The Pain of Healing (solo)

[Siandre]

Siandre woke from a dream that left her feeling vaguely guilty. The details of it were evaporating as someone knocked against the door. Siandre was groggy and confused, and her body felt heavy and warm. Every fiber in her body longed to return to sleep, but the knocking continued. No, it is not simply knocking, Siandre realized, throwing aside the coverings so that the chill of the inn room washed over her. It sounded as if someone were trying to break down the door. It rattled against its hinges, and every time there was a crash, dust sifted down from the low ceiling.

“Coming,” she mumbled. The door crashed, and this time came an angry grunt. Siandre groped around in the dimness for something to make herself decent, for she wore only a woolen chemise. From the bleakness visible through the half opened window, it was on the verge of light and dark. It wasn’t the first time Siandre was awoken at the most ungodly hour to tend to a patient, but something told her this wasn’t a mere house call.

BANG.

“Coming!” Siandre would have yelled, if a hand did not clamp over her mouth. It was warm and solid. Instinctively, Siandre reached up to tear the hand away, and then something hard and thin pressed against her back. It was a blade. The point barely dug into her back through the chemise, only a whisker away from drawing blood. Her captor gave it the slightest twist, and his breath was hot against her ear as he spoke.

“They come to capture and kill you. Hide now and I might be able to help.”

BANG.

The voice was harsh, nervous and quiet. The point of the blade had destroyed any sleepiness Siandre might have. Now adrenaline coursed through her, and every muscle in her was tensed in the expectation of the blade ramming through her back into her flesh. Yet in a terrifying moment of clarity, Siandre knew that what he said was true. She could feel the man shaking slightly, and his hand was sticky with sweat. Unable to speak, Siandre gave the slightest nod.

BANG. This time the door cracked.

The man half led half steered Siandre to the bed. It was a real bed, not a straw filled pallet. Siandre had earned her lodge by helping one of the kitchen maids with a bad case of sniffling, and the innkeeper’s wife. Though the woman had only a light fever, the innkeeper had been overwhelmed with gratitude and offered her this reasonably furnished room. As Siandre was forced towards the bed by this man who held her from behind she tensed. But it was under not on the bed that he shoved her. Moments later, her belongings joined her. Siandre squirmed to try and make herself comfortable, but it was impossible. The floor was hard and, as she now knew, covered in an inch of un-swept dust. Lazy maids. It got into her nose and she had to struggle not to sneeze. She dusted it with her hand so that she could put her cheek against the floor and try to peek out from under the blanket which did not quite touch the wooden floorboards.

The person-or people?--outside gave the door a final blow. There was a crack of wood splintering, and a crash that Siandre heard and felt through the ground. Afterwards, silence hung heavy. The silence before a storm, Siandre thought, stifling a yawn. Though her grogginess was all but gone, Siandre’s body still needed sleep badly. She’d gotten two hours at most. If I just lie here quietly and close my eyes…

The man’s voice cut through her thoughts and brought her back to the moment. It was deep and full of anger. “Who the hell are you?”

The answer came from farther away, no doubt in the hallway. But soon they’d be in the room, searching every corner of it. “We are the Imperial Guards of this city, elf. And you’d do well to remember it.”

Elf? Siandre was surprised. What could an elf want in these parts…and much less with her? She squinted beneath the darkness of the bed to try and see them. The next to speak was not the elf or the guard. “No need t’be incivil milords,” the innkeeper said. He had wrung his fingers when he’d asked if his feverish wife could ever become well again. Siandre imagined he was pulling them out of their sockets right now. “Pardons, Lord Elf. I was sure this was 'er room. That is...I gave lodgings t’ a villain it seems, a young lady. Wouldn’ta thought she had it in ‘er t’look at her, nor be ‘round her for that matter. B--aghh!”

Siandre could only see the bottoms of their boots from her viewpoint, but she saw some of them outside in the hall reel backwards as the man was hit. “Keep your mouth shut,” a man said casually.

Hearing it made Siandre bite her lip. These men were not afraid to hurt. But who were they? Why was she wanted? She frantically considered all her options as to what to do, and the possibility for which these man had come for her. She didn’t remember doing anything criminal that would have warranted this, at least not off the top of her head. But no matter. It was time to take steps. Inching backwards, Siandre got a face full of dust and her mouth opened wide as she struggled not to sneeze.

“I am Syrion Ixtariol,” the elf said archly. “Whoever you wish to arrest matters little to me, but I will have payment for this disturbance and the door, innkeeper.”

Siandre lost the fight and sneezed loudly, scattering the dust before her face.

The guards tensed. Before the elf could protest they shoved past him, while the innkeeper tugged at his fingers and the elf started cursing them in High Elven. They shoved aside the wardrobe, looking into the corners, even up at the stairs. At last, only the bed was left. The guards stood around it as their cloaks flapped in the chilly breeze from the window and the moonlight ran up along the blades they’d drawn. A nod from one, a signal from the other, and the bed was overturned. Six blades pointed down towards a floor where a few personal effects scattered in a layer of dust. There was no sign of anyone besides a disturbance in the dust where someone had squirmed out from under the bed towards the half opened window.

[Siandre]

Siandre hobbled down the streets of Corone. The unlit windows stared at her soullessly, like empty eye sockets. Every shadow was an enemy and the night had turned into a storm of terror. She could only think why? Why was this happening? No matter whether she was guilty or innocent, she had just fled the law. She was a criminal. I-I-I have to turn myself in, Siandre thought. No! They’ll kill me!

Several minutes ago…

Siandre found herself shivering on the floor, as the men stomped in pas t Syrion. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She had often mused how bravely or cowardly she would behave in a dangerous situation, but it usually involved her with a staff in her hand and a single opponent. She stood no chance against them. If it came to blades it would be a slaughter. So rather than wielding a sword, she put her mind to work. All their actions spoke of urgency; whatever she’d done to merit this must have been recently, in the past month at most. Yet no matter how she wracked her brain she could think of nothing she had done to merit this. Six city guards did not come to catch a petty thief or liar. And I did not even do that... but that means I am innocent. Shouldn’t I tell them?

No. She would escape and find out in her own way what this meant. Escape, however, was impossible. They already searched every inch of the room, and it was only a matter of time before they look under the bed. Her thinking had cost precious moments. Her best chance was to go through the door. She was a swift runner, but what if more waited out in the hallway? As if in answer, a cold gust blew against her cheek through the drapes of the bed. The window! By luck or by the gods it was open, though Siandre did not put great faith in either. Unlike the door the window was mere feet from her bed.

She shimmed on her belly to the other side, daring to peek out from under the bed. There was no time. She nearly choked when someone walked right past her in the dark. She watched the shadowy figure go to inspect a wardrobe. Another man was looking out the window. At last he turned to go around the bed nearer the door. Now. Go now. NOW! It took all of Siandre’s courage to emerge from the bed, crouching as low as she could, running several steps, and grabbing onto the sill. She slipped through, swinging her legs out in the night while keeping a firm grip on the edges. The lady caught a last, indistinct glimpse of the room just as all her body was thrown into the night and the outside wall of the inn.

Her own weight immediately dragged her down like an anchor. Her fingers did not even hold on for a second before she was falling. It was too short to even scream, and yet too long. Her left leg landed first and the pain that shot up it took her breath away. She landed in a pained heap on the ground, the cobblestones pressing against her bare legs. For a long moment she could make sense of nothing, but the fear of the moment and the pain burning in her ankle soon dragged her back to reality, and the realization that no one had shouted.

Siandre looked up. No one was at the window. It was a miracle that they had failed to notice her, and she would not let this chance slip by. She had to get out of sight. Siandre could only hope that they searched all the other rooms. She stood up, gritting her teeth when she balanced on both feet. As a healer she recognized at once her sprained ankle, for all the good it did her. Her own passive healing ability dulled the pain a little, but no one was meant to run on a sprained ankle, which was what she was trying to do. She could only manage a swift, staggering limp. And once she was around a corner she paused to rest, if only for awhile.

Present…

Even at the most unseemly hour of the day people were rising. More than one drunk lay sprawled in a corner. The most ambitious beggars had choice spots in the street, and all of them pretended not to see her as she went by. There were several vendors pitching their stands even as they called out their wares. No one said anything to her, but Siandre could feel their eyes. And she was blushing furiously. She had nothing to her name, and wore naught but a chemise that did not even reach her legs. I look like some madwoman, Siandre thought, or a whore.

It felt like she had run a mile, such was the agony in her leg, but when Siandre looked back she still saw the tavern just in the distance. Her heart sank. She would get nowhere this way. There was no choice but to shelter in one of the nearby buildings. But where. Her eyes darted from door to door. Signs hung over some, but she could not reach them. And there were more and more people, who would know she had no business going into one, much less probably having to pry it open by force. She turned down an alley to pause again and rest her back against the wall, putting as little weight on it as possible. Then, she saw the door on one of the wall, ramshackle and dark.

Why not? Any choice she made right now would be one of desperation. And there seemed to be no one in sight. She limped to it and grabbed the handle. To her astonishment, it was already open and swung out without resistance. The musty smell was that of a dirty room. I should not be here. She stepped in anyway, and could see nothing in the shadows. Siandre made her way in like a blind person, her hands feeling out before her to avoid bumping into anything. Nevertheless, she did. Her foot connected with something soft and low to the ground. There was a gasp, the sound of a quick movement, and someone seized her hair. For the second time that night, she felt steel against her skin as a blade pressed lightly against her neck.

“Who in hell are you?” a voice hissed, a boy’s voice.

Siandre swallowed. “I-I ask only for lodging for the night. I am cold and without money, but I would not need any supplies or services. Please.”

There was a long pause. The blade was removed. “You’re lying. But I’ll not turn a woman out to the cold, even if you are a whore.” She heard him walk away, and she stood there resting her weight on her right foot. Then, a tiny bit of light appeared as he lit a foul smelling candle. She glimpsed a shock of wheat colored hair and brown eyes glaring up at her mistrustfully. It filled the room with dim light, in which Siandre could make out two pallets, one with a sleeping figure underneath it. The boy went to what she surmised was his own and pulled off one of the two blankets, tossing it at her. “Shut up and stay put,” he growled, returning to his pallet and crawling under it.

Siandre murmured a thank you, and got only a grunt in return. She went to the farthest corner and from the blanket tore several strips. In a minute she wrapped them tightly around her foot. It was so painful this time her teeth sank through her lip and she tasted blood. At last, it was over. She used a wad of the blanket to put under her foot and elevate it.

She had no ice, no proper elastic bandages, no herbs or poultices to help her. But she’d done the best she could, and so she wrapped what remained of the blanket tightly around her, with a promise to buy her lodger a new one as soon as she could. She lay down on the packed, dirt floor, and closed her eyes. The exhaustion hit her then, and her eyes closed slowly so that she fell in a troubled slumber.