A week into her journey, Clarke finally forced herself to stop for longer than a night's rest or to refill her canteen. She had no food except some nuts and berries she'd foraged. The supplies Indra gave her ran out three days ago. She had find real food before hunger weakened her. She would have to hunt.
Litta and Mak had taught her how, but they mostly relied on the bow. Clarke only had Litta's knife. It would have to do.
There was a trading post that she passed a couple miles back. If she could kill something and bring them the fresh meat, perhaps they would trade it for meat already prepared. If she was quick enough, she could be on her way again by morning.
It was dusk when Clarke entered the house, dragging the panther behind her. It'd taken a few hours, but her bait had been effective. Her shoulder had gotten clawed pretty good, but all things considered, she was fine. It just stung like a bitch.
There was a pretty blonde woman inside. Clarke had scrubbed her face with dirt and pulled her hair back, pulling her blue hood almost completely over her eyes.
The woman agreed to the exchange and left the room to gather Clarke's provisions. When she came back, she handed her a large parcel wrapped with twine.
"Oyun steiks-de, ge fleiva op en ge son op."
Your meat, salted and dried.
"Machop."
She grabbed the food and went to leave, but the woman reached out and grabbed her arm. Clarke threw her off at once, stepping back in alarm. Her hand was going to the blade in her boot, but the woman moved back, apologizing, saying she meant no harm.
Still wary, Clarke said, "Ai ste hos raun."
I'm in a hurry.
"You will not get far," she said in English.
"What are you talking about?"
Clarke was ready to drop the parcel and draw her knife as she looked around the room for any sign of an ambush.
"Wanheda, your likeness is everywhere."
Clarke didn't know how to reply to that so the woman went behind the counter and came back with a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper. It was a wanted poster with her face sketched in the middle.
"They have been spreading it far and wide. Riders came from the north two weeks ago with that."
"Two weeks?" Clarke echoed, horrified.
She'd only left Polis a week ago...
It realization hit her hard.
Nia had been preparing for this – she expected Clarke to run.
The dread she'd been feeling every day since she turned away from the city walls of Polis was finally overtaking her. This changed everything. She didn't have a day's, she had no lead. Azgeda were looking for her everywhere, not just the ones with the Queen in Polis. They could be anywhere, in any direction. If they figured out she was heading south...Clarke was in even more danger than she imagined. She thought her departure from the city would have been a surprise to the Azgeda Queen, but Nia had been counting on it. She knew, just as Indra knew, that Clarke was going to run.
Oh, God.
That's why she approached Clarke so brazenly in the streets. She wanted to scare her. She wanted to force her away from the safety of Lexa and out of Polis so that she could capture Clarke alone without needing to worry about the complications of confronting the Commander in her own city. She'd been played. Easily.
Clarke wanted to dig her own grave and lie down in it to save Nia the trouble.
How could she have been so stupid?
And it happened against her instincts to stand and fight. Because she wanted to protect herself. She wanted to protect herself and Lexa from any chance that they would have to make a choice like the one made at the Mountain that night...
Clarke never would have considered running before. It was against everything she knew. Not just from the harsh ways on the ground, but from her mother...from her father.
"Dei feisnes nou ste krei os," the woman said, bringing Clarke out of her thoughts and back to the trading post.
It's not a very good likeness.
Clarke felt lightheaded.
The woman switched back to English with a sympathetic shrug, "But it is good enough. You are too easily spotted. Your hair. It's unusual among our people."
Clarke's hand automatically went to her hood and she cursed internally when she realized it had slipped back too far without her noticing. That wasn't going to work.
"Why are you telling me this? Why didn't you just turn me in?" She held the wanted poster up that had an exorbitant number as a reward for Clarke's capture.
"My mother was taken by the Mountain. You ended the reaping," she answered simply.
Clarke didn't have the words to reply. She'd been so honest, so sincere in her simple gratitude. Clarke couldn't think of the dead bodies entombed in Mount Weather right now. She nodded slightly, hoping that her face said what her voice could not.
The woman started to walk away, but Clarke called out to her, bringing her back.
"Then what do you suggest? I mean...why does my hair give me away? Yours is blonde too."
The woman sighed, examining her more closely. "For one, it is brighter and unbraided. Clean. Light hair like mine is unusual to begin with." She picked up a basket of goods and tilted her head towards the back. "Come. I have an idea."
With no better option presented to her, Clarke put her food parcel back down on the counter and followed the woman.
Her name was Niylah. After she helped Clarke dye her hair with a particularly bright red kind of berry, she offered to clean the wound Clarke received from the panther.
"The cat got the worst of it," Niylah said as she carefully sponged the open claw marks.
Clarke smiled, but her thoughts kept drifting.
"No kill marks," she noted.
Clarke closed her eyes as sickness rose from deep within her. "My back's not big enough."
Niylah didn't hear the warning in her tone. She leaned into Clarke, somewhat excited and giddy.
"Tell me about the Mountain."
Clarke didn't want to be unkind, but if this is what she was after, it wasn't going to be a very civil conversation for long.
"There's nothing to tell. I did what I had to do...that's all."
Niylah noticed Clarke's edginess this time and she fell silent, focusing on cleaning the wound instead. Clarke stiffened and winced when she reached a particularly deep spot.
"Sorry," she said softly and her hand curled around Clarke's arm. She squeezed gently to compound her apology.
Clarke didn't think much of the touch until she realized a few moments later that Niylah had not let go. She looked to where the hand was now stroking her bare arm and she turned around. Niylah leaned in and pressed her lips to Clarke's, but it was only the briefest touch because Clarke moved away.
She couldn't, she thought to herself. But then...really...she could. If she wanted to. There was nothing to stop her from taking comfort in what she was now convinced was going to be her last few days on earth.
Niylah was pretty, sweet, and kind. She was helping her. Why wouldn't Clarke want to enjoy herself?
Embarrassed by the rejection, Niylah lowered her head, focusing on rinsing out the bloody cloth in a bowl.
Her first instinct was to ignore it, to let whatever awkwardness there was, stay there. Niylah was a grown woman, she took a risk, it didn't happen. Clarke had nothing to be sorry for.
But her second instinct told her to try and be considerate, to make it hurt less somehow. Niylah was helping her at great risk to her own life, asking for absolutely nothing in return.
"I'm sorry," Clarke said lamely, trying to figure out how to explain without explaining at all. "It's...it's not you."
Seeming to recover, Niylah raised her eyes again and looked at Clarke knowingly.
"I have someone," Clarke admitted finally.
Kind of.
Maybe.
For a night, she did.
"The one who gave you this?" Niylah picked up the red hood that Clarke had removed for access to the scratches.
Clarke could only nod.
"With the people who are after you...it is possible you will never see her again."
"I know."
After Niylah finished cleaning the scratches and bandaged it, she gave Clarke extra supplies to go with the first parcel she'd handed her. Clarke could only tell her how grateful she was, she had nothing else to offer. But Niylah seemed to feel as she had given her enough.
Clarke headed west when she left the trading post. As helpful and kind as Niylah had been, Clarke couldn't risk her knowing which direction she was traveling in. It was bad enough that Niylah had recognized her and if anyone else found out about it, Niylah would be in grave danger.
After riding a mile west, Clarke turned south once more, eventually making her way back to the path Indra had advised. She'd lost too much time during the day and even though riding at night was extremely dangerous, Clarke had to chance it. She needed to make up ground. She rode slowly and when the terrain grew too treacherous to ride on unseeing, she slipped off the horse and walked them both through the dark woods.
It was nearing dawn and the sky was lightening when Clarke heard the sound of rushing water. There was a river nearby and her canteen was nearly empty.
She had just bent down to fill it when she heard a rough voice next to her say, "Chon yu bilaik?"
Who are you?
Clarke froze.
"Non kom joken get daun," she said harshly without looking up.
None of your fucking concern.
"Heda kom Azgeda which in non."
The Queen believes otherwise.
"Ai laik non Azgeda."
I am not Ice Nation.
"Gyon op!"
Get up!
Clarke rose to her feet slowly. Her hood was still pulled low and her now red hair flowed out from underneath. Her face was still covered in the dirt she'd disguised herself with before going in to meet Niylah. Maybe...just maybe it would be enough. Maybe he wouldn't recognize her.
The Azgeda warrior had three men behind him and he was holding his sword at Clarke threateningly.
"Non tat, em non laik Trigeda."
No tattoos, you are not of the Tree People.
"Non skrish! Ai laik Niylah kom Floukru. Ai trana sis op wada en hod op em."
No shit! I am Niylah of the Boat People. I just tried to get some water but you stopped me.
It was the first clan that came to mind for Clarke, but she cringed internally. That was not the smartest choice.
He stepped into Clarke's personal space, looking closely at her face. Clarke tried not to recoil at the revolting stench that wafted over her from his unwashed body and rotting teeth.
Seeming satisfied, he grunted and told his men to move on.
"Yu don sin disha plan in?"
Have you seen this woman?
He held up the same wanted poster that Niylah had shown Clarke, but this one had bloodstains on it.
Not trusting her voice anymore, Clarke just shook her head.
Annoyed, he stomped off, and Clarke could hear him muttering under his breath as he walked away.
"Joken Wanheda, pis stei em..."
Fucking Commander of Death, pissing me off...
Taking a deep breath that she didn't allow herself during that entire exchange, Clarke waited until they disappeared into the woods before swinging herself into the saddle and headed in the opposite direction. They had gone south, they knew. Her only choice was to continue west.
She crossed river at a shallow apex and tried to put as much distance between her and the Azgeda war party as she could.
By the following day, late afternoon, Clarke was feeling more confident that she had shaken them off, taking extra pains not to leave an obvious trail and stayed away from any trafficked paths.
It was all for nothing though.
It was quiet, with only the usual sounds of the woods, and then her horse reared up in a panic. War cries surrounded her and something heavy slammed into her from the side and she went flying off her mount, hitting her head on the ground, and then there was black.
Nia had sent hunters in each direction to search for Clarke. There were dozens of search parties out looking for her. Once the news of the last one reached his comrades, they all berated him for not realizing how stupid it was that someone from the Boat People would be so far inland.
From what Clarke heard in snippets from her kidnappers, they'd sent riders ahead to warn the other search parties of her last location and that Clarke was now a redhead. It wasn't hard to find her after that.
Clarke had been their prisoner for three days and taken some light beatings for mouthing off, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. They weren't interested in her, only what she would bring them. They tied her to her horse, and rode day and night, stopping only for minutes at a time. They wanted to bring Clarke to the Queen as quickly as possible so that they could claim their reward.
They refused to share any food with her though and only allowed her enough water to keep her from passing out.
There was ten of them. Only one of her.
Clarke was slowly but surely resigning herself to her fate. She just wished she had been able to elude them for a little longer than she had. If only she'd been smarter, known the land better...anything.
She wondered how her mother would find out that she'd been executed. Would she ever find out at all?
Some of the Azgeda hunters were talking amongst themselves right behind her as they rode their horses slowly through a rocky area. Clarke tried to listen as hard as she could, but was only getting bits and pieces of the conversation.
The scout that was sent ahead came galloping towards them.
"Em op hir! Ge yo ogud!"
She is here! Be ready!
Now what she heard made sense.
Nia was meeting them halfway. From what her captors said, Clarke would be meeting Nia again very soon.
It made sense. She wouldn't bring Clarke back to Polis and risk Lexa interfering. And from the little Clarke gleaned about the Azgeda capital, it was a long journey, and very isolated from the rest of the clans. If Nia wanted an audience for Clarke's execution, for word to spread quickly through the clans and back to her people, she would have to do it as soon as possible. To wait any longer would mean chancing interference from the other clans, Clarke escaping, the Sky People finding out, or Lexa.
Lexa should be safe back in Polis. She was surrounded by her army there. Hopefully the anointing of the new clan leaders had gone to plan. Clarke wondered how her people were getting by. She'd only heard a brief mention of them from Lexa, scouts saying that they were building more, exploring more, and that they rode in metal cages instead of on horseback. Clarke had smiled at that. She knew that was Raven's doing. Automobiles running again after nearly one hundred years? Of course it would be Raven Reyes to spearhead the charge.
Movement to her right brought Clarke out of her musings. At first she thought maybe it was just an animal, but then she saw the blur again. A distinctly human blur. She watched carefully as they passed by, her horse leading her down the path, but before she got too far away, she saw him. A Grounder. It wasn't a soldier and he definitely wasn't Azgeda. Clarke never saw his face, just his back as he darted away into the thicket. Her captors were too excited and chatting about the reward they would get from their Queen to notice.
They tied her to a tree and put a bag over her head. Clarke wasn't sure how much time passed with her like that, hours probably. Her legs were too weak to stand when they came back for her – they had to carry her.
Clarke wasn't sure what happened entirely or how she'd reached this point, but her mind had shut off. Slowly, she faded more and more the longer she spent in their custody. Blank. Numb. Acceptance.
She wasn't thinking about anyone or anything. The soldier on her right smelled like something had crawled out of a swamp filled with shit. The soldier on her left had a silver button sewed onto his armor, above his collar bone. There was no grass beneath her feet, just stones. Water was rushing by with such thunder, it was hard to hear anything else. The river was high today, dangerously full.
"Did you really believe you could escape so easily?"
Clarke finally raised her eyes to look up at Nia from where she was forced on her knees in front of her.
"Actually? I did. You got lucky."
Nia didn't smile.
Clarke looked around, seeing that there were only about three dozen warriors or so surrounding them.
"This is all you brought?" she snorted derisively. "I thought you would have wanted a grand audience for my death. Show off to everyone that you're so great and powerful."
"Clarke, you have lost. You fate is sealed. Face it with grace and honor instead of this childish behavior. Your last moments should mean more to you than that."
"I will take that under advisement. Thank you." She nodded in mock sincerity. "Soooo...how do the Azgeda execute people? Beheading? Burned at the stake? Flayed alive? Death by A Thousand Cuts? Wait. I know!" she chirped. "You bore them to death. That's why you had me waiting for so long. You thought I'd just drop dead and save you the trouble!"
"Prepare her," Nia said impassively, flicking her hand at Clarke.
The warriors rushed forward and Clarke cried out in pain as they tied pieces of rope tightly around different parts of her arms and legs. It was so tight, it cut off her circulation.
Clarke knew she should feel panicked, desperate, terrified, but instead she just felt the pain and a morbid sense of curiosity as she watched them do this.
"I know you wish for a greater audience, but I have less time than expected, so my people will do. Besides...I'll have your head put on that pole," she pointed to a ten foot wooden spike that one of her warriors was holding next to him, "and that will be more than enough to show all the clans who has conquered Wanheda."
Clarke looked at the pole and then back at Nia before shrugging. It didn't really matter much to her.
The Queen seemed slightly perturbed by Clarke's indifference and, honestly, it was surprising to Clarke too. She knew what she was supposed to be feeling right now. She knew that her emptiness was wrong. Yet, she couldn't feel anything else.
How hard had she hit her head?
"You asked how we perform our executions? Well..." Nia said, circling her as she inspected the rope work, "we do not simply bleed people as the cowardly Trikru. No..." She stopped in front of Clarke again and peered down at her. "Azgeda are bold. We tear you apart, piece by piece. But if you died after the first cut, that would hardly be much of a punishment, would it?"
Clarke shifted a little and she winced as the movement made the ropes bite deeper.
Oh.
It made sense now.
The ropes were tourniquets.
Each place they had tied was to mark where Clarke's limbs were supposed to be amputated.
Well...that was new.
"Which would you like me to take first?" Nia snatched Clarke's wrist and yanked it out hard, twisting Clarke's arm in it's socket. "The hands?" She motioned for the men behind her and they knocked Clarke to the stony ground. She viciously stomped on Clarke's heel, making her cry out. She held boot hard into Clarke's ankle, pinning it there. "A foot? Then a hand? Do you have a preference? Not that it matters, they will all be removed eventually...and then I will move higher."
"Do...what you...gotta do," Clarke said, breathing hard.
One of the warriors handed Nia her sword. It glinted in the sunlight as she brandished it in front of Clarke.
"Perhaps this is unnecessary," she said, pretending to inspect the edge of the blade. "After all, it's not my people that you've committed any crimes against. And you did take down a powerful enemy. Do you think I should show you mercy for that? Allow you honor in your death?"
"I think you're really working hard on that bore me to death method of execution."
However, Nia's offer did make her wonder. Why was she toying with her? Why didn't she just get on with it? She had Clarke captured, tied up, helpless and alone. What was she looking for? What else did she need?
Nia's nostrils flared ever so slightly, angry with Clarke for her blatant disregard for her authority.
Maybe she didn't have everything she needed yet.
Clarke had been captured, that much was clear, but she hadn't been broken.
Nia shared a glance with someone who looked less like a warrior, perhaps an adviser, who stood at her side.
She seemed...concerned.
Clarke began to laugh. Very. Loudly.
The Azgeda surrounding her watched her with mixed reactions of worry and anger. Apparently, Wanheda laughing maniacally before her death didn't seem like such a good omen.
Clarke couldn't stop laughing and tears rolled down her cheeks.
Nia needed to break her. She couldn't kill her without making her submit first. She would have Clarke's head on a spike, but she needed her people to see that Wanheda was truly her prize.
If they didn't believe in Clarke's power, if they didn't believe that Nia was the only one capable of destroying her, then it wouldn't be enough for what she needed to take control of the clans. She couldn't completely break from the coalition and start a war if her people were not fully convinced that her strength was greater than that of Lexa's reincarnated spirit with the power of a hundred lifetimes of exalted leaders.
She could try and torture it out of her, which was probably the next step, but torture breaks everyone eventually. It wasn't the same. Nia needed Clarke to be afraid, to beg for her life, to show some kind of respect and understanding for what was taking place. Unintentionally, Clarke had given her nothing.
Something hard hit the back of her skull and Clarke went sprawling forward, splitting her cheek open on a sharp rock. She stopped laughing and they lifted her back up, but she was still smiling.
Nia backhanded her savagely.
The pain shot straight into her eye and she grunted, but after a moment to gain her bearings, she lifted her head again and giggled. There was blood in her mouth so she spit it out in front of her.
"Em ste kokem?" she heard one of the Azgeda mumble from behind her.
Is she mad?
It was a fair question.
Clarke wasn't entirely sure herself.