Chapter 4 #2
He mumbles something under his breath as he closes the door behind Isirae. Standing side by side, they almost look comical. She just reaches his elbow. I smile at the two people I love most in this world, my family. Feron may be an asshole, but he’s my asshole.
“Ready to kick our asses?” I ask Feron, bouncing on the balls of my feet, excitement igniting in my veins. I love training, love the strain on my muscles, the finesse of a blade. It’s the highlight of my entire week when I’m able to sneak away.
Isirae groans. “When I said ‘get out of here’ I didn’t mean training.” Isi hates training. She isn’t much better at it than pickpocketing. Feron says she’s clumsy and unfocused. I say she just needs more practice, more resolve.
“Come on Isi. You need to learn this stuff if we’re going to get out of Bottom’s place and live on our own.
” I use the nickname Isi and I made up for Otyx.
Is it immature? Yes. Do we care? Absolutely not.
If Isi can get good enough at pickpocketing and fighting, maybe she can help me save enough to open my own healing practice and I won’t have to worry about her anymore.
We’ll find some way for Isi to make an honest living as well.
Maybe a baker. We won’t need Otyx Berttom anymore.
“Vay.” She takes my hands. “I’ll never be good at this stuff.
There really is no out for me.” Her eyes fill with the sadness I’ve been trying to wipe away for so long.
“I know you want to help me, and I love you for it. But this is the best life I can hope for, and at least I’m good at it. I’ve accepted it. Why can’t you?”
We’ve had this argument so many times before. I never let her win, because if I do, it means I’ve given up on her. And that is something I simply will not do.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not today. We’re not having this conversation today.
” I grip her small hand tighter, dragging her out the back door, into Feron’s training field.
I grab two wooden training swords off the rack and pull her to the edge of the makeshift, packed dirt ring Feron created and hand one to her.
She sighs, taking the defensive stance Feron taught her as we square off.
Feron says she is nowhere near ready for a real sword, despite how long we’ve been doing this.
He comes up behind her and corrects her stance before taking a seat on his creaking wooden chair just outside the ring.
I lunge for her. She tries her best to block my attack, to counter, but I disarm her quickly, the wooden sword clattering to the ground.
“Concentrate!” Feron barks. I think concentrate is his favorite word.
Isi picks up her sword, taking her stance again. This time we circle each other, and I wait for her to lunge at me. She does and again, I disarm her alarmingly quickly. She lets out a groan of frustration.
“You could at least go easy on me,” she pouts, picking up her sword, hissing as a splinter stabs her finger.
“How would that help? Do you think someone actually attacking you is going to go easy on you? You have to be prepared.”
Her face turns red. “I’ve already been attacked! Countless times before you came along, and I survived! I don’t need this! It’s humiliating!” She throws the wooden sword to the ground and storms back inside. I look over at Feron, disapproval clear on his wrinkled old face.
“She won’t get better.” His deep voice is somehow calming and irritating at the same time. “She’s unfocused and undisciplined. She’s a lost cause.”
“Don’t say that!” I throw my wooden sword to the ground as well and follow Isi inside.
She has already left, leaving the front door wide open.
I sigh and rub my face, leaning against the frame of the front door, staring out into the busy street.
I feel Feron come up behind me. For someone so large, he’s surprisingly quiet.
“Why do you care so much for that tiny thing?” he asks. “Didn’t I teach you not to trust anybody? Didn’t I teach you that you are all you need?”
My shoulders sag. “You don’t know her like I do.
She’s so much more than what everyone thinks.
She gives me a reason to fight. To hope.
She’s my family. You both are.” Without turning to face him or saying goodbye, I march out the door after Isirae.
Feron isn’t one for sentiment. I suppose I’m not either.
I take the route I know Isi would have taken back to the bordello, keeping my eyes peeled for her.
It’s not far, but in the overcrowded streets, it takes ages to get anywhere.
Berttom’s bordello comes into view at the same time I hear a scream.
I ignore it. Screaming is part of the atmosphere in this borough.
No one else bats an eye or even slows down.
A second, more muffled scream is followed closely by a third.
It’s coming from the alley abutting the bordello, the one with the hidden door.
Isi.
I take off running, shoving people of out my way, ignoring the curses and dirty looks. I make it to the mouth of the alley in time to see Isi thrown to the ground by her collar. Three men surround her.
I scream from my gut to get their attention on me and away from Isi. The sound is feral. I feel feral. I watch Isi as she cowers against the wall of the bordello among the trash and urine stains.
“Damn. Looks like we got a party now boys,” leers the shortest of the three. He adjusts himself in his trousers as he saunters over to me.
Gross.
The cane he carries clicks against the packed dirt.
“Why don’t we have a look under that dress, Red? I want to see if all your hair is that color.” He hooks the handle of his cane under the hem of my skirt. A slow smile spreads across my face.
Before he has time to register what I’m doing, I reach down, wrenching the cane from his hand. I bring it above my head and back down on the top of his skull. Hard. I hear bone crunch as he crumples to the piss-stained ground. I glance up at the other two, my grin deadly.
“Fucking bitch!” the tallest one yells as he sprints for me. The other, a little slower to react, follows behind.
In my mind, I see Tall Prick tackling me to the ground moments before he reaches me.
I dance out of the way, the cane coming down on his spine.
Mid-size Prick is right on his heels, hands reaching for me like a baby reaching for his mama.
I bring the cane down on his right hand.
By the loud snap I hear, I’m fairly certain I’ve broken something.
He yowls in pain, cradling his injured hand.
Tall Prick is on his feet again. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me back against his chest. I bring my head back fast and hard, colliding with his nose.
He releases me with a wail just in time for me to swing the cane back on Mid-size Prick, connecting with his cheekbone, their blood spraying my dress.
“Fuck this!” Tall Prick yells, spitting out the blood that’s running from his nose into his mouth. He turns and sprints for the alley entrance, Mid-size Prick right behind him. Clearly they don’t care about their friend.
I step over his unusually still body, not noticing nor caring if he’s alive. I slowly approach Isi, who has curled up with her back against the wall, her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her face.
Dropping the cane at her feet, I sit next to her as rain begins to fall and bundle her into my arms. “Shh,” I hush. “It’s alright. I've got you. I’m here.” Her sobs intensify. “I’ll always be here.