Nuriel - The great escape

There is one giant hurdle between them and freedom. Besides everything else that can go wrong, there is a checkpoint before they exit the Capitol. Nuriel prays to the Gods she doesn’t believe in for all to go well and for no one to notice the little girl who shouldn’t be there.

The cart comes to a sudden stop and Nuriel’s head clashes painfully against the wood. Normally she would have yelled at the coachman, but now she bites her tongue. They’re here. Nuriel holds her breath while she hears the guards talk to the driver. Even from here, she can hear the fear in his voice. This was a stupid idea! I should have taken the tunnels! 

But Elara is terrified of enclosed spaces and Nuriel let her heart rule over her head. If they catch them now, they will shoot Nuriel and will take Elara in for interrogation. The thought alone causes all her muscles to tense. 

Elara doesn’t know her grandmother was the Resistance leader, but children tend to pick up on more than is good for them.

Bang!

A sharp object slices through the hay and manure and nicks her crate. Pieces of damp hay and dust fall through the slits of her cramped shelter. Nuriel’s heart hammers in her ears. They will search the cart! She pushes her tongue against something where her wisdom tooth should be. It loosens, and she maneuvers the small thing between her jaws. They cannot capture her alive. Even if the thought of leaving Elara behind breaks her heart.

The driver shouts, “Are ye going to look at shit all day? Or can I pass? I’ve got places to be!” 

Nuriel takes a deep breath. When he says the code word, she will bite. She hopes if that happens he’ll escort Elara to the next meeting point safely. 

Elara stays silent and huddles in her large overcoat on the front of the cart. Her legs fit snuggly in the leather thing. She seems to only have an eye for a loose thread that’s sticking out of the sleeve.

The guards shout abuse at the coachman about being an impatient half-wit and disrespectful to boot. Nuriel’s yaw slackens. It’s those types of soldiers. The self-important ones who are either saps or a complete pain. 

The driver says something that sounds like “Donkeys-ass!” and Nuriel wonders how she could have picked such a poor coachman. Then multiple people start shouting at each other. She sighs. That it would come to this… 

A flash rips open the heavens, and rain pelts down in that second of silence. After a moment of more gruff voices talking, they open the gates and let the manure cart through. 

----

After a painfully bumpy road and out of reach of prying eyes, the coachman frees Nuriel from her wooden crate. 

Not the spring chicken she once was, being cramped in that blasted crate for hours makes her stiff and sore. She crawls out of the thing with less grace than she hoped, with her knees and spine cracking as she unfolds. She might smell of manure for another moon, but at least they’re out of the city. 

And despite all that, plus the icy rain, she is overjoyed to see her granddaughter’s shivering form. Her eyes are brimmed red from tears silently shed. Elara’s small body hugs her tightly before the man coughs impatiently and she pays him his due. 

“It is alright Elara, we’re safe now,” Nuriel says. But it’s one more lie. They won’t be out of harm's way until they are far, far away. The claws of the war and that little shrew Carpathia reach far. It will take three days to travel to their next stop: Kafernaum. Where she has to be careful about whom to trust… because everyone she knows who is trustworthy is beyond their reach. Just as Elara’s parents are. But Claude has hidden them until their work is complete.

—

Nuriel has never been this far south before. Beyond the magnificent houses of Kafernaum, made of dark wood and white clay, the mountains glare at anyone who tries to pass. But neither she nor her granddaughter notices anything but the gravel road under their feet. Soaked by spring rain and frozen by the remnants of winter chill, Elara’s lips are turning blue and the poor child has lost weight. She carries the six-year-old close to her through the last kilometers and, hypothermic and miserable, knocks on the door of the first farm they pass. 

An annoyed frown turns to compassionate concern when the woman of the house opens the window and sees them standing there, soaked and miserable. The residents quickly welcome them inside the sober farm and strip Elara of her wet clothes before placing her in front of a fire. The kind farmer covers her with a woolen blanket. Elara’s eyes are distant as they stare into the flames. 

Nuriel sighs. Months will pass before they reach Eden, and in this weather, crossing the mountains will kill them both.

“Our cart broke down fifteen kilometers east from here, and then bandits robbed us of our horse. We heard this was the closest village,” Nuriel says before taking a mouthful of soup. The bland liquid warms her from the inside out. 

Elara doesn’t hear her grandma’s lies as she shivers by the fire. 

A bit of something that could be mushroom or chicken floats in the bowl. “We’re on our way across the mountains.” 

The man knots his brow and thumps his cup of ale on the table. “Ai! They are still dangerous with this weather! I would not let any mortal wander over the pass until the first crocuses bloom.” 

The woman hands Nuriel bread while the man offers her a cup of the dark ale. She graciously accepts it and stays quiet. “If only there was a place where we could make ourselves useful until that happens. Would you know of a farm that could use an extra pair of hands?”

The couple exchanges a glance while she tactically lets her eyes wander to her granddaughter.

“We were looking for a young man to help us sow. But I guess… after the war, there aren’t many men left in these parts.” The couple’s eyes speak of a sadness that Nuriel hopes to never acquaint. 

She bites into the bread and the crust crackles pleasantly in her mouth. “This bread is delicious! How did you make this?” 

After listening to the farmer’s story about the perfect way to make fluffy bread with a strong crust, Elara is fast asleep on her grandmother’s lap. The woman readies some blankets on the floor near the fireplace and they lie down near the fire. It is the best sleep Nuriel has had in months.