II | Born A Monster

• A small reminder that this book does have some graphic violence in it. This is the last warning you shall receive but if you're familiar with my writing then you're already aware of my love for gore. •

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

As the convoy nears, lanterns swinging from the sides of the carts, tossing shadows and lengthening the trees, the kids wait in anticipation. It's a moonless night, further darkening the forest. I hold my breath, nerves tightly wound around my throat. I'm certain the light from from the lanterns will illuminate us, but it never gets the chance to.

The first barrel of sloshing liquid rolls across the road, jostling over the uneven dirt. The carriage driver doesn't see it.

I continue to hold my breath.

Emera dips the tip of her cloth-wrapped arrowhead into the bucket beside her, the thick liquid dripping from it.

"Now," she whispers. A kid at her side sparks a flint, the light jarring in the darkness as the arrowhead flares. Emera pulls the string back and lets out her breath before the arrow flies, an arc of orange light across the road.

It thuds into the barrel and then boom. The barrel bursts apart in a shower of flaming liquid and fragments of wood. Emera throws a hand up to shield her eyes, but I stare, enraptured, as the trail of oil catches light and crawls along the road, creating a wall of flame.

The horses screech with the sudden eruption, skidding to a halt in the mud. The driver cries out, struggling to keep his hold on the reins.

The other carts and drivers behind him rumble to a stop, demanding answers. Fire surges behind them too, trapping them with their terrified horses and their invaluable loot that will change our lives forever.

My mouth begins to water with the thought of that loot and the future it promises.

A scream rises and kids run from the trees, brandishing their weapons in white-knuckled grips, hope flickering with the flames in their gazes.

"Let's get rich," Emera says at my side, her smile wide as she bursts from her cover.

The drivers raise their hands, already surrounded and held at bay by feral children. Only a few, only those I could trust with this kind of thing, but each of them will be walking away with their freedom. I see Dax amongst them, more bounce in his step than I've ever seen him with as he hops from one foot to the other, peering into the back of a cart.

I bare my teeth in an eager grin, tracking Emera's movements as she approaches one of the carts. I've been waiting for this moment for two years; the moment where my coin finally flips.

Too easy.

My smile slips at the rough voice. Something settles in my stomach, a heavy weight that feels nothing like hope.

I don't see Jile amongst the kids that pull the drivers from their carts. I don't see him with them as Emera flips back the heavy blanket of one of the carts.

Something catches my hearing and I wince, the thud of it pulsing in my head. It's rapid but strong, and there's more than one, like heartbeats. The noise slips from my ears before I can truly grasp it. It manages to leave a bad taste in my mouth though.

Run. Run now.

Emera screams but her shriek is quick to become a gurgle. The glow of the fires and the lanterns reflect upon the blood that drenches her front. The bow slips from her hands and my eyes widen as the knife is wrenched from her throat and the Sharlik soldier jumps to his feet.

As the soldier steps over Emera, I go to her, heedless of the chaos erupting around me. I drop to her side and press my bare hands to her throat. She chokes on her blood, crimson bubbling from her lips to spill down her pockmarked cheeks.

She looks up at me with startled eyes.

The warm slickness of her blood drenches my fingers, but it does nothing to stem the flow that soaks the dirt beneath her.

"Don't—" she splutters, blood splattering from her mouth. "Don't... trust them."

"Them?" I question, pushing harder against her throat, trying to keep her life inside her body. "Who's them? Emera?" But her body has stopped convulsing and she no longer struggles for breath.

I lift my head, trying to comprehend what's happening.

The screams tear me back to the moment, piercing through the fog of confusion.

Run!

My legs urge me forward and then I'm up and sprinting, a shout lodged in my throat. But as more soldiers unveil themselves from the carts and plunge their blades into the kids, I don't run away. I run towards. I run towards because I can't hear Dax scream again.

I brandish my blade, will my tired legs to go faster, even as the soldier's steel glints in the light of the moon and the stars and Dax stares up at it, small in comparison to that mighty blade.

"Dax!" I cry, but my voice is lost amongst the other shouting, amongst the slash of steel through skin and the crack of it through bone.

The blade bears down upon him, the soldier a sneering face above as he leaps from the cart, prepared to cleave the boy in two.

Heat crawls into my lungs, burning through the muscles in my thighs, and I push off the ground. My shoulder slams into the man, his hard muscle and ribs tearing something within me, but my momentum takes us both to the ground. We tumble through the mud, filth splattering into my mouth, and the blade slips from my fingers.

I don't rest a moment. I scramble towards the soldier as he tries to reach for his sword. I don't let him as I throw my slight weight on top of him. My blade rests next to his head, gleaming in the fire's light, and it'll take only a heartbeat to reach for it, to plunge it into his neck and give him a quick death. But I don't.

With teeth bared and chaotic fire curling in my chest, my thumbs delve into his eyes. He wails as blood wells around my fingers, spilling down his cheeks. I apply more pressure, the squish of his eyes under my nails satisfying, the power I feel surging within me reminds me I'm not weak and helpless. The awful goo that bursts around my thumbs is not so satisfying. His hands flap about, slapping my thighs, reaching for my face, grappling for my wrists, until it becomes too much for him and he slumps into unconsciousness.

I pull my thumbs from the gory mess of his eye-sockets and turn to Dax, his mouth agape as he watches me swipe my dark hair from my face, smearing the stickiness of blood on my cheeks.

"We need to go," I say, breathless. I pull myself to my feet and swipe my blade from the ground, not allowing myself to think on my actions.

Born a monster.

Dax doesn't move, his feet stuck in the mud, staring at the soldier's eyes, or lack thereof. As I glance around I see the soldiers are overwhelming our numbers, allowing no one to escape, cutting down the kids with agile swipes of their blades, fierce determination in their gazes.

With no time left to spare, I grab Dax, my fingers digging into his arm, both of us flinching at the touch. I drag him from the blood and gore and into the trees where we run.

Nothing left. Nothing at all.

I stagger, but then it's Dax helping me, intertwining our fingers and taking us further through the trees. His tug on my arm causes pain to lance through my left side and I grit my teeth in an attempt to push it down.

Freedom was a lie. Freedom doesn't exist.

Yes, it does. I want to scream at the voices, tell them that it was real, even if only for a moment.

Lying to yourself. Foolish girl.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Stop it. You're distracting her. She needs to live.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge their words, and I don't see the looming shadow before it's too late. Dax tries to swerve around it, thinking it a mere tree, but there's a flutter of breath that fogs the air and I know better.

I throw myself to the ground as the blade whistles through the air, cutting through the space I'd been. There's a splash of something wet against my cheek, warm and thick. A droplet dribbles past my lips and a metallic tang fills my mouth.

Dax tumbles to the ground, weak gasps shuddering past his lips, his eyes wide as he looks down at his stomach.

"You," the soldier speaks, turning his gaze to me. "You're the girl—"

I leap to my feet and slash my blade across the soft skin of his throat before he can utter another word. His eyes bulge, the sword slips from his grip as his hands leap to his throat to stop the flow of blood that cascades down his front. I watch him choke and splutter and fall to his knees, looking up at me. Fear creeps into his eyes as he looks upon my face, the black-haired fiend they mistake for just another thief on the street.

None of them could possibly know the truth.

Something else. Born a monster.

He pitches forward and lands face-first in the mud, dead before he hits the ground. I let out a breath, something cold but delicious settling in my chest to see another body slumped at my feet.

I shake myself and rush to Dax, dropping to his side as he whimpers. My hands find his stomach and he cries out. I lift my hands and they come back coated in blood, too much blood. Horror grips my throat and refuses to let go.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No, no, no."

"Az," he sobs, his voice small, a wounded animal amongst the grime and leaves. He reaches for me, his fingers trembling, his eyes searching for my face amongst the dark.

I clasp his hand in mine as tears well in his eyes, trailing into his hair. "I'm here," I murmur, even as I scour the deep wound in his stomach seeping blood.

"I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, his face crumbling as he shifts.

"Don't move," I say, smoothing back his hair from his dirty forehead. His eyes meet mine, terror shining within them.

I've seen enough people die to know when they aren't coming back from the brink.

"I'm sorry."

Tears prick at my eyes, hot and unbidden. "You have nothing to be sorry for," I tell him, voice wavering as his skin shines with sweat, pallid amongst the hazy light of the forest. "You did good, Dax. You did good."

"I did?" he asks, gazing up at me, looking at me as though I can save him again.

I smooth my palm against his cheek, leaving streaks of blood behind, and I offer him a broken smile. "I've never trusted anyone more than you. You didn't disappoint me."

You disappointed him.

You failed him.

It should be you.

"I... I got you something, Az," he whispers, his voice hitching. He digs into his pocket and procures something, offering it to me with a shaking hand. "I stole them from that—" he squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a weak breath, "—from that rich ass who hit you." My hand closes over the gloves he holds out to me and my chest cracks. "I hope... I hope they fit."

"They're perfect."

A small smile lifts his lips, a different light besides terror glimmering within his eyes. Hope. Then they see nothing at all, blank and lifeless.

"Dax," I whisper, shaking my head, unable to accept this. I continue trailing my fingers through his hair, staying with him even as the cold touches us and there's nothing left of him but a small and empty body.

My teeth sink into my lower lip to stop it from trembling, to hold in the sob that clogs my throat. I hug him to my chest, clinging to him, willing my warmth beneath his skin, willing my heart to beat in his chest, willing me away just so he can be again.

But if I've learnt anything these past few years, it's that people die and I continue on.

I lay him to rest, brushing his eyes closed, tears tracking through the mud and blood on my cheeks. My tears won't undo what's been done.

"Thank you," I whisper, brush away my tears, and get to my feet, turning to the soldier.

I dig through the soldier's pockets, taking anything I can use before leaving behind the bodies to continue on.

Tears may not undo it, but revenge will taste sweeter than this sorrow.