Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Permanence ❯ Dash ( Chapter 1 )

Permanence
by mikan

Chapter One: Dash

She couldn't feel her legs any longer, couldn't distinguish which was left and which was right and which foot was now upon the ground. She was running so fast it was frightening — any moment now her legs would tangle and she would stumble headlong into the high litter-strewn grass. Gripping the bundle in her arms tightly to her chest, she willed her failing legs to move faster, her eyes all the while scanning the dry field wildly for a place to run to.

They were right behind her, had her cleanly in their sight, almost in their grasp. She could hear their grunting breath, the pounding of their feet, the shush of the grass as they trampled their way through. Faster, faster! her mind screamed. She dared not acknowledge the growing heaviness in her limbs, the searing rawness in her lungs. If she stumbled, or slowed even a step, they would both die.

She plunged into the brush at the edge of the field. Here the grass grew higher, well to her waist, slowing her down. She kept her eyes on the line of trees ahead. The woods — if only she could reach them! Then perhaps she could find a thicket or cave or someplace where they could take refuge from the men pursuing them so relentlessly.

It was all because of her mistake. She had simply picked the wrong man to steal from that day. But she had been spotted, caught red-handed before, and it had never come to this — this mindless, frantic dash for her life. Perhaps it was the day, then — perhaps this was the day when it all would finally catch up to her, when she would fail to make a clean getaway and hence pay with her life. Their lives.

She broke free of the grasses and shot into the woods. It was darker here now, and cooler — the dense pines blocking out the pale light, blocking her path. She skidded now left, now right, soil and chipped wood flying at her feet, her eyes feverishly trying to seek out a path through the thick stand of pines. Shouting voices echoed through the stale forest — the men were barreling through the woods, breaking twigs and branches, crushing the fallen leaves in their assault.

Faster!

Suddenly she felt the baby strain against her hold, push its small face out, give a strangled cry. Tears sprang to her eyes — good god, had she suffocated the child? She eased her grip slightly, risking a quick glance down at the baby's face.

It was then that she saw it. Far in the corner of her eye, all the way to her left. A small rise, covered in dead leaves, between the trunks of two thick pines. Beyond it, surely a place to hide.

She veered off to the left sharply and rushed toward the rise, heart pounding in her ears, hands shaking as she gripped the child. Her eyes, wide with fright and stung by the frigid wind, filled quickly with tears, blurring the path before her.

We're almost there... we're almost there...

She clung to that thought, the words keeping time with the frenzied beat of her heart. The voices behind her had faded to a confused cacophony — scattered hunters who had suddenly lost their prey. Seizing the moment, she burst past a cluster of pines, reached the rise and skirted the base of the small slope, heading towards the safety of the other side—

She couldn't stop the scream that tore free from her throat when her foot plunged through the drift of fallen leaves and connected with nothing but empty air. In the flash of blinding terror that shot through her, she held to one coherent thought: the child. She tightened her embrace, forced herself to fight the instinctive, panicked flailing of limbs as the ground disappeared under her feet and she went hurtling over the edge.

A pile of dead leaves had collected at the bottom of the short drop from the crest of the hillock, and it was into this that she landed, her arms still locked around the child, the wind slammed from her body in one sickening gasp. The sky flashed a brilliant white as pain seared through her, then everything dimmed, and for a long, strange moment of utter silence she could feel nothing. Then slowly, an ache crept into her consciousness, a low throbbing that pulsed to the ends of her feet, stirred her fingers.

Something was moving against her fingers.

Her eyes flew open. The child!

Turning awkwardly onto her side, she laid the baby carefully onto the ground and pushed the thick layers of swaddling away from its face. The child was fidgeting, its face contorted, mouth puckering in readiness for a cry.

"No, no," she whispered, leaning close, blinking back tears. "Please don't cry, Rukia, please." Pleading softly, she checked the small head, then, praying that no limbs had been broken, pulled the swaddling back closely around the baby's face.

Distant shouts echoed in the forest; she looked up, terrified she would find the men staring down at her from the top of the hillock. Seeing no one, she gathered the child in her arms and pushed herself to her feet. Pain, intense and immediate, speared her left ankle. She bit down hard on her lip, fought for balance, then hobbled the few feet to where the wall of the hillock face met the forest floor.

There was nothing on this side of the hillock, no thicket to hide in or arbor of fallen vines to shelter under. There was only a large boulder nestled in a patch of dry weeds. She glanced around. Behind her, the woods stretched out, flat and brown, bared for the coming winter, the tall, straight pines offering no place for refuge. She had to make a decision. She couldn't evade the men for much longer — her ankle was guarantee enough of that. What then, could she do? Did she dare hide here with the child and pray their pursuers never came down from the hillock?

Foolishness. They would scour the forest for her, with the same tenacity with which they scrabbled together daily whatever food and water they could find in the slums of Inuzuri. The same food and the same water that she had in turn stolen from them on countless occasions. They would give her no quarter, would seek her out with the unflagging stamina lent by rage and sensibilities injured one too many times. It's that bitch again, they always cried, knowing her well by sight, as she would hastily tuck her loot into her kimono and tear away from them, disappearing down some dark alley. That dirty skinny bitch with the brat.

Shouts broke the silence; suddenly they seemed much nearer, the echoes louder, closer to the crest of the hill above her head. Hastily she sank to her knees in the earth and placed the baby behind the boulder, into the tallest patch of weeds.

I'm sorry, Rukia… Her lips moved silently as she bent down, touched the child's cheek, then tucked the swaddling snugly around the small face. I'll be back soon… I promise. I'll come back to get you.

The baby's face began to blur; impatiently she wiped her eyes with her grimy sleeve. She had to hurry. If they were found now—

The thought was too frightening to consider. Shakily she rose to her feet, grasping at the wall of the hillock for support, wincing at the pain in her ankle. Turning her back to the child, she surveyed the woods quickly. The pines jutted out like dark, slender bars from the flat forest floor. Perhaps if she could move deeper enough into the forest, to where the shadows lengthened and the trees grew in denser patches, perhaps there she could disappear against the trunk of a tree and wait and hope. She began to hobble as fast as she could away from the hillock with its boulder and the child lying in its wake. Pain throbbed up her leg in waves; she clenched her jaw against it, forced her weight onto her right foot and half-pushed, half-dragged her way through the leaf-littered ground.

She neared a tree, reached out and sagged against the trunk. Her breath came in harsh gasps; her ankle was beginning to swell. She had distanced herself less than twenty paces from the hillock. It was not enough — she needed to go farther, farther, so that if she were caught— She stopped breathing. If she were caught, what? What would she do?

Would she leave the child behind? Or would she beg her captors to take the child along?

She bit her lip and pushed away from the tree. She simply could not allow herself to be caught. If she did, then she might as well have sat down in the middle of the field, the child in her arms, and submitted themselves both to the mercy of those men. So move she must. She kept her eyes on the trees far into the forest.

And could hardly credit what she saw next. In the silence so sudden she had not remarked it, men began to appear amongst the trees before her. Her pursuers! She froze, staring at them in horror. They were moving towards her, their manner unhurried, menacingly calm, the gloating smirks on their faces exposing rotted, gapped teeth.

"Gotcha," drawled their leader, the man whom she had stolen food from that morning. Here in the shadows of the forest, he seemed infinitely more frightening — hulking shoulders, a beady gaze that lingered on her body speculatively, held her rooted to the spot. The same dirty smirk as he slowly advanced towards her.

Belatedly she remembered she could still move, and at that moment came to action with jolting, clumsy haste. She stepped back with her left foot, ready to sprint away.

The pain was crippling, sent her sprawling backwards onto the earth, held her crumpled and helpless. The man reached her then, stared down at her for a long moment, then, with a big raucous laugh, snatched up the ratty collar of her kimono and dragged her to her feet.

He spat in her face.

She turned her cheek in disgust, only to have him yank her face back towards him. His fingers were grimy upon her skin.

"Had yer fun with us, eh, little miss? Now ye've got us all riled up."

Shouts of assent rose behind him as the men came forward and closed a circle around them. They were all suddenly too near, their eyes bulging with anticipation, glazed with excitement, their sweating, heaving bodies assailing her with their stench. The way they were laughing — low, harsh panting breaths — made them seem to her like a pack of wild dogs circling in for the kill.

"See what I mean?" the leader said, his lips twisting into a smile. He leaned close, and his reeking breath was upon her cheek. "Now it's our turn."

With that, he ripped her collar downward savagely, tearing her flimsy kimono open. She stumbled to the ground, her hands grasping futilely at the shreds left of her clothing. Her whole body trembling, she stared up at him, shock rendering her absolutely speechless. And then he bent down towards her again.

She scrambled out of his reach. "Please!" she cried, in a voice quavering with panic. "I-I'll pay you back! Every penny, I swear it!" She swallowed hard, tears spilling suddenly out of her eyes. Her hands shook as she pulled her tattered clothing tightly against her chest. "Don't do this — I beg you—"

That earned her another vulgar laugh. "Well, well. So ye do know how to ask nicely, now, don't ye?" His lip curled. "Ye filthy, thievin' whore."

The next thing she knew, a rough-sandaled foot hit her squarely in the chest, stamping her to the ground. As she lay there gasping, another swift kick whacked her ribs. Bright whiteness exploded beneath her closed eyelids, the blow robbing her of breath.

"That is fer the food this morning, bitch," the man towering above her hissed. "And this," another kick smashed into her abdomen, "is fer the water ye stole last week."

She doubled over, curled her hands around her middle, tucked her head as far in as she could, shielding her body from the barrage of kicks and spittle that fell on her as soon as the leader had finished speaking.

I'm going to die. The thought came to her clearly, the observation made impassively. The pain was already beginning to dull into a pulsing ache all over her body, the voices above her loud one moment, fading into distance the next. Those voices, that ache, light and dimness, numbness and noise — all swirled about her, the ground spinning under her head.

Suddenly, a command cut through the sickening haze:

"Stop."

The voice was firm, full-bodied with authority, and heretofore unheard. Feet stopped in mid-kick, screeching hoots died abruptly into silence. Through the daze she was in, she felt the suffocating circle of bodies loosen, widen away from her. Instinctively, she curled even tighter into a ball, shielding her head with her forearms, the anticipation of the next round of pummeling making her shiver against the cold earth.

Footsteps came to a halt near her head. Cloth brushed her arms, air and sudden warmth lighting upon her as somebody settled onto the ground beside her. A hand grasped her wrists and pulled her arms away from her head. The touch was not rough — rather, it exuded the steady, controlled force of a man aware of his own strength.

"Look at that face."

Her hair had fallen forward over her cheeks — he swept it back, baring her face to the light. She cracked her eyes open slowly, fearfully, flinching at the sudden brightness.

There was silence. Opening her eyes wider, she found herself staring up at the face belonging to the voice. Round and brown, flat-nosed, with narrow, glittering dark eyes. The face was monkey-like, the frame small and light, hunched at the shoulders and curled at the toes. Yet there was strength in his grip, and authority in his voice that had clearly been heeded. She had been mistaken in surmising that the other man was the leader of this group. Their leader was this man, right here, next to her.

And his face was one she had seen before, caught a glimpse of, watching her from a dark alley as she passed by. She remembered the smirk, the way it creased the face, the strange menace that emanated from so diminutive a man.

"She's a beauty," he murmured, his bent fingers brushing her cheekbone. She shrank away, her eyes betraying her revulsion. His smile widened.

"She's coming home with us," he pronounced, his hand still holding her wrists captive. He hopped to his feet, yanking her up with surprising strength. She tumbled upright, onto her knees. He released his grip. "Take her."

There was a moment of silence, then the large man with the booming voice, the one who had been first to kick her, stepped forward. She backed away from him frantically, but he caught her ankle, snatched her up by the waist, and slung her over his shoulder. Only then did the full impact of the leader's words hit her, and the breath she had somehow been holding rushed through her lungs in a horrified gasp. She started kicking, clawing at her captor's back, completely overtaken by mindless fear.

"Feisty one," remarked the monkey-face.

The man holding her grunted in assent and adjusted his hold on her slightly.

"Well, let's get going," said the boss. "Looks like rain."

And so they began their trudge back through the forest. Her captor held her securely in place with a muscular arm that trapped her upper thighs against his chest, her abdomen flattened against his shoulder. Her head hung halfway down his back. She stared at the ground in panic, at the rough feet of the men following closely behind them. They were taking her to their lair, and once they were there— She could not bring herself to imagine what she would have to endure.

A fate worse than death.

What was going to happen to her in a short while was undeniably worse than death. The thought was chilling in its certainty, but far more fearsome was the fact that there was now absolutely no way out of her predicament. Her captors had decided they wanted her alive; therefore death no longer presented a possibility of escape. And the implications of this were horrifying indeed. Alive, she would have access to thought and sensation, memory and consciousness, as she endured whatever sport it pleased them to subject her to.

She thought about her sister, about the child still lying behind the boulder near the hillock. Doubtless Rukia would die, perhaps even this very night — a night of chilly rain in a bare forest infested with wolves was not something a mere babe could be expected to survive. Had she been wrong to leave the child? Should she cry out now, beg them to take the child along, plead with them for mercy? Yet what use was a child to them, a child barely a month old? They would probably slit its throat right before her eyes.

The overwhelming hopelessness and misery of it all suddenly washed over her in an engulfing wave. Utter desperation made her suddenly bold, fury lent her strength. Clutching the rough material of her captor's clothing, she pulled herself up, high enough to latch onto his ear, and sank her teeth viciously into his earlobe.

Kill me, urged the strangely calm voice in her mind. Strike me, break my neck in one blow.

Kill me here.

Yelping with pain, the man grasped her by the hair and yanked her head violently backwards, shoved her off his shoulder and threw her to the ground.

Her head struck the hard earth. She did not stir.

For a long moment, the monkey-faced man regarded her in silence. The contortions of fear were now gone from her face, leaving behind only a picture of beauty at peace. Her eyes were closed, the lids smooth in repose. Her white cheek rested against the spill of her dark hair.

He drew near to her side, sank to a knee beside her. Bending close, he touched his fingers to her neck, and murmured words that meant nothing to the men around him, yet were nevertheless oddly mesmerizing in their rhythm.

"...by this be bound," he whispered, finishing the incantation, his fingers skimming over her hair, "and fall into rest."

He took her in his arms.

|| to be continued ||