The Writer: chp. 1 The Refugee Hold

Chapter One
The Refugee Hold

The door to the tiny hell-hole was pried open, allowing a bit of sunlight from the outdoors to peer inside. Most within the compartment flinched back from the glare, having been stowed away for so many hours in the cramped darkness. The air held a distinct chill and there were wisps of mist brushing over the metallic side of their safe-passage. All around was light blue and below bushy-green.

“Gannon, hurry up and take yer piss! The air up here is cold.” The gruff voice ordered to the pale-haired boy who had become entrance at the sight of the sky.

With a squeak of recognition and respect, the five-year old scurried outside, making sure to close the metal door as best as he could before he went in search of the toiletries.

“Ease up on the boy, Fin.” The young man to the left of the grouch said, chiding his companion for his tone. “It's Gannon's first time in on airship.”

“Don't mean he should be gawkin at the sight and leavin the rest of us freezin.” Finlay grunted, his tone coarse and hard. “ 'sides, he needs to hurry it up and get back here to his mama's side.” He nodded to a woman who was looking after the door where her son just left. “He'll be fine, Marsa. Gannon is a miner's son. He can handle the wind.”

The mother, Marsa, nodded in return but still kept her eyes upon the door, waiting for the return of her independent son.

The tension of the room returned.

Forty-something men, women, and children were all huddled within the small hold of a Northern airship which has now turned into nothing more than a carrier for refugees. They had all remained silent for the most part, stewing in their own misery. Only coughs and wheezes escaped most of the survivors. Occasionally there would be a painful lurch of an empty stomach, reminding everyone how long it has been since their last meal. Besides these pitiful noises of defeat, the only other sounds were the creaks and groans of the rusted gears from the engine just below their feet. The echos made the muscles bunch up at the back of everyone's neck. There was a drop of water from the condensation of the clouds hitting the metallic flooring which did nothing for everyone's nerves.

Cold, wet, cramped, and bundled with the itchiest blankets known to man; it was the sad outcome for the homeless.

“ 'Nother village laid to waste durin the night.” Finlay started, “I 'eard them talkin at the last port. Only a few survivors.”

“It's gettin worse.” The younger man who had spoken up before said. “A lot worse. I heard them talkin back there as well. We're the third village this month to lose it all.” He looked around at the sight of his fellow villagers, “I hear even the North is startin to send troops in, and they're not comin to help us.”

Finlay sighed, his massive shoulders rising and falling with his breath, “I don't know what to make of it. We're surrounded by backstabbin barbarians, Ragnar. Can't trust nobody.”

“It's becomin clear that the West is on its last leg. Without a king or proper army...we can't hope for much more time before it falls.”

“Don't speak like you have given up, boy!” Finlay snapped, glaring at his fellow villager. It was clear to any stranger that he had once been a proud soldier. His build and mannerism were an intimidating force of iron muscle and raw power. The scars upon his arms and were not just remnants of mining tools and falling rocks, but swords and bullets. His strong jaw and eyes were set with a fierce pride that could not be wavered, but clearly could be insulted.

“Fin, we don't have much any more. Even our great mountains have been stripped of their names and being a Westie is now consider the lowest insult.” Ragnar tried to explain, knowing that any topic of war or defeat were risky when concerning the temperamental warrior.

“We still have our pride, don't you dare go on and be pickin which Kingdom to bow down to. The traitors, all of 'em are. You'll never see me on their side.” He hissed through his teeth and rubbed his shoulder again. Third time within the past half-hour.

“Fin, stop messing with it.” Ragnar sighed, exasperated. “We were lucky to get you patched up so well. If you keep at that those stitches are gonna come apart.”

“I know what I'm doin.” He snapped back again, now moving his hands to the silvering scruff on his square jaw. Though stubborn, Finlay did take heed to the younger man's concern. It would be a pain to obtain an infection now. It would make for a very uncomfortable trip.

Finlay held on to the shoulder a moment longer, his memory still fresh with the feel of the blade that had pierced him. Another new scar for his collection. His plan for retirement has certainly failed him. The call of violent confrontation would not leave him alone, even after so many years. “Should've taken more out. Would've deserved it. Those bastards...just look at what the've done to the village.”

“You're lucky that there wasn't more of 'em. We could've lost you too.” Ragnar sniffed in return, feeling the temperature in the hold affecting him. What he wouldn't give for a warm fire and some stew.

“Chased 'em away...but we're still stuck here.” Finlay growled, finally moving his hand from the wound, an intense bitter feeling washing over him. He should never had let this happen. He was seen as a shield for these people, and yet he couldn't prevent from so many lives to be taken from from and their homes now nothing more than piles of smoldering ash miles away from where they were now. It left him feeling like a failure.

“They came to us when we were sleepin. Nuthin to be done about it. It was their own heartless nature.” Ragnar tried to comfort his good friend, but knew that the thoughts wouldn't budge from Finlay's mind. The elder soldier thought he had failed in his duties and would never forgive himself for it. “I didn't get a good look at 'em when they struck. Who was it?”

If Finlay noticed he was trying to change the topic, he didn't make note of it. Instead he went on with the conversation, “The South. I would recognize their uniform from anywhere. They have mostly farmland, 'member? So their uniforms are mostly made of cotton and thick hide. Weak protection but large, strong forces. After us miners the famers make up the strongest soldiers. Tillin' the land gives you arms for swords.” Finlay said, rubbing after his shoulder again.

“The South...” Ragnar repeated with a frown, that Kingdom use to be seen as the most peaceful. Their involvement with the war games had never been impressive. Now they were attacking struggling villages in the middle of the night, shattering their whole world without any provocation. “What were they doin?”

“They were after your iron,” She spoke in for the first time, startling the men.

The two looked at the girl who had ben to the right of Finlay since they first boarded the ship on the first port. She was a stranger to them and had remained one till now. Finlay had been suspicious of the unusual girl, but had not said anything, just simply kept his guard up till she would depart.

“A portion of the South is suffering from a famine.” She explained, looking to them with a smile that didn't match the heavy topic at hand. “It's become barren and without iron for their tools they can't do proper tilling so their crops are sufferin. They're desperate for food.”

It didn't seem to bother her that it was very unusual for a women to speak into a conversation between two men, especially ones she had no prior acquaintances with. Her tone was natural, as if she has known the two of them all her life.

Finlay's eyes narrowed a bit, her accent had a similar slur to his. He assumed she was a Westie, but with how well she knew about the South, it was a probability she was from that boundary. His stance went all the more tense as he eyed her suspiciously.

He felt the fire in his belly grow as his defensive walls shot up.“ Defendin them? Foolish move stranger, since everyone within here have suffered from their hunger.”

The tone he took didn't damper her good spirits, “Melanie, not stranger.” She found no danger in sharing her name. No one here seemed associated with any of the other Kingdom's politicians or armies, besides an unlucky raid. “And it's no defense, just a simple observation. As your friend said, Westies are seen as vile ones.”

He snorted from his nose, the fiery temper growing with each word that came out of her. “You, stranger, are using foul words. Foul, foolish words.” He ignored her name, not about to be friendly with an insulting brat. “You've been in this hold the whole time, yet you're not part of my village. Where you from?

She shrugged, as if ignoring or unaware of the warning in his tone. “No where that's around anymore. But if you mean kingdom I have always been from the West.”

A look of disgust went on his face; her words were blasphemous to him. If she would sit back and speak so nonchalantly of the suffering of her own people he wanted nothing to do with her. This stranger was surrounded by the suffering of the West and yet there was no effect on her.

His knuckled popped as they tightened into a fist, “You might be young, but that is just more reason to beat some of that stupidity out of you. You should learn some respect and to look at your surroundings before you open that mouth of yours.”

Melanie's face lost that smile as she looked around, as if finally noticing that there were others around her. The hallowed expressions of the misplaced Westerners caught her attention and she had to admit it was a sad sight. But it was one that was becoming normal within this world of hers. It didn't strike her down in her place like he probably had wished it would.

“Sorry,” She held up her hands in defense, “I was really just trying to put in somethin to this conversation you were having. As you said, I am the only one not from this village. So you should know I don't have anyone to talk to. Thought I would try and join in.”

“ 's true, Fin. You did get very defensive...for good reason of course.” The young man tried his best to soothe the grump down. This was a daily, almost hourly, job of his. “You girl, Melanie. You've been travelin?”

“Yes, for some time now. But no news or rumors that I am sure you haven't heard of yet.” Melanie scratched her scalp, that childish grin returning to her face.“As you already know, people don't like to share anything with strangers. Usually things are heard from loud-mouths.”

“You're travelin without a companion?” Finlay's eyes narrowed once more. A woman of any age traveling on her own was almost unheard of. On top of that, she was a Westie. As said by both the young woman and Ragnar, the Westerners were not looked at with fond eyes by most due to their fall causing the whole Great War. There was no protection for her; a man could do whatever he wished and there would be no consequence or guilt.

So, not only did was this woman disrespectful, she was downright idiotic. Such a combination of foolish qualities. No wonder he had a dislike for her from the start; they were the two biggest personality flaws he could find in a person.

“Appears that way. Though I take company in stories I hear.” Melanie grinned, amused by their concern.

Strange words from a strange girl.

It was a wonder she was alive. Even getting to a port was a risky move. And he was positive she had not been dropped off. He took notice of her first when they had all been corralled into this small hold. She stood out not just because she was a stranger amongst the familiar faces of his people, but because she was so young.

She could not be much older than fifteen, yet she kept her head up high and a look of curiosity on her face. Even grown men were keeping their heads down during such a time, not wanting to catch the eye of an soldier stationed at port who was itching to skewer a Westie for the fun of it.

The next move that caught his attention was when the girl decided to sit right beside him. He was not a friendly looking man on normal days. And after the past few tiring days of loss of home and foot travel to the ship, he wasn't in the most friendliest of moods either. Yet this child took her position right at his side, not stiff or uncomfortable in the least.

There was something odd about that.

And odd unsettled Finlay.

But what he found the most unsettling about this stranger was how he found himself unable to decipher much about her. As much as he tried to shrug it off that she was simply an entitled idiot, something within his instincts would not let down their guard.

An entitled idiot was annoying, yes, but not unnerving.

The hair on his arms began to rise. The more he studied her, the more unsure he became.

He hated how unassuming she looked. It had to be her face; like the pixies from his mother's bed-side stories. It was soft and round, as if it were just about to reach its final mature look. Her tan skin was dusted with golden freckles that blended well in, if he wasn't such a keen observer he almost could overlook them. Her wheat-gold hair were as short as a man's, it barely touched at her neck and it looked like she had done the crop-job herself.

On her left jaw, just starting right under the chin, was a scar that went up the side of her face, going through her ear and into her hair. As a result, a part of her left ear was no longer there. It now looked like a deformed elf's. She must've gotten that due to that mouth of hers.

But besides that only her hands seemed to be tarnished. The scars and calloused skin made him think a hardworking farm girl separated from her family, but there was a black stain over them that struck him as odd.

Shaking his head, he finally decided to respond to the girl and those stranger words that made him realize how unsettled he was around her. “I am not sure I understand your words, stranger. Nor do I want to.” He stopped her before she could explain herself. Anyone who spoke up for an enemy was seen as one. “You should mind yourself and not butt into our talk. And you, Ragnar, do not encourage her.”

The younger gentleman seemed very use to his friend's suspicious behavior. Melanie assumed they were co-workers in the mines seeing as Ragnar, though small and younger, was built with thick muscle like Finlay. “Come on, Fin. It's just some conversation. We haven't gotten much. It's been probably four hours since last port and the whole ride is nearly twelve. We have time. And no offense, but your obsessive mind about the war comes to be a tirin topic after a while.”

Finlay scrunched up his nose in disgust at the two of them. This was the generation he had risked his life for? The stranger showed such disrespect for her fallen Kingdom! Did she fail to forget how many of her fellow country men have sacrificed their lives for her to have the right to breathe? And Ragnar, the fool knew he demanded a certain respect and following even when they were not working.

“Do what you want then. I will have no part of it. I don't associate with those loyal to other Kingdoms.” And severing his ties with the two he closed his mouth and eyes, leaning against the rusted wall.

“Finlay, don't be like this.” Ragnar groaned, looking rather embarrassed. “It's really not needed.” He looked at the girl with an apology in his eyes. Especially when all he got was a rude grunt from the man. Really, old soldiers were so stubborn. He has met a lot so he should know that they seem to have that as a common trait.

“Soldiers!” A small voice shrieked from outside startling everyone who had been lost in their silent self-pity.

“Wasn't that Gannon?” Finlay asked aloud, alert from the cry. The answer was given to him not a breath later when the child who had left a few moments before burst inside, closing the door in a panicked gesture. His small hands were trembling.

“Soldiers!” The little boy gasped again, his face still covered in soot from the fires. All eyes were trained on him and the door behind him in fear of what might be coming in.“From tha East. They boarding tha ship! It's a h-huge warship!”

“The East? Are you sure of what you saw, boy?” Gannon nodded at Finlay's question, hurrying to his mother's side, burying himself in her arms for protection. “Damn, what could they want? Thought there was at least some respect about not touchin the refugee ships.” If they were boarding the ship it couldn't mean anything good, and he was left without any tools or his sword for protection. That same sinking, useless feeling was returning. Was he going to have to sit back and watch his people be harmed again? “Guess another try for peace that was bound to fail.”

“Don't worry,” Melanie waved her hand, “They wouldn't be after refugees.”

“So you say. I, however, won't believe it till I see it.”

Silence feel over the room for a brief moment, the air still. The tension didn't last as the sirens began to wail and there was a powerful tremor that rocked the whole ship. They were being boarded.

Soon the commands from a superior and the heavy beat of boots hitting the metal floor were heard. Finlay closed his eyes and allowed his nearly thirty years of war-experience take over his instincts. He could feel the soldiers all around. He tried not to let out a nasty swear; there had to be at least twenty on the ship now and he guessed there would be plenty more left on their own.

Too many of them for him to face without a weapon. He will need at least both a rifle and a sword for him to have a chance in defending his people. There was little hope for them should these warriors decide to attack.

Remaining calm he continued to concentrate on what was occurring, his mind playing out options for them. His sharp hearing caught on to the pattern of the steps and he scowled more. There was no rhythmic march. All were rushing around in desperation. It was a scramble...a search.

“This is no random take-over. They're all over the place with no organization. They're looking for something.” He warned the others. “Mouth shut, eyes down all of you. Last thing we need is to startle a trigger-happy Easterner.”

“Finlay...you think they know you're an old war hero? Maybe they are after you?” Ragnar whispered, pale in the face. “I've heard many old heros have disappear.”

“Hush.” Finlay commanded, keeping still. “Right now we can't do nuthin. We're quite a few miles up in the air, if it is a warship like Gannon claims our ship will be crushed before we could do anything. We just have to keep still for now.” He then glared at the young woman, “You seem more at ease then the rest of us. Somethin you know, I take it?”

“Sort of...I have my suspicion why they have arrived here. In fact, I am quite positive it is a fact...ah...” Her soft grey eyes stared at the doors, her smile never wiping off when she heard the banging commotion growing closer. “It seems our time has been cut shorter than I would have liked. Too bad. It was fun. You, Finlay, have a voice meant for story-telling.”

Finlay couldn't inquire about anything, nor snap at her for using his name without his permission, in time before the solders burst in, guns and swords drawn. They were moving wildly, aiming at all the defenseless villagers in a warning before they trained after the girl.

They wasted no time in surrounding her before the commander began to make demands, “Hands where we can see them...slowly!” No need to be told what the consequences would be should she fail in this request.

The strange girl sighed as she held up her hands, the black ink more vibrant now that sunlight filtered in through the door. However, her movement of surrender didn't seem to ease the few soldiers surrounding her.

“Search her, find her book. Make sure to confiscate it before you arrest her. He will have our head should we mess up with this one.” The commanding officer continued, staring at the girl as if she was a snake. “Don't be fooled by how she looks. If she gets her hand on her book...”

“Sorry,” She had a sheepish grin on her face. “Already ahead of you.” And the room exploded with smoke.