Korah: Heir of Gnamalea

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Azula made them hot cocoa the following day. She was dressed in a warm pair of pants and a grey long-sleeved shirt. The fire was lit and had filled the room with warm air. Korah was dressed in a spare change of clothes. A pair of thick brown pants and a buttoned-up white shirt, her socks keeping her feet warm while she walked around the house. Marcus had slept in that morning. She didn't want to wake him after such a late night last night.

He walked to the kitchen and served himself a hot drink and porridge before taking a seat next to Korah. His scent was strong, which made her senses flair with excitement. He smiled at her and continued to slurp up his breakfast. Her hot cocoa was hot against her palms, the warmth travelling through her body. Azula had Seb grab some things from the market down the street while she cleaned the kitchen. This was a new side to her that Korah had never seen. She was happy, collected and safe. Maybe it was wrong to come here.

As the morning went on, the four of them still lingered around the fire and stayed quiet. Korah wanted to know what Azula was thinking. She hoped she didn't have a choice to join both her and Marcus. She had a life here. She seemed to have moved forward after her father had been arrested. The morning had been pretty quiet, but there had been talking that each house had visitors by local and Phorys soldiers, all asked to search the property. "We need to leave as soon as dusk comes", Korah says quietly to Marcus.

"How? The place is crawling with soldiers, and if we were to even run after they left, it'd still be a risk". He was right. If they had left now, it would be dangerous. If they were to go after, there would be a risk that the place would still be surrounded.

"We need to move to the North. An open access to the other side of the border. It'd be a long way, but if we maybe leave at night, we could make it".

Azula walked in with a towel tied to her dress, wiping her hands. "They're just next door; you could hide downstairs until sundown? There's a bed, water, some food, but I could just bring it to you. God knows how long those beans have been on the shelf". They'd agreed, but Azula had felt it was unwise to wait it out. If they had to be gone by the morning, their best chance was to leave the best chance they could; who knew how long they'd be looking.

. ~ .

They had moved their belongings to the underground basement later that night. The wooden floorboards under the carpet of their living room were big enough to fit a family of four. The ample space had two wooden double beds covered with dusty sheets and old pillowcases. The concrete floor blotched in the dirt, and the walls were peeling white. The shelves of baked bean cans and barrels of water – probably no good now. The only source of light being the short barred window in the top corner of the room. Marcus passed me my satchel and axe, Seb passing down food for the night. A loaf of bread, a clean jug of water, a jar of jam and a butter knife.

The stay would be temporary, but days painfully passed as the room would fill with light and darkness, their only way of telling the time of day. The early mornings being an orange streak of light, the early afternoon a warm glow from the outside and the evening's grey shadow of the sun.

Marcus had been quiet for a couple of days. Korah hated it. Hated silence, even those years she had spent alone, she still had the wind and rustle of trees around her. The basement had no sound of life; it was almost suffocating. The air was thick and cold during the night, thankful for Azula opening the basement door during the day.

To break the silence, Korah walked to Marcus to check his arm. She did this often, but she couldn't find any other way to make use of herself. It was like she was becoming a shell of herself. She pulled an old bowl from a shelf and filled it with a little bit of water and a sponge by the washbasin under the stairs. Marcus sat there watching her as she slowly unravelled the new cloth and lightly dabbed alcohol into the neatly stitched wound.