Vengeance Upturned

Vengeance Upturned - Chapter 9

“Before it gets any better, we're heading for a cliff. And in the free fall you will realize you’re better off when you hit the bottom.”

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Etta woke to a pounding headache.

Again?

In fact, her whole body ached, muscles straining, fingertips prickling. She had never had such a torturous hangover. She wanted to press the heel of her palm against her temple to at least delude herself with easing the pain, but her hand was stuck behind her back, and it wouldn’t budge. Etta tried to move her other arm, in vain as well. The fog in her head lifted and drifted away when her blood rushed through her veins as her heart pumped faster.

Under her numb, tingling fingers, she felt a coarse fabric binding her wrists together. That’s not good. Panic overrode the pain in her head, and dizziness. Etta forced herself to breathe steady and to keep her eyes shut.

No wonder her whole body thrummed with dull pain. A hard beam pressed into Etta’s spine, her arms wound backward and around a wooden pole, straining the muscles and tendons in her shoulders. With legs sprawled straight in front of her, Etta shifted slightly, imperceptibly, and found her feet were not bound, a small blessing she appreciated. Her head still hung low, hair in a braided disarray, and she was glad for the escaped strands curtaining her face.

Etta listened. It was quiet save for the slight snoring coming from her right, and beyond that, muffled sounds of crunching, shuffling footsteps, and hushed voices.

She waited for a hundred racing heartbeats until she dared open her eye, only a narrow slit for her to see through. Straight in front of her was a flap of a large, white but weathered tent. The soft snores came from a man, sleeping while sitting on a chair, his arms crossed on his chest, head slumped low. He seemed familiar, but Etta couldn’t be sure without seeing his face.

Opening both of her eyes, still hiding behind the stray strands of her hair, Etta surreptitiously perused the rest of her surroundings. Behind the man was a desk, and a lit lamp sat on the far corner of it, shedding warm light over the papers strewn across the wooden surface. A big chest stood next to the desk, with Etta’s tachi and longbow placed on it. At the sight of her weapons, Etta unknowingly struggled against her bonds, unable to look away, wanting nothing more than to have them in her grasp. They were home; the only things keeping her somewhat rational… her heart and her soul, protection and safety.

The man’s snore caught in his throat, snapping Etta out of her useless struggle, and making her drop her chin to her chest again. She held her breath and waited, but only heard the man mumbling before his snores continued. She let out a sigh of relief and scraped her teeth over the scar on her upper lip.

Idiot! Etta thought to herself when she remembered the blades she had hidden in her braid, just for such occasions. She peeked from under her lashes at her guard, now sleeping again, then tilted her head back, swinging the braid until it was in her grasp. She adjusted the angle of her head until her probing fingers brushed the small leather sheaths. Untangling it, Etta unsheathed the miniature knife and bit her lip when the tip dug into her palm. It almost slipped as warm blood coated her skin, but she held it and the arduous process of cutting her bindings began. Etta kept her head low while severing the rope, and ignoring the minor nips and pokes of the sharp blade.

Just as a piece of rope gave way, the tent flap rustled and Etta froze. Feet stomped to her right, followed by a whack.

“What the—” a man rasped.