Power Hungry

Chapter Five

     It was the dawn that woke her. 

     Naya's eyes didn't want to open: they were crusted with dirt and tears, but it was the unfamiliar ground she lay on that forced them open. Green forest, blue sky, dark ground. Naya's curled hair mixed with the dirt and her foggy brain couldn't tell if her hair was very dirty, or if the dirt was very hairy. 

     Naya knew something was wrong in that moment. She wasn't herself, and something had happened... Something important...

      Alan killed the guard. Alan killed Polo. That's what it was. The once steady presence of Alan, always there for her, had betrayed her. He'd betrayed Polo. Naya thought back to his mask-less face and the way he'd talked about breaking into the palace grounds. She knew Alan had betrayed his kingdom as well, even if she refused to admit that it was still the same Alan she had known. 

     The ghost of Polo and the once-Alan bothered her. The memories she had of them - even the few minutes she had known Polo - pestered her, refusing to leave her in peace. It was all Naya could do not to curl up into a ball and cry. But she knew she couldn't. Swarms of palace guards would be roaming the area looking for their fallen comrade if they hadn't already. If she was spotted deep in the palace forest, close as she was to the barricade, she'd be in trouble.

     Naya pushed herself to her feet, swallowing a wave of nausea, only to be greeted by a blackness that wiped her vision. Her eyes were open but she couldn't see anything. For a frantic moment, Naya imagined she'd been attacked, but her vision cleared, and she realized she'd only gotten up too quickly. Something's wrong with me, she thought. I'm never this quick to jump to conclusions. I'm thinking weirdly. 

     Ignoring her sense of unease, Naya headed off West toward the city center, following the sun's trajectory. As she weaved through the woods, she began to dream up horrific situations: the palace guards had discovered Polo's body and we're posted right outside of the decorative barrier, and consequentially shutting Naya inside the palace forest. There were other situations in her head, as well. Each escalating in its' terribleness. Alan got into the palace. Alan got into the palace and was killed. Alan got into the palace, wasn't killed, but killed the royal family. Alan got into the palace, killed the royals, and sent the city into chaos. He killed the royals and sent all of  Primoria into chaos. 

     Secrets, Naya cursed, that'd be horrible. She couldn't imagine a war with all eight kingdoms, including even Paisly, of the land. Some believed it could one day come to that with Spring, but on that subject, Naya knew she had to stay optimistic. If she didn't - if she let herself believe in doomsday - she would grow to expect it, which was exactly the opposite of what her life was supposed to be. Naya wanted a care-free life. She'd sworn off attachments after the incident with Alan, and she told herself that she didn't need others to be happy. She insisted that she could be happy alone. That was her dream, and she told herself that she'd achieved it.

     As Naya's mind wandered, her thoughts elsewhere, her concentration dwindled. She felt drained, like a candle burnt to the wick, nails bitten to the quick. Her body was protesting, but she wasn't listening to it. Soon enough, Naya knew, it would stop listening to her horrible leadership. One day, maybe soon, her body would just stop completely. Alan was right. Naya remembered Alan's words, his smooth voice telling her that she had to stop pushing herself. She'd scoffed then, and she scoffed now. She didn't need him telling her what her body wanted. She would keep going no matter what. Sometimes, there just are no other choices than to keep going.

     Naya neared the decorative gate eyeing the swirling designs of masks and ribbons etched into the delicate gold. Naya's vision seemed to be blurring, coming in and out of focus. One minute the craftsmanship of the fence was clear, as crystal as her mask, and the next, she couldn't even make out the height of the fence.

     Something was definitely wrong.

     Again, Naya knew what the smart decision was. She could nearly hear Alan's voice in her head, telling her to stop, to rest herself, to figure out what was wrong. But her overpowering, stubborn voice chimed in, telling her that it wasn't far to go. She just had to clear the gate, wind through the serpentine of side streets, and get to her pottery shop, all the while avoiding any and all speculation from palace guards. Even she could admit it seemed difficult, especially in her state, but giving up wasn't an option. Naya knew if she stayed in the palace forest she'd be discovered by a guard at some point or another, and that wouldn't end well.

     Deep breath in, deep breath out. Naya focused on each and every breath she took: inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. She couldn't tell if it was helping her concentration, or distracting her from the task at hand, but it was the only way to keep her vision straight and her mind clear, so she went with it.

     As Naya arrived at the gate, she had to brace herself on its' fragile structure to stand upright, weak for a moment. It truly amazed her how the fence trembled under her weight, yet stayed strong under Ventrallan mid-year storms. It didn't seem possible, but then again, a good portion of what had happened to her in the past 24 hours didn't seem possible.

     Naya clambered over the fence, all the while its' frame swaying underneath her. She tumbled to the ground on the other side, knocking her head on the gravel. It hurt, but it was only a dull ache compared to her other pains, many of them emotional. 

     It was then that Naya noticed the sharp prick in her boot. She looked down, still laying out in the open on the ground, and saw the hilt of her sparkling knife sticking out. It looked like a glittering bone, a tooth peering out from Naya's tattered, knee-high boots. Panicking someone might see, she shoved it back into her boot, accidentally nicking her ankle. Naya realized that the knife must have come out of its' sheath, although she couldn't imagine how. The leather sheath was fitted to the side of her boot, and the knife didn't have room to be set free unless extracted from Naya's boot. She pinned the guilt on her foolishness of the past day, and thought no more of it.

     Trying once again, rather desperately, to focus her thoughts, Naya stumbled to her feet and took off at a run down a random street. She'd thought that maybe the wind in her face and her pumping legs would help, but it only made the situation worse. In less than two minutes, Naya was collapsed under a building's overhanging roof, picked solely for the sliver of shade it offered, with cramping legs and burning lungs. She knew she couldn't run back to the pottery shop, she couldn't even walk. But Naya didn't want to chance strolling the populated streets, in particular right after the murder of a palace guard.

     Though reluctant, Naya poked around the building, which had a molded wooden 'Olde Bakery,' sign hanging above the door. It'd been shut down, that much was clear, but there were still ovens inside, with a smattering of dough baked to the walls. The building was small and made from stone, and it carried its' aroma of bread from days past. Naya shuffled to the first bench she saw and fell onto it.

     The room was cramped and dirty, but Naya didn't much care. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, leaning her back against an old baked goods counter. She drifted in and out of sleep, or maybe consciousness, and didn't have the slightest inkling to move. 

     The sun set, the moon rose, and still, Naya didn't budge from her spot as she slept. Traffic outside the bakery buzzed by, and not a sound woke Naya. 

     A figure came to stand in the doorway of the bakery, watching Naya's form sprawled on the bench, and she never knew.

     The figure walked up to Naya, cautious not to wake her, lifted her left leg, and pulled off her boot. The figure was motionless for a moment, not daring to breathe, sure Naya would wake, but she didn't. After a minute, the stranger reached into her boot and grabbed her knife. He slid it into a sheath in his jacket and admired it beside its' match.

     Then, just as quickly as it had come, the figure shoved Naya's boot back on her foot, and left the bakery, leaving no trace it'd been there at all.