The Seventh Crow

Part 6

I'm not sure how long I was in my cell until someone came to check if I was still breathing. If the ribs were still broken and if I was going to be healed in time for the festivities.

Deep inside, I wish to Djel, every Saint, the darkness, anyone that will listen that I won't be healed by that time.

"There's a couple bruises on her waist that won't be gone by the time," the prisoner doctor states. "But those are easy to cover up. Her ribs are on their way to healing."

With that, the soldier and doctor leave without another word. Maybe I should throw myself against the walls until I break more bones, make more bruises? That's one way to get me out of the festivities.

I stand up, my legs wobbling from the sudden movement. I can do this. My ribs aren't completely healed, they can easily break once again. Maybe break an arm in the process? Or dislocate my shoulder? It can't be that hard.

I don't think twice before running towards the wall. Pain shoots through my body which makes me scream. I waited, wondering if a soldier was going to come check on the scream. But there was nothing. No footsteps, no keys jingling.

I try and try again. Each attempt is less successful than the other. All it did was increase the pain in my ribs.

Taking a breath, I try one more time. I brace myself for the impact of the wall. As my side met the cement, I felt something inside shift. The act sends shearing pain through every nerve inside me. I'm not sure if I scream before everything goes black.

"Nox," my brother's panicked voice echoes through my mind.

My eyes flutter open. I'm in bed, safe in my house. My mother and father quickly moved throughout the rooms.

"What's happening?" I ask.

"We need to go," mother says. "Get up, Nox."

I don't have time to grab anything before I'm being pulled out the door. People are screaming all around. The sounds of panicked sobs. Houses being burned. People- no Grisha- standing around. Some with their hands out, pointing at the burning houses.

"Run," my brother calls out. He grabs my hand, yanking me along. My mind is not able to wrap around the idea that the Grisha are attacking our home.

Without another breath, my father is being hosted up in the air. My mother failed to reach him.

"Get out of here," she says to my brother.

"Ma-"

"Go, we'll be fine."

We are running again. Moving left and right to avoid the falling remains of burning wood. Running into people trying to escape the other way. Everything is in complete chaos.

A squeaky scream echoes behind us. I try my hardest not to look, but I have to know. I have to know if it's my mother.

Without thinking, I stop and look. My mother fell to her knees, her hands clutching her chest. A Grisha standing behind her, hands outstretched.

"Nox," my brother calls, sounding miles away.

My mother and I lock eyes. I swear she smiled. She was trying to make it seem less painful than it looks.
Slowly, her eyes go hard. They turn into glass. The life and color drained out of her like she was nothing but a vessel.

Tears prick my eyes. Arms wrap around my waist, pulling me backwards. I couldn't take my eyes off my mothers dead body.

Why would they do this? What has our village ever done to them? I haven't ever seen a Grisha, yet here they are killing my family. Taking them from me like their life isn't just as important?

The village retreats from sight. The smell of burnt wood and bodies still hang in the air. My brother finally sets me down under a tree. He takes in multiple gasps of air.

"Are you okay?" he asks, grabbing my head between his hands.

All I could do was nod my head. My mothers body is still invading my memory. She shouldn't have gone back for my father. She should've kept running. She should've followed her own advice and ran.

"Why were they doing that?" I ask.

"That's what they do," he answers, though there was something sad in the tone.

"But our village didn't do anything."

"They don't need a reason. They are an abomination to life."

"You don't believe that? Mother always says not to judge."

"They just killed our parents, Nox," he snaps at me. "They aren't good people."

I decide it's best not to talk about it further. Give him a break to wrap his head around everything. That's when I noticed someone had time to put my shoes on. The shoelaces tied in a different sort of knot. The only way they could stay on. A method that my mother came up with.

"They really are dead..." I whisper. My brother looks over to me, his eyes scanning my face. "I saw the light dim..."

Tears slid down both our faces. He brings me in for a hug. Finding the only comfort in our arms. We have nothing. No money, no parents, no shelter.

"Nox," he starts but never finishes.

I wake with a painful stab in my side. My hands were trying to stop whatever was causing me pain, but they were tied down on the floor. A Grisha hovers over me, her hand on my chest.

"Don't touch me," I breathe out. "Don't heal me."

The Grisha doesn't acknowledge my words. The whites of her brown eyes are red. Her brown hair clumped together in knots. She's on jurda parem.

"Stop it," I tried one more time. My hands tugging on the restraints.

"Stop fighting," the doctor says. "King's orders."

Tell the King to screw himself.

"I don’t want to be healed," I snapped at him.

"Your ribs need to be intact for the festivities. Whatever you did, it dislocated a cracked bone. I would love nothing more than you to suffer, but the King has orders. I must follow them."

"Screw you," I say through the pain.

The feeling of Grisha power is strange. It's like a tingle but also like a stitch. Molding my ribs back in place, gluing it back to the correct place it escaped from.

"Done," the Grisha said, removing her hand from my chest.

"Great, take these off." I pull on the restraints.

"Absolutely not," the doctor states. "You will stay in those until a job or the festivities. Whatever the soldiers need you to do. We will not have a repeat of this incident. Next time I won't use valuable experiments to fix you."

"Didn't ask you to do it now."

"Don't make me call a soldier in here." He stares intently at me. I was the first one to look away. As much as it pains me to say, the Fjerdan doctor has a point.

He could've- should've- used the Grisha somewhere else. Besides, it would be nice to be able to move and not have breath shattering pain rake through my whole body. There is also the small fact that I absolutely refuse to die by the hands of a Fjerdan.

"Rest," the doctor says. "You're going to need it."

He motions the Grisha out of the cell, closing the door behind him. I was alone once again. Stuck on an uncomfortable bed, hands tied in restraints.

Could be worse. They could've killed you.