“Sure,” the sheriff had grumbled. “If you can open it. Thing’s been locked shut before I ever got the job, and I never found a key. It’s not like I go into my own jailhouse anymore.”
During their time together, the sheriff often complained about how he could no longer do his job with Atia staying at the jailhouse. Since a permanent prisoner now occupied the lone cell, the sheriff couldn’t make proper arrests for the minor disputes that were a regular occurrence with the loggers. “Sometimes they need to get drunk, brawl it out, and spend a night behind bars to get their senses back. Now I’ve got to be diplomatic and try and get them to talk things out. Not my strong suit.”
Getting the chest to open at first hadn’t been easy. He had to break open the rusted locks with a hatchet he found in the jailhouse’s utility shed, and he’d ruined the blade by doing so. It was Atia’s box now, and he filled it with all of her new clothes and things. Samuel shuffled clothes around until he pulled out a lovely cream dress, the cotton sewn in a way that really trapped in the body heat. He’d almost bought several pairs of tights to help keep her legs warm, but it would’ve been a useless purchase. It wasn’t as if she could slip anything through the fetters that bound her ankles. He had bought her a proper pair of northern boots. They were black with several silver clasps in the front, the toes arched in a semicircle. He thought she would like them. It was impossible to comprehend how she’d made it as far as she had without a good pair of boots.
The gate squealed as Samuel unlocked the bolt and slipped back the gate. He gave Atia fresh clothes, and she dressed herself. They ate roasted goat liver together, and she consumed more than she ever had before. She drank nothing but water, occasionally snacking on bits of bread and meat. Did she like the food? Did she even need to eat? What was she thinking? He asked himself that one nearly a thousand times a day.
Although Atia couldn’t or wouldn’t speak to him, he felt as though he could read her moods based off her drawings. For the time being, she’d only composed landscapes. Some were beautiful backdrops, calm fields, and cloudy skies. Others, jagged mountains and dark nights. But there was one sketch in particular that amazed him. The details were impeccable. Samuel assumed it to be a painting of one of the redland cities. None of the houses in the town square were made of wood. They were all composited of nothing but mud bricks and stone. The ground was covered in sand and trees with large pine-like needles that Samuel couldn’t identify. The town was right next to the ocean, and Atia had drawn the waves rolling onto the shore. One of the buildings she drew was bigger and more complexly designed than any building in Haid. The structure was comprised of six dome-topped towers aligned in perfect symmetry around a giant steeple, the towers all elaborately designed with various carvings and patterns. He’d heard once that the redlands trained their soldiers in old cathedrals various religious groups would frequent for prayer. Although the Laevis Creed forbade the clergy from congregating in any buildings that were previously used for religious purposes, the redlands military was able to reuse the old buildings as they saw fit. The redlands didn’t have land suitable for crops or natural resources like the other states, but their military was well respected among the other states.
Samuel felt a connection to the picture in a way he couldn’t fully explain. Perhaps because it was an entirely new world to him. From what he’d heard, as well as from what he’d seen from Atia’s sketches, the greenlands seemed fairly similar to the whitelands, minus the large amounts of snow that lasted throughout most of the year. But the redlands seemed much more exotic and warm. His mother was a native of the redlands. When he looked at his own skin, he could see remnants of the bronze shade she’d left for him. He wondered what kind of life she’d lived before meeting his father. What if she was the child of some wealthy politician? She did have a photograph taken of her, and that sort of technology was expensive. She must have come from a wealthy family. Did she have any family left? What were her friends like? What did she do for fun?
Those questions always led him to questions about her relationship with his father. How did they meet? What had caused her to be so bold as to make love with a clergyman? Did she love him? His father always refused to talk about his mother and what had happened, and that left Samuel to speculate on his own. He only knew what he could deduce from the picture and occasional comments his father made. She was a redlands native; she had a warm heart, and a warmer smile. He couldn’t understand what had drawn someone like her to his father.
Finishing her food, Atia lay down flat on the stony floor and stared at the wall above her. Samuel pushed up his dark-framed glasses and scooted closer.
“Atia,” he said.
When the word left his lips, he wondered if it was strange that he’d given the girl his mother’s name. She looked nothing like the young woman in the picture his father kept on the desk. And there was a part of him that was attracted to the girl, and that seemed out of place in conjunction with his mother. It wasn’t a sexual attraction to the girl. At least, he didn’t think so. To be truthful, he wouldn’t really know if it was. Her fierceness, her strength, her beauty, even the mystery surrounding her enamored him. He knew there was a part of him that enjoyed spending time with her. He knew that he cared for her deeply and that he really did want to be her caretaker. He also knew that he’d never felt this way about anyone before.
Atia kept her head still, but her predator eyes moved to the left and looked at him. Samuel rubbed his hair. He needed to have more courage than this if he was going to learn more about her.
“Can I ask you something? I ask you a lot of questions, I guess. You don’t speak, I know. But how come you don’t write words?”
He tapped his shoes.
“You’re not a demon, right?”
She remained stoic.
Samuel lowered his palm onto the ground, his heart beating. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. Not even the mayor. I promise.”
He meant it.
She parted her lips, the air escaping as she exhaled.
“You can understand me,” Samuel said. “What I’m saying. I know you understand my language. Don’t pretend you can’t. Please. I want to help. I want you to know I’m your friend.”
She sat up, the chains rattling harshly. She lifted her one hand and pointed to the outside window. Samuel was dumbfounded for a moment before he understood. His mouth went dry, and he instantly felt guilty.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you go. The mayor—”
Her eyes penetrated him, her jaw tightening. He pulled back, a wave of fear returning over him. Was she going to attack him? Instead, Atia closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side, pressing her stub against her chest. She laid her head on the ground, and her damp hair covered her face like a blanket.
Samuel scooted back into the bars and lowered his head. She was a prisoner. Of course she wanted to be free. But he couldn’t help her that way. He couldn’t fail at his job. Even if she managed to escape and the mayor didn’t blame him, which was highly unlikely, Samuel would more than likely lose his job as a patrolman. The thought of going back to his father and being ordained a cleric made him sick. He couldn’t decide which fate would be worse.