WARRIOR
chapter one

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Emerald eyes, swirled with kaleidoscopic shadows reflecting from hazy sunshine. Blue waves of the ocean crashing against the bright green of summer grass, blurred with specks of gold. The spheres of a raging hurricane and the amalgamated colors of tree crowns blossoming after being weighed down by gritty snow. Irises lulled by a glossy blanket of fear.

She could almost taste the name where it rested on the tip of her tongue, teasing her to the answers she so desperately sought.

The eyes had haunted her dreams since the day she arrived in the Box. They had lived within her head before she awoke to her new life. They were real. A glimpse of a memory she couldn't quite grasp. She knew it.

With a loud, frustrated groan, Katya stretched her sore limbs. The woolen blanket she'd tucked herself into the night before had fallen off the hard bed, leaving her exposed to the cool air. In spite of the cold, her skin was budded with pearls of sweat, soaking the thin fabric of the rags she wore. The dampness had turned her dark hair into a knot, itching at the back of her neck. She shuddered at the sensation.

She should just cut it all off. The thought came to her as she pushed herself up. It would be more practical. The idea had lingered in her mind for days. But the moment the thought had occurred, so had the voice. The tiny voice in the back of her mind that whispered not to do it because she'd be letting someone down. They always liked her hair long.

Of course, with none of her memories accessible, Katya had no idea who they were. Perhaps they were the owner of the green eyes, or perhaps they were no one at all. Perhaps they were herself. She had no way of knowing.

It was with great pleasure that Katya wiggled her way out of the sweat-soaked shorts and shirt she used for sleeping gear. And it was with significantly less pleasure that she pulled on her working clothes as a replacement. She grimaced as she pulled the plum-red sweater over her head, accidentally catching a whiff of the sour mixture of sweat, dirt and blood that reeked from it.

Supposedly, she would get used to the stench after a while. Until that happened, if it did at all, she was bound to mask her disgust to the best of her ability and swallow her gags.

Katya reached into the case of her lousy pillow, pulling out the tiny dagger she kept hidden there at night. It was no bigger than a butter knife, but sharp enough to be of use if she needed to protect herself. She tucked it into the piece of cloth she'd stolen from the kitchen a few days earlier, and stuffed it into her sock.

She unhooked her jacket from the hook by the doorframe and it twisted it on. The leather material was cold from the night, and sent chills down her spine. She could thank the wife splits in the walls for that. There were many words that could be used to describe the Homestead, but insulated definitely wasn't one of them.

Katya stepped out of her room, and into the narrow corridor outside. The planks creaked underneath her soles as she made her towards the stairs. She cringed with every creak that met her ears.

The staircase matched the corridor. It was equally as narrow, and the steps were as uneven as the rest of the Homestead. Even though she had walked up and down them countless times since her arrival, she still found herself taking caution with every step, almost awaiting the moment when it would collapse.

Outside, a blanket of thin fog coated the grass loosely, as on most mornings. Only a few rays of sunlight had managed to slip above the edge of the wall, and kissed the ground within the Glade. The rays illuminated certain parts of the fog, giving it an almost golden appearance. For a moment, it almost looked beautiful. Peaceful, even. That was far from the truth.

Katya absolutely despised the Glade. She hated the limited space; an area which by all means could be considered huge, yet felt intimately small to her. Often, she found herself wishing for the walls to vanish – something about the horizon being hidden from her sight left her anxious.

It was strange how she hated the walls, as she knew very well that their purpose went beyond trapping her inside of them – they were also meant to keep something out. She had gone to the window more than once to catch a glimpse of one. The thought of a spike-draped creature leaping into the Glade to tear her to shreds sent chills down her spine.

She hugged her jacket tighter to her body. The leather was still cold, and would give her no warmth until she had warmed it up with her body heat. She knew the Glade wouldn't provide much warmth for her either, not before the sun rose above the edge of the wall completely, and could fill it up with all its rays.

Seventeen. Seventeen days. That was how long she'd been there. The days had crawled by unbearably slow. She felt as though she'd been there forever. And yet, the memories of her arrival were still fresh in her mind, like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. It felt like only yesterday that she woke up in the darkness of the Box with no memory of who she was. She certainly didn't feel any wiser now than she had then.

The Glade was still just as much of a mystery to her as it had been on the day she first laid eyes on it. The sensation of being trapped still haunted her, consuming every thought thought that filled her. There was a fire looming within her that simply wouldn't die out. A determination set on vengeance, a thirst for whoever had done this to her to suffer. How she would quench this thirst went beyond her.

The cold bit her toes as she stomped her feet into her boots. Yet another day was on the horizon, and with it yet another urge to strangle herself.

"Just suck it up, Katya," she whispered to herself. "Just suck it up."

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A mildly irritated grunt sounded from across the kitchen as Katya slammed the bucket onto the counter. She grimaced as milk spilled over the edge, pooling onto the wooden surface.

"How many times have I told you to be careful with that?" Alby grumbled from where he towered the hissing frypan. His features were pulled into a deep scowl as his eyes glared holes in her skull.

Katya rolled her eyes, but shrunk slightly under his threatening glare nonetheless, "Sorry."

Alby was an easily irritated man. Most of the time, there were deep wrinkles to be found on his forehead, either in thought or in annoyance, which was strange for a boy in his late teens. If Katya was to guess, she'd say he was at least eighteen, perhaps even nineteen. Of course, he wasn't to much help on figuring that one out. His mind was as blank as hers.

That was what he'd told her, at the very least. Apparently he'd arrived in the Glade in the same way she had, exactly thirty days prior. She wasn't sure whether she believed him or not. With her memories erased and her surroundings unknown, she had every reason to suspect that the one other person present could have something to do with it. For a moment, the weight of the small blade hidden in her sock became significantly heavier. It was almost teasing her. If she pretended to be tying her shoe, she could easily slip it out and slit his throat before he'd even see it coming. She imagined how his blood would gush from the open wound and pool onto the floor, soaking his clothes as his body fell limp into the deep red puddle.

"What are you just standing there smiling for? The milk ain't gonna clean itself up."

Torn out of her thoughts, Katya blinked. She hadn't realized she was smiling. Hurriedly, she whirled around so that her back was turned on him, her cheeks heating up.

She pulled out a cloth and started cleaning up the spilled milk.

It wasn't the first time her thoughts had drifted off and taken the shape of something awful. She often caught herself in the act of picturing unspeakable things. And yet, she was equally as shocked every time it happened.

The daydreams encouraged her theory about the purpose of the Glade and her memory loss. She was convinced it was a punishment. In her former life, she had committed a crime so serious and endangering that whatever authorities existed in that life had decided the best way to protect the world from the evil inside her was by wiping her memory and keeping her isolated. It bothered her to think that the world she came from was messed up enough to be capable of such a thing, even if it was done to a criminal. It also bothered her that if her theory was correct, it would have to mean that Alby was in the same boat. Yet another reason not to trust the guy.

"It probably wouldn't kill you to talk to me."

Alby's voice interrupted her thoughts once again. And once again, Katya rolled her eyes at the words he spoke.

"It wouldn't kill me not to talk to you either," she shot down coolly.

He let out an ungracious, somewhat humored snort. In the corner of her eye, Katya swore she even saw the smallest hint of a smile. "Touché."

Katya didn't respond. Frankly, she had no interest in making conversation with a man she didn't trust.

She poured the milk into two metal cups and handed one to Alby, eyeing him carefully as he accepted it. She watched as he placed egg and bacon, which in truth probably wasn't really bacon, on a wooden plate for her. Her muscles tensed as he held it out for her. It was as though she awaited the moment when he'd lash out, readying herself to fight him at every move he made.

Reluctantly, she took the plate. He picked up his own, and carried it to the table. She frowned as he turned his concentration to the food, shoving the eggs into his mouth as though he'd never seems food before.

Her rapidly beating heart sunk in her chest. It was almost disappointing that he hadn't tried anything yet. She couldn't make any sense of it, but the part of her that wasn't concerned regarding whether Alby was her enemy or not, was practically rooting for him to be so.

Katya grabbed her breakfast. Without a word, she marched out of the kitchen, determined not to spend a minute longer with Alby than she needed to.

"You can't sit around and sulk in the woods forever, ya know," he yelled after her, his voice annoyed.

This time it was Katya's turn to snort, "Watch me."