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The Oath Breaker's Flight
Running. Panting. Heart pumping, hair blowing, she runs through thick underbrush. Her hands are in front of her, pushing her way though leaves and branches that block her way to freedom. Her legs are scratched and the cold air flows through her light clothing.
Scared. Desperate. Exhausted. Her wide eyes dart from side to side, searching out movement in the night. She pounds along the ground, each step shaking her frame. She has been running for 43 minutes and 6.2 seconds. The gates should be here soon, she thinks in a panic.
She thinks each word with each pulsing step. The night is so dark. There is no moon. No stars. No light.
Gasping. Running. Hiding. She left her room at 3:16 am. They would know she left by now. She hears voices coming from behind her and then collapses to the earth. Her muscles cramping, she rolls behind a tree, and closes her eyes. She squeezes her eyes shut and mutters a half forgotten prayer, hoping they won’t here the old words that tumble from her mouth
Found. Panic. Fear.
“OY! I’ve found her!” some one shouts, moving the foliage away from her, “ I’ve got her!” he yells again “Help, before she gets away!”
“Hold on to her! I’m on my way, Johnson. What ever you do don’t let her escape, I’m damn tired, and I don’t want to have to chase after the little beast anymore tonight,”
Johnson’s boot holds her down, she tries to kick him off, but he crushes her lower into the dirt, grinning as he does so
“We’ve been looking all over for you, the High Priest was so very worried,” he says silkily. His boot forces air out of her lungs. She can’t move.
Trapped. No hope. Anger. They came from all sides, moving out of the gloom, and surrounding her. She fights harder to get out form under the boot, but it doesn’t budge. The pressure is moved for a brief moment before someone forces her arms behind her and picks her up off the ground by her hair. A bag is placed over her head. It’s been used before and smells of vomit. She lets them toss her into the back of a truck. Hard. The car reeves underneath her and she felt the thing groan to life. The bag is black and thick. Her breath is making the inside of it damp and hard to breathe in. she tries to move to her knees but a sound blow to the side of her head sucked everything into unconsciousness.
They take the bag off of her head. She shuts her eyes in pain for the brightness. Something oozes from the side of her head. Blood. It’s warm. The room around her is brightly lit. White tiles cover every surface; the walls, the ceiling, the walls. An alter is in the far end of the room and purple smoke curls form an incense burner
In her brief glimpse of the hall she is in, she sees that the High Priest is kneeling in front of her. His violet eyes flashing when she opens her eyes again. She looks at him straight in the face. There is no fear in her expression. Only cold hard furry. His face matches hers. He raises his hand as if to slap her, but she doesn’t flinch, she glares, daring him. He takes her jaw in between his large soft hands instead and brings her face close to his. He smells of jasmine. And soot. The aromas are mixing together and burning her nose.
“And where were you going?” he asks her politely. His face is smooth, but something is brewing behind the calm of his features. She looks at his pale face, his large almost flat nose, his purple eyes and feels her insides churning with hate. He leans forward and runs a freezing hand down her cheek. She sucks up a mouthful of blood and salvia and spits into his face. This time he does slaps her. Her head stings with a throbbing pain and the head man is whipping the blood from her head on his body guard’s shirt.
Some one grabs her collar and yanks her back, gagging. The white room starts to spin. Running, the beating, they are all adding up. Small black spots are appearing in front of her yellow eyes. Her head lolls. She tries to hold on to consciousness. The headman is speaking; she strains to hear what he is saying.
“Solitary confinement,” he says spits, “I want to know where she is learning these ideas. Interrogate her. Do whatever it takes. I want answers. I thought we got rid of this problem when we killed the Dixie boy. But I guess my faith was misplaced.” He says softly, dangerously, “Send Hendrix to me! It was his job to dispose of the boy. I want him alone. And don’t any of you dare try and protect him! It appears that some of Dixie’s friends still survive! What are you all waiting around for!” he shouted to the guards. The head man turned his attention to her. “Get her out of my sight,” he spits. Throwing a murderous glare her way.
The guards start to drag her to her feet. She is weak. The headman looks at her then takes a step towards her. He cups her face with a cold hand.
“You can’t leave, you know,” he says serenely, “Once you are confirmed, you can’t leave. Your confirmation is in three days and I will personally make sure you stay here until then. I want you to stay here with us. You’ll like it here. You’ll be happy,” he says peacefully, “I will it. Be happy and I want no more trouble from you,” he says. He looks her in the eye, his face suddenly looses all pretenses if civility. He throws her form him. She slides across the floor a little way, before strong arms take both of her arms.
As she struggles to match her pace with lose of her wardens the world is quickly becoming as dark as it was out side. Out side. She was one quick sprint away from freedom. The men through her into a dark and steamy room. She isn’t sure if she finally falls into unconsciousness. In the dark she is thinking; ideas are twisting through her mind; she has to escape. She needs to find Carson and warn him. And she needs to get out of here, before the cult consumes her.