Short Story: Flight at Dusk

The city at dusk was wild.

Lithe young legs carried her through the jungle of stone and clay, past barred windows and locked doors, over barbed wire fence and through alleyways, all to the pursuing barks of dogs. The rusted streetlamps at the end of each block were coming alive as she passed them, as if the city itself were chasing her. Still far behind, the lights of police cars quested, searching every nook and cranny of Santa Mariela.

Her lungs were on fire and her muscles ached, but she continued to run. The dogs were growing closer. And water! How she needed water, would die for but a sip of water right now! Why couldn't it rain just this once? But her thirst would have to go on unquenched until she reached home and was tugged into the safety and security of the dark house with its traps. Only there could she finally stop, and ease her burdens of that night's events, and finally take a breath of relief. Only when she was told that she was done, by that soothing, authoritative voice, could she rest, never to have to pick up her bow again. In her mind, she could still see the arrow, flying...

A gunshot pierced the darkening sky, with clouds that seemed to bleed the dusky reddish hue of early night and fading day. There were louder, more intense barks, snarling and the scrabbling off paws coming from Reyes Avenue, into where it crossed Rua Fontane, the street she'd been following to her freedom. It would not be safe any longer--she quickly veered out of the glow of the streetlamp, launching herself up onto a closed dumpster and making the leap over another fence. She cleared the barbed wire--but her sandal didn't. It snagged and came loose, the strap broken in half after wear and tear with this last bit of stress. She tumbled to the ground, a segment of the barbed wire rolling with her and cutting open the skin along her shin. She struggled onto her feet, ignoring the pain and the blood dripping down her leg onto the sand, the salt making the wound sting, and began to run again, into the dark, smoky alley. Even though its depths were unknown, it was a thousand times better than the certain punishment that came after her.

She remembered hearing in school the old stories of Gardenians in the States of Cordelia, over a hundred years ago, who were accused of killing a police chief, and found innocent. They were killed anyways, killed because they were foreigners and the Cordelians were jealous of their success. But... the situation was different here. The officer had been from Rochester, and he was the minority here, in Rubato. Would they even bother to fully investigate his death? Could they not just sweep it under the rug, as other places did? She could only hope so.

The alley was longer than she had first remembered. The city felt different at night, less familiar, easier to be lost in and never heard from again. Even though it wasn't late, there seemed to be no activity in the homes she passed, no lights on or sounds of conversation. It was just as well... she didn't wish to be seen as she was. She turned another corner, and saw the far-off beacon of the lamp in the Madrigal window, gleaming through the dusky gloom. Almost there. Almost safe.

She kept running until she collided into a soft, dark shape, and two wrinkled hands forced her to look up. The old, earthy brown eyes set in the sagged, bronze face seemed to look upon the dirty, bloodied girl with pity as her chest rose and fell in frantic breaths.

"What is wrong, my child...?" the worried, motherly voice spoke in Rubatoian. She brushed aside the girl's dark curls, matted to her head with cool sweat. When the girl pretended not to understand her, she drew her own conclusions, "What have you done...? You have a heavy heart..."

The old eyes were knowing... the girl looked into them, finding understanding there, wanting this woman to alleviate her pain and guilt, and tell her everything would be okay. It wasn't her fault, and... and things would end here! She was truly sorry!

But she didn't ask the woman to tell her any of those things. She just gave a stuttered cry, a release of tension, a sad and frightened and panicked sound, and darted out of her grasp, past her and into the dim light of the open street. She didn't stop running until she reached the back of the Madrigal house, at a staircase that descended into the basement, and the third pair of hands that had grabbed her that night pulled her into the dark. Hurriedly, the door was locked, and a lamp in the corner was switched on.

"The kill was efficient, and so was the clean-up, but you could stand to run away better. Don't you always flee well from fights? What happened there, irminha? You tripped?"

There was only a whimper in response from the trembling, wounded child on the floor. She clutched at her leg and stared down, away from the demanding glare of her sister.

"Well, Callahann is dead, so you've completed your task for the family este noche. Bom. They will only get harder from here, though, so quit crying. Grow some backbone," the lady in the red dress, hands held imperially on her hips, turned to the younger, serene-looking woman on the sofa. "Luminari, fix her up. I don't want bloodstains on the carpet."

The younger woman gave a nod, and smiled as she came over towards the girl on the floor. The smile was not a particularly kind smile, just one that seemed to say, "Good job." There was something about it that the girl had never really liked...

Her sister bent down and wiped the blood along the cut on her shin with a cloth, magic glowing around her other hand. The little particles of light collected around the wound, and then disappeared into it. Moments later, the stinging had stopped. It was starting to heal. The girl might have thanked her, but knew it would mean nothing. She brushed herself off and tried to stand. Her hands were still quivering.

"Go and sleep," the woman in red commanded her. "Tomorrow, you shall be taking a... delivery to a Signor Córdoba, a private detective in Cernilia. If he does not... cooperate," she smiled at this, "then... you know how to deal with him. Hasta mañana."

The lamp was flicked off, and Cadenza was left to rest for the night.