Near the end of part 1 (Chapter Unknown) - Block F

Yeah, no one will have any idea of what this all means but i'm just uploading anything even moderately finished at this point.

As they had suggested to me a new guard was sent to get me at ten o clock. Bizarrely he didn’t shove me down the corridor but walked at a steady pace beside me until we reached its end.

            “Through that door there.” He indicated, pointing ahead of him. I walked forward and knocked.

            “enter.” Her voice said. I looked at the guard but he stared at an opposing wall. Slowly I nudged the door open and slipped into the room. She sat behind a large silver birch table, resting each elbow upon it. The room itself was sparsely furnished. With a floor of cold white stone and nought but the table, two large bookshelves and three chairs populated it. On the wall hung a large curved knife, rather like those used for cutting crops and a series of axes. Each was beautifully crafted with a large silver head. I admired them and felt very naked without a weapon of my own.

            “Sit.” She said “and close the door.” I did as she asked and took the seat on the other side of the table. Her voice was softer than it had been downstairs; she had lost some of her severity. I grew angry.

            “Mam why am I here?” I asked looking directly at her. It felt extremely odd calling her mam as she was only a little older than myself but necessity drove me onwards.

            “If you plan to kill me, ship me, why haven’t you just done it. There’s nothing special about me, my magic, nothing.” I was tired, tired of not knowing and I was tired of hoping, only for it to end in disappointment. The woman looked up from the table.

            “You’re right, there is nothing special about you.” She wandered round the table and grabbed me wrist. A shiver ran up my arm as she pulled back the sleeve of the red tunic and exposed the coordinates.

            “Except this,” she continued prodding them with a long index finger. The nails were rough, cut back and I noted a little grimy.

            “Your tribe shouldn’t have these Ruth, particularly since you weren’t a runner when you received them.” I laughed and grabbed her hand, pushing it away from my arm.

            “You think I have answers but I don’t.”

            “I know that,” she interrupted, leaning her long muscular frame on the edge of the table “but you and I can get answers.” I shook my head.

            “I’m not helping you.”

            “You want to see your friends again don’t you?” she said, cocking her head to one side, letting a strand of short blonde hair fall across her face. I scowled back at her.

            “Stop messing about.” I snapped. The thought of Sylvia brought me to the edge of tears and I would not show weakness in front of this strange woman.

            “You have an offer to make me, make it. I’ll accept it or I won’t.” I said frowning, forcing my voice to be steady. I expected her to shout at me or taunt me further but she smiled. It seemed to me to be a smile of relief or gratitude.

            “I wish we had more like you.” I raised my eyebrows.

            “I’ll make it brief then,” she said. “Those of us who are loyal to the syndicate wish very much to find out where these coordinates are leading and what they mean. We want you to operate at the location as our eyes and ears. Once that task is finished we are willing to grant you an official pardon. You can go back home.” I paused to think but question after question kept pouring into my mind like flowing water. Ever increasing and intensifying.

            “How will you know I’ll keep my word?” I asked.

            “A field member will accompany you. Most likely that will be myself.” I nodded.

            “What’s to stop me killing you?” I pressed, gazing at the line of axes along the wall with envy. She smiled again.

            “Three things. Firstly you will no longer have a guaranteed pardon, nothing to stop you being caught again and finally, you have no superior skills, no magic that might overpower me, I see us equally matched.” She said, following my eyes to her axes.

            “They were from Urnbular, before it burned. No use now.” I stood up and walked to one of the bookshelves pulling a couple of volumes from it. The disciple of violence, Treating burns. I opened the first and saw a very precise explanation of how best to dislocate a neck.

            “I suppose we might be equally matched.” I mumbled and she looked away from me. Her cheeks had flushed a little. I picked up the second volume.

            “Why do you have this?” I asked brandishing it. She walked up to me sternly and put it away.

            “I thought you were trying to be matter of fact about this.” She said blocking the other shelf with an outstretched arm. She looked a little vulnerable, as if I had intruded on something very private.

            “One more question,” I said looking across her arm. “You’re a barehander.” Her face filled with anxiety as she bit her lip and moved away from the shelf.

            “There are clear ways round that.” She pushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face and sat down firmly behind the table again. I did not follow.

            “You can’t burn your hands. You’d never be allowed back into the syndicate.” She sighed.

            “I’ll bind them up-“

            “And you can’t do magic!” I interrupted “this can’t work.”

            “Isn’t it in your interest to keep that kind of information from me?” she answered frowning. She was right. I had forgotten myself. Stepping forward I found my chair again.

            “What’s your name?” I asked softly, a little ashamed.

            “Vayla,” she said quickly, scratching her head.

            “You can’t be much older than me.” I stated. She began to fidget, clearly uncomfortable at this breach of formality. She looked suddenly very girlish, her eyes growing larger and her stark white cheeks becoming pink. I remarked again to myself how she seemed to possess an incredible strength in her expression. Reluctantly it endeared her to me. I supposed we were very similar in our nature but ultimately divided by our values.

            “I’m twenty four.” She answered suddenly. It took me aback. Inspired, I jumped up and made my way to the bookshelves again. I ran my finger along each edge till I found what I had been looking for.

            “I knew you’d have it. I used to read these to my brother.” She had stood up to stop me, her hand on her belt, instinctively ready to fight but she softened again. In my hands were Tales of the Horsewomen. I flipped over the cover and read with familiarity the opening sentences. Then lifting up the book to my face I smelt the pages. My heart jumped and my knees became a little unsteady as home flooded back into me all at once and far too suddenly. I smelt them again and again but soon the smell was gone. It brought tears to my eyes, one of which teetered on the edge of falling as I closed my lids. It didn’t really matter that Vayla was there, once you have walked to the brink of death, dignity and manners become very trivial. I opened my eyes again and flicked through the book, laughing aloud at the familiar illustrations and pressing my stubbly hands down to touch them. Looking up I caught Vayla’s eyes flooded with empathy before she adjusted her expression back to neutrality.

            “I’m sorry,” I said bringing us back into conversation. “I’ll give you what you’re asking for. It’s all the choice I have.” She smiled which rendered her features frustratingly pretty once more.

            “Thank you.” She said. I handed the book back to her but she stopped me with an outstretched hand.