Walk by the Shadows

I. A Life's Larceny

She had never been to the abandoned shack, but she had guessed what went on—situations much like this one.

The dull thud of yet another fist was all Macayla could hear and feel. She could hardly make out the rest of the men in attendance anymore—the hits to her face left her face swollen, bloody, and stinging. Her body ached terribly, but she held back her whimpers. She would not give them the pleasure of seeing her defeated. Teane never slowed his methodical beating of her: punch... pause... punch... pause... punch... This had been going on for ten minutes.

Longer, she bet, than what Edvar Clear-Blood had thought she would last before talking. Others probably hadn't had lasted this long. But she would take her secret to the grave—leave him always in doubt of whether she told the truth and in hysteria about not knowing where his precious medallion was hidden. If she relented, Edvar might change his mind about her death—she was his best asset in thieving and getting rich. Then she wouldn't get to see her brother or mother and father as soon as she wanted.

Another punch to her ribcage snapped a weakened rib; the crack louder than her gasp.

"She still has to talk," Edvar said in boredom; he didn't care about her condition just as long as he got the information he wanted.

Teane stopped, and she heard him step to the side as another form approached; with head hung, she could only make out the booted feet—even though she couldn't see well enough, she already knew the face looking down at her: brown hair cut short, a neat beard outlining his jaw and dull gray eyes. Edvar Clear-Blood was a handsome Nord, invoking envy in other men and easily capturing female hearts. But his looks hid the black soul he had; charming his way into Jarls' courts while heartlessly enslaving others to either generate him a profit or warm his bed. As with Macayla, it had been both.

"Macayla dear, it pains me seeing you in that chair," he began, without the remorse he spoke of. "Just tell me where my medallion is and this will stop; I'll forget about you stealing from me. Please."

Making him angrier would ensure her fate. "Only this time? What about... all those other... times?"

She could picture him waving it away dismissively as his jaw tightened in irritation. "No matter. You will make up for it easily. You confessing means you seek forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? Remorse? Shame?" She chuckled, severe pain stabbing her from the broken rib. She had to cough through the blood so she could speak again. "You think that's what I want? I want you to know that your best servant has been stealing right under your nose and you didn't know it."

Silence. She could feel the tension in the air from him restraining his anger. A complete stillness seizing him meant she got close to pushing him off the edge. She just had to push a little more.

"Or did you know and you just let me slip by as long as you got could bed me? Know that I've had much better than you; Jonnir has pleasured me the best."

His anger slipped through, for he snatched her throat and roughly yanked her head up to see him. He would probably kill his best friend from her lie.

"You are mine. None would slaver over what is mine."

"Are you so sure? Maybe they came to claim what was yours; maybe I went to them."

He smirked, but his eyes still blazed. "You would be a fool to crawl to another. I give you too much; you would be greatly disappointed if you went to another."

She did her best to glare at him—he was just a blur. "You never have." She spit at his face; a mixture of saliva and blood slowly slid down his face, some becoming trapped in his perfect beard.

Edvar snapped. He jerked back away from her in disgust. A hand tried to wipe away her spit but just added more into the beard. One of his men approached with a handkerchief, but he angrily swatted him away. His eyes were murderous; his rage was palpable too. He took a step toward her with his arm cocked back; she waited for the impact.

His fist smashed into her right cheek, audibly crushing the bone. The hit knocked her to the ground. The burning pain in her face didn't have time to consume her for a boot kicked into her abdomen, followed by another, then a stomp trying to break her through the wooden floor and bury her in the dirt underneath.

The image of her brother, mother, and father flashed into her mind before unconsciousness enveloped her.

I'll see you soon.