Bird of a Wing (Bow 1)

Chapter 53

Sand clogged his throat, scratching against his skin. Yet he ran. The mud slowed him, the thick sludge drawing his boots in and refusing to yield without force. The rain was cold as it soaked him again. A stark contrast to the burning he felt.

The sand wasn't real.

Eyeri knew that. Just like the sensation of scalding water down his back hadn't been real. It was all a bad flashback. The many 'rituals' the slavers had forced on them to baptise them into their lives as slaves in the desert. A bath in the sand, held under the burning grains as the sun beat overhead until you were close to death. The grains scratched at his skin roughly.

It wasn't real but Eyeri could feel the sand in the wind hurt his face as the wind blew past. The storm was fading. Not that Eyeri had been paying attention to it for a while. His fear of the storm overcome by a more rational fear.

Red hot irons on his skin. Making him a slave again. Maybe he had never been free. Maybe it was just respite until his true masters found him. Inai had always preached that no man was meant to be a slave and that the gods would deliver those who had been stripped of their rights. Maybe Eyeri had deserved to be a slave. Punishment for some slight towards the gods he had never truly prayed too, despite living with their human representative.

Ryraso was trapped too firmly in the web. Eyeri couldn't depend on him to get him out. He had to do it himself. For once in his miserable life, he had to do something for himself. Eyeri stumbled, his arms covering in mud again as he landed on the ground. He breathed deeply and crawled to a tree, curling in the large roots and hiding while he trembled.

How was he going to do this?

He couldn't cross the river, could he? It was running too fast at the moment and any settlements nearby would surely be D'mar. Not that they would be looking for a Namya boy this far north. He could have left his crest behind. But then, making the Namya believe he wasn't a spy would be hard. If he could find the D'mar main force, one of Sakmi's spies might help him. Ravn and Larza owed him favours.

The only issue with that plan is that he had no idea where they would be and he would have to deal with D'mar soldiers in the meantime. The elite force had always been nice enough to be in the clinic when captured. That being said, any grunt regardless of level had always made it clear he couldn't survive long in their tent line.

Too small, too skinny, too big a target for bullies. It would be dangerous and he would be facing enemies who were far stronger than him all the way until the plains. Not to mention, there was no guarantee the k'nairi wouldn't pursue. But there had to be a way to get out of there. The plains were the closest place he had a chance of slipping back over the border but the reports had suggested the fighting would be increasing there. He could be running into a bloodbath there.

Eyeri shuddered and forced himself back to his feet and to keep going. The river. He needed to keep the river in his range of movement. It was the only landmark he had. Ryraso had said south. So he just had to stay near the river until he could work out a direction to move in and then grow increasingly more lost. Eyeri's feet hurt as he walked, his leg muscles almost feeling like they were thumping from the effort it was having to make to walk.

His breathing was shaky and Eyeri felt tears run down his face. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't go back after what he had done to Fl'ex. Walking into the hands of the D'mar didn't sound like a better option. If anything it seemed to be jumping out of the frying pan and straight into the flame.

Memories of encounters with grunts who had not been attached to the main force springing to mind. The phantom sand turning into the sensation of hands gripping his wrists and dark words threatening to kill him if he screamed and to give the prisoner the keys to the lock. The twins had been particularly inventive with the man who had tried that one on him. Loror hadn't cared about a nameless grunt who had tried to hurt a medic of either side.