Free Heartfelt Sounds by C.M. Estopare Page A

shiver more.
    Hate.
    I hate them.
    I hate them all.
    Althea, this invader, Hana—all of them.
    If I had never left the Orthella, this would have never happened to me.
    Never.
    The horizon opens wide, the yellowed fields bowing. Farther up, I see a wooden bridge that spans a wide river—a violent spread of water that screams as the wind gushes. It rocks at the bridge and attempts to climb it, only to fall back in on itself. Shards of ice glint in its gray body, the shards rushing down the expanse of angry waters until they're gone. Until they no longer exist.
    We cross this bridge single file. The soldiers yelling at us to make an orderly line. There are thousands of us—we shiver—we limp and we cry—and it takes what feels like countless hours to arrange all of us into a shambling, lurching, line. One by one, we begin to cross the bridge. The line moving unsteadily. Lurching forward only to halt suddenly, and then lurch forward once more. I am some ways away from the bridge when I hear water rising. I look up with wide eyes as it crashes angrily over the bridge—it's gray arms ripping two boys along with it when the water recedes. The tide is strong—savage and angry. Like an animal. Like a man. The soldiers make no move to save the boys as they scream and cry—the tide rushing them forward like fleshy shards of ice. Tugging them along with its current until they too disappear. Their cries distant until the children no longer exist. Just like ice. So many shards of ice.
    We continue to cross.
    When I finally make it to the bridge, a man behind me tugs at my arm. Grabs my hand and I turn. I stare into two blue eyes and a twisted nose—misshapen. He's taller than me—but he's all bone—and his knees knock together as he steals a pained glimpse towards the water. Brings his gaze back to me.
    “Don't let me go.” he whimpers. “If the water takes me—I can't swim.”
    I think to shrug him off. I can't swim either. But I make no move.
    I look at him, my face blank—chapped and raw. I nod.
    The bridge rises slightly beneath us as we move farther. And up on the horizon—I see a castle. It's not far. It is a beacon—situated among death and decay. Splayed upon a hill of wilted grass that's yellow like the sun. Gold like the horizon would be if silver hadn't slain it. Multiple pagoda roofs stand atop one and other, the stone shingles painted a stark black. Gold lines the curvature of the roofs, the color shimmying down towards the white washed walls. Scarlet creeps alongside the gold trim, standing firm. From the front of the castle, I spot a coiled dragon dipped in gold paint.
    My mouth opens. I stop as the river roars beneath me.
    “Don't stop.” the tall man whispers into my ear—pinches me in the fleshy part between my thumb in forefinger. “They'll trample you if you do that.”
    The water bites at us.
    I hiss at the pain the pinch creates and I amble forward—my legs suddenly stiff. My arms freezing as my teeth chatter together in the cold.
    Is that our destination?
    Can I allow myself to hope?
    As we come out onto the other side of the bridge, I notice that the soldiers have arranged us into two lines that almost span the whole of the plains. I follow my line to the second row as the man from behind lets go of me—grateful that we have finally gotten over the bridge. Grateful the river didn't decide to take him. I hear him thank the Fates and I feel myself smirk.
    But I fix my face.
    I can't—I can't become bitter.
    But I fear I already have.
    When my line comes to a stop, I mimic the other men as I clench my fists and still my body. I plant my feet into the dull grass.
    One tall soldier moves in front of the first rank, going to the start of the line. Another moves through the second, stomping behind us. The first wears a shell of black armor and a skirt of thick leather that moves as easily as light silk. A saber glints in his belt—there's no scabbard to hold it—and I think of how easy it would be