2. Flight into the Storm
Arishte lay on her bed that night with all the doors and windows tightly locked. She couldn't forget what the village head and Mrs. Reed had said earlier. Even the rattling of the storm window against the wind made her body flinch instinctively.
If she had her way, she would have fled somewhere immediately. But she couldn't.
If she left, where would she even go?
Every village was fiercely territorial; settling anywhere was never easy. After seven years here, she was still treated as an outsider. Venturing out in the middle of winter like this would be a sure way to freeze or starve to death.
I refused them clearly. They turned away, saying there was nothing else to be done, didn't they? She tried to reassure herself as she slowly drifted into sleep.
Creak.
"......"
At some point, she was jolted awake by a strange presence. An unpleasant sensation that set every nerve on edge. It was a warning, a primal animal instinct.
She opened her eyes, but everything was darkness. The candle she had lit for comfort had long since burned out. With the storm windows all closed and locked, not a sliver of light entered from anywhere.
But she had definitely heard something. There was also a foul smell coming from somewhere. No, this was real.
Arishte sat up and reached for the candleholder. She grabbed the matches beside it and struck quickly.
Scratch, scratch.
After a few failed attempts, the match lit, and she was just transferring the flame to the wick when—
"Ugh......"
A shape she hadn't been able to see in the darkness was suddenly revealed.
"Arishte."
A powerful hand clamped over her mouth. Arishte twisted her body in resistance, but her efforts were futile.
"You'd better keep quiet."
"......"
The voice in her ear was familiar.
Hans. The village head's son.
His arms, so strong resistance was unthinkable, pinned her down. Realizing that struggling was pointless, Arishte let her arms fall limp.
"Good girl."
The breath against her ear made her skin crawl.
"Father told me, you know. He's going to make you my stepmother."
"......"
"I didn't save you for this, you know. Huh? The thought of you under some other man makes my blood boil. Other parts of me, too."
Arishte's face went pale in the darkness. Hans exhaled, a hot breath reeking of alcohol, meat, and drugs.
"Urk."
Arishte gagged involuntarily. She twisted her body with all her might, but it was still no match for his strength.
Thump.
He pushed her to the floor. As Arishte fell onto the wooden floor, she kicked his shin. Hans grunted in pain and cursed.
"I try to be nice, and you want to get hurt."
Slap.
The sharp sound cracked through the air.
"......"
Her head snapped to one side. Her cheek stung from the blow.
"Stay still if you don't want that pretty face messed up."
He mounted her and looked down. His long, slanted eyes were murky, glistening unpleasantly.
"Let go! Let go of me!"
Arishte struggled wildly, managing to elbow him in the solar plexus.
"Ugh!"
He cried out in pain; the force must have landed squarely. As his grip loosened, Arishte shoved him away.
"Ah!"
But she only got a few steps before he grabbed her hair. She reached out blindly, trying to gouge his eyes, but he cursed and threw her to the floor.
She rolled across the floor from the force of the shove, her shoulder slamming into the bed frame, but she had no time to register the pain.
Her kick to his gut made him double over with a dull thud. Seizing the moment, Arishte grabbed a nearby pitcher and brought it down on his head.
"Uh... ugh."
Blood trickled down Hans's forehead from the heavy blow. She scrambled to get up, grabbing the table leg for support. With a loud creak, the old table tilted and fell.
Crash.
The sound of the table's edge hitting the man's head was deafeningly loud.
"......"
The table that had struck the man's head tilted over, falling to its side. Arishte watched, curled up in the darkness. He'll push the table aside and get up soon, and then, then...
But the man didn't move. Arishte retreated further into the corner, watching him. He remained face-down, completely still. Thick blood began to pool on the floor. Far too much.
She timidly stretched out a foot and nudged him. Still, there was no sign of movement. Seeing his limp arm, another wave of terror washed over her.
"Is he... dead...?"
She pulled back, retreating cautiously. His hand looked like it might reach out at any moment and grab her throat. But his arm lay utterly motionless, and her certainty solidified.
Hans was dead.
The blood in her veins felt like it had turned to ice.
"I killed him."
She clapped a hand over her mouth the moment the words escaped. Even uttering them was terrifying. To have killed someone. But lying before her was undeniably a corpse.
As her mind cleared, only one thought surfaced.
I have to run.
From this house. From this village. No one here would believe in her innocence. No one would care.
No one would blame the village head's son for sneaking into a woman's house alone at night. Only his death would matter. She could see it all unfolding before her eyes.
She couldn't waste time. She had nothing to take. She pulled her trembling body upright.
She grabbed the cloak hanging by the stove and threw it around her shoulders, then pried up a floorboard and pulled out the leather pouch where she kept her savings. A few coins clinked together pitifully. It was her entire fortune.
She stepped over the man's prone body, her mind half-numb, stuffing anything of value into the bag she'd stitched from leather scraps.
All she could manage to pack was a pile of prepared herbs. She swept them into the bag and stood. Dizziness washed over her, making her sway, but she steadied herself.
Creak.
As she pushed open the back door, a fierce blizzard howled into the house. The wind sounded like a demon's wail, eerie and grating.
She peered outside through the gap. Her vision was filled with utter darkness. She couldn't see the distance of an outstretched arm. Going out in this weather meant death. But—
"......"
She turned halfway to look at where the man lay. She couldn't hide the body. Come morning, she would be branded a murderer without question. Perhaps she would even be placed upon the pyre of firewood they had stacked for the festival.
So she had to choose the path that offered any chance at all. She took a deep breath and threw the door open wide. Then she squeezed her body through.
Her house was on the farthest edge of the village. The proximity of the path leading to the mountains was a small mercy.
The harsh wind lashed her face. Even clutching her cloak tightly, she couldn't block the relentless blast.
Her leather boots sank deep into the snow. It was piled high enough to reach the hem of her dress, which barely covered her ankles. She trudged forward, her feet plunging with each step.
The mountain path was steep even in good weather. Climbing it through this heavy snow was nearly impossible. She walked with all her might.
If I go back, I'll die.
It was the only thought filling her mind. Everyone knew how much the village head cherished his son.
He was the village head's only child, born late in life. No one doubted he would one day be their leader. And now he lay dead in her house.
"Ugh..."
She slipped on the slope, barely managing to grab a tree root and hold on. By the time she reached a gentler incline, she could finally catch her breath.
If she descended one more hill, she'd reach the village. How long had it been since she left? She hoped she had bought at least until sunrise.
"......"
It was then that she looked back.
The village was filled with moving lights. Angry shouts and wails were tangled together, carried by the fierce wind in a low, throbbing hum.
She had killed someone unintentionally. It was already far too late to turn back. But even if she had stayed, there would have been no good outcome.
Her trembling feet were buried deep in the snow, refusing to move. Do they know where I am? At least the blizzard was a blessing. The footprints from her house to the mountain path would be erased quickly.
Arishte pulled her shaking legs from the snow. The wetness made her boots feel twice as heavy, but she couldn't stop.
Beyond the slope, the terrain became relatively flat. She looked up, seeing a full moon through the tangled, pitch-black branches. Clutching her cloak tighter, she quickened her pace. It seemed she would have to walk through the night.
***
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