Dragonborn

Breathless

Chapter 5: Breathless

Ash chewed like a corpse gnawing through dirt, it was dry, mechanical and unfeeling. The apple pulp clogged his throat, heavy as clay. He didn't stop. His jaw moved, cracking through skin and flesh as his hollow eyes stared into nothing.

The apple had lodged itself there.

He blinked once.

And then everything blurred, a jolt of pain twisted up his windpipe. But no breath came, no air followed. Just silence and the frantic thunder of his pulse. When the coughing subsided, Ash swallowed the last of the apple and realized, with a dull, awful certainty, that he did not deserve to live. The ember beneath his skin pulsed once, faint and indifferent— a heartbeat that threatened to outlast him if it had to.

A few feet away, the elf watched him with horrified eyes. Her expression tightened, she wanted to look away from the horrible sight but she couldn't. The quiet was cut short by a strange, guttural gag— and then a thud.

She froze.

Ash was on the ground, body jerking, mouth agape, the apple still wedged inside.

Her lips parted.

Her heart thumped in her chest.

For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath with her. She didn't think next— she sprinted. When she moved, it was like watching the wind change direction. It was silent. Deadly. Untouchable. Wind shredded through her hood as she fell to her knees beside him, her hands already at his jaw.

"By Selunara's grace," she whispered, voice shaking. "What on earth did you—?"

She pried his mouth open and jammed two fingers down his throat. He gagged, his body jerked violently and she began to panic. She could feel his body dying, and at the same time burning up. Something else was fighting to stay alive within him. He gagged again, more violent than the first, then heaved— a wet, violent retch unto the ground. Apple chunks burst from his lips in a streak of bile. His body convulsed once more before slumping limp, panting, wheezing.

She caught him before his head struck the ground. Her hands were slick with spit and tears but they were not hers.

"Stupid brat…" she whispered. Her eyes trembled as she gazed down at his form, he was barely recognizable. Her heart beat like a drum, she wanted to say something. Curse him for trying to end his life, but would she have done the same if she was in his shoes?

Ash whimpered, barely conscious. His cracked lips trembled, blood oozed out of it dying his chin red.

"Don't you ever pull that again," she hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes betraying something raw. She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time— not just a broken boy. Not just cargo. A mirror of something she hadn't wanted to relive.

But then her focus was cut off by voices.

It sounded male and gruff. But they were too many.

She stiffened for a moment.

Her head snapped toward the sound, it was a rough laughter filtering through the trees, then the shuffle of boots over leaves. Then came the groan of wheels.

A cart?

She swore under her breath and yanked Ash into her arms, dragging him off the path into the dense underbrush in the area. She knelt down, covering his mouth with one hand and cradling the back of his head with the other, burying him beneath her cloak. The bush masked their presence, she had no choice. He was in no position to move. He was in no state at all, she had to protect him with her life if she had to.

"Don't make a sound," she breathed into his ear. "Please."

The sound of the cart grew louder.

From their hiding spot, low in a bramble, they could see shapes emerge. There were five, no, six men. One of them had a woman slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her limbs dangled limp. Her face was swollen. Blood streaked her legs.

"Reckon she's still breathin'?" one of the bandits laughed.

"Don't matter," said another, spitting into the grass. "She'll serve 'til she breaks."

Ash flinched at the sight, his senses had just returned to him partly. The elf's grip on his face tightened, her palms felt cold and sticky from his saliva. Tears still streamed down his face, why did she have to save him? Why did he have to go on living after what he had done?

The cart came to a stop no more than fifteen feet away, it gave a loud creak as it did. One bandit pulled a wineskin from his belt and took a swig. His eyes scanned the clearing.

Then he froze.

His eyes flicked to the half-eaten apple in the dirt. “Oi— what’s that?” Every muscle in the elf's body clenched.

"Someone's here," the man said just as he drew a long blade double edged and gleaming in the light.

"You sure it ain't the girl? Before she ran off?" Said a gruff sounding voice from the group, clearly irritated by something.

"She ain't eatin' nothin'. I fed her my boot this morning." He responded in an equally irritated manner.

They snickered at each other, brandishing their swords till a man stepped out of the carriage. He exuded a kind of atmosphere that quieted the rising tension in the group and with his appearance, the elf pulled Ash tighter to her like a mother protecting its cub. Her breath could barely be heard, even her heart slowed.

"If I hear you two cause a ruckus while I sleep, I'll cut out your privates and feed it to the other." He boomed with authority. They drew back and grumbled quietly.

Their leader, a gaunt man cloaked in crimson leathers and marked with scars on his face, shoulders and arms like tribal scripture, stood at the edge of the rushing river. His name was Korran Hoxshore, the leader of a group of bandits. Locally he was called Korran ‘the Unfortunate’ — a low bandit lord with a mean temper.

"Search the trees. I wanna know if there's another cargo for the grabbing." He ordered.

Boots crunched through underbrush.

They were coming.

Ash's breathing turned erratic. She could feel his chest heaving against hers, panic seeping out in trembles. She pressed his face deeper against her neck and whispered through gritted teeth, "Breathe quieter. I'm not losing you now."

Somehow that did not give Ash any comfort. It made him even more paranoid.

Leaves rustled above them. A shadow loomed just beyond the bush. One of the men had found the bramble and he was getting closer by the second. The elf's free hand slowly reached for the blade by her side. Her grip was so tight her knuckles turned white.

The bush was parting—

Ash's body jerked, causing a rustling of leaves. A sneeze escaped his nose, it desperate and silent, barely suppressed.

The man's head tilted to face the bramble, his eyes peered at it. "That you, Bren?"

But no response came back to him. He stepped into the hollow darkness under the shade of a tree and peered through the bramble. His eyes widened by what he saw at the other side. For half a second, they locked eyes. The man and the two young individuals in the forest.

Before he could blink steel flashed in the air, it was fast, quiet and efficient. Her blade slit his throat before he could suck in air to scream. Blood sprayed her cheek, hot and fast. Ash's eyes widened at the horrid sight before his eyes. The man clawed at his throat and lost his balance before she could grab him. He collapsed in a heap inches from Ash's foot. Ash's face went white from terror.

But the thud wasn't soft enough.

"What was that?"

Another bandit shouted, walking towards their direction.

"Bren? You find somethin'?"

The elf assassin shot up like a wraith, dragging Ash by his collar. She didn't care about the noise now. They'd been made.

"MOVE," she snarled.

They bolted.

Behind them, chaos erupted— shouts, curses and steel drawn.

Through twisted roots and thorn-laced bushes they ran, branches slashed their faces so hard it stung, mud choked their feet and threatened to sink them. Ash could barely keep up, his legs failed him, but she wouldn't let go. She added his weight on hers and carried him. He ran faster than he had ever done in his life. The sound of their pursuers grew distant with each step they took.

When they finally stopped, it was beneath the roots of a massive tree, its gnarled trunk hollowed by time and rot. She shoved him inside and crouched by the entrance, dagger drawn, breath wild.

Minutes passed. The forest remained deathly still, only the sound of their breathing could be heard. Sweat rolled down their faces, their hearts palpitated.

Eventually, silence won.

Ash coughed once— a weak, broken sound. She turned to him. His face was pale, his eyes hollow, like they were vanishing.

"Why?" he croaked. His voice a shell of itself.

She stared at him. Her chest rose and fell, her heart still pounding.

"You're not dying," she said slowly. "Not like that."

Ash spoke through heavy breathing. "I... wanted... to."

She frowned, her eyes flashing with rage. "I don't care what you wanted."

Ash's lip trembled. "Then why save me?"

She leaned closer, her voice like smoke in the air. "Because if you die here, I'll have to carry the guilt— and I already carry too many corpses. Besides, if you really do die, I might as well die with you."

She turned away, wiping blood from her blade.

"But…" he tried to speak but she cut him off.

"Sleep, Ash. Tomorrow, we run again." It was the first time she called him by name but that did not come to his mind immediately, her tone this time was weaker and more broken. Hard to decipher.

As she sat at the hollow's mouth, watching the night settle, she didn't realize she was still shaking.

And Ash, buried in the roots, clutched his ribs— not from pain, but the strange echo of warmth…

The kind that came from being held. The feeling that he felt when he had him in his embrace still lingered with him. He could not close his eyes, afraid of what nightmare would happen if he slept. He just lay there and let himself rest.

The elf exhaled heavily, her fingers dug into her knees. She could feel the air starting to cool for the night, snowflakes were beginning to fall, her ears twitched awkwardly. Thoughts started to swell in her mind. "Moon goddess, Selunara. Please, don't let him die. My work just got a hundred times harder."