II - Sigh of Smoke

Chapter 6 - Chains

-Aleksandra Bane-

Thud!

She hissed, eyes straining to open through the haze of sleep. Slowly, she tried to touch her head where it throbbed, but her hands couldn't reach. Again, she tried, but gave up in the end. She swore under her breath. Her entire right side felt cold and sore, making her shiver, and her left foot was painfully numb. With a scratchy groan she sat up, grinding her teeth.

Now her arse was cold.

Aleksandra leant forward to wipe at her eyes, rubbing off the crusty substance that had gathered on her lashes, and blinked wildly at her surroundings.

Wood. Wooden floors, wooden walls, wood cold as death. Which was strange, since it was summer still. The room shook and toppled, and from the faint whinnying outside she realized she was in a horse-drawn carriage. Aleksandra scrunched up her nose, trying to block out the scent of spoiled eggs and piss. Adorning the glassless windows of the carriage were rags acting as curtains, ripped down the middle and filthy with mud. They tossed and swung at the violent movements of the carriage, and so did the chains at her wrists.

Chains.

Shackles.

Staring, it took her a moment to realize she was shackled again, and strangely enough it didn't feel unnatural. It was rather sad that she had become partially accustomed to it.

But why was she shackled?

She tried to think back, tried to recall what had happened after she talked to Beth, but her memory was foggy and the effort was giving her a headache. The fact she had already hit her head against the carriage floor didn't help in the least.

Once more she shivered. Looking down, she saw her pale skin, ridden with scars that she knew by heart. Aleksandra saw her bare thighs, her scratched knees, her breasts. Not a tunic in sight or breeches. Face reddening, she covered herself hastily with her hands, trying to save the dignity she had left. Questions played in her mind but for the life of her she couldn't think of an answer.

"There's no point, miss." Someone said from in front of her. Glancing up, she stared into four tired faces, two of which seemed preoccupied with the ceiling or their own hands. They were all as naked as she was.

She turned to the person who had spoken. A boy, who had resorted to sitting with his legs crossed rather than hiding himself with his manhood now exposed so openly. The sight made her look away, suddenly greatly uncomfortable. He had messy yellow hair and dirty skin, and in several areas he was bleeding from scrapes, but it seemed that he was healing by himself without help already. 

Aleksandra could sense it. He was a Wielder of the Old Blood.

Attentively, her eyes raked over the others. Three boys, two girls, including herself. From what she could tell, she wasn't the youngest. One of the boys, she was sure, could only possibly be twelve.

"I wondered when you'd wake up." The blond boy whispered. His voice was dry and parched, and from the hollowness of his cheeks she could tell he probably wasn't fed often, if at all. "Being new isn't always easy."

She merely raised an eyebrow, sliding back against the wall behind her. She had no idea what was going on.

The other girl spoke up, her voice deep and flat, "You think she's mute?"

One of the older boys jerked his chin forward, "Don't think so."

"And how are you sure?"

"Well, wouldn't she say so?"

The girl raised a threatening fist, "Are you an idiot? If I only I had something to throw at you. If she's mute, she wouldn't be able to say anything, you empty-headed fool!"