Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (snow like ashes .txt) đź“•
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- Author: Jeffrey L. Kohanek
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Roland stepped over to the door and rested one hand against it. “Who’s there?”
The noise stopped, everything falling quiet. Suddenly, the door blasted open, knocking Roland backwards until he stumbled into the chair. Lyra gasped, seeing the shadows of two men in the doorway.
“There’s nothing here to steal,” Roland blurted. Lyra watched Roland’s silhouette as he rose to his feet with a fire iron in his hand, held up and ready to strike. “Go find an easier target who is worth your time.”
“Where is she?” It was the voice of the gray-eyed man. “We know you’re friends with her.”
They found me…but they haven’t noticed me yet. Lyra lowered herself until she was hanging with her arms extended. Glancing down, she found the alley too dark to determine what lay below her, what she might hit if she let go.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roland said. “Leave now and we can forget this ever happened.”
“Wrong answer.”
The sounds of a scuffle came through the window, followed by Roland’s voice crying out in pain. A sob snuck out as Lyra imagined Roland dying because of her. She didn’t know what to do.
“Check the window,” the gray-eyed man said.
Lyra panicked and let go. The fall was not far, but the footing was uneven and she twisted her ankle at impact. A sharp pain shot up her leg, resulting in an unintended yelp.
A nervous glance toward the window revealed the big man looking down at her.
“There she is,” he shouted. “She jumped into the alley.”
Lyra stood to run, wincing when she put weight on her ankle. She took two steps and glanced up to find the man gone. Turning, she limped the other direction, taking only a few strides before realizing she wasn’t going to make it far on a bad ankle. She bumped her knee on an empty crate, one she couldn’t even see in the dark alley. Rather than continue to run, she fell to her hands and knees and squirmed into the crate. Something with clawed feet ran across her hand, requiring her to use every ounce of restraint not to scream as she yanked her hand back and wrapped her arms about her shins, squeezing her knees to her chest.
To Lyra, the sound of her rapid breaths were a ruckus, announcing where she was hiding. The sound of footsteps arose, growing louder as the men ran through the alley.
“She ran this way,” one man said as the footsteps continued past before fading into the distance.
Even after the men were gone, Lyra remained in the crate, alone, afraid, and unsure of what to do next.
Lyra’s shoulder and hip were sore from the repeated bouncing of the wagon bed. The air beneath the canvas sheet covering her was thick, stuffy, and smelled of dirt. Sunlight leaked through tiny holes torn in the tarp, shedding light on the pile of potatoes beside her, wobbling and rolling about with each bump. It felt frustrating not to know which direction the wagon was headed. She ached to pull the canvas aside so she could see and try to determine where she was. Yet, she somehow resisted.
She reflected on her situation, telling herself she had no choice. Those men were after her. Hiding at Roland’s apartment hadn’t worked. He was the one person she knew she could count on to help. Now, he was dead. If she wanted to live, she had to leave Vingarri – leave her old life behind. The wagon hit a pothole, the impact driving an unintentional grunt from her lungs.
When the wagon began to slow, anxiety began to swirl within her. Did the driver hear me? The wagon stopped and she heard the man shuffle about. Blinding sunlight suddenly appeared as a man ripped the canvas back, causing Lyra to squint at the driver.
“I thought so,” the man said. “A stowaway.”
She sat up and faced him, finding a middle-aged man of average height and build, with brown hair and a matching beard. The man lifted his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his brow with a sleeve.
“You’re lucky we aren’t at sea. You don’t want to know what sailors do with stowaways.”
Lyra’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Despite his sharp tone, she thought he had kind eyes.
“Hmph,” the man grunted. “Go on, climb out of my wagon.”
Without a word, Lyra climbed over the side of the wagon bed, wincing as she put weight on her bad ankle.
“Something wrong with your leg?” the man asked.
Lyra shrugged.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Lyra shrugged again.
He stared at her for a moment with his brow furrowed. His features then relaxed and he sighed. “Fine. You can ride with me to Vinata. After that, you’re on your own.”
Lyra glared at the man. “Thank you, but only if you’re offering a ride and nothing else.”
“What? Yeah, of course.” He sounded offended, making Lyra feel slightly relieved. The man gestured toward the front of the wagon. “It can’t be comfortable bouncing in the wagon bed, so go ahead and climb on the seat.”
The man followed her, but she swatted his hand aside when he tried to help her into the seat. He grunted again, shaking his head as he circled around his oxen and climbed on the seat.
“Get!”
He snapped the reins, and the two oxen kicked into motion, pulling the small wagon down the forest-lined road. He glanced toward her, frowning.
“My name is Vardis. I didn’t get your name.”
A small smile was her only response. While she appreciated the ride, she couldn’t bring herself to trust the man…or anyone else.
The snap of a branch woke Lyra, her eyes wide and heart racing. Peeking over the sidewall of the wagon bed, Lyra peered into the dark woods. Startled, she jumped back when Vardis’ head appeared in front of her as he crawled from beneath the wagon. The man shifted toward the fire pit and used a stick to stir the coals, which provided enough light to give shape to the surrounding area.
“I’m armed,” Vardis shouted. “Move along and find an easier target.”
He stopped with his back to the pit, the silhouette of a crossbow in his hands clearly visible.
A rustle in the trees drew her attention. She pushed her blanket aside and inched toward the back of the wagon, carefully lifting her leg as she climbed over the edge.
“Throw down your weapon, and we won’t hurt you.” A man shouted from the forest. “We just want your gold…and some food.”
Vardis lifted his crossbow. “Take one more step and I’ll shoot.”
The twang of a bow sounded from the woods, followed by a thump as an arrow struck Vardis. The man stumbled backward, almost falling into the hot coals. He wavered, the arrow sticking from his stomach as he fell to his knees.
The rustle in the trees became a rumble as two men stormed into the campsite. A thud echoed in the night as one man twisted and collapsed with a crossbow bolt in his chest.
The other man swung a club and smashed Vardis in the face, launching him backward into the coals. As the man’s clothing caught fire, the added light shone upon the bandit who hit him, revealing wild eyes as he held his club high and ready to deliver another blow. Lyra backed away from the wagon as the bandit panted with a snarl engraved in his bearded face. The man turned from Vardis, who was clearly dead, and ran to help his companion.
With his attention on the other man, Lyra turned and snuck down the dark trail that led to the road, wincing with each step on her sore ankle. After crossing the road, she crept into the dark forest beyond, making as little noise as possible.
She circled behind a thick tree and sat down, resting her back against the trunk. With her arms wrapped about her knees, Lyra wept in silence until exhaustion took her.
Lyra stumbled from the woods and onto the trail. She looked
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