End of week were the worst days. By the late afternoon, the small pub was filled with the sharp smells of cigar smoke and bacon grease. It hung like a thick cloud in the air strong enough to choke the life out of an untrained soul. Usually, it only got like this by the late evening, if a rougher crowd trickled in. Otherwise, a shift could be bearable. But the end of the week brought in all sorts of folk from the mines and fields intent on drinking away their week’s earnings, drinking and smoking and placing wagers. It turned a normally simple afternoon into a hell of wading through sweaty bodies and avoiding unwanted advances.

It gave her a headache and a stomachache and made her question if it was worth the few extra coins at the end of the night.

The sharp chime of the order bell cut through the chaos at the front bar as the cook – and her boss – smacked down on it and tossed three plates piled high with greasy foods into the window. “Lanna, get these to table seven,” he barked.

It certainly did not feel worth it tonight. With a sigh, she turned and hefted the platters into the air. It was a tight weave through the customers, all crowded around a betting table where they were racing rats. No one bothered to part for her, and she was far from tall or bulky enough to be intimidating, but she managed.

Once the overbearing scents of the dishes – which she barely considered food – and crowds would have made her sick. She’d lost the contents of her gut more than once when she’d first started working there, but she’d built a flimsy tolerance after so long. Still, on the worst of nights, her vision would swim and bile would claw its way up her throat. It was one of those nights.

She forced some semblance of a smile as she reached the table and set the plates out. Three men sat hunched over the table on their stools, and each dug into the meals with barely more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

She was more than happy to take that as her cue to slip away quietly, but as she passed, a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

She twisted to find the owner, another man at another table who was eyeing her in a hungry way that made Lanna shift her weight uneasily. He flashed her a yellowed grin and shoved his free hand through the oiled black locks strewn messily atop his skull. It did him no favours. “Working again, Lanna?” he inquired. “The boys and I are starting to wonder if you ever stop. Maybe you’re one of those fancy robots from way up in the city?”

Lanna swallowed the panic that twisted her gut as she shook her head. He was merely drunk and making poor attempts at conversation. “I hardly work as often as I find you at a stool, Pete,” she countered. He was one of the miners and a regular at the bar. Spent more time downing ale than working in her opinion, but she kept that particular nugget of thought to herself.

Thankfully, the rebuff merely seemed to amuse Pete, whose bark of laughter was loud enough to make her wince. He shook his head as he chuckled. “You should join us, Lanna. Sit, get off your feet a while. Real crime for a pretty thing to be working so hard.”

Lanna shook her head. “It’s a busy night, Pete,” she stated with a gesture around the packed pub.

Pete waved a hand. “Bah, they can manage for a few minutes surely? There’s a tip in it for you,” he insisted as though that would sway her.

She was fairly certain she would choose to gnaw off her own hand first. “I have to get back to work, Pete,” she insisted. She tugged her arm, but his grip only tightened around her wrist. “Let go,” she warned with a growl rising in her throat. She swallowed it back and took a breath. He was drunk and it wasn’t the first time. It was not worth the risk her anger would bring her.

Pete’s grip only tightened further. “Lanna, stop playing coy and join me. I’d hate to have to inform John that his waitress is being rude to his best customers. It would be a real shame to lose a pretty face in this sea of ugly.”

With a scowl, Lanna twisted her wrist and wrenched her arm free from his grasp. She leaned over the table and gathered up the empty beer bottles strewn across the table. Pete and his buddy simply watched her as she stepped back. “I think you’ve had more than enough for one night, Pete. Get home and clear your head. Don’t come back until you have your manners about you,” she hissed.

She strode away before either of them would have a chance to protest. Storming into the kitchen, she dumped the bottles into the trash and clenched her teeth. She took a few deep breaths to quell the rising rage writhing in her gut. It would do no good.

Once she’d gathered her composure, she collected another order and stepped back out into the fray.

As the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky, staining it a dark shade of gray as the moon began to rise, Lanna found herself drained. Pete had remained – though there was no sign of the other man that had been with him – and he’d moved up to the bar directly, meaning she had to dodge him every time she had to deliver to other tables. And he was not the only one who felt more brazen with every swallow downed. It made her sick to her stomach and she was already at a low point with all the bodies crammed into one small space. It was a sensory overload. She was shaking as she finally slipped back into the kitchen to gulp fervently at a glass of water. It was all she was going to have time for tonight.

“Lanna!” John’s voice broke through the haze of routine she’d slipped into and she reluctantly set her glass aside and joined him in the front of house. He was leaned against the bar where Pete was sitting with a smug grin fixed on her. She frowned. A tight ball formed in the pit of her stomach. She could smell trouble brewing between the two.

“You have a problem with Pete tonight, Lanna?”

Lanna sighed and shook her head. “Water under the bridge,” she replied.

John quirked a brow and his scowl deepened. “That’s not what I’ve been hearing. I pay you to deliver food and be pleasant to my customers, Lanna. I didn’t think I’d have to remind you of your duties here.”

“I was merely reminding Pete that he should keep his hands to himself; it is not polite to grab.”

“I don’t pay you to teach etiquette,” John snarled. He slammed a meaty hand down on the bar and glowered at her. “I think you owe Pete an apology.”

She straightened her spine and stuck out her chin. She was not afraid of either of them. “I told you when I started that I would take as many hours as you required and not complain. I also informed you that I was not available and would not tolerate any crude behaviour from any drunkards stumbling around here.”

John scoffed. “You’re not some high lady from the city,” he sneered. “Virtue doesn’t mean a thing around here. Now do what’s right and apologize unless you want me to have to fire you.”

It only took her two seconds to pull the knot on the apron around her waist, and even less for her to fling it at him. “I’ll save you the bother,” she growled. “I quit.”

She turned on her heel and marched back into the back. She grabbed her cloak from the hook near the door and folded it over her arm.

“Don’t be foolish, Lanna,” John ordered as he hurried through the doorway after her. “Where else do you expect to find work, huh? You’re saving, aren’t you? Don’t let your pride jeopardize the best thing you’re going to get.”

“I can do better,” Lanna snapped back. “This job is not worth it.”

She turned around to find him in her way. When she tried to duck around him, he shifted into her way again. “You’re being foolish and emotional,” he warned.

“I said ‘I quit’,” she repeated. “Now move, please.”

“Lanna wait…okay, I’ll send Pete home for the night and we’ll forget your altercation, alright?”

“My altercation?” She quirked a brow and shook her head. “I’m done. Now move.” She shoved past him and began heading for the door.

“Lanna, you can’t just leave in the middle of the shift! I-I won’t pay you.”

“Keep your coins,” she called over her shoulder.

“Lanna! Lanna, where am I going to find someone to take over? It’s packed out there! Come back! I’ll let you keep all the tips.”

Lanna spun around and walked backwards so she could glare at him. “Here’s a tip; respect your help.”

She was fuming as she stormed out of the back of the bar and into the rain. It had started up not long ago and plastered her long coconut locks to her neck and shoulders in seconds. She could hear John shouting after her, but she didn’t bother to spare him a second glance. The job made her too ill and tried at her nerves too much. However badly she needed the money, it wasn’t worth the risks. She needed to keep control.

She made it halfway down the hill before she remembered she was holding her cloak. She was already soaked, but she shook it out and pulled it over her shoulders and the hood up over her head. As soon as its weight settled against her, she felt better. She never felt fully secure unless she was wearing it.

She sniffled and lifted a hand to smear away some of the rainwater that was running over her face. Part of her blurred vision was from the rain, but a fair bit of it was tears too. The work had sucked, the environment even more so, but there were only a few places to work in the tiny hole of a town, and she needed the money desperately.

She couldn’t migrate much further or she would start to run too close to another city, and the more into the open lands beyond their borders she went, the more sparse civilization became.

More than once, she’d considered simply taking off into the wilds and never bothering with people again. It would be safer, easier in many ways, but just thinking about it made her throat close. There were other reasons why that was dangerous, and it would only be a short-term solution. Her only true hope was to ship across the ocean to the lands beyond, but she needed half a fortune for that, and her years of scraping and saving every penny had only brought her halfway to that.

She was running out of time and had just lost another opportunity for work. Perhaps she should go back. She could swallow her pride and dignity and apologize to John and Pete. John would take her back – no one else was as willing to work and he needed the hired help – but she knew that was becoming too much of a risk. The patrons of the bar got handsier every night that she worked, and she wasn’t sure she could maintain control if their behaviour got much worse. She would have to figure something else out.

She crossed her arms over her chest for warmth and continued trudging away from the bar towards the outskirts of town. As she walked, she closed her eyes against the wind and water blowing into her face. She hated closing her eyes, especially when she was upset. It made it worse. In the darkness behind her eyelids, fire danced. Explosions and deafening roars and shouts of too many people. The air clogged with fire and smoke while blood pooled at her feet.

The overwhelming stenches of blood, festering rot, mud and old straw, and so much death. The feeling of heavy shackles that rubbed her joints and weighed her down. The way the links clinked together. She shivered. She rolled her shoulders and ground her teeth together to suppress a whine.

It was all she saw, all the time. She didn’t even know who she was anymore. It was too much to bear.

Her throat closed and her stomach lurched, and she doubled over as she began to wretch. What little she’d nibbled at through the day came back up into the muck.

Lanna’s head spun and she sunk to her knees and dug her fingers into the earth. Her skin felt too tight and she felt caged all over again. She needed to get away, but she couldn’t. She was shackled by new manacles, just as heavy and painful, but invisible to the eye, and the only key was still held so agonizingly far out of her reach.

She just wanted to go home. Her heart ached as she dug deep down into her heart to pull the memories. The fresh smell of wet pine after a morning misting, the sight of the sunrise bathing the mountainside in morning light. She remembered the wind, and foraging berries and mushrooms among the thick trunks of forever trees. The taste of slightly charred meat hung on her tongue and all the nights she’d lay in the dust outside their shelter and watch the stars twinkle while a meal lay heavy in her swollen belly. She had been so young, but her memory was long.

It was easy to forget, for these precious bits to be drowned in the sea of fire and pain that came after, but she kept what she had close to her heart and swore she would see it all again someday, no matter what it took.

She had buried pieces of herself to keep them safe. More than just memories and feelings. She’d had to shove down everything she was. She had hidden in the small towns for so many years, moving on as she had to, always hiding, always on the run. She just wanted a taste of freedom, to be herself without fear of her past repeating. She’d been Lanna for so long, but it was only a part of who she was. She missed herself.

Her long-buried heart stirred then, begged for a chance to surface, but she was afraid. It had been so long, she knew it would hurt to bring it all out again. She couldn’t remember the last time anymore, what it felt like. Everything was all a blur of working and stressing and suppressing nightmares.

“Aja, be still,” she whispered. It hurt to swallow back. Felt like a hot poker was being rammed through her belly as she wrestled with a skin that suddenly felt too small, too confining. She wanted out.

Tears swam in her eyes and she beat a fist against the ground. She was running out of time. It was getting hard and harder to move and speak and exist this way. Every secret she was keeping would spill and with it would come unbearable pain and fear and suffering. She needed to be far, far away when her hourglass ran dry. A sob ripped from her lips and her heart lurched. She hated being this way, hated everything that had happened since she’d been ripped from her home.

She had not been taken alone. Many of her people had been stolen away from the land they’d always known. Tied and beaten and thrown in cages, carted across the seas to endure the horrors of war and labour and abuse at the hands of others who did not understand them or care for their suffering or their lives. Many had died. She had still been practically a baby at the time, and her lack of strength had spared her some of the terrors, but she had seen everything. She’d watched her family burn. Her father in a genuine blaze, her sister almost a generation older dropped from too many blows, her brother taken away. She did not know if he was alive.

She had looked for him in the years since, but had never heard or seen anything of him and doubted she ever would.

She wasn’t the only one to escape, but she had been too young to keep up with the others. None were her blood or from her immediate homeland and she had been left behind. On her own since, she knew they were being hunted. They would always be hunted simply for who they were. Her captors would want her back. On the verge of coming into herself, she was more valuable now than she was as a baby. It was why she had to keep hidden, keep her emotions under control, not draw attention to herself.

It was why she introduced herself as Lanna. Her name was too foreign to go unnoticed. Not that they had ever cared her name, wouldn’t have known it, but it was unlike anything the people of this land used and she could not take the risk of that holding meaning to the wrong individuals. Everything she was felt fake. A secret wrapped in a lie and buried beneath a carefully-crafted disguise.

She pulled her cloak tighter against her body and hummed. She felt a little better wrapped in it. She fingered the fabric and examined it closely. The outside was a simple, dulled brown. As unassuming as she needed to be. But inside, it was lined with vibrant blue and bordered in violet. It was her most precious possession, one of the few she had. She didn’t care for material things. Attachments were dangerous when she worried she would have to flee for her life at any given moment. If she couldn’t carry it on her person at almost all times, she didn’t keep it.

She clenched her jaw and carefully rose from the dirt. The world was still pelting her with icy rain and frigid wind, but she barely felt it now. She would have to move on again. She had no other choice. She wasn’t sure what else was out there for her, but she did know that there was not enough work in this small mining village. She needed something more substantial and less risky, and she didn’t have a lot of time to find it. After being on her feet all day, curling up in slumber’s embrace sounded wonderful, but she had a long trek ahead of her and she may as well get started.

Setting her gaze on the hills beyond the town, she set out down the trodden dirt road leading away from this place. Ajalana felt like a ghost as she left. She had no one to tell that she was going and would simply disappear. By the next new moon, she doubted anyone here would even remember Lanna’s name.