From Ashes and Snow

Broth

Chapter 29: Broth

The dust of dead earth coated my throat. My nightmares were feverish and violent. I was unable to run, unable to fight as the world turned around me, vicious creatures emerging from forests where the trees stood hundreds of feet high. Animals prowled past me, close enough that the saliva from their shoulders could have dropped onto my shoulder.

The worst was the whispering. Ceaseless, desperate pleading in Ekini – a dialect that rasped and gurgled, and yet in these despairing voices, sounded so beautiful.

Slowly, the languages slipped into Cadel. Voices I recognised, soft and comforting. Even the demanding rasp of the Captain was better than the pleading. I was aware of pain distant, hands holding down my shoulders as I bucked. My dust coated throat ached as I screamed, the agony of my leg reverberating through my two realities.

With a harsh wind, they were gone again and voices were talking over each other, pleading with me.

"Seeker."

My bare feet curled on stone, ash coating my skin.

"Stop," I turned sharply, feeling my braid whip against my cheek. There was nothing I recognised behind me. Just miles of dead grass and a dark sky, sporadically illuminated by lightning.

A hand touched my shoulder.

"Aviana..."

I jerked away, blinking rapidly up at the dark fabric of the tent roof.  Cold air touched my cheeks, and the light illuminating the tent began to fade, ebbing back below my skin. Asha'da – I took a lungful of that cold air, feeling the tang of an herb on my tongue. My limbs felt heavy, and I knew there and then, that Fyr and her Magins had given me something to dull the pain.

"You're free..." I rasped.

I planted my hands on the bedroll below me, arms quivering as I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I had been washed – my hands were free of grit, my wane skin free of the dirt that had been embedded into the wrinkles of my skin. Even my hair, as wild and untamed as it was had been washed and then someone had attempted to braid it as I did.

As my hands skimmed over the sloppy braid, my heart warmed. I was no longer a captive – free now and in the company of the Legion. Amongst people I...trusted.

Further examination revealed tight bandages around my torso and a thick paste cementing my knee. My unbound wrists were slathered a brown paste, and the cuff burns were only a very faint ache.

Deep, booming barks echoed from beyond the camp. My body reverberated, and I jerked myself in rough movements onto my feet. A long thick had been left out – I assumed for me – and I grabbed at it, hobbling to the door. It was unwise to just walk, but they knew what I was like. I needed to move and throw myself into action. At the very least, they should have left Mahon here to just glower at me for doing this.

I stepped out into a sprawling camp of Legion soldiers. The banner of the Legion billowed in the wind, and the babble of the camp was warm and content. Occasionally a commanding shout would ring out, but after all the time I had spent in Cladon's cell, I welcomed this.

A soldier dressed in silver and emerald paused as he spotted me, a warm smile rising. "You're awake, Miss Birchwood!"

My lips pressed into a smile, and the soldier moved on. More soldiers turned to me as I hobbled by, smiles rising at the sight of me. People called out to me warmly, and no faces twisted into sneers. 

No one bothered me during my slow walk. The movement was exhausting – the herbs seemed to fade the longer I moved, and my knee began to throb dully. I ignored it, relishing in the crisp winter air. The winter's sun on my skin.