The Collectors of Peyka

Chapter 6

Bright screaming lights played tricks in my peripherals. Dark fiends danced over the cave entrance while the sun nipped at my blood-caked toes. I never made it to the stream after Alto left. Instead, I fell into a deep sleep of nothing. There were no dreams, no screaming. No fires plagued the background of my mind. I felt peaceful like I was being carried away toward the sun on a fluffy white cloud.

But when I woke up, I was in agony. My muscles called for the flames that were absent in my slumber. When I shifted, my body screamed to retreat and I fell back to the stone like it was trying to embrace me. My head pounded in a rhythmic tempo of pure torture, building up vomit in my throat whenever I'd turn to retch. Nothing came out though, and it left behind an acidic taste I thought I would have to die with.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been sleeping. The sun still spilled across the entryway, lighting up the sparse forest outside. The sound of rushing water became my lullaby as it filled the air. The moisture that collected on my lips only added to my thirst. I begged for a drop, but I feared any kind of movement would ruin my pursuit for strength. I needed my leg to heal or, at the very least, become tolerable. If I could just fold forward and withstand the pain, if I could just get to the stream, I was certain I would survive.

The strength wasn't coming back, though. With every minute that ticked by, I knew I grew closer to an earlier end. The feeling in my toes had made a miraculous recovery, but it only added extra pain to an already miserable situation. After an hour, I'd given up on the hope of moving. I rested my head against the cool stone and shut my eyes. Whenever I came down with an illness, Mayilda would give me some tea and tell me, "With rest, you'll make a fine recovery." I didn't have tea, so rest would have to suffice.

In my dreams, I was a bird, soaring above Peyka. I saw the little ones wrestling outside of Bailey's tent while she stood with a grimace and tried to separate them. Mayilda was harvesting the last of the berry crops she'd arranged in a beautiful clay box the crafters had made during the last growing season. Arthur was dishing out bowls of stew to the collectors who'd just returned from their epic battles. But it was the commander that my eye zeroed in on.

She had her whip coiled around her left leg with its handle in her hand. Alto was on his hands and knees with his back exposed to her. She said something inaudible, and with a quick snap, the whip unfurled and flicked against his scarred flesh. The end dug in and split open another slit to add to the canvas. She used to call it "painting portraits", but it looked hideous on Alto's tan skin.

I woke up and the force from my gag was enough to summon the bile that tainted my mouth. A thick glob of yellow met the dusty stones next to me. Sweat trickled down my stiff cheeks and I swiped away the beads with my sleeve. My nose crinkled when the scent of rotting flesh met my nostrils and it forced another empty retch. I knew my dream was unrealistic. She never held the paintbrush when it came time for the punishment. She'd expect him to do it himself, but like an obedient mongrel, he would do it. It was still better than her flipping his dial, so if there was any truth to it, I was glad.

I laid against my rock and stared at the black ceiling. The sun had come and gone and I'd wasted my first day of my last five relaxing in a cave only a few paces west from the village that started it all. I brimmed with resentment toward all of them. I could've killed them when we first infiltrated Nordfast, but I let them live. They owed me their lives and that was the payment I got. If I knew I would've ended up in that cave, no law would've stopped me from burning them all.

But that was the true start to the madness. Galen had been nothing more than a rambunctious boy and accidentally set Bainbrook to ashes. At least, that's what the commander claimed, but I wasn't certain what the truth was. She had no issues with playing ignorant in the faces of those that accused her. I wondered just how many times she'd lied to me over the years.