Chapter 3: Jailbreak

Meili's POV

The sun drags its reluctant way across the sky, and it is late morning by the time I've dressed again and emerge from my room, icy and empty. Surprise faintly stirs deep within me underneath all I had buried as I spy my previous night's guests still crowded in the main room of the hut. I blink idly at them.

"Why are you still here?" I ask, more numbly curious than accusatory, but Yona flinches slightly nonetheless.

"I didn't want to leave you just like that, especially not given the last things we said to one another," she confesses.

You mean given that I yelled in your face about the uselessness of you and yours, I think with a muted and distant sense of guilt.

I walk over to Shin-ah and return his fur to him, avoiding his eyes. Drifting to one of the windows, I lean precariously on the rotting windowsill and stare blankly out into the clearing.

"They'll be back," I warn dully. "They'll be ready. They'll be worse. You should be gone before then."

I know my voice sounds airy, empty and apathetic, but this always happens after Orou's visits, and preferably during them, too; the majority of my mind – my thoughts, my emotions – hangs somewhere about a foot above me, and it takes a while before I can reel it back into me and reclaim it. If I reel it in too soon, something tears and rips inside me enough to pull from me sobs so visceral I retch. Then again, if I take too long to reel it in…. Well, continued existence in a detached void quickly becomes unappealing.

"And if we go, what will you do?"

I turn around slowly to face Raiju, figuring I'd give him the courtesy of looking at him given this is the longest and most meaningful sentence he's spoken to me since he pointed his weapon at me last night. His face is the hard inscrutability of one with military training, but his eyes betray an icy fury I can't quite understand.

"I will stay here, Raiju," I say matter-of-factly, with all the firmness I can muster, "because I have no other choice."

His eyes narrow, maybe in some sort of challenge, but I'm currently too far gone to do anything more than barely acknowledge it, let alone rise to it.

"At least tell us what's going on," he demands.

Why? I think. Why are you interested? What difference does it make to you if you can just leave?

Nevertheless, I oblige his curiosity, perching on a nearby stool and staring into space.

"I came here four years ago, but the villagers didn't welcome me as one of theirs. Maybe because they didn't trust a very ragged-looking fourteen-year-old who arrived with a very small dirty makeshift knapsack of possessions. I don't know. Kokyu and the surrounding region is mainly run by Orou and his gang; they let people stay as citizens and are protected in return for payment. They saw me and decided to offer the same services, though with added restrictions, harsher payments, and payments made through means other than currency. But staying here means I have a roof over my head, regular income – they give me some money in return, so I can buy cloth, food and other necessary items – access to trade, and protection from other dangers."

A few seconds of silence pass before Raiju murmurs: "You could find those elsewhere."

Just enough of myself has thawed now that I can manage a mild irritated reaction. "I would have to find those places first, though," I snap, "and there's no guarantee I'll find anything, let alone soon. I spent four years wandering before I settled here, mainly in larger towns as an urchin, travelling only as a stowaway on wagons. Four years as a lone wandering young girl, and I can assure you with the utmost certainty that I am never doing that again."

I rise from the stool. "So I'm staying." I regard them all with a pointed stare. "And you're leaving."

"There are more of them," Shin-ah says, looking out the window again, "and they have weapons now. They're just leaving the village."

"As I said," I insist more firmly, "you're leaving."

Luckily, they seem to have had the sense to pack all their things already, so they're prepared to reluctantly walk out the door at my chivvying. As they trudge towards a small gap in the trees at the opposite end of the clearing to the way Orou and his friends would arrive, my still-buried heart twitches, an agonised keening echoing in my ears, and I swallow around the thick lump of ice suddenly in my throat. As the princess turns around one last time, to study me with those sad eyes, I can't help but speak.

"One request," I call out, not hiding my cracking voice. "Don't forget me. Please, at night as you go to sleep, say a prayer for Meili, the woman trapped in her cage."

Those unbearable eyes now swim with tears, and she hiccups once before nodding emphatically. I offer her a weak smile, then direct my gaze to include the whole group.

"Thank you for showing me that miracles still exist," I whisper, before I turn my back and leave those miracles to find someone more worthy of saving. At the sound of footsteps retreating into the trees, something tears from inside me, like a thread being snapped off a piece of cloth. I close my eyes, basking in the pain for a few short moments before I gather my essence once again into an impenetrable statue.

I'm given little further time to prepare before Orou and six other men storm into the clearing, voices raised and blades slashing menacingly at foliage.

"Come out, freaks!" he roars. "You got the jump on us last time, but there's no way you can take all of us!"

Insanely, I almost laugh; the idea that these small-town thugs would ignorantly challenge two dragons of legend and Raiju with that confidence…. Well, I would gladly watch that very short fight. Instead, I call to Orou from beside the same basket of laundry I had earlier.

"They're gone, Orou," I say, focusing on the laundry. "I told them that they should leave for their own safety. You can check inside the house if you want. In any case, your blades aren't needed here."

The basket is kicked away from me, but before I have time to shout my indignation, I cry out in pain as a large hand grasps the roots of my hair and pulls my head back. Orou snarls down at me.

"So you stole some new goods from Jeina, you refused to pay your dues when we came earlier, you had some out-of-town freaks raise a blade at me, and now you allowed those freaks to escape their own punishments? Then let me tell you, little flower; our blades are still needed here."

He flings me to the ground. Before I can stop coughing and catch the breath that was stolen from me by the impact, I'm hauled up by my arms before they are wrenched painfully together behind me. Rough rope bites into my wrists as someone ties my hands, then suddenly my arms are jerked up as the rope is passed over a branch and pulled taut. I lower my gaze from the branch just in time to get struck across the face by Orou. A shout of pain is pulled from my lips as I stagger, and the top of my dress is already torn to hang at my hips before I steady myself. Orou grips my cheeks firmly in one hand.

"I bet you still look deliciously fuckable all bloody and bruised."

To my horror, he pulls his knife out of his boot, holding my gaze the entire time. When he holds the flat of the blade against the swell of my breast, I know he can see my pulse jumping and feel my breath quicken, but I can't stop my reaction; I've never angered him like this. He's never been this bad with me. I am unprepared for whatever happens next, I know that. He knows it, too. So he grins before he drags the blade across the top of my breast, and when I clench my teeth and groan in pain, his face twists in pleasure.

"Oh, that sound…. And that face…. You're making those again."

With his nose stuck in my neck, he inhales deeply, then chuckles. As he steps back, I can tell from both his grin and from experience that it's not from mercy, but his kick to my exposed side still catches me off guard. I shout, my arms instinctively tugging at my bonds as they try to protect me, and my knees momentarily buckle from the pain, but I effortfully steady myself as I'm pulled up short by the ropes. Before I can force my eyes open again though, another kick hits the same spot, and my next cry contains something horribly close to a sob. Giving me no time to recover, a blade drags almost salaciously, suggestively, down the inside of my upper arm, and I hiss at the insistent sting.

I lose all track of time in a barrage of pain; sometimes they take it in turns to beat me, sometimes they attack in pairs, occasionally they use knives, interspersed with wandering hands and lips. Whatever they do though, they always get a reaction from me. This is no longer in the realms of what I'm used to regarding their treatment of me. This is the violent sadism of men unhinged. As I hang limply from my rope, panting as I reel from the last strike to my jaw, I wonder if they actually intend to kill me, and if I'd even mind if they did. Over the years, I'd numbed myself to the agony of my disgrace of a life, to the suffering I endure, to the freedoms I've sacrificed or had taken from me. I'd wrapped myself, submerged myself, drowned myself in the cold darkness, all so it would never be able to hurt me. But now, this light – this bright burning flame – burst through the darkness, pushing the cold and dark back so I could once again take a tentative, fleeting breath of something better. She and those with her had given me a glimpse of what life could actually be like, had given me a brief hope of something better. But they couldn't stay. Nothing good can ever stay with me; I've been so long without anything good that I wouldn't know what to do with it or how to act around it, and I'd probably mess it up somehow, corrupt it with whatever darkness is around and within me. I hang my head in defeat.

Just take whatever you want from me. Take everything I have, everything I am. Then, please, as an act of mercy, take the last thing I am able to give….

"I knew I saw something!" one of the thugs shouts from a slight distance away. "There's a pretty little thing here with red hair! Anyone else also craving a second toy?"

"Don't you dare!"

The scream is out of my mouth with the sudden power of thunder. Life instantly blazing through my entire being, I haul myself up with the rope and swing forward to grab one of the thugs around the middle with my legs. I effortfully twirl on the end of the rope, twisting to face the other way, then push the thug forward with my feet. He stumbles forward heavily, colliding with the one holding the other end of the rope, and as they both fall, the rope is released. I quickly tug the loose end back over to my side of the branch, so they can't restrain me like that again easily. Wrists still bound together and dress hanging loose around my waist, I glare at the stunned faces of Orou and the other remaining assholes.

"You even lay a finger on her, and I will fucking kill you!"

Half a heartbeat passes before Orou's face twists in rage, and he strides towards me. I bare my teeth, fully intent on fighting him in this state, whatever my likelihood of success, when a tall, dark-haired figure drops between us and swings the handle of his glaive in a wide arc, knocking back the four in front of me. Hak turns to me with the cool focus of a disciplined soldier, tilting the blade of his weapon towards me in an offering. I immediately draw my bonds along it, cutting my wrists loose easily. Glancing up at Hak, our eyes meet like a clash of steel, a sort of battlefield camaraderie sparking between us, and a hint of approval in his eyes. He wordlessly grabs a bit of cloth from the floor – discarded from my kicked laundry basket – and hands it to me before facing off against the four who are just regaining their footing. Using the brief reprieve given to me, I tie the cloth around my bust, grunting in pain as the already-formed bruise on my side is jostled, but the pain is immediately transformed into fire in my veins.

Seeing Hak easily face off against the four by him, I take a sort of grim satisfaction of turning my back on Orou and striding away from him. Hurrying back to the hut, I hone in on an old pitchfork resting against the outside wall. As I pick it up, the rusted fork-head falls right off, but the shaft is thick and weighty in my hands.

I smile grimly.

Shin-ah and Kija have quickly taken up positions to defend Yona and Yoon, who hide behind a tree, away from the chaos of the clearing. I run towards their two attackers from behind, left hand at one end of my makeshift staff, right hand gripping partway towards the other end. The brutes are completely oblivious to my approach, until I push my right hand forwards, driving the staff into the head of one of them, hard. He crumples to the floor with a cry, hand covering the blow by his ear, which is already trickling blood. The other whirls towards me faster than I can react in my distracted fury, but his sword strikes the palm of a white claw. I stare in wonder as, with a face of righteous indignation, Kija glares at the man before closing his fist, shattering the blade trapped within it. The attacker's eyes flick fearfully between Kija's steely violet eyes and the enormous white claw, before he drops the remaining hilt and scrambles away and out of the clearing. Kija meets my eyes nervously, drawing his claw closer to him again, but his face relaxes in relief as I grin at him in response.

A flash of blue to my left and the sound of steel clashing jolts me to attention again, and I glance down at the thug on the floor. I apparently hadn't completely incapacitated him; he just tried to swing at my legs with his sword, but Shin-ah caught it with his. Shin-ah twists his sword in a way to bat the other one aside, then stands on the flat of the blade, staring down the coward, who quickly scurries away as well. Shin-ah looks towards me, too, the bottom half of his face as unreadable as the masked half. I lay my hand on his shoulder, squeezing once in thanks, then turn my scowl back to the remaining group of invaders.

Every step I take towards the main attackers loads more fuel onto the liquid fire my blood has become, the outrage of four years of exploitation and abuse suddenly unleashed in my body. Kija and Shin-ah join Hak in dealing with three of them, but Orou is trying to slink away. Eyes locked on him, I gather the discarded rope from the floor, coiling it together at one end like my hatred and venom coil together in my stomach. As I approach Orou from behind, a silent harbinger of judgement, I toss the looped end of the rope over a branch that lies flat about eight feet up, catching it again as it falls. Charging the three remaining steps towards him, I leap onto his back, securing my legs around his waist, and pass the loop over his head. Before he even has time to squirm in surprise, I kick off him, making him stumble and launching myself into the air to grab the other end of the rope that dangles on the other side of the branch. When I catch it, my weight pulls it down, the rope biting satisfyingly into my hands. My feet touch the ground again, but still I fight against the weight on the other end of the rope, even as it jerks and jumps. It battles to pull me off the ground again, but I bask in my fury, gritting my teeth and leaning my full body weight forward, glaring at the grass so intensely I'm surprised it doesn't burst into flame. The inferno of my rage blazes on, screaming at me to wrap the rope around my hand to have a better grip on it, to strain downwards as hard as I can, to let my hands and muscles burn even as the weight struggles. My breath hisses out through my teeth, and I shout out my aggression and anger to the floor. A phantom slimy voice sounds in my ear, sickening me with whispered phrases I've heard so many times these past four years. Disembodied hands and mouths run across my body like trails of thick poison. They burn, and with every second it stings, and every sound hissed in my ear, my anger burns ever brighter, my indignation finally unmuzzled and allowed to roar. At last, I have stopped extinguishing my flame, and now I'm letting it scorch whatever it wants.

A hand touches my shoulder, cautiously at first but tightening slowly, as you might hold a growling wolf; with a reassuring touch, but also with enough strength to pin them down should they decide to attack. A pair of hard blue eyes meet mine as I raise my head to glare at the interruption. Hak's face is grim as he continues to stare at me, yet somehow the empathy and reassurance deep in his eyes calls to me. It's over; you don't have to fight anymore, he seems to be saying to me. The desperation abates, and my flames settle. Breathing hard, I straighten, then effortfully uncurl my fingers from around the rope. It quickly whips upwards, and something thumps heavily and dully on the ground behind me. I continue to stare, numb, into Hak's eyes, his expression now softer and his hand now comforting. As the haze of my rage clears, a disorientated confusion replaces it. What happened here? What started it all?

I inhale sharply as one answer snaps into clarity, and I push past Hak, Shin-ah and Kija, who all stare at me. Collapsing to my knees in front of Yona, I grab her by the top of the arms, our wide eyes meeting.

"Are you okay?!" I demand, already looking her over roughly. "Did they hurt you?!"

"No," she answers quickly. "No, I'm fine. I promise I'm fine."

Sighing in relief, I lean my forehead to rest heavily on the top of her head. "I thought my heart was going to stop," I complain, my voice cracking once.

"Welcome to my world." Hak gives me a small smile, leaning on his glaive, as I look up, and I smirk weakly back.

As I'm turned to the side to look at him, objects in the rest of the clearing glint in the corner of my eye. Examining the clearing more closely, I note a number of weapons in various states of disrepair; the shattered sword and hilt and discarded sword nearby, two knives tossed aside on the grass, a dropped sword, a broken rusted sickle – obviously unable to match up to a military-grade glaive – even a mace. Slightly separately, however, a length of rope lies on the ground, tied to something that sprawls across the floor. Ice in my throat, I pull away from Yona to get a closer look at the mass.

It's a body. That much is clear immediately from the way it's lying, but I also somehow instinctively know that. My body gets colder with each step I creep forward, as if this object has banished all warmth around it. All sound, too; a hushed, tense silence has fallen over the clearing, and my blood pounds in my ears as I realise the clothes on the body are familiar. So is the dark hair at the back of the head as it lies limply, its torso twisted to face the ground. My fingers tremble as I reach towards its shoulder. In a burst of fear, I quickly grab the sleeve and tug, rolling the body onto its back.

Orou's eyes gaze blankly at the treetops. His once handsome face now reflects some of the ugliness he housed inside; his whole face is blotchy and rouged, his lips are swollen and blue, his thickened tongue lolls out of his mouth, his eyes bulge in their sockets. I stare down at his corpse, mind seeming to work like a cart rolling uncontrollably down a hill and simultaneously like a cow stuck in deep mud. I should be scared. I should be horrified. I should be screaming and sobbing and retching. Instead, all I feel while I gaze into his ugly face is a calm sort of…vindication, with a soft undercurrent of lingering hatred. He deserved it. The vile, disgusting creature deserved this.

"Meili…. Are you okay?"

My neck almost creaks as my head turns stiffly towards Yona. She looks anguished, sympathetic and gentle, soft sunlight drifting through the leaves to bathe her in gold. I can see it in her face; she thinks I'm horrified, traumatised by the evidence of my inhumanity. Any normal person would be, right? But the only regret I have towards my actions is that I have now ruined everything I built here over the past four years, and even then, it's a half-hearted regret at best.

I try for a reassuring smile, but it probably looks more like a grimacing sneer.

"This is not the first corpse I've seen, Princess," I murmur quietly, "nor even the first one I've made."

She tries to hide it, but she gasps quietly, taken aback. I turn away from her to stare at the dead Orou again.

"Though, I'll allow, it's by far the least messy." My pathetic attempt at humour is ruined by my grim tone, the dark topic, and my tired sigh that follows. "I've really screwed up this time."

"What does this mean for you?" Yoon asks carefully.

I sigh again, dragging a hand through my bedraggled hair. "It means I can't stay here. It means I'll be hunted until they find me and decide to end my life in whatever slow and painful way they desire." I wince suddenly, pressing a hand to one of my nastier cuts, my injuries catching up to me now that the adrenaline has gone. "And they won't have any trouble doing so, given my current state."

Maybe I should just accept my fate. Not bother running, and just wait for them here. Why try and run from the inevitable? But what they'd do to me…. I'm not prepared for it. I wasn't prepared for them this time, and when they catch me, they will be so much worse. Can I really bear my punishment? My eyes almost idly drift down to the extensive rope still attached to Orou's neck. I pick up a section of it thoughtfully.

If I cut it off him, there should still be plenty spare if I tied it to the branch rather than slung it over…

The rope is pulled from my hands gently but firmly. Purple eyes capture mine as I glance up; though softened by compassion and empathy, the reproach in them is enough to shoot a bolt of remorse through me. Effortfully forcing my breath to stay calm, I silently beg her for an answer, for guidance on what I should do.

"Come with us," she says.

I brace myself for the onslaught of objections from the others: I'm a danger to her, I'm a murderer, I'm pathetic and not worth bringing along, I'm not the sort of person she should associate with. But none come, and I even catch Kija smiling at Yona as if in agreement, and Hak stares at me with almost smug anticipation. I hang back though, not daring to leave the freezing pool of my shame and self-loathing.

"Why?" I ask her, shaking my head. "I have nothing to offer you. No fighting skills, no magical abilities, no useful knowledge."

She smiles at me so kindly my breath shudders out of me. "Because you deserve better than to stay in your cage. And because I want you with me. Besides," her smile widens, "you do have something to offer; I'd be honoured to hear you sing again."

At first, I'm not sure what's happening. My chest feels tight, but in a good way, like how a child feels encased in their mother's arms. Something runs down my face, and I worry for a minute that I might be bleeding badly from a head wound, before I remember I wasn't hit or cut on my head. My face twists and scrunches, and a pained sound bursts through my lips. I clap my hand over my mouth, but more sounds escape, my body convulsing with each cry. Her face is unbearably understanding and gentle, so I cover my face completely, as if shielding my eyes from a blinding light. Of course this miracle would be able to draw tears from me after they've been frozen and calcified for nearly a decade. Each jerk of my body, each heave of my lungs, blazes fiery agony from my bruise straight through me, but I will gladly suffer this penance if it may go towards paying off this kindness shown to me.

An urgent hand on my shoulder pulls my focus out of my hands again, but it's Yoon's pale eyes that beseech me now.

"We'll all welcome you along if you decide to join us," he promises, "but we shouldn't stay here too long in case they manage to regroup and form a riot. I want to treat your wounds, but that can be done when we've put a bit more distance between us and this place."

I swipe my bare arm over my face, my tears stinging various cuts. "Yes, of course," I stand quickly, sniffing sharply. "I…."

I pause, once again checking the faces of Yona and her companions. I swallow. "If you'll really have me, give me a few minutes to change and to gather the very few possessions I have."

Hak nods once, a small smile on his face. "We'll wait."

Tears fill my eyes again as I sob out a laugh, but I take a bracing breath, urging myself forward with reminders that I am finally – finally – gaining the freedom I have barely dared dream of. Hurrying into the hut, I glance around, noting the few things worth bringing in no time at all. I gather them all in a bundle in a sheet of thin cloth. I then grimace down at the state of my clothes; the top of my dress is in complete tatters, the skirt is stained with blood, as is the grimy bandeau I have tied around my chest. Thankfully, my cuts seem to have stopped bleeding now, but I definitely look a state. Rifling through various piles of clothes, I come across a well-worn outfit that I remember being comfortable; a pair of brown leggings and a slightly loose-fitting white shirt with a brown corset. Orou was always displeased and extra cruel if I wasn't wearing something with a skirt when he turned up; he claimed I was trying to "hide his payment" from him, given that he didn't have such easy access to me at those times. A joyful sort of defiance flaring to life inside me, I strip my tattered clothes and don the other outfit, though I keep the corset with me separately, given that my side blazes at just the thought of wrapping something so tight around my middle. A pair of snug lighter brown boots that have seen better days adorn my feet.

Exiting the hut, I hold up the bundle of my possessions in one hand.

"Is there space in one of your bags for this? I'm afraid I don't have anything even resembling a backpack." I smile, a weird mix of sheepish and exhilarated. "Never thought I'd actually get away, so why would I need one?"

"That'll easily fit between us," Yoon reassures me, "but let's leave now, and sort that out later."

I nod, already following him out of the clearing. I hold up my second offering in my other hand. "I also brought some old but clean dresses of mine. We can rip them up and use them as bandages."

"Good thinking," he nods, smiling.

A nudge on my shoulder makes me look left, and Hak holds out the pitchfork handle I'd used in the fight. "You'll be needing this, too."

I blink at him, confused. "Uh…"

He smirks, shrugging. "I saw you using it earlier. Pretty crude and raw manoeuvres, but with a hint of innate knowledge on how to wield it. We should get you a better staff when we can, but I think I'll easily be able to train you to use it better with this in the meantime."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I grab the staff from his hands before clutching his sleeve.

"I could fight?" I ask breathlessly. "I could defend myself? And others, too?"

"With a bit of training," he reminds me, smiling.

"We should keep moving," Yoon interrupts, looking at us both pointedly.

"Right, yes, of course, sorry," I nod, breathing deeply then laughing slightly. "It's just a lot to process at the moment."

At the edge of the clearing, the enormity of the situation lingers alongside me; a feeling like a sky heavy with lightning settles over my shoulders like a cloak. Staring back at the small, rundown piece of land I had stupidly called home for the past four years, I feel no loss at leaving it behind. Given what Yona and the others have offered me, this isn't an unwilling displacement. This is a jailbreak. With one last rude gesture in the direction of the hut – which makes Hak smirk at me – I jog elatedly away.

She's finally free! Sorry it's taken me so long to update – again! I hope you enjoyed reading it, though I realise it was quite heavy in places!

Please let me know what you think in a review. Creators really love to know their work is appreciated.