This is a continuation of the Steemit-exclusive, original novel A Day in the Clouds. Be sure to check out the previous chapters to catch up with the story. Enjoy!
<< Chapter 6 (Part 2)
My journey home was far from the easiest of ventures. The outside world was inhospitable; the winds were harsh and the heat was unrelenting.
For a time, it seemed that the path I found myself in was deserted — well, that was until the source of the grumbling noise from earlier zoomed past. It was a hulking metallic creature that stood on three spinning disks located unevenly on its base. I wasn’t quite sure how it moved but it seemed to glide through the air, albeit closely to the ground. Its weight must have been the reason for its lackluster altitude. However, it was smaller than Coche — a creature which either the giants kept as a pet or as another prisoner.
The giants boarded Coche whenever they would travel outside of the compound. I’ve ridden the beast quite a number of times whenever my captors took me to outside re-education facilities or foreign meal establishments. I’ve always been fond of Coche. Although, whenever I tried speaking to it, it always never answers. I'm not quite sure if it was commanded to not speak with other prisoners, or it just didn't understand how I talked. I knew that it could speak though. It always sang using different voices — sometimes, it even talked to itself while interchanging voices. Not that there was anything wrong with that; it just seemed peculiar. Its breath was frigid and its roar was loud. Unlike the metallic creature that zoomed past, Coche stood evenly on 4 black disks, which I’m not quite sure spinned. Dadier had a particular fondness for the creature, routinely giving it the same water torture treatment he subjected me to.
Eventually, I discovered that the concrete jungle that I found myself in teemed with wayward giants who didn’t even seem to take notice of my presence. I coughed whenever the wind kicks up dust that was ever present in the outside.
Several other metallic creatures passed, each containing a fair amount of giants. Some of the creatures even resembled Coche. I made sure to keep my viento recharged just in case a hostile presented itself.
I jumped over the cracks and crevices that seemingly lined the beaten path. It was easy to get lost as everything almost looked the same. The path looked familiar, as if I’ve been taken down this road before during one of our excursions, although I’m not quite sure. I’ve never been one to have confidence in my navigational skills, so I sought out a trail and decided on — what looked like — a narrow, white line that streaked at intervals. It seemed like a relatively fruitful decision; the metallic creatures evaded it like it was the plague. The only drawback to following the trail was that I was at the mercy of the unforgiving sun, floating high above my head. There were no shade, not even clouds to dampen the jarring sunlight. It was either this or be crushed under the heels of the hulking, metal beasts that roamed the area.
Walking past rusted fences, I gazed upon several prisoners held captive by unfamiliar giants. The whole row was filled with different prison compounds stacked side-by-side. All of them seemed to be managed separately by different sets of giants.
The reason for such compartmentalization eludes me. Why not just pile all of us prisoners in one concentration camp? Better security, better reinforcements. This oversight would prove to be one of the reasons for the impending downfall of our current tyrants.
However, not all of the compounds seemed to house prisoners. Some of the settlements looked as if they were only occupied by giants. Those must have been outposts or something.
My feet felt like it started to burn. It was a good thing Dadier equipped me with footwear that was made of a rubbery substance that morning, or else my bare feet would be defenseless against the coarse granite. The footwear was painted black and its lines were colored red. It was stamped with what looked like an upside-down "Y" and had laces that seemed to fade with its base.
The heat began to take its toll. I’ve sweated out almost all of the hydration from my body. The ground emanated steam that blurred visibility. I don’t know how long I have travelled or how far I must continue in my journey. It felt like weeks since I’ve made my escape from the prison compound and the amount of giants I passed seemed to grow, the more I walked.
I sat down under a shade for a moment, beside a sleeping hound. Its fur was brown and its tongue extended on the pavement. I could hear it panting as it labored its breath. Poor thing must be exhausted from the scalding heat. I stroked its back to calm it down.
Giants often took hounds as prisoners as well. Even more unfortunate for them, the fiends routinely tied a leash around their necks to keep them at bay. I’m not entirely unfamiliar with such restraints as I’ve been harnessed a couple of times myself, whenever we took a trip outside of the compound. The differences were that my harness wasn't rung around my neck and was only temporary while the hounds’ were mostly permanent.
Fortunately for this one, it managed to evade capture. It looked worse for wear, but at least it was free.
"There, there," I whispered softly. I was sure it didn’t understand anything that came out from my mouth, but I was hopeful that my emotion would be conveyed through my gesture. Some people in my village have learned how to communicate with hounds but the start of the Great War prevented me from learning the craft. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
"Hey, what are you doing with my dog?" a shrill voice from behind me queried.
Mydog? What a peculiar name for a hound. I turned around and discovered that the question came from a prisoner standing behind gigantic metal bars. The bars stood too close to each other, preventing any passage between them.
"I-I … I was j-just," I stammered. “I was just comforting it. I thought it didn’t have any companionship. I apologize for any—”
"Stay away from my dog!" she demanded tersely. The prisoner had long, black hair that stretched all the way to her back, and had eyebrows that met at the center. She wore a white sleeveless shirt and tattered pants, and stood just about as tall as I did.
"How could a prisoner maintain ownership of something that's free?" I inquired, holding on to the metal bars. “How do you feed it? How do you take care of it?”
"W-What is wrong with you?" she had a puzzled look on her face, as she slowly backed away.
"N-No, don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you attain freedom, I just—"
"Mamie!"
Mamie?! How could … This couldn’t be!
I ran away as fast as I could. In my haste, I almost got nicked by a passing three-legged, metallic beast, but my viento shielded me from danger — I felt the wind surge through me as it nearly made contact.
I couldn’t wrap my head why would a prisoner snitch on someone that was offering her a chance at freedom. Has her re-education been too advanced? Perhaps she was given leniency or even a reward? Whatever the reason was, I was just lucky to get out of there without getting caught.
Hours, days, weeks passed with seemingly no reprieve. I was caught in eternal daytime and I didn’t know if I was headed in the right direction. Wary about talking to other prisoners, I stayed within the bounds of the trail I was following. The metallic beasts that passed avoided me without fail.
Soon enough, I stumbled upon a group of wanderers who were enjoying some refreshments. As far as I counted they were three of them, all male, who looked like they were about as tall as I was. They sat on the edge of a slant on the path, each with their own drink in hand.
I was parched. There were no indications that they were prisoners. In fact, they looked to have the same immunity to the giants’ sight that I had. I didn’t want to risk my presence being alerted to the giants once again but my dehydration slowly took away any choice I had left.
"H-Hello," I muttered softly, concentrating my viento on my fists just in case. “Could you fellows, perchance, spare me a swig of your libation? I’m terribly parched and I—”
"What did you say?" one of the men rudely interrupted.
They looked at me with disbelief, grasping their drinks close to their chest. For no apparent reason, one of them took offense while another looked on with wonderment.
I licked my lips and bared my palms. "I come bearing no ill will, I just wanted to relieve my dehydration," I pleaded once again, but to no avail.
"What is he saying?" one asked the other. They looked almost indistinguishable to me. Perhaps my desiccated state had dulled my senses.
"Beats me," answered the other.
"Why do you talk that way?" asked the third one, prodding me like I was some kind of savage.
"Don’t," I requested politely. “Please don’t poke me. I just wanted to hydrate, for my journey has been—”
"Yo! Do you understand … what … I … am … saying?" one of the men queried, waving his palm in front of my face.
I didn’t understood what was happening or why they were acting this way. I understood them perfectly; it was them who had trouble comprehending the way I talk.
"Can … I … have … a … drink?" I spoke slowly so that they could understand, but they looked more puzzled than ever.
They scratched their heads and circled me like sharks stalking their would-be prey. Was I at the center of a prank that had gone on for far too long? Did they really not understand anything that I was saying? It was like the prison compound all over again.
I motioned to them, acting out what I wanted to say by pretending I was taking a drink. They reacted by taking a drink for themselves, which made me scratch my head. We weren’t getting anywhere. The sun was emanating stronger heat and I was nowhere near hydrated.
Tired of all the poking and prodding, I extended my right arm and snatched the closest drink I could grasp. I quickly took a sip, just before the circle collapsed on me. What was light poking turned into heavy shoving. The drink spilled but at least I had my fill.
I bared my palms and pushed back, discharging some viento I had pent up. My retribution was met by an increased resistance. I didn’t want to use force, as I’ve seen the full extent of my power. They wouldn’t stand a chance; what could turn out to be reliable allies could easily be turned into a smoking crater.
By shoving back, I have perpetuated a cycle of violence. I kept pushing harder every time they pushed harder. Like our earlier conversation, we found ourselves locked in an impasse once again. Diplomacy could have been the key, but they seem to be too dimwitted to recognize civility.
"Truce!" I held up my hands trying to initiate an end to the violence, but they refused to yield. “Stop it please! This … This is unnecessary—”
They continued to taunt me, daring me to fight back. I decided to just smile and hope that it might be a universal symbol of armistice, but the gesture seemed to only escalate the hostility.
One of the men clenched his fist, cocked it back and threw it at me. My quick reflexes allowed me to dodge the attack but another struck me from behind with the beverage canister he was holding.
I was knocked to the ground, drenched in the sticky liquid. Gathering myself, I heard the black liquid fizz near my ringing ear. It was then when the men began to use their feet and kick me in different exposed parts of my body. I curled up into a ball and composed myself.
Should I fight back? Could I fight back? The odds weren’t particularly in my favor, but then again, I had an invisible advantage which they sorely lacked. I closed my eyes and tried to not think about the pain inflicted upon me, concentrating my viento on my fists.
From my curled position, I sprung up and gouged one of my attackers in the eye. I swung blindly, managing to hit another with the back of my hand. Though I was more of an open-palm striker, I clenched my fist and hit the third one squarely in the jaw.
They were in disarray. The three men had not anticipated retaliation, especially from a person who seemingly was at a disadvantage. They looked at each other trying to formulate a coordinated attack, nodded and scattered in different directions.
These were the times when warriors stepped up to the plate. Three against one should prove to be enough of a challenge to rouse my adrenaline. I felt my heart palpitate. A shot of electricity coursed through my entire body. In that moment, I felt my reflexes take over.
