanya pocketed her new blade into her pocket. Hopefully it would not cut up her trousers or her skin. She did not want to dull it before she got, like, a lot of uses out of it.
Anyway, now was not the time to think about that, not if she would not have any chances to use it, thrown in the brig or a pit.
Where everyone would know for certain a monster lurked among them all.
Then she'd be burned at the stake or drawn-and-quartered out in a public square—Stupid! Why was she thinking about this now?
Sanya wriggled her right arm, hoping to get free from the guard's oppressive strength
“Hey!” The guard said. “Stop that.” His grip tightened.
Sanya grunted.
“We believe you have something that isn't yours,” he sounded like an abusive father talking down to his child.
In other words, he sounded like her father.
Sanya almost turned around and spat at him.
Ugh, too many eyes on them. While some people moved on without so much a glance, many looked her way at least briefly before returning to their errands.
Others stopped and stared. Great. She did not want to be free entertainment. O-or entertainment in any paid capacity, for that matter. She wasn't so bad off yet as to sell herself—this was it, the pyre burned—
For Heliux's sake! Stop! Get your thoughts together.
“Return the item . . . and your sentence will be lesser,” the guard continued. “Resist . . . and, well, you won't like where this goes.”
Sanya scoffed. She flicked her left wrist, mentally aiming for her guard captor.
The guard jumped. “Ack! W-what!?”
His iron grip loosened, his gaze dated around blindly.
Sanya wormed her hand free and took off into a run. She pushed and shoved around anyone immediately in her way. People cried out at her abuse and shouted nasty things at her.
She deserved all their words, even if she hadn't hurt them then. A large pit grew in her stomach, organs dropping into an infinite, dark abyss. She almost decided to give up. Almost.
Sanya heard the guard curse over the commotion.
“W-what was that!?” The second reprimanded. “Why'd you let them go?”
“Nevermind that, hurry!”
What had she gotten herself into this time? How could she have been so stupid? Why was her life like this—why had she come to resort to thievery? She should have just searched for an apprenticeship or joined the Glorestrian guard or something! Maybe she could have been the first of her freak of a mage on the city's defense or contract. Maybe she could have been the first of her other freak on the city guard.
No. Not for this terrible city. Not for the people that failed her. Never.
Sanya fought back tears. Blegh, thieves didn't cry, it was on the writ. While she did want to keep the blade sharp for its intended use . . . maybe when she got away from these guards she'd use it the other way.
Her hands twitched to their opposite arms.
She passed by a stand selling makeup items. Her first thought was to pilfer that stall and take some of those items for her own . . .
Sanya shook her head. Even being chased by city guards, she could think of the dumbest things.
Her stomach grumbled. She sighed. She still needed to eat too. She had dropped her apple earlier for a free hand.
She ran near another guard. He stood for a second before jumping at the commotion. He glanced at her, and then to the right, where the two guards sped behind her.
“Oh, uhhhhh. You need a third?” He called to the two other guards.
Sanya almost laughed. Guards kept proving their stupidity and their incompetence. Of course they needed a third, of course they should move from their idle post and help catch the immediate wrongdoer.
Sanya didn't hear any response. The third guard was already lost beyond the crowds of people.
People . . . So many people . . . Too many people, and yet, Sanya couldn't get the guards off her tail. She really was pathetic.
There was no rhyme or reason to the foot traffic of the market. People went in one direction on all lengths of the paths—left, center, and right—and in the opposite direction.
All sorts of people too—tall, short, turbans and hats and exposed hair of a variety of colors. Tunics, blouses, and robes donned torsos. Trousers, skirts, dresses kept thighs hidden. Tans, browns, and grays dominated clothing colors, but some people had washed away colors dyed into their clothes, hints of blues and oranges and reds.
One leg purposefully stuck out in front of Sanya, just in time for her to not be able to react to it or change her course. Which meddling imbecile in the crowd did this to her? She was going to strangle them!
Sanya's breathing cut out. In a rush of air and a plummeting heart, Sanya tossed her arms out and planted her face into the sand below her. People moved out of her way, no one reached out a hand to keep her from falling.
Sanya let out only a grunt at the impact, careful enough not to utter a thing.
A wave of pain shot through her, especially from the pebbles digging into her knees, palms, nose, and right cheek. She tasted fine grains of rock.
Yum. Rocks. What kind of niche would they fill in her diet?
Sanya's fists clenched, digging up a handful of sand each. Her body ached, sweat leaked from her body, clothes clinging onto her.
“Nice going,” the first guard said. “What a clumsy reprobate. Thanks for making it easier.”
The guards let out mocking laughter.
Sanya went red. T-this wasn't how it was supposed to go!
She attempted to push herself up, but the sharp end of a spear poked at her back. She dropped back against the sand.
Chains clinked from one of the guards.
Sanya's heart slammed in her chest. This was it. It was all over. Better they just kill her now than to send her off to rot away for life.
“Minor theft and running away from guards. We get that a lot. Fortunately for you, it's not enough for a death sentence or exile. However, it won't be nice.”
One of the guards forcefully took Sanya's hands, yanking them back. A knee of his dug into her back, just like the spear earlier.
“Be careful. They have . . . magic?” Right. Maybe she could temporarily blind them again and get away.
“So, we should kill them?”
Yes please please please. Sanya nodded vigorously.
“Aww,” the first guard said. “This one wants to die.”
Someone pulled Santa's wrists close. A length of chain bound them together.
“Attack us and maybe your sentence will be raised. Which one are you? Gonna melt our flesh? Lacerate us with wind? Slow us all down to give you time to clobber us?” The third goaded.
Blind you all and run away.
She did nothing though. She didn't feel like it.
Apparently, someone else had plans to do something.
Sanya looked up. Someone draped in robes stepped toward the group. Shadow concealed their face. They held a six-foot staff horizontally in one hand, a black metal—no, a deep purple—a semicircle of metal protruded from its end, fashioned with feathers from some dark carrion bird, dangling towards the ground due to gravity. The staff seemed to want to consume light, warping the air around it.
How edgy. Sanya had to admit that it had some style, though.
The mage spoke something completely incoherent. Like, not even close to language.
Almost in unison, the guards started shouting out.