Airin

The elderly man walked outside and locked the shop’s door behind him. With the creak of weathered wood, Anumia trudged the short path home, just as he did every evening. As he walked away from his shop, his old bones seemed to grate, calling out a coarse mumble. “I’ve got to leave this place.” The cold autumn wind brushed the trees, chilling Anumia’s soul.

Unlocking the door to his small apartment, he stepped inside and looked at his belongings. It was more akin to a shack than a place to live, barely big enough for a bed. As he slouched, he let out another monotonous groan. “The same house, the same bed, the same store, and, dammit, the same problem as always! I’ve left my spectacles at the store again!” The words echoed to no one. A tension rocked Anumia’s jaw as he let out a heavy sigh from deep within. He stomped his foot on the dirt as he turned, shuffling spitefully out the shack’s door. He hated being wrong or forgetful. Anumia hobbled the short path back to the shop’s front door. Angrily, he unlocked it and plodded to the back room. He turned to walk through the doorway, keys in hand, but stopped at a sudden wave of confusion. A crash came from the storefront; glass crackled on the floor. Then came the footsteps and the uneasy giggling, and a stern voice. “Grab those! They’ve got to be expensive.”
Chills ran down Anumia’s spine like alarms of war. His hand quickly slammed to his mouth to cover the impending scream. Anumia was being robbed, and he had no way of defending himself. He was a simple man in a simple town. He had never planned for the rush of confrontation. His eyes feverishly darted around the dark back room of his store, searching for anything that would give him leverage. After sweat began to drip from his brow, he grabbed a spare cane lying in the corner. Summoning the little courage he had left, Anumia stormed to the front and wildly swatted at the first man he could see.

Anumia shook in terror as the thief rose from his crouch. The man, now standing a solid foot over Anumia, was made of nothing but muscle. In his hand, the same club that crashed the window now came down on Anumia and then cast him into darkness. Anumia would leave this small town, not how he had wanted perhaps, but now, his departure was imminent.

When Anumia had finally awoken, there was nothing to be seen except for the inside of a flax bag. He could hear the rustling of a cart and the hooves of horses. A conversation, indiscernible from the other sounds, could be heard.

“He’s awake.”
“Huh?”
“Bag’s movin’.”
“Ah, yeah, I see it now.”
“What now? We shouldn’t have taken him.”
“He joins us, or he dies.” The voice let out a small chuckle. “I’m bettin’ on blood.”

This was not how Anumia wanted to die, blinded and bound. There was nothing he could do. Never had he felt so dismayed. Not when his business almost collapsed because of a sickness too long and too harsh. Not when a storm had leveled his home. Not when he was forced to bury his own child. These things he seemed to live through. Today had torn asunder all that he had ever known. He was no fighter and could not join rebel thieves or vagabond pirates; he had only heard of such a life in books and stories. He could not, even if he freed himself, overcome the huge man that had struck him in the head earlier. Even if he could be freed from his binds, he would never be able to outrun the young men who had kidnapped him.

He was hopeless at this moment

Anumia begged no one, in silence, that he might break free. Frantic, his eyes darting back and forth. The thugs were right, he thought. Sweat began to come forth again. A flax bag draped over his head, he could feel his hot breath blowing back. A coarse rope dangled from Anumia’s bound hands. His head still ringing from before, logic was beyond him. He tried pulling on the rope as he begged no one. A hand touched his shoulder, a shiver down his dampened spine.
“No need to fight. We’ll take good care of you, old man.”
And it was then that he could feel the tension die. The rope, so tight before, now felt as if it could just wash away in the wind. A breath of fresh air seemed to find Anumia, though the heat felt enduring. He clenched the rope with his wrists, holding so tight.

I can’t let them know.

The cart suddenly came to a halt, and the chatter from the front had stopped. The two men in the cart with him had risen from their seats and taken Anumia from the floor. Briefly, through the sack over his head, he could see sunlight, but only for a short while as the two men carried him towards their safe house.
The sack was ripped from Anumia’s head, and the rope simply unraveled to the dirt. The bandits stepped back, and one shrieked. Dread and panic as if they had seen some mythical beast. The large man from before looked pale as he stepped back. Anumia saw the shadow of another leap into the brush. The once fearless bandits turned cowards, running into the distance. The wind of a cool fall afternoon and the chirp of birds could be heard, as well as the faint screams of men. Anumia turned behind him and saw nothing but trees and tall grass to the horizon. The field he stood in had a few stones and boulders, a sparse patch of trees before more forest. Certainly, there was nothing to be afraid of. But there stood Anumia, unbeknownst to him, as to where he was. The pale blue above him played host to the bright star above.

White clouds like cotton in the sky, he thought to himself.

What now? Where am I?

Exhausted, he took a seat on a boulder. Anumia took the weight of the situation. Alone now, save for the horse and cart. The sun was too high to tell the direction, and the place was unknown to him. He looked back to the shack that stood between some trees, hidden by brush. Anumia stood again and hobbled to the open shack. Inside, much like his own home, were beds of hay on top of a dirt floor. In the corner stood a broad and short blade and a wooden buckler.
Anumia looked back out the door to the horse and cart. The beast was seemingly unbothered; Anumia took the blade and shield. They seemed much lighter than he imagined, but he took them anyway. He wasn’t going to be defenseless this time. He hobbled back to the cart as fast as he could. Shuffling his way up to the tall seat.

“Let’s get out of here, girl!” He shouted, snapping the reins.

The axles shrieking into motion. Anumia set off in no particular direction.

“Best get out of here for now.”

And so, they did, and the horse was happy to go with Anumia. A road led to the forest’s edge, familiar to the steed. They traveled through, and the sun grew obscured. The air grew crisp as trees begrudgingly shed leaves to the forest floor. The fields and forest edge in the gap gave way to cold mountains further beyond. And with time, even that began to fade to the distance. The cart creaked and moaned. However, the horse seemed in good spirits. Anumia took some relief in that and closed his eyes for a moment.

I feel safe. Again.