The Exile and the Girl (3)
Shreek—. The club swung by the man charging from the right sliced through empty air. I ducked low and burrowed into his inner side. Jamming the dagger gripped in reverse into his thigh drew a guttural groan. I seized his leg and rolled once, twisting the ankle. Crack.
“Gaaahk—!”
With his tendons snapped, the man flopped around howling. I stepped on his leg and yanked out the dagger. Squish, blood spurted like a fountain.
“Y-you crazy bastard!”
“He'll live.”
I muttered low and stepped back. Dodging the assault charging from the left, I seized the attacker's wrist and yanked. As he lost balance and crumpled, I smashed my knee into his arm. A grotesque snap, and the man clutched his broken limb. I shoved him into the onrushing gang. The men toppled under their comrade's weight; I kicked the face of the one on the bottom hard. Blood sprayed as he flew back, knocked out cold.
I neatly sliced the heels of the men struggling under the fainted body with my dagger.
“Hoo.”
I brushed the dust off my clothes and eyed the remnants.
“What're you waiting for? Weren't you gonna kill me?”
Two left, including the boss. They hesitated, backing away, faces full of bewilderment. Against a mob that relies on numbers, crushing the vanguard utterly and imprinting terror works best. Even knights with systematic training falter seeing a comrade butchered before them—what could mere alley thugs do?
I grinned.
“If you won't come, I will.”
“S-stay back!”
The pale-faced man's wild club swings were frantic. But.
Crunch.
He crumpled before my eyes.
“Aim properly.”
I kicked the fallen club away. Slowly, I turned.
“H-heek!”
Terror filled the last burly man's eyes. He raised his blade toward the child at his side.
“D-don't come closer! Or the kid dies!”
I advanced slowly. Blood dripped from my dagger.
He wouldn't touch the kid. He knew he'd die by my hand instantly.
“I told you. Give back my stuff.”
I flashed a sinister smile. The trembling man extended the silver flask embedded in his chest.
I snatched it and booted his gut.
“Guhk…!”
“Now scram. Show your face again, and it'll be your neck instead of the flask.”
The groaning man staggered up and vanished into the dark. The factory reeked of rotten holy herbs and fresh blood.
I watched his retreating back, pocketed the flask, then looked down.
“...Hey.”
The child huddled on the floor, shaking. I removed the gag; she gasped for air. Emerald eyes slowly met mine.
“Now go. Don't get caught again.”
I turned without waiting for a reply. I'd shattered limbs here and there—they wouldn't move recklessly for a while. Chasing one runaway girl wasn't worth those injuries. She could escape alone now.
“...”
Rain-mixed wind brushed my cheek. Clouds had gathered overhead. Another drink, maybe. I stepped away.
Splash. Splash.
Out of the factory.
Splash. Splash.
Through the alley, around the corner.
Splash. Splash.
I stopped and turned.
“Why're you following me?”
The child froze as our eyes met. Her blanket hung in tatters, soaked.
“I said go. Deaf?”
She stared, then spoke softly.
“...Nowhere to go.”
Her cracked voice slipped through trembling lips.
“What?”
“Nowhere to go.”
I gawked. She fidgeted, glancing sideways.
“So? What do you want from me?”
“...”
To my cold question, she mumbled, then clamped her mouth shut.
I scoffed.
“You're too young to know better—don't trust strangers. Get lost while I'm nice.”
I walked on. But she persisted. I sped up, she hobbled faster; I slowed, she kept distance. Like a stray cat clinging to a passerby.
She stood blankly before my door. At least she had shame enough not to barge in...
“...Haa.”
I sighed instead of slamming the door. Mud-streaked face stared up. The sky was dull gray.
I muttered low.
“...Get in and stay in the corner. Make noise, you're out.”
Her face lit up; she nodded eagerly.
Creeeak...
Tension released inside; pain surged. I slumped on the bed's edge, unbuttoning my shirt. No major wounds, but my right knee throbbed hot and swollen. Years-old injury overtaxed.
As I inspected it, the huddled child approached cautiously.
“...You're hurt.”
“...Mind your own.”
I poured strong liquor from a drawer onto the wound. Searing pain furrowed my brow. She stared, then blurted.
“Why not go to the Church? Healers would fix that quick...”
My hand froze. Silence fell. She looked up, then shut her mouth.
“...Ah.”
She bowed her head.
“Sorry. Because of me...”
I gazed at her trembling form. A face overlapped.
'Sorry, oppa. Because of me...'
Lien, sniffling as she cleaned my thug-beating wounds. Forgotten memories stabbed my chest.
I said quietly.
“Hey.”
She looked up warily. Tears beaded in her eyes.
“You clean it.”
I offered the cloth.
“Earn your keep if you stay.”
She eyed my hand and face, wiped her eyes, nodded big. Trembling fingers took the cloth; clumsy disinfection began.
“...Pfft.”
I chuckled unwittingly.
“...Why?”
“Nothing. Just absurd.”
I'd resented, hated, tried to forget her so much. Yet in this dump, my fondest memory was with Lien. Go figure.
“What's your name?”
“...Sera.”
“Sera?”
“Yeah. Seraphina, but shortened to Sera.”
Sera met my eyes straight.
“You? What do I call you?”
“...Elijah.”
Saying it aloud felt strange. First time since excommunication I'd stated it boldly.
“Elijah...”
Sera murmured it softly. Watching itched oddly; I turned, glancing sidelong. Tiny, frail build. Seemed twelve or thirteen. In these streets, flower buds snapped at fourteen earliest, sixteen latest. Explained her terrified flight.
“How old?”
“...Seventeen.”
“...What?”
Seventeen—barely a year from adulthood. I scanned her body absently. No feminine curves, just scrawny. Pitiful next to the brothel seductresses.
“...”
“...W-what're you staring at! Why that look!”
Sera noticed, flushed crimson, hid herself.
“No, uh. Right. Got it...”
I eyed her with pity. She pressed my head, cheeks blazing.
“D-don't look...!”
I smirked, looked away. Sera scowled, cheeks still red. Hard to believe tears had welled moments ago.
I glanced back at my knee.
“Finish up.”
“...Tch.”
She glared, then resumed with the cloth. Only rubbing sounds filled the room.
“Done.”
Sera pulled away. I flexed; pain eased.
“Good job.”
“...Not a big deal.”
Lips pursed, she retreated to the corner, hugging knees, watching me.
“...Can I really stay?”
“Don't want to? Door's there.”
She stared long, then spoke.
“...Thanks, Elijah.”
“No worries. I'll charge rent.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“...Rent?”
“Obviously. Think it's free?”
I pointed at a rolling bottle.
“Short on cash anyway.”
Nothing's free. Picked her up, sure—but she pays board. Or booze tab?
Sera gawked, sighed shortly.
“...Fine.”
...
Next day.
Someone shook my shoulder roughly in my doze.
“Elijah! Wake up! Sun's high!”
Loud voice battered my ears. I groaned, prying up heavy lids. Harsh sunlight pierced the cracks, blurring vision. Amid the glare, a silhouette: snow-white skin, soft black hair cascading. A face I'd thought forgotten.
“...Lien?”