Untitled For Now

Pain in her left shoulder, and a sudden jostling movement, that is what woke Ithaca. Her eyes were open to darkness, and her body felt bruised and cramped. Her neck and body, stiff from the twisted position of being trapped inside of a… With arms that could not easily extend, Ithaca groped for any sensation that would reveal her location. The how, who, and why were just as important questions as where and what. Equally, she had answers to none. She took in a calming breath. Closing her eyes to the dark she focused on her fingertips brushing them along the… rough wood she thought to herself. She took in another calming breath… A box, or a wooden crate she decided. Most likely, from the headache and blood pounding in her ears, probably not right side up.

Ithaca wiggled inside the wooden container, until her arms were placed on either side of her body. Muttering in Miraye to herself she counted to three, “Lee… app… gell…” and with as much force she could exert, extended both elbows with her hands pressing against the sides as straight as she could go. Concomitantly attempting to straighten her legs, leaving her upper back to push against the inside of the box. Within an instant the pain of her left shoulder scalded, like a hot pie dish from the oven, with an unknown hole in the cloth. She cried out from the sudden burst of pain in her neck, shoulder, back, legs, bottom… everywhere! Ithaca did her best to swallow her pain. This was not her worst beating, by way of bruising. However, not remembering how she got the beating was a new challenge, and all the more pitiable.

The fire of pain licked every part of her skin and muscles, not enough to be broken, but enough that if she were to catch her own reflection, the skin would be an array of purple, black, blue and brown rather than its normal unvarnished wood coloring. With her right hand she reached out and began to shift her weight to ease away from the worst of her injuries. In tiny movements of push, shift, shimmy, and wiggle she rotated her whole body. Eventually she had her back now positioned against the corner and at least upright, knees to her chest and head tucked down. In this position her own weight was not lying on top of the bad left shoulder; it was not broken, but it didn’t feel right either.

In the unknown amount of time it took to negotiate this new position Ithaca noticed a subtle rocking sensation, like the wagon she used to carry the littles, and run errands. Occasionally she heard and felt the movement from other things sway, pressing against the container she currently resided. As her body settled into this less uncomfortable position, the pressure of blood rushed away from her ears. She finally heard the soothing sounds of wind and rail. Is that a train? She was confused, her headache although beginning to dim, was still throbbing. Fresh confusion split her heart, not just her mind. Nausea suddenly began to make itself known. Ithaca had to force herself to breathe again.

She used her eyes this time to search her box. A small hole on the side captured the orange glow of lead lights visible through a hole scarcely bigger than her thumb. Ithaca continued to feel and map the box with her hands. Taking deep breaths searching for the seams of the box, praying it was a single latch top that she might be strong enough to kick open, just like she had seen Heeve and her brother Ian do. The train rocked, swayed, and bumped along with speed. Ithaca wasn’t sure how fast they were going, but it felt faster than a horse or rickshaw.

She had never seen a train full speed, but she had watched her twin Ian, and his best friend Heeve load and unload cargo on the trains for years, listening to the whistles as they appeared and disappeared. Heeve was now tasked to the inspection of cargo under the latest Lieutenant Public Justice. Ian was not tasked, and therefore remained in the cargo bay. Cadet Heeve got new clothes, better cuts of meat, and more pay to kick open belongings, steal for the LPJ, and accept bribes from nobles. Ian was not as good at playing along and keeping his mouth shut, as others. His big mouth, and even bigger eyes (that did not look away), often returned home swollen, and in different colors than how he left. At this rate it would be divinity if his eyes and tongue were not demanded compensation by the Magistrate on his next infraction.

As friends go Heeve was aces. He taught them both, Ian and Ithaca, how to kick a lock off, but she was inside the wood crate and his teachings might be useless from this angle. He had done more for her in many other circumstances, and she never could repay him. He was much her brother since her own brother brought him home one night grief stricken and half starved. He had been alone for months, speaking little that first year. Heeve’s parents had been sent to a labor camp to pay for a medicine that never came, for his own twin.

All people of Miraye heritage were born twins. The citadel of Tippo of the south-eastern prefecture of the Javali province was full of the western refugees. It has been 5 generations since the western lands were raised, and reallocated to feed an increasing demand for many of the holy herbs. Many of her people often belonged to the Licutami… the lost. Heeve’s parents, his brother, Ithaca’s mother, many were Licutami. They wander in darkness of death.

She continued to search the edges with her right hand pushing against the seams for the lip of the box, finally she felt it. The latch was in the middle of the edge so it was a single latch. Excitement flooded Ithaca’s muscles as her chances of escaping the wooden prison increased from none to slim. Feeling in a direct line across she searched for the hinges. According to her tutor, “To know the direction of the down kick is the most important part.” By the Holy Goddess, she almost cried for her luck.

The box, if she wasn’t against anything, was on its side in such a position, if she could kick the lid, it should fall to the floor. She shimmied her way to a new position ignoring the pain of her body at the promise of freedom, until her feet were up, she was on her back. The heels of her boots as close to the corner by the latch as the dimensions of her box would allow. She began kicking, tucking her knees tightly to her body and releasing. There was not much room, so it was more of a push, but she was desperate. She kept kicking the edge where she felt the latch for longer than she had expected. Panic slunk toward her, Ithaca’s kicks became weak and wild. She was tired, one last great kick would bring on the reassurance that she too was destined to be Licutami. Instead the lock did not break, the wood splintered , a small cracking sound, near the edge of the latch. Gasping a grateful prayer, her vigor renewed. One more great kick caused the screw to let go of its bite of wood, and the lid fell away against another box. Her reward: A crevice of light not much light, but enough light to see by, and enough room to edge her legs out and escape.

Ithaca, suddenly aware she did not know who or what was outside of her box paused to listen. She could not hear anyone or anything except for the hums and whirs of the train gliding and rocking along its rails. She pushed again against the sides of the box, with her hands folded back, pressed up by her head, elbows scraping the ceiling. Despite her shoulder, back still flat on the floor of the box, and feet on the half opened lid she pushed. Her box moved from the pressure of her legs. More space, more light: Ithaca dropped her hands from the awkward position, laying them flat and finally straight down far enough to touch the edges of the opening. Enough to wiggle out of the box using the heels of her boot to half pull half drag herself forward.

Ithaca panted from the exertion, tears threatened relief at the corners of her eyes. She lay on her back looking up at the top of a Cargo Cab filled with luggage and boxes. Her hands came up to swipe a tear and drink it back in. It’s bad luck for tears to touch earth. This was a metal cab, but she needed all the good luck she could get. She touched herself searching for actual wounds versus stiff muscles from being trapped inside a box. On her face she felt the crust of dried blood, puffiness decorated her eyes. She licked her lips, tasting the tang of blood over the split swollen bottom lip; wiggled her nose and stretched.

Nothing was broken, but her shoulder still felt wrong. A big fight, she decided, and not a fair one either. She couldn’t remember how many, but she had been taught to fight, and she was at the point where her tutor no longer fought fair. She didn’t know why or how this brawl began, but she knew she was headed away from the Citadel of Tippo.

It was time to get up and “quit moping” as her father often chastised her. Ithaca tried to sit up, but her sides and ribs began registering their own separate complaints. She stopped, opting to roll over onto her hands and knees. Lifting her head she saw a box, not hers but another box, just like it. Reaching with her good arm, her bad arm she cradled to her body, and using the box she pulled herself up, turning to sit on it as quickly as her lower half allowed. Her feet were injured too, at the big toe. Someone stomped on it! What happened to me? she wondered aghast, shaking her head with instant regret, causing her to swoon. She reached up to touch the back of her head, and felt the only memory of her fight, the sharpness of a blow that definitely could be the reason she doesn’t remember anything else.

Ithaca took in more stabilizing breathes, breathe she counseled herself. Looking around and finding out where this train was headed was the only plan she had. She could have worried about who had done this to her, but likely the way they beat her, they did not anticipate her waking, and if they did, they did not anticipate her leaving that stupid box. Clearly she was in some kind of trouble. The last thing she remembered was the high lord boarding his passenger car and her brother Ian loading boxes.

She could hear the relentless wind whooshing and singing outside the cab. Muffled clicks and clanks of the metal that carried her and its cargo along. Her first train ride. She had not yet left the Citadel where she was born, except on horseback a time or two or three she did not wish to recall. She found the sounds soothing, oddly meditative. Not like the temple chants, but like listening to the quiet of the night after everyone fell asleep. It had a pace, a rhythm for resting.

She didn’t know when this train left, or how long she was asleep. Four major trains came through the station going in four different directions, at four different hours of the day. She could not see the windows, they were blocked by all of the luggage, packages, parcels, and piles of stuff; at least 8 boxes wide. She had just happened to be placed near the center aisle, with its long running orange light. Doors on both ends of the car, at least 50 stones tall.

Not knowing the time of day was just as daunting as not knowing who had stolen her, or why. Ithaca stood, hobbled stiffly towards one of the doors to peer through the dirty window. She lifted up the hem of her shirt and wiped it. The light wasn’t good, it might’ve been dark. She squinted through the small window and looked at the door, trying to find a way to operate it. After gingerly touching several knobs, levers and items, Ithaca left this end to approach the other. Again testing the door to determine how to open it. She had no idea what to do.

Ithaca looked around again seeing no windows in this train car, only boxes. The car rocked and canted; boxes shifted and swayed; poorly stacked, and none of it roped down. On many occasions after Ian was assigned work and her mother had been sent away, Ithaca found herself at the train depot bringing her brother and friend lunch, carting their younger siblings in the wagon. Nearly every single time, Ian would somehow convince her to “help” pass the cargo to both boys to place on the train. “So we can finish quick, and eat together.” The train jostled gently as she inwardly swore of her own ignorance. She only passed the boxes to them, never got in a cargo car, never learned how to use the doors.

Ithaca again looked through the window, seeing a lightless room, small stool, more levers, and another window also shrouded in darkness. She couldn’t see which direction the sun or moon traveled; just the occasional spark on the rails. The high lord of Tippo once described it as, “smoother than a carriage, bicycle, craft, and coach.” This train felt rickety, like the floor was rolling on a single wonky wheel. She paced back to the center to sit on her pile of boxes. As she regained feeling on her tender foot, an exceptional skip of the train occurred. A few small packages fell off the top of a nearby tower. Ithaca jumped back, doing her best to shield her injured shoulder, but it still landed on her injured toes. She cried out in pain and pulled her toes from underneath the parcels kicking them away.

Suddenly the door opened behind her, three men entered and immediately drew their weapons. Each hand cannon pointed at her in a blink. Only 12 paces away she was too close to run and not be killed. Ithaca did her best to remain calm; the desire to dive back into the wooden crate was strong. They assessed each other:

At 25 stones tall, Ithaca was bruised, tattered, matted and worn. She had big light brown eyes; set midline and separated by a narrow round button nose. One finger’s width below were swollen pink lips, her cheek purple instead of its normal honey tan. Sweat, oil, and dirt were everywhere. High forehead, and wild wavy earth colored hair that was disheveled and half torn from her the single braid. Cradling her right arm, leaning on a wooden crate. She looked like she had lost a fight.

The newcomers, three men between 27 to 30 stones each. The one closest to her was perhaps 30 well muscled from more than factory or mine work. But less than the foreman that occasionally came through town from the sugar refineries and smelting factories. The second man was a little older by the silver in his facial hair, rugged, and looked more dangerous than the first. The third man in back was the shortest and sported a proper black eye that matched his slicked hair. They all wore casual dark heavy linen trousers, high quality boots, and dark wick weave shirts. These were of the higher quality fabrics produced in Tippo.

The third man standing farthest behind spoke first, his steady tenor calm, and free of malice. “I didn’t expect you to get out of your box, or wake up.”

Ithaca was 19 years old. In her young life, she learned many things from many people, there was just one lesson that applied to nearly every situation, especially for a commoner, a woman, and Miraye: shut the hell up. She remained silent, and did her best to hold their gaze with her chin high. The men approached cautiously, the first man stepping sweeping the floor with his boot to move the packages from his path. She choked down the desire to take their weapons and turn on them. She couldn’t remember, but her body flinched at their presence.

“Move even a breath, and we will hit you again” the second man spoke this time.

That confirmed who had done this, Ithaca did her best not to move as they brought themselves and their hand cannons forward, which wasn’t easy because the train decided to keen, but she didn’t move.

“Turn around, I’m gonna tie you up”

This first man, likely the youngest, reached her first. He put one hand on her right arm and began to holster his hand cannon. Ithaca did not move, she just stared. He looked down at her sternly, “turn around.” he commanded. She made no attempt to cooperate, so he slapped her hard; her lip split fresh. Ithaca’s head reeled and spots flecked her vision. Nausea was at her throat, but she swallowed her food back down. He shoved her bad shoulder in an attempt to turn her, this time she cried out. He grabbed the bad arm and tugged, glancing over his shoulder to cant his head, beckoning his cohort. The second man came and maneuvered himself between Ithaca and the box. Wrapping his arms around her body he held her firm, pressed to his body. When his hold was settled, he said “On three, 1…2…3…” and the first man yanked Ithaca’s arm so hard she passed out.

When she woke, water splashed her face, her food was on the floor, her arms bound behind her back sitting against a box, and the train rocking just a little harder. The first man from before was sitting above her so she had to look up, above him there was a hole in the top of the train car. There was no light from the hole, just darkness, Night. His weapon pointed at her,

“Here’s the deal,” His baritone and clean shaven face were calm. Light brown eyes round face, he looked soft and kind, but he already slapped that notion out of her head. His bare forearms unmarred by bruises, cuts, or knicks, He dressed better than she. Far better and she had never seen a weapon like that, it looked like a gun or maybe one of the tools she had seen the builders using when they repaired and built buildings. All three men had the same gun. All 3 men looked dangerous, still not more dangerous than the high lord.

The expression on his face was hard, void of mercy. He continued “We’ve rigged this train to crash. We want it to crash. We’re,” he gestured to himself and the others, “going to leave before that happens. We have plans that you will be accompanying us, should you decide that you would like to help us in our schemes.” He paused, “If you would prefer to fight us like you did before, then we will put you back in one of these boxes. My friend,” he gestured to the third man who was squatting over a large black bag, waving a hand without so much as a side glance in her direction, “is already against bringing you, as you tried to stab him earlier. His feelings are hurt.”

Ithaca remembered nothing of the fight, how she got a knife, but she wanted one now in the worst way. She was dizzy, injured, and exhausted. She had no desire to die, yet no desire to help; she remained quiet and still.

“Do I need to help you answer?” he waited a beat, “Are you going to fight us or are you going to be useful?” She opened her mouth, tried to speak and coughed, her throat was hurting, how and why,.. Probably one of them choked her. The very thought of the unfair fight cleared her senses and let one emotion reign, anger.

“My brothers?” Ithaca ground out.

“We didn’t need them” he countered cooly

“Where?” She croaked

“On the platform where we left them”

Ithaca raised her eyebrows, he chuckled

“Alive”

Ithaca thought of her escape from the box and decided to press her luck, “unharmed?” she dared to hope. Ithaca didn’t trust him, didn’t believe him, but it was a lie she was willing to accept.

“Alive” he repeated.

“Why?” Her voice straining

“What can you tell me about the high lord of Tippo?”

Now it was her turn to laugh, her body shook with each breathy rasp. Her throat was tight and sore.

“I would have helped you if you had just asked nicely. Did you have to beat me?”

He waved his hand dismissing her

”How long have you been in service to him?

She glared, she wanted to grind out her rage, stab all of them, instead she asked,

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I need to know if the airship we arranged to collect us before we destroy the western track will be carrying 3 or 4 additional passengers. And the only way to know is how much information you can offer.”

At that moment the second man dropped down inside the train wearing a dark harness. Ithaca looked closer, and saw that they all wore identical harnesses. The third man zipped up the bag he had been rummaging through, and tossed it on a box. All three stood in preparation to leave through the hole in the ceiling. Ithaca knew he was serious about the train; and serious about leaving her to die. The boyish round face was soft with hard eyes. She had seen a few with the same expression, liquidators. They almost always worked for creditors.

Ithaca’s temper cooled slightly mixing with cold terror, she clenched her teeth and ground out another hoarse note “6 years.”

“I need more”

“Like what?!” She spat with a raspy shout,

Unphased by her outburst he began to elaborate, “Passwords, codes, special phrases, business dealings, associates, special hangouts. Did he ever lend your services to others? Take you anywhere? Clubs? Other Citadels? Any promises to take you places? Was there a time he became secretive and suspicious?”

The men finished checking their harnesses, secured their weapons, and were now checking their handheld tech. Her anger faded fast, more panic replaced it at speed. They will leave me to die, she realized as the third man shouldered his bag.

“Fine I’ll agree to help” she trembled, “I don’t know what you’ll find useful. Um….” She paused thinking for a moment, “He used to make me copy documents.” Ithaca blurted out “He taught me to read and write by copying documents onto new pages, and then his man would take them. Is that useful?” she was desperate now. All of this was true, part of her service was copying documents, but there was more to her service. The high lord always required more.

“How much do you remember, did you make copies?” All three men looked at her now.

“Take me with you and I’ll tell you” she bargained. The adrenaline coursing through her system replaced all traces of pain. Ithaca’s heart pounded as the train’s motion teetered.

The men looked at her, finally the third man spoke, “If she is lying we can always toss her out of the airship,” they all nodded in assent.

The first man stood up, climbing on the box beneath the opening out of the cargo car. An arm reached down to the third, already climbing up with the large bag. The second man grabbed her in his arms, her hands still behind her back and cut her restraints. The first reached down again, chest flat against the top of the train car. The second man lifted her up and handed her off to the hands that slapped her, pulling her up and out.

He laid her flat. She felt the wind whip her clothes and hair. The first man pushed her to his side, the third man captured her arm. He pulled her close and gave one order “Stay low.” Now she obeyed, adrenaline and self preservation fed her self control. She needed to live so she would not become Licutami. Ithaca gripped where he pointed and grabbed what he grabbed. “Start moving, if you slip you die” The second man came up after they had begun to crawl on their bellies towards the edge of the cargo car.

They crawled quickly, maybe a minute when the first man, somehow ahead, called out “Speed check!” The third man let go of Ithaca and checked the device on his shoulder “85 and gaining. We need to release by 95 or else.” Or else what? thought Ithaca, Oh Goddess! she thought. They all crawled faster and Ithaca struggled to keep up. A few more feet and they reached a stopping point. All of them gripping a long bar spanning the width of the train. Attached to the bar was a rickshaw basket. That it had not blown off the train was a miracle.

The men each pulled themselves forward, kneeling inside the basket. The third began to open the bag and pass items to the others. They worked in tandem to attach things to the basket. Ithaca held her bar and stayed silent. When they had completed their chore, they each turned and sat in the basket snugly side by side. Things now attached to their harnesses, they began to buckle themselves down. Ithaca watched as the second and third men sat on the outside, while the first took up the middle seat, Leaving no room for her. Ithaca cared not, and climbed in to sit on the first man’s lap.

“So can I get one of those harnesses?” She had to shout to be heard above the wind. The corner of his lip twitched. Lazily, he simply clipped her to his chest using the seat buckles the others tightened around themselves. Then he wrapped both arms around her like the strange hug the second gave her earlier. Held firm, arms across her chest, with his chest to her back, he grabbed a fistful of her shirt sleeves. He moved his chin into the crook of her neck. There was nothing sexual about it, he was holding her in. The other men leaned their heads back and crossed their arms over their chest.. She crossed her arms too and leaned her head back uncertain, but understanding to do as they do. “Speed Check!” The first man shouted again. The third man looked at the tech on his shoulder and again replied “92, all in?”

The second man replied “We are a go 3…2…1…” When he began counting down Ithaca flinched preparing for her shoulder to be yanked again, instead this time it was her whole body as the second and third men pulled a cord each releasing a great chute that flapped, fluttered, then opened. The wind caught the chute, dragging them backward with such force, as if she was hit everywhere at once. Then the train lurched too. Ithaca was grateful she had already vomited inside the train. The makeshift basket was thrice tethered to the handrail she had held only moments before. The basket was floating, dragging behind the speeding train. They were flying, beyond her belief Ithaca never knew or dreamed of flight. She felt the first man wrap his legs around hers pulling them open. After he controlled her body, she noticed the cord was set between her legs, all of their legs. Suddenly she felt the 1st man’s hands move from around her and between her legs. For a moment she fought fear; ready to scream, afraid he was going to let go he called again,

“Speed Check!”

“Drag at 90! Release in 3…2…1…” His hand touched something, releasing the center tether to the train.

“Holding at 90, side release in 3… 2… 1… the third man shouted. Suddenly both he and the second man released their teethers. The earth and train fell away as the quartet lurched again, floating higher. Ithaca clutched her kidnapper harder. The wind was in complete control of their lives; at its mercy the basket should’ve spun and been shredded.

These lunatics thought they were saving me! Ithaca gasped quietly to herself and shut her eyes. He wrapped his arms back around her and said “radio in lets get a pick up.” They began to float slowly down as the train hurtled away in the distance.

When they landed on the ground it was a rough bumpy thud. He unbuckled her, Ithaca scrambled away slowly, adrenaline finally waning and she noticed the moon dancing behind the clouds. It was more a desperate gangly crawl than an attempt to run or escape. Her body was too tired for any of that. The men unbuckled themselves and stood. They began the task of packing, striking their escape; pulling in the chute and taking the basket apart. As they worked Ithaca shook.

When the promised airship had landed, all traces of them were concealed, the first man spoke, “I am Jaime, this Karlyee” he gestured to the second man, “and Inez” pointing to the third. “You are Ithaca.”

It was not a question, she was on all fours shaking and staring at the dry dirt to keep herself from passing out, still she replied “Yes, You are liquidators right?”

They were consolidating their baggage, not surprised at her assumption “Yes.”