Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Four: Flee

Aqie dreamt of wind whistling through the trees and murmuring through her hair. She could almost catch words on the breeze, something like:

"Sorry."

"Too dangerous."

"I wish—"

But the wind fell silent and the meadow grass went still. Aqie ran through the fields, calling for someone to tell her what the words meant, but there was no reply. Then she tripped into an icy cold stream and fell, but Warble's strong arms caught her. She looked up in relief and hugged him as he started to explain what the wind had said.

A sudden gust of wind blew by the cave, waking Aqie with a start. She turned her head, unable to understand how the wind had gotten so far inside, but realized she was sitting at the door to the cave. Memory rushed in, and Aqie jumped to her feet. The still-unfamiliar weight of her kaprae surprised her even as her sore body cramped from exertions of the day before and the long night. No! I fell asleep after all!

Aqie spun around as fast as she was able, ready to hug her parents and apologize for falling asleep, but stopped short. The screen was still folded against the wall. The mats were empty. A sinking feeling rose out of the stones and swiftly overtook Aqie's heart. They hadn't returned.

Aqie's mind reeled. Mom and Dad didn't come back. She was frantically searching the cave before she knew what she was doing, looking in every possible nook and cranny for any sign of her parents. They must be here. They can't have left without me! Aqie tried to tell herself that nothing was seriously wrong, but she knew it wasn't true even before she heard the crackle of paper under her foot.

She jumped and whirled, irrationally expecting a hunter to come dashing in the cave, but then saw the piece of paper. She jumped off of it and snatched it up, nearly tearing the precious parchment in her haste. The edges were rough and torn, and Aqie had to scan the paper several times before she saw it. One word was burned into the paper, all the color leeched out until nothing was left but transparent fiber. It was scratched hastily, nothing like her mother's usual meticulous handwriting. Then again, nothing about this was usual.

Flee.

As soon as Aqie saw it, she dropped the paper from trembling hands and dashed to the door. Mom was here! Where is she?! Then Aqie saw the dark spots on the speckled stones below their door, the early morning sunlight making them glisten. Blood. Fresh and newly spilt. A smear here, a dash there, but mostly splatters, like they had fallen from a dripping wound.

Aqie stumbled back, reeling. Spots swam before her eyes. "No," she gasped, "No, no, no, no, no." She groped back inside and fell to her knees, clutching her heaving stomach. Breathe. In, out. Don't think about what's outside. Don't. In, out. Breathe. Then the tears came, gasping, rending sobs that tore out of her chest despite her best efforts.

It was all too obvious. The torn paper. The leeched color. The short note. The blood outside the door. Her parents had been killed by hunters, and Rrari had only barely made it back to warn Aqie and hopefully save her life. The hunters had taken her. Rrari must have been in a great hurry and in great need of energy to tear valuable parchment and leech its color. She must have been wounded badly and used her dying strength to lead the hunters away.

Somehow, piecing together what had happened gave Aqie an eerie calm, a calm that frightened her almost as much as the pain. She straightened, breathing in short gasps, and surveyed the now-messy room. There was a corner torn from Rrari's painting of the snowflower; that must've been the piece of paper. So Rrari hadn't even had the time to grab a sheet of parchment herself. There was a spot on the table that was lighter than before; Rrari must've accidentally bleached it as well. So the note must have been on the table before the gust of wind blew it onto the floor.