Volume 5, Chapter 8 – “Family” and Growing Up
We walked a whole hour to the place where the family was. Along the way, Kita told me a lot. She was kidnapped in childhood by the syndicate "Emerald Scion" — formerly called "Coral Tulip" — and from ages seven to twelve she was subjected to rape and beatings.
"That's horrible..." — I clenched my fists.
"You think that's horrible? For a child — yes. For life — no."
At thirteen she was sold into even worse hands, where she had to stand in one place in the house as a punching bag. When the master came home, he beat her — and if she fell, things got even worse: several days without food or water as punishment. She stood there all blue, with bruises all over her body, constantly naked so the master wouldn't accidentally bruise his hand on some piece of iron or scrape his knuckles on fabric.
"Did you deal with him?"
"No. He died on his own. Why take revenge — that's the past."
At eighteen, her master lost everything and, to stay afloat, sold her. Kita ended up in the hands of a female surgeon. She practiced on Kita the way one practices tattoos on a pig. Cut the skin, sewed it back, and so on in a circle.
"That's... Brrr... Horrible. How did you endure it?"
"After so many years, you endure even worse..."
At twenty, the mistress went off to study and sold Kita further, where she ended up in the hands of a kind soul — a human. She lived a life like in paradise. Ten whole years of paradise. But then the master was killed — and she ended up again in an animal cage in taverns on public display, where a pair of military men bought her. And from thirty to fifty, Kita spent as a target for arrows and a doll for the couple's affairs. And as soon as it came out, she was instantly sold by the wife, who killed her husband. And at fifty, Tsukhan bought Kita — and for eighty-three years now she's been in a family of those just like her.
"It's salvation..."
"Yes. It's family — and I'll introduce you."
We'd moved far enough from the tent city and the pyramid, finding ourselves in a camp of ten tents.
—
Elara — Nickname: Death-Defying Love.
Dresses in everything with hearts. Parents sold her to pirates for a bottle of rum.
Weapon: Pink katana.
S-rank.
—
Mira — Nickname: Whisper.
Loves only herself, but is grateful to the master. Ended up a slave because of her own arrogance.
Weapon: Voice and hand-to-hand.
A-rank.
—
Thaia — Nickname: Madwoman.
A schizophrenic whom her parents abandoned because of her constant conversations with the air — and sold into slavery.
Loves flowers and conversation when she's noticed and people talk to her and aren't afraid of her "friends."
Weapon: Spirit magic — her friends, who tear enemies apart with horses.
S-rank.
—
Dorian — Nickname: Good Guy.
Was caught by the syndicate trying to rob a healer to distribute herbs to his village. Afterward the village was burned, and he was sent into slavery.
Weapon: Mithril sword.
A-rank.
—
The rest weren't in the camp.
—
Kita and I approached a pink tent, where a girl in heart-covered clothes sat drawing people on the ground.
"Death-Defying Love. Hi there," — Kita smiled and leaned down to see what she was drawing. "Trying to remember your parents?" — Kita hugged her.
"Hey! I remember everything perfectly! They're always in my little heart! Even if they died," — the Girl protested a little, but hugged Kita tighter. "— And who's this shirtless guy?" — she looked at me.
"My name is Seraphim."
"I decided to introduce him to us. If you don't mind..." — Kita said, looking around the camp.
The girl jumped up and ran to me, holding her heart-patterned sarafan.
"My name is Elara. Who was your last master? What did he do to you? Don't be afraid, tell me!"
"What? No, I—"
"It's okay," — Elara hugged me. "Don't be afraid — you can let out everything that's built up," — she pressed her head to my chest and squeezed me tightly.
(I felt sorry for her somehow... She was just drawing her parents from memory, and now she's hugging me, wanting me to open up. Maybe I was wrong in my selfishness?! After all, so many people are in slavery, spending horrible years. I don't know how long Elara spent in slavery, and I don't want to know — because it was definitely painful and hard...)
"He's not—"
"I felt like a slave to a girl with psycho tendencies — and to myself," — I interrupted Kita.
A dwarf a meter thirty tall ran up to us. With a happy smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes.
"Hey! I'm Dorian. A psycho-mistress is hard. But thankfully, you made it out to us. Want some food, a drink? Maybe something with a kick?" — Dorian gently, kindly, pulled Elara off me and hugged her himself — after which she went to her tent and started rummaging around loudly.
"I'm Seraphim... I... I'm a little embarrassed to be here... Because—"
"Easy... Buddy. We're all family, or friends, or acquaintances," — he tapped my stomach. "— Call this place whatever you want. We're not a cult, hehe!"
A bald girl ran up and rubbed Dorian's beard and head with her fist.
"Ha-ha! Who would! That! Like what! Say! We're here, we're there, we're here — a cult, a gang, friends, family!" — the Girl rubbed him, voicing the words in different voices.
(It gives me the chills and a smile, all of this. It's hard to look at them without tears. Knowing Kita's backstory, it's unlikely all their lives were simpler...)
Kita smiled, shielding the Girl and Dorian.
"Well... Only Mira is left. But she... Had her tongue cut out and a curse placed on her. So... Talking to her will be hard," — Kita said sadly, pointing at a girl sitting in the field, knees pressed to her face, rocking back and forth.
(What...) My eyes darted from Mira to Kita and back.
"Lord... Why did you show me this!" — I shouted, and everyone turned.
"What's with our sweetie?" — Elara stretched out in confusion.
"Apparently he also has some kind of invisible friend," — Kita shrugged. "We should support him."
"Maybe fifty milliliters of seventy-proof? Hehe!" — Dorian winked.
"Fool!" — came the reply.
"Well, it helped you and Thaia!"
"Lord. I understood everything. But why do they need all this pain??"
I collapsed to my knees. (I understood everything. My selfishness is crap compared to bigger problems. My fear of death can't compare to the lives of these people. God, I know you exist — so give them your kindness. I... It hurts to look at them. At Kita, at the bald girl with schizophrenia, at good Dorian and Elara. Especially my eyes don't turn to Mira, whose life is forever broken by the absence of a tongue... Forgive them, please.)
A hand fell on my shoulder and quietly stroked it.
"Friend. Your friend isn't answering — our pain is a trial," — Good Guy stroked my shoulder. "— Don't think your friend is bad. I'm sure he's good — like Thaia's. But... Pop Only you can help yourself right now! And we'll support you," — Good Guy held out a bottle of something dark.
I turned over my shoulder to him. (He doesn't understand, doesn't know what God is, doesn't know I met Him...)
"God is the one who creates and can help anyone," I said quietly.
"We see, She saw, He saw! What, How, When, friend, buddy, yours, helped us! I, We, Us, I'm a girl! I'm a guy! We went through, experienced life, but even, even, yeah, of course, we couldn't help! And your! Your! Our? God doesn't help just anyone! It's your, your, friend, buddy!" — the Bald girl attacked, pouring alcohol into me to calm me down.
"TA-DA!" — Elara jumped out of the tent, pushing Kita and Thaia aside, presenting the katana.
And I, pushing away the bitter drink, understood. (Maybe it was the alcohol hitting me — but I found the solution. How to protect them from anyone.)
"And how far is the Silent Silence Wall from here?" — I said.
"What? How? Why?"
"206 km," — Kita said calmly. "— Or 41 hours, or 1.4 days."
[Reminder: in this world, a day is thirty hours.]
"And... A gift?" — Elara leaned sadly almost ninety degrees, holding the katana out to me with both hands extended.
I looked at all of them.
"I'll take it. But I promise I'll bring you all gifts too!" — I stood up and looked around. "And which way is the Wall?"
"There," — Kita pointed.
"What are you doing! It's dangerous to go near it!! Don't you dare!" — Elara hugged me.
"And this newbie's already aiming to be a Good Guy! Hehe."
"That's after your drink," — Kita smiled.
"Of course," — Dorian smiled.
I said goodbye to them and walked quickly toward the Wall, knowing there was a Keeper there who could help solve future problems. (Though I can't help them with the past, I can make their future easier. For the first time I can become a shield — and I want to become one. Maybe because I've been under someone's protection my whole life, or because I felt pain for them — but I ran toward the Wall, trying to meet the Keeper as soon as possible and get the weapons.)
I quickly left their camp at a jog, running through the fields. The sun was slowly turning red, silently watching my red face and half-naked appearance. The alcohol had hit my head a little, and there was a slight feeling of relaxation, calm.
Successfully, I made it back to the tent city, crossing the bridge, heading toward the capital. My breathing was gradually giving out, and my mouth was drying up. 1.4 days there without stopping, 1.4 days back. Heh. (If only I had a plane or wings like Cherubima's — and whoosh, dart there and back like a bullet.)
"Stop," — I slowed down, passing through a noisy village where children were circling the well and playing with each other.
(Cherubima said a wing appeared on me. One of six, meaning... Did I catch "featheredness" from her? But honestly — right now I wouldn't refuse wings...)
"Hey, mister warrior! Do you have one copper coin?!" — a boy begged, tugging my pant leg.
(Copper? What's that? Oh. I forgot — the tournament isn't a benchmark. It's like comparing city prices with airport or gas station prices. But I don't even have coppers, of course — and I don't have pockets either.)
"N-no?" — I answered uncertainly, examining his little face. (He doesn't look homeless — clean, dressed, and the village looks fine, everyone walking around not sad, not skinny.)
"Hey! Far!" — Mom ran up, sitting down across from him. "How many times have I told you not to beg passersby for your buns!"
(That's how it... usually looks.)
"Now give back everything you already begged from the mister!"
"But I didn't manage anything!"
"Did he take anything from you?" — Mom looked at me.
"Uh, no."
"See!" — the boy protested, striking the most displeased pose he could.
Mom stood up and took the boy's hand.
"Forgive us. We're not poor — Far just loves to bang out buns every second," — she turned to him. "— And that's very bad for teeth!"
"Mo-om! Not in front of the warrior mister!"
I crouched down, adjusting the katana and rapier.
"There-there. It's hard to live without teeth. Believe me, I know. Heh..."
"Oh! Cool. How many teeth have you had knocked out?"
"FAR!"
"What? Just a man's question," — he insisted.
"Nine teeth," — I answered calmly.
Mom smiled and drove Far home before he could start another round of questions.
"Sorry again. Kids..." — she shrugged, holding the front door handle. "Have a good evening, goodbye."
And she went inside to the shouts of another small child. (What a calm life here — even though they're relatively close to the arena.)
I walked on. (I need to make it to the tournament, and bring the rapiers. And also negotiate with the Old Man — have him make hilts without magic absorption. Simple enough: come to the Wall, fight the Keeper, take the weapons, come back. As they say, "in and out" — a five-minute job. One foot here, the other there.)
With an orange sky, I reached the capital. (How long the sunsets are here — thirty-hour days, after all. But now there's a new problem... I gave my passport to the syndicate — how do I cross the capital?? The cheetah guards probably won't like my appearance and lack of documents. And they were everywhere: on the walls, under the walls, at the gates, and near the Rumalin exits.)
I stood five kilometers from the walls, trying to think of something — but nothing came to mind. It was getting cold, and my open torso caught the wind, chilling me to the bone.
After half an hour of solitary deliberation in the field, I got a crazy idea that could bring me problems. I headed to the village a kilometer from the wall, where I wandered between the houses in search of... A house?
I found one: a man sitting with two guys on the steps of a house. They were smoking cigarettes and telling jokes. I confidently walked up to them — though a chill ran down my spine.
"Hi."
"Ha-ha. Huh? What do you want?" — the man answered, stopping his cigarette, the other two stood up, circling me.
"Take... — I started recalling. — A bucket?... To eat at home on the cliff of night," — I said, exhaling.
The men looked at each other.
"Where to?"
"Through the capital."
The man stubbed out his cigarette, throwing on a shirt, while the others sat back down, continuing to talk.
"Well, let's go," — he opened the door, letting me go first.
We entered an ordinary little house: low ceilings, a bed, a wardrobe, a kitchen, and a stove. The man put out the stove with water, shoveling everything out, and, moving the top bricks, pushed the wall — behind which was a passage into the catacombs.
(I never thought those days with Uyana would help me for so long... A pity she doesn't remember me.)
The place makes you want to get out faster: low ceilings force you to walk without straightening up, slippery walls with something constantly dripping down them, beams underfoot that squelch under my weight, a single torch lighting the tunnels here and there, snatching out their shadows — warehouses, seated bandits, hospitals. It was the underside of Ruma. While everything in the capital is good and "safe," beneath your feet daily pass contraband, illegals, avoiding the guards.
The "guide" was silent the whole way, puffing cigarettes, lighting them from the torch that kept shedding sparks and pieces of cloth when it touched the walls.
We climbed out of a basement filled with potatoes. The smell was awful — apparently it wasn't cleaned or changed much — so I ended up covered in rot. It was disgusting, though last time with Uyana we came out in a different place.
The guide sat down by the fire with other people and ignored me. (Well then...) I looked around and moved on, trying to avoid the main road connecting Hutzin and the capital, with branches to other large cities.
(My strength was still there. I looked at the sky, warming myself with my hands and occasionally a jog, swinging the new katana the girl gave me — and I've already forgotten her name... But I want to become a shield! This is my way of showing independence in this world — and plus, there's no Cherubima or Guya here...)
"Bliss..."
(The views are gorgeous. Far to the right, blue lights of magical lanterns; everywhere else, only fields and forest strips. A breeze, owls hooting, and cold. I try to warm my body, but the effect doesn't last long — it would be warmer to put on a big plastic bag and not let the heat out.)
The path was simple: trudge forward and that's it. I tried to warm myself as much as possible, setting myself challenges like "run across the forest strip in a minute or I'm a loser," and so on. And when the forest was bigger than usual, I strained, giving it my all.
(Yeah... I live here. In this world. Heh, and how did I end up like this. With two swords on my belt, no shirt, walking through a fantasy world to the Wall with the Keeper?!)
I kicked a pebble, and it became my companion across these fields.
(And I don't even mind. Before, I drew in the company, sat with a stylus all day, then cancer and death. I lived little — but the main thing is, I lived exactly those years that are probably the happiest for everyone — youth. I was happy, spent a childhood of plenty and joy with friends, found a girl, a relationship up to the first important stage of life. And then a new city, studies, work — and even then it wasn't terrible. I liked drawing, and the friends around me... And no one protected me there...)
I jumped over a fallen log, tossing the pebble under my feet.
(Though who would protect me at work? Maybe I should get a job here too, so no one protects me...)
"Pfft. Yeah! Break my own life and sit locked up because people protect me?! No way — I'd rather become stronger and work ahead, protecting others."
"Who's rustling around here?!" — an old man came out displeased, hand on his sheath.
"Oh... Of course. (What) — I sighed, patting the old man on the shoulder and tossing the pebble between his legs. — (You've lost your mind) — we've also got bandits hiding in the forests!"
(Is robbing a bandit of his clothes bad? He has a nice cloak... But he doesn't look like the syndicate — self-employed, probably...)
"I need your clothes," — I said, trying to make my voice mechanical.
The bandit was taken aback, trying to grab my arm — but I was already standing with the katana at his throat.
"Come on, come on. It's cold," — I poked the blade at his cloak. "— I hope you don't moonlight as an exhibitionist..."
"Easy, easy — hold on, hold on," — he calmed me, slowly taking off his cloak.
Pew-pum-clink.
(What?) I looked around and saw a wing appear on me — and a bolt lying on the ground. (No way... They really are in me?! Or maybe?)
"Hey! Crossbowman, shoot the other way!" — I shouted into the forest. "— And you, take it off... Though how will I put it on... With the wing..."
"TAKE THIS!" — a new Bandit shouted, trying to drive a sword into my liver — I reflexively blocked it with the rapier.
Now two bandits were in my sights.
Pew-pum-clink.
The second bolt fell to my right, revealing a second wing.
(Incredible... But how do I control them?)
I twitched my shoulders, moving my shoulder blades — and the wings flapped.
The bandits, in shock, quickly undressed — even the one I hadn't asked — and threw everything toward me.
Loot:
20 coppers.
7 silver coins.
Long cloak.
Two swords. (Dropped)
Belt.
Bread.
Pouch.
—
Loading everything up, I quickly moved away from that forest, trying to take off like a chicken.
(It's impossible. I need to straighten my back to the max and sharply hunch — is that how angels fly? Doubtful... But that's not how I can use them — it looks horribly clumsy...)
I tried to feel the wings somehow. (I feel them — but only the upper part and the contact point with my back. The feathers and the rest feel like hair — if you don't pull, there's no pain.)
(How do I flap them?) — I examined the wings, trying to mentally make them flap.
I ran and jumped. (What?? They flapped! As soon as I jumped, they started working!)
"I can fly!" — I shouted, landing on the ground.
Jumping again, they worked again. And if you try to jump in the air, you go higher — and if you lean a little, you fly like a helicopter. The controls came to me somehow immediately — but the sensations...
The sensations are amazing. Wind hitting my face, gnats filling my mouth, the wings flapping — and it's so... Absurd and strange...
(I just robbed robbers — and now I'm flying over the fields at bird height.)
Covering my mouth with my hand, I started accelerating, making a jump in the air at an angle. And each jump felt like being launched with all my might from a swing — the wings giving a sharp crack against the air, and no longer flapping every second, but only when I pushed off, and the rest of the way folding along my legs.
(It was so simple... I never flew with wings, though it's as if someone in the world flew... But it felt very majestic and amazing. The wind whistles in my ears, my eyes tear up and close on their own from the speed.)
I couldn't make out the landscapes — my eyes refused to open, and turning my head was a painful test. The air hit my face, tugging my lips, trying to get into my mouth — but breathing took effort.
(I'm happy. I don't think about where these wings came from. Why they're there. Right now I feel free and independent. Because I handled the robbers myself — and figured out flying myself.)
When braking, the wings opened very slowly to the sides, creating an obstacle to the air — and when they fully opened, I slowed down and leveled out, watching everything happening below, feeling wonderful.
(A whole world opened before me that you can't see from the ground. Hundreds of cities the size of Hutzin, all connected by wide roads where lanterns cover carts, horses, and people in blue light. A whole web of roads cutting through fields and forests — guards on cheetahs walking everywhere, protecting the roads from raids.)
(I saw strange boxes with special forces guards too. And inside stood those very Ruman planes. People ran around, disassembling, assembling parts. Red and green lights constantly appeared. Planes were checked one after another and driven underground, leaving an empty box to the night's possession. The lights went out — and you could only catch the glimmers of cigarettes.)
(In another similar box, special forces marched. There was a whole obstacle course — but not one of them opened his case.)
(The world lives. I'll fly away — and they'll keep living. And this Kingdom of Ruma from above — how does Rekhilon look? Though I saw it from above on a wyvern. But now I can want it myself and do it.)