A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

XI

Over the next week I fall into a regular routine. Wake up; get dressed; eat breakfast; first chore; nursery; lunch; second chore; nursery; dinner; nursery or chore; sleep, and repeat. The chores varied from kitchen work; mostly cleaning; to refilling the bathroom cloth buckets. I had to weed the gardens, and serve food in the dining hall. I spent hours teaching Artie as best I could, as well as caring for the other children, whose names I was slowly learning. Gwendolyn even spoke to me and helped with his teaching, mainly because she felt bad about the whole situation, as far as I was concerned. There were some nights where I only got three hours sleep because my chores involved late nights. To top this all off, I had an escort. Or should I say, escorts, considering they changed on a daily basis. I'd learnt that Ember, Fitz and Silas, along with half a dozen others, had suddenly left with Archer in the middle of the night. No one seemed to know what was going on, but they also didn't seem particularly concerned and I soon came to know that this occurred regularly, and sometimes without explanation ever. My escorts, varying from women my age to men in their fifties, never spoke other than to give me orders, or changes in my daily plans. They were there to ensure that I went where I was supposed to, without delay, even after I learnt some of the main routes and could now map them out in my head.
On my sixth day I get an unpleasant surprise. My monthly bleeding. The rod Silas cut from my arm usually regulated and lessened the flow, and kept the pain to a minimum, and I honestly could not remember the last time I had felt cramps. I am woken in the early hours of the morning, at least, I think it's the morning, to the excruciating fist squeezing and twisting deep in my abdomen. I momentarily wonder if I had swallowed barbed wire, and my body was trying to force it out. I break out in a sweat, digging my knuckles into my stomach desperately as I roll into the foetal position. I don't stay that way for very long though, because nausea rises and I lurch from the bed, only to drop to the ground and vomit. My nose and throat burns, my eyes run, and I wrap my arms around myself, leaning forward and sobbing as waves of pain and nausea roll through my body. I don't even notice when someone strikes a fire starter and light the bedside lamp. A tiny hand rests on my shoulder, but does little to comfort me as I retch again. The hand disappears and moments later a larger pair are lifting me into their arms. I blearily look up at my latest escort, whose name has completely slipped my mind. Not, of course, that I could care less what his birth parents branded him with right at this moment. I focus solely on not being sick on him as he rushes us through unlit tunnels. I think I pass out a couple of times, but I recognise the place we arrive at, and when I'm put back down, I immediately curl up into a ball of pitiful agony.

"What is wrong, dear?" Arronax's soothing voice sounds above me and I open my eyes to look at him.

"Silas cut the tube out," I moan, pressing my head against the floor as my body starts to tremble. I'm not sure how he understands what my burble meant, but suddenly he is up and boiling something. My escort has been sent to get something, and I am left to lie in my own world. Soon enough though Arronax forces me up and pours something down my throat. I choke and splutter, almost throwing it all back up. But I don't, and the effect is almost instantaneous. The pain ebbs to a dull throbbing pressure, and I almost cry at the relief. He then hands me a new pair of sleeping pants and a pile of thick rags. He explains that they contain an absorbent, natural cotton that can be washed and reused, or discarded. Then he leaves me to change, and with trembling legs I do so, wrapping my bloodied garments up into a small ball. He re-enters and takes a look at my leg as he brews a larger pot of tea for me to take and use throughout the next few days.

"This is looking good, I think you will be able to bathe fully now. But keep putting that salve on, to lessen the resulting scars," I nod, and he watches me with kind, twinkling blue eyes, his mark is ash grey, with a line through three touching circles, each one getting smaller as it goes down. "How are you coping?"