Fanfic:Natlya's Survival Test
| Author(s) | Bella |
|---|---|
| Character(s) | Natlya Cade |
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This is a piece of fanfiction. Only the original author(s) or Librarian(s) should make content changes to this page. |
Alone.
Natlya tore the blindfold from her face the moment she knew it was permitted to do so. She loathed being kept in the dark, and she loathed being alone even more. As she surveyed the clearing, turning in a slow circle, she fought back her fear. Why did they have to leave me alone? Then again, being in a group while wearing the blindfold had not necessarily been much better.
The one night on the road prompted her to tell herself over and over again that these were Gaidin and Gaidar of the Tower, they would not hurt her… They would not try to take advantage of her helplessness. And none had, but her fear had been a constant visitor as a lump in her throat.
Standing here did not make it go away.
She forced herself to calm down enough to take stock. A good start was that she had her clothes, not expected to survive naked. There was a small bag by her feet that she took survey of, finding a small knife, a water skin that wasn't completely full, and some pemmican. Terrible stuff, that, but it would feed her… Not for long, she reckoned.
A week. She had one week to survive here and then find her way back to the Tower, or else never be permitted in its gates again.
Where else would she go?
"I can do this," she told herself, since there was no one else to listen...except for that squirrel chattering at her from above. She looked up and gave the critter a rude gesture, which if she didn't know better, he returned in kind.
That was fantastic. Even the wildlife was against her. She knew that these were going to be many long, long days. She feared less that the elements or wildlife would harm her than she did that boredom would render her a lunatic.
The weather had been temperate for her first day and night alone. Sleep had been short and shallow, jumping at every noise. She drank of her water sparingly and ate little. Her body no longer seemed to require what it once had. Perhaps all the hard training in the Yards had done her some good. She knew she was no longer the soft creature that had initially signed the books.
She thought a lot about Morgan. He had to be worried about her. Did he think she had run away again? No, she had promised she wouldn't. She always kept her promises to him.
Twilight had just descended when she heard a branch snap just beyond the shadows between the trees. Instantly, she was on her feet with her pitiful knife in hand, her body in the ready stance that had been all but beaten into her during training. If she survived this, she would have to thank Dax Gaidin for it. If she didn't, well, she'd have to haunt him until the Last Battle.
What came through the foliage was more shocking than she could have imagined.
"A horse?" she asked aloud as the beast came into the clearing, snuffling its nose along the ground as it walked. She dropped her ready stance--it looked like her unarmed combat trainer were gain neither thanks nor ghost this day--and looked it over. She could see a bridle, reins dragging on the ground, as well as a saddle and saddle bags.
Clicking her tongue the way she had learned with horses, she held her hand out and stepped towards it. It lifted its head in a swift jerk and looked leery, but it didn't bolt. It obviously had a rider at one point, and was clearly used to people. She moved with slow measured steps until reaching it, taking the reins and pulling it near.
In due course, she determined that the "it" was a "she," and that her rider could not be too near. The horse acted like she had been running for a time, her chest sweaty.
It was too dark to look, so she led the horse into the clearing and tied her reins to a branch. She pulled the tack and bags off her and gave her some air, running her hands over the matted, sweaty fur. The mare was able to drop her head to the ground and pull up some of the short grasses growing in the clearing.
"If only it was so easy for me," Natlya murmured, looking through the bags. She found a skin of water and one of wine, as well as some travel rations and clothing belonging to a man. She found a rag she was able to use to wipe the horse down. She also drank some of the water. Taking what belonged to someone else had always just been a matter of being practical to her, after all.
It rained the next day, and any hope--or desire--to find a trail and look for the horse's lost rider was lost among the deluge. The mare looked as miserable as Natlya felt, both of them finding the overhanging foliage to be too hole-filled to be of much use. At least the water on the grass would be good for the horse, she reckoned.
The trail rations lost their luster very quickly, and Natlya did find the wine took the edge of that distaste but not enough.
By the time the rain stopped, Natlya wasn't entirely sure of how long it had lasted...other than "too long." She, and the horse, ventured out of the clearing that had been temporary home for the both of them for these past days. She put the tack and bags back on, but only enough to remain in place as she had no intention of riding. Without knowing that she had enough forage, Nat didn't intend to make her work too hard.
Natlya found some berries. When she didn't die after a candlemark or so, she determined they weren't poisonous and gathered some more. She used one of the items of clothing from the bag to hold them, stuffing them back in the bag. The water and wine skins were enough to keep her going, but she hoped she could find a stream or some such. The horse needed better water than raindrops of leaf blades.
Traveling with a blindfold and then the downpour had left her completely disoriented. She knew that she had to make it back to the Tower entirely on her own, but she wasn't feeling strongly about which way that was.
Put her in the middle of a city and she could find her way anywhere. The wilds? Not her best.
A stream, little more than a babbling trickle, was found on the morning of her fourth day. Both she and the horse, who she'd taken to calling Aza after one of her few friends during her orphanage days, both fell upon it. The horse had the benefit of its long neck while Nat had to get on her knees and drink with her hands. To think, she was actually jealous of the horse.
It didn't solve the issue of meat, but she didn't trust herself to field dress the corpse of squirrel properly even if she could catch one. The bread and hard cheese in the bags, along with the berries she had found that were thankfully plentiful at this time of year, had to sustain her.
She had taken to more than just calling the horse by name, she was talking to her on a regular basis. Aza didn't talk back, much, but she was a good listener. Natlya told her about the orphanage and about Morgan, about the Tower and how she actually missed living by her wits on the street at time. Things made more sense there. It was eat or be eaten. She lived by her thoughts as much as her hands, and was accountable to no one.
Life was so different now. She wasn't sure she liked it, but it seemed where she was meant to be.
It was on the fifth day that she found the body.
She almost threw up when she saw him. The body, a man she could tell, was left leaning against the bottom of a tree. Natural decay had coupled with the rain and the wildlife to make a...rather formidable appearance that nearly sent her running. Somehow, she just knew that this was Aza's rider.
Trying to not breathe through her nose, she approached the body. She didn't really understand why she felt compelled to do so, but she did. She pulled at his clothing. It wasn't that of a noble, but it was not cheap. She saw where a purse had been tied to his belt and cut off rather than removed properly, for the strings remained.
"Thieves," she said. The word had never felt so distasteful on her lips.
Despite the efforts of nature, she could tell that he'd been stabbed in the gut. He had probably lived long enough to crawl here, and then died. It wasn't a good way to go. She had seen it happen more than once on the street, different towns and different people, wickedness always seemed to be the same.
He had been robbed, and killed.
She had never killed anyone. That made her better than this...right?
Aza nudged her gently, seemingly unperturbed by the body. Reaching back, she pat the horse's cheek, feeling like the beast had become a friend in these days. Or maybe that was the lack of sleep talking...or both. She saw something sticking out of his waistcoat pocket, missed or ignored by the thieves. She pulled it out and saw a painted miniature of two children.
This man had been a father.
Everything shifted in her midsection and she rushed away from him to lose what little food she'd eaten, as well as the bile that had been in there along with it. Her throat and nose burned as she heaved and hacked.
"Ain't this a sight."
Natlya froze. It couldn't be the body, which meant...the thief was still here?
"No quick moves now, girly."
Rising slowly, Nat swallowed and turned around. He wasn't too big a man, but still bigger than she was. He didn't look like he normally lived in the woods, so why was he still here? Was he just waiting for more travelers? That meant there was a road nearby. She eyed him, subtly shifting her weight without going into a ready stance entirely.
"You didn't have to kill him," she said boldly. "You can thieve a man and leave him alive."
"Why would I want to do that?" he returned, clearly taken back by what she said. Perhaps he'd never gotten thievery advice from a victim before. "He ain't no good to me still alive."
"He'd be good for his children," she whispered.
Either he didn't hear her or outright ignored her. "Well, ain't you just a mouthy one. Think I might have better use for it than that." He pulled his knife and advanced on her. His approach was sloppy, used to just jumping the unsuspecting and the untrained.
Not that she was sure she was that much better…
She knew she should be scared, she knew what he had in mind, but she wasn't. She was angry; angry for a man she'd never met; angry at herself for...she wasn't even sure, but somehow she felt wrong.
He reached out a long arm, knowing he had the reach on her, and grabbed her hair. It was a knotted, sodden mess but he got a hold. Her head jerked to the side and it hurt like crazy, but she just spit in his face. She didn't have much spit left, but it got the taste of vomit off her tongue.
This was reminiscent of that night in Hama Valon, but instead of bringing the fear that it had done before, it made her angrier. Fear… This man preyed on that. I had been better than him, hadn't I? Hadn't we?
Grabbing his wrist with one hand, she used the fist of the other to punch up into his elbow with all the strength she possessed. He shouted with rage and pain. As he let go of her hair and staggered back, she jammed the heel of her hand up into his nose. He shouted again and stumbled back, collapsing when her first met his unprotected gut.
She kicked him between the legs for good measure.
While he rolled around, she found various things--a bit of rope, a shirt--and tied him up. He protested, but weakly. Too busy clutching the family gems. Once he was tied, she took the four coin purses he had and his boots.
"If you're lucky, someone will find you," she said. "I hope you're as lucky as that man over there."
She dug a hole with her hands. The ground was still wet, which made it easier. Although she was exhausted--hungry, thirsty--she pulled the dead man's body to the hole and put him into it, covering him back up after putting the miniature of his children in his folded hands. She cried, she didn't know why.
I have to be better.
It was the end of the week when she finally, somehow, made her way into the streets of Hama Valon. People moved away from her when they saw her, haggard and barely dried out. She still led Aza, rather than rode.
Her first stop was at the orphanage of the city, where she left all of the coin purses in the box for messages on the edge of the building. She didn't want the questions of where she had gotten it.
Then she returned to the Tower. She brought Aza to the stables, gaining a wary eye from the stablehand when she told him what the mare's name was and that she would be back to check on her. Nat had just enough time to clean up, which she did feebly without enthusiasm.
When she was brought to the end of her ceremony, she choked back her tears. Was she worthy of this?
She didn't know, but the title of Ji' was now upon her.
I'll do better.
