Minstrel

Chapter #2 ~ Creak

Creak awoke to the sound of merry celebration and voices full of jolly. Singing. She could hear the sound of melodic voices blending together in a lovely melody. More voices joined in with a counter melody and some harmony. Creak had only ever heard singing from her mother's voice, she had never heard the music from someone else. How was it possible? How could so many know of the song after music had become illegal?

The sound brought tears to her eyes. The relief of not being the only musician left in Florencia left her overwhelmed. She had to find it, she had to join them and help in whatever way she could.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Creak groaned in pain. With the pain came the night's events and the remembrance of what had happened. She had been shot with a crossbow, left to bleed on someone's floor. What happened after that? She had passed out and now she was in someone's bed, her wounds cleaned. Someone had found her and saved her. Someone other than her brother cared at least enough to keep her alive, instead of throwing her out on the streets to die like any rational forencian would.

The room Creak was in was not the same one that she had climbed into to escape the Carsons. This new room was smaller with no windows, leaving the place to be lit with the flame of a single candle resting in a faded brass luster on the nightstand beside her. Shadows glared darkly in the far reaches of the room, leaving Creak to squint at the outline of a door on the far wall.

Shifting out of the quilt that covered her, Creak gasped in pain as pins and needles shot down her arm. Instinctively her left arm went to her right, gripping it until the pain subsided into a dull throbbing. Her head was pounding and it took her a moment to remember that her forehead had been cut and was now wrapped in a cloth that circled tightly around her head.

Gingerly she placed a foot on the ground and retracted it quickly as the cold took hold. "Burr," she shook and mumbled to herself. "Why is always so cold in this stupid village?" Of course it was a rhetorical question, but the grimness inside her, who she often referred to as Gorgos Ammon, answered her own question. "The mountains are only a few days ride away and it's the middle of the winter, you idiot. Just be glad you don't live in the Arkenine Mountains where it always snows."
Creak shook her head, "Yeah, it's a miracle RiverFall rarely gets snow. The rancid stuff is freezing and god knows I hate the cold."

"Well, be greatfully because your life could definitely be worse."
"Yeah, could be worse," Creak repeated, shaking the thought out her her head.

Glancing from the cold, wooden floor to the door across the room, Creak muttered to herself, "Might as well get this over with."

Clenching her jaw, Creak went all in and jumped out of the warm bed and into the cold that awaited her. Jumping from foot to foot, Creak gripped her right arm as the pain returned almost bringing her to her knees. "Ouch," she winced.

After all the pain, cold, and other unpleasant feelings subsided, Creak got a hold of herself. Letting go of her injured arm to grab ahold of the handle to the candle luster, Creak tiptoed to the door. As she got closer the sound of singing seemed come and meet her, begging her to break the law and join in.

"How can so many people be breaking the law together and not get caught? Aren't they worried they'll get arrested and hung for treason?"

Gorgos Ammon answered, "They don't care. They're showing the king that he can't scare them into leaving what they love. They're willing to die for what they love. They're not cowards, like you. You should want to die for music, but instead you let the king control your life."

Anger took Creak, "I'm not a coward! The king doesn't scare me and I would gladly die for a cause that I love." She hesitated, "But Stans... I couldn't leave my brother."