A Bad Hand

The drop was steep. From the narrow ledge to the barren earth below stretched hundreds of metres of empty air. An endless sea of yellow rocks, dry enough to make a lizard thirsty, the scenery wasn’t particularly tempting to the residents of Plateau Four. Still.

“Get on with it, lad! Haven’t got all night!”, came a boisterous voice from somewhere not too far away from the brick wall, accompanied by at least a dozen roars of drunken laughter. “That’s right, Neil! If ya haven’t got it in ya, say so! Rosie will fetch ya a drink!”, followed another brutish cheer.

Said Neil had been balancing on the brick wall for several minutes, feet planted down firmly to create at least some delusional sense of security.

I’d much rather fling myself off, actually. An eye roll and a sigh had been the only appropriate response to the senseless dare ‘Neil’ was served with by the local inn’s resident drunks, after a ‘lost’ game of cards.

“All you gotta do, Neil, is scale that fence wall with those soft hands of yours,” Bermey, the hulking head-cheater had started, egged on by the chortles of every other mouth in the stuffy bar, “AND LET IT RAIN OVER THOSE UGLY BEASTS BELOW!” And that’s all it’d take to make those grimy walls vibrate with cheers not much unlike actual beastly cries; though the irony was sure to fall on deaf ears.

The problem is, my name is not Neil, and I am most definitely not a boy. As much as she deemed the punishment nonsensical and in poor taste, she’d have been willing to overlook everything just to get it over with. If it were physically doable.

Now, finding herself one step away from imminent death, Stella—her real name— pondered over the choices that led her to this-less-than ideal fate. In a desperate attempt to make some quick money, she joined Bermey’s nightly gambling fun. She wasn’t much of a card player, but bluffing, her strongest suit, would’ve guaranteed her win. But no, fingers sticky with beer and Rosie’s meat special, the five good-for-nothings slid and flipped the cards with such fervour, you would’ve thought two decks had been used instead of one. Eyeing the suspiciously tall pile of cards at the centre of the table, Stella understood she’d been had.

As for the reason why she was wearing the shirt and the trousers of a young boy, well, Stella was a traveller. The disguise wasn’t perfect, but it was practical and inconspicuous. So, what followed was a string of lies, long enough to tie together all the inn’s patrons and then some.

What’s your name? Neil. How old are ya? Twelve. Where do you come from? Two villages East. You any good with magic? We could use the help. Not really, sir. Wanna taste today’s ‘special’ pie? Of course, miss Rosie. If the barren ground below wouldn’t reduce her to unidentifiable mush, that dreaded pie surely ought to.

She couldn’t help it, really. Lies had been spilling out of Stella’s mouth for as long as she could remember. Anybody who spent more than a couple of days around her would inevitably reach the same appalling conclusion— she was a bare faced liar. Little did they know, this wasn’t by any means a reflection of the girl’s character. And after countless nights of restless pondering, she’d always come to the same conclusion. She could not utter a single truth.

Some mighty strong magic bound her, and so far, after considerable research, nothing had shown any results against it. Whoever might have placed this curse on her (another agonising mystery), should’ve come to the Pig Trotters Inn that night to watch her suffer. She was sure they’d have had a blast.

She lifted her hand to the tattered hat that was keeping her long, girlish locks hidden away. If words such as I can’t do it, I’m actually a girl, This is stupid couldn’t leave her lips, would they understand her predicament if she were to show them her hair?

Her muscles began to twitch from all the accumulated tension, and ultimately allowed her arm to fall back to her side . The voices of the villagers were getting closer, closing her in. If she wanted to make a run for it, she’d have to climb the wall down, and swiftly make her way through the rowdy onlookers. Without getting caught.

She shuddered, thinking what they’d do to someone who’d try to wiggle out of a debt. Defending herself was out of question since, even though Stella could use magic, it regrettably cost money— money she evidently did not have.

Left with no other options, she swallowed, her mouth dry as the soil below, and grabbed the hem of her scruffy shirt. With a shallow breath, she turned around to face the restless crowd. Despite their now disapproving groans, she was determined not to look them in the eye, so she settled on the silhouette of the dingy inn behind them. She told herself it was to save herself the embarrassment, but deep down she’d always hated the moment somebody caught her in a lie. No matter how insignificant they were.

Tuning out the hubbub of voices, she began lifting the pale fabric, eyes fixed on the light warm glow coming from the bar she stood in mere minutes ago. Once this whole ordeal was over, she’d leave. She’d make sure she’d never have to see those ugly mugs again.

“‘S a simple order, boy. Show loyalty to your people, scorn the evil below. If you can’t do something as decent as that…,” the sound of scraping metal followed Bermey’s slimy croak, but she did not shift her gaze.

The people’s hatred for the ground dwellers was long-standing, and, in Stella’s opinion at least, more or less baseless. She’d been endlessly lectured on the violent history that supposedly formed the foundation of said spite; even though, violence between humans had been just as incessant. Yet, mysteriously disregarded.

She’d failed. Her eyes jumped to the man’s stunned face without her consent, allowing her to assume that the cloth binding her chest must’ve been on full display. There was no time for her to read into his bulging eyes and slanted jaw too much, as she was drawn to the building once again.

In the two seconds she’d drifted away, the inn had grown a bizarre orange halo around its edges, as though it became the personal moon to a very tiny sun. A flutter of wings followed. And then.

BOOM.

The orange glow expanded, instantly devouring the structure from inside out, and haphazardly propelling whatever hadn’t turned to ash in every direction. Only a moment later, Stella felt the surge of energy belched by the explosion inching closer. Snapping out of the shock, she was suddenly aware once again of where she stood.

She dove right down towards the grassy ground of the plateau, just in time to collide with the blazing force.

“AHHH!” she allowed herself a strangely soothing scream, after what felt like hours of breathless silence. Her body was angrily sent over the wall, and she resolved to feverishly flail her arms to grab onto the ledge. She hugged the red brick, limbs sore from the impact, and silently thanked the sky the wall had survived the blast.

“What happened?” she murmured once her feet safely made it onto the grass. She gave herself a quick pat-down. Other than a few bruises, she was still in one piece. A shaky breath escaped her, and ash scratched at her throat.

Brow furrowed, she tried to see through the dense smoke that had taken over the vegetable garden behind the inn. She covered her mouth with her shirt, and took to listening for any signs of life.

Groans and cries were coming from where she assumed her initial aggressors were now, hopefully, nursing some nasty bruises. Good.

The smoke clung stubbornly to the ground. It had to be magic. An ambush? Why would anyone bother with the old inn when it was frequented mostly by low-lives and the occasional ore miners, the former currently safely outside?

Then her mind jumped to the round, smiling face of miss Rosie, the kind but hard-nosed barmaid, and a wave of misery quickly snapped her out of her resentment. She shook her head to shoo the cruel thoughts away, and began stumbling ahead carefully. No one deserved to go out like that. Obliterated in a moment, as if they never existed at all.

If only she’d had some magic tokens. The adrenaline from the shock was wearing off now, and as much as she tried to push the thought away, fear was nesting in the girl’s heart.

“What the hell was that?!” A mix of angry and bemused voices was coming in amongst heavy coughs. Stella resolved the best she could do was run away. Something nefarious was afoot and there was nothing she could do to help. There was brave and then there was stupid.

“Watch it, aye! Slimy midget!” Blindly pushing her way through proved to be a nasty feat. The men did not miss a chance to forcefully elbow her, and she was almost swept off her feet once the party decided they should march towards the explosion site.

She bent over, hands on her knees, panting heavily. Finally, there was a patch of trees where the smoke was thinner. The darkness of the night was still unnerving, but breathing the clean air did wonders to her spirit.

If she followed the tree line she should eventually reach the dirt path that led back to the village. There was a clean spring on the way— she’d marked it on her map a few days prior. The strong taste of ash still lingered in her mouth.

She crept forward, making sure to conceal her presence as much as possible. When she instinctively reached for her satchel, Stella’s heart sank. She left it in her tiny room at the inn. Everything she’d collected… Nothing truly important. Just little things to remind her of the places she’d seen.

A muffled scream came from somewhere farther away. Stella closed her eyes. She still had her life and that thing safely tucked in her shoe. That was all that mattered.

People actually died. Chewing angrily on her lip, she mulled over what might’ve sparked this dreadful ordeal. Riots and altercations were common on Plateau Four. Plateaus Three to One had their own crime, but the one closest to the ground was by far the most violent. The possibilities were truly endless.

A dry snap from somewhere deeper in the woods broke the silence, and she quickly halted into place, heart instantly racing.

The path she was looking for was already in her line of sight. Stella prepared to break into a sprint, but she was deterred by a set of low whispers.

“Where did that mutt get the token though?” One of the voices asked excitedly.

“Heh! All in due time, dear Wellstone. You understand…” Drawled the second.

They were headed in Stella’s direction, their stout figures forming between the trees. As interesting as their conversation was, she couldn’t let them see her. It sounded like they had magic; she couldn’t take any chances.

Illuminated by moonlight, the path didn’t seem like the best idea. Out of options, she rushed for the line of trees on the other side, ears straining for the two voices. A chill ran over her with the cool night air. The whole thing gave her the creeps.

She swallowed hard in between gasps for air.

A swift movement flashed through the corner of her eye, and the next second she found herself being tackled to the ground.

Two choked groans. One her own, one…

“Get up! NOW!” The man bellowed after grabbing her by the scruff of her shirt and sticking a short blade to her throat. She only saw his face for a moment, but she was sure she saw bright green feathers coming out from where his ears should’ve been. A ground dweller.

“Come out and face me, you cowards! Hiding in the shadows’ all you overstuffed pigs can do,” he spat, palpable hate radiating from his whole body. “But I’ll slit this lamb’s throat if you don’t come to listen!”

And she believed him. The sharp edge was already splitting her skin, the man too agitated to keep it steady. She wanted to say something but nothing would come out. No word, no cry, just uneven breaths.

She looked up to the sky. A corner of Plateau Three was close to covering the moon.

I won’t gamble ever again.