II - Sigh of Smoke

Chapter 11 - Only One

-Aleksandra Bane-

The shackles clattered to the floor and to be honest, Aleksandra could not have felt more relieved. Now all she needed was clothes.

It had been apparent that Sephine had broken her thumb, enabling her to slip through the shackle ring. She had done it as quick as she could, for even though the magic-binding chains prevented any magic use, they could only slow healing rather than stop it. Sephine had decided she had better free herself before she healed.

Aleksandra could not agree more.

Once everyone's shackles lay dangling or on the floor—which was actually the wall of the carriage, now that it was toppled over—they all stood and looked among each other. Even in the darkness she could see Sephine healing. Outside people yelled and roared, and faintly she could hear through the damp walls the clang of blade against blade, and even the sick sound of people's flesh being broken. Pip, being comforted by Yavel, shivered with his face in his hands.

"Now what do we do?" Sephine whispered, kicking her chains so they swung in the air. The girl turned to Yavel and stared at him seriously. 

The boy had become their leader by default.

Even Aleksandra, who would've preferred to lead, turned to him. Two weeks inside the carriage and she could no longer stand it, and this Yavel had appeared like a pillar who held them together. Always calm and collected, and never cried about his pains. His comfort was minimum but you could tell that he cared. He volunteered often to get them out of Zarkarian hands.

That made Aleksandra worry. If he volunteered so many times, just how much did he have left? His mark was already spreading down his shoulders.

Yavel nodded firmly, speaking in his quiet raspy voice, "all the Zarkarians are busy, thanks to the Outlanders. If we have to leave, we have to do it now, while they're distracted. Let's remind them that the Wielders of the Old Blood are not animals to be locked in a cage, that we're free, just as them."

Aleksandra stretched her arms over her head, touching the ceiling of the carriage with the tips of her fingers. "Then let's go. I'm done with pissing myself and using my magic for their sake."

He smiled softly at her, "then let's make this quick. Take the rear, Beth. I've seen what you can do, you have far more focus than any of us combined."

She felt kind of thrilled to hear that. 

Her blood was boiling. These Zarkarians, this caravan, had gotten on her last nerve. Never in her life had she wanted to witness her fellow witch and warlock suffer just for gold and silver, sold to a place where they could die. She didn't know much of the Arena, but it didn't sound like a great place. Even just on the way there they had been used. Obviously enough, they didn't know enough information about the merchandise they were transporting. 

This merchandise would spoil.

And they weren't helping.

From outside someone thumped against the carriage again. There were animalistic cries before a swift thunk. A blade had slid right through the wood and had almost touched Sephine's back, splinters of wood falling softly just as the blood on the sword did. Seeing how curved the weapon was, the person who had just died against the carriage was most certainly an Outlander.

Aleksandra ground her teeth.

She flicked her wrists and she could feel her power growing with her anger to fuel it. A smile grew on her lips.

It had been far too long.

Yavel moved forward and pressed his hands against the wooden doors. With one glance over his shoulder he asked them, voice asking with a finality.