Chapter Two: Dreams and Hopes

What was home for Marra was different from what was home for other children. Home, for Marra, was a place where people with aberration flock and do freak things together. In home, it’s natural to see whores walking around naked or mercenaries with big broad swords trudging on the streets with clothes soaked with fresh blood. Murder was among one of the less shocking daily routine here. Nearly once every week there would be newcomers, and in the same week, there would be tens of people dead due to disease or sickness or maybe murders.

In here, Marra often saw people with three eyes or on one occasion, a whopping five. She had seen a person with legs attached on his torso and hands on his butt. She also had seen people with no magic power and the most aberrated of all, people who needed to kill to satisfy their own needs. These aberrations were their Shames, the things that had gotten them banished from the place where they were supposed to belong. But all she had was blue colored blood and she’s deemed as the most shameful of all.

Marra ignored some catcalls that the local boys threw at her and trudged to the only place where she was not in danger of being hurt: The Grindel’s Cave.

Like the name suggested, it was a cave, albeit a very big and cozy one. The level of coziness might vary among different people. They who were used to real bed wouldn’t like it here, but children like Marra, who weren’t strong enough to be mercenaries and too bony to be whores, found this place a haven.

Marra slipped out the meat and then brought it along with her, deliberately swaying it more than it was necessary. Her mind was making up some stories about her adventure here. She might add a bit of her heroic points and made the enemies stronger. The bulky guy, for sure, would be the Constable of Honor, and his brothers would be at least five years older than they actually were.

Who knows, maybe that way she could get a double dinner.

She put on a weary mask, one that would elicit sympathy and questions. She then entered the cave and put the meat on display.

The cave looked like a raw cave except there were sheets lied everywhere for children to sleep. Their keeper Grindel didn’t live here herself, even the cave was too much a filth for her. But she made sure that she trained the kids to pilfer and when they’re older, to kill or to seduce people. Every three days a kid would be sent out to the People’s land to steal some food, and this week it was Marra’s turn.

Upon seeing her entering, the children of all ages and shapes cheered. Knowing full well that Marra had done better than the last kid, she allowed herself a beam.

“Fresh meat for you, my radiant friends,” she said. “We’ll dine on delight tonight!”

‘And with a meat of yours truly’s gut smell’, she added to herself.

More cheering aired on, making Marra’s head inflated. Grindel herself was actually smiling as she saw her, a good sign because despite her kindness, Grindel had difficulty stretching her mouth into even the slightest smile.

As always, the old woman was crossing all her four legs on the very back of the cave, shrouded by her usual cloud of smoke. She was all wrinkles and skin, nearly no meat and had she didn’t sound like a woman, one would doubt her gender. Her eyes, however, were still a pair of strong orbs the color of the sea. They’re the only indicator that one shouldn’t mess with Grindel.

“Marra, you’re bleeding!” cried one of the younger children.

Marra had been waiting for this moment. “Oh, yeah. The Constable of Honor found out about my little theft and then ventured to catch me.”

This little teaser got them all hooked, and then Marra proceeded to tell the story, from time to time exaggerating and adding great details in the right places. No one would ever find out. Nearly all of them didn’t have even half of her guts. They couldn’t even bear People shouting at them, they’d lost all their nerves and ran straight back here empty handed.

After she finished her story, Grindel took her aside for a private conversation. There was no place in the cave where they could speak without being eavesdropped, so Grindel took her to the nearest inn. Marra’s feet felt giddy. She had always liked inns. There was the constant smell of the food, the crowd, and of course, the food itself!

Unfortunately, Grindel only ordered one drink. And that’s definitely not for Marra.

“So, kid,” Grindel started. Her deep blue eyes searched for hers and when they locked eyes, Grindel intensified her gaze. “How old are you again?”

“Twelve, ma’am.”

“Twelve and how many months?”

Now, this was easy. While not many liked to count their days in the Village of Aberration, Marra had always been waiting for her thirteenth birthday.

“Eleven months and three days, ma’am.”

“Which means in twenty seven days you’ll be leaving the child’s life,” Grindel said. “which means you’ll be starting your very first ‘real’ day in the village.”

Marra tried to hold her horses. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You sound very excited,” Grindel noted, one eyebrow was lowered down.

“Yes, ma’am,” Marra was so ecstatic her quivered. Noticing this, she dug her nails to her palms and then tried to control herself. “I’d very much like to learn other things aside from purloin and running away, ma’am.”

“What I taught you was neither of them.”

“My mistake, ma’am. What you taught us was ‘survival’ in the form of purloin and running away, ma’am.”

Grindel’s drinks came and she downed a big gulp, her mouth was twitching. “Don’t call me ma’am at the end of your every sentence.”

But nearly thirteen years ago, when she found Marra freezing on the streets, she told her to always call her with all due respect. ‘Ma’am’, Grindel had said, ‘would be the safest bet’.

Despite her silent protest, Marra nodded. “No problem, your gracious highness.”

“So have you thought what you want to be?”

A performer. Someone widely known. Someone popular. Someone liked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, O Most Modest.”

Grindel’s eyes twitched. “I see you always have an invariable amount of good luck when it comes to stealing people’s goods. Have you considered being a thief, then?”

Marra tried her best to keep her expression straight. Being a thief wasn’t so bad, especially when one’s trained in this place. Most of the thieves Marra saw and witnessed led wonderful lives full of gold and treasures. The problem was they always worked under the shadows and their glory would end the moment they couldn’t run on minimum 50mph. It was a short career.

“Now that I wasn’t so sure, O The Vigorous and the Zestful,” Marra enunciated the last six words with deliberate slowness. “You see, my feet tend to not function properly when used in regularity.”

Now, that was a lie, of course.. Marra’s feet were very much in good shape, thanks to those years of running away and sneaking around and getting chased. She just didn’t feel she would like going after that routine all her live.

“You’re pretty good with knife, too. A mercenary, then?”

“That’s very generous, My Magnanimous Minder, but I’m afraid I’d die seeing blood. You see, my eyes haven’t been very kind to me.”

Another lie. And this time, Grindel was seeing through it.

“Do you know how liars and trickster like you are treated here?” she asked, her voice was unnecessarily harsh.

Marra sensed that this wasn’t going well, but she played along with it. “And how is that, my knowledgeable mentor?”

“They get killed,” Grindel practically spat the words. “Brutally. We might be dirty and violent, but we hate tricksters and liars. Remind us of the People and their filthy nobles.”

Marra wasn’t sure if Grindel was trying to personally attack her or not. Again she draped her hand across her wound. Blue blood was staining her palm, and she’s determined not to show anyone her open palm before she washed every last stain of it.

“I see.”

For once, Grindel wasn’t complaining when she didn’t hear any of the suffixes.

“Now, think about it, and tell me your plans in a week. I hope you choose well, Marra. I know you’re smart.”

And with a dismissive wave, Grindel sent Marra away to the streets.

-

Marra wandered around the Village (of course, after washing her hands), not really paying attention where her feet would bring her. Grindel said that she should think about it, but her mind wasn’t going back to her head. It’s flying somewhere else, capturing dreams in the open sky. Marra looked at a couple of guys who were trying to drag their (very possibly stolen) horse. An identical look of satisfaction was splayed clearly on their faces despite the mark of horse hooves on their arms.

If she were to be a thief, then she’d probably end up like this. Aiming low and having a low life. She didn’t like that. If she wanted to be a criminal, she had to be something big. Something sought all over the place.

Another man was hobbling slowly to the inn, his clothes all black and his face showed immense fatigue. There was a barely seethed sword clung on his back and his hands draped over his bleeding abdomen. Only one glance and Marra knew that this man was a mercenary coming back from his task.

The mercenary didn’t hobble for very long, because a few steps away from the inn he’s aiming, he fell and didn’t wake up again. Smart bystanders who realized that he was already dead quickly clustered all round him, taking turns getting whatever valuable things he might had. Mercenaries always got paid pretty well, especially when their jobs involved murder. It only took the villagers five minutes before the mercenary was left nearly naked and absolutely alone. Dead.

Unconsciously, Marra sucked in air. It didn’t felt good. The dead body wasn’t far from her and even when he’s dead for only a few minutes, the atmosphere around it had turned sour. The air felt like there’s something pungent lingering in it.

If she were to choose between the two available jobs, she’d probably pick as a mercenary. She knew she had the skills for it. She knew how to use knives and swords, and she also knew the name of the fire. That quality alone had already made great contribution to her career. But then again, the thought of dying alone and having hounds eating her dead meat didn’t ring nice to her ears.

Marra made another turn to the wealthier part of the village. Even when considered wealthy, these people were nothing like the common commoners on the Land. The village had been a place to dump nobles with no powers or criminals or disabled People. Why the hell anyone would give a fig about them? They all could die due to some kind of contagious diseases or due to a brutal killing spree, and no one would bother spreading the word around. No one would come to help the sick or the wounded. More death here means more food for the rest of the villagers and less criminals for the People.

Suddenly Marra’s insides felt funny. She noticed this as an urgent feeling that always occurred when she felt angered or emotionally burdened. Judging from experience, it wouldn’t take long before she lost controls of herself and shoot fireballs to every direction.

When she was younger, Marra used to just wait for the fireballs to come and just shoot it to the tree or other trashes (there were a lot of them here). But as she grew, she learned that the people here hated Durres like her. They hated people who could use the Elementali, and they loathed people with blue blood.

Marra ran uphill then, the place for elders waiting for their deaths. Marra ignored the pleas and the constant complains that these old people let out when they saw her coming, and kept heading to the top of the hill. When she got there, the Feeling had gotten so strong she felt the need to rip her hair out. She then succumbed to It, and then let her palms got hot. In that moment, everything seemed to be a slow-motion to her. The chattering mouths felt like stopped mouths, the winds got slowed down, and even the clouds swept away, making a room for her. Letting out a cry, Marra hurled two huge fireballs to the sky, and in that instant, her knees turned to jelly as she had poured out every last ounce of her energy.

Marra saw her products flew to the sky, each was like a rock covered with blue-ish fire that never seemed to cease. Marra expected both of them to collide and made a quite impressive firework, but that didn’t happen.

Something else, something out of ordinary happened instead.

There was a sudden gust of ember came from below, and it’s so strong that both of Marra’s fire died before it could crash with each other. The whooshing sound was prominent on her ears, and it didn’t take long before the sound took a turn to be a shrilling shriek of fire chasing for her.

Marra’s eyes widened, she knew what would become of her if she didn’t run but her feet had been weakened so that she couldn’t even move it. The bulky boy somehow came to her mind and in the scarce time left she had, she threw both of her arms to the sky, absorbing oxygen around her to make a protective shield.

It worked, but the fire was too strong for her armor to take, and she was too tired to create a stronger one. The shield broke down. Marra closed her eyes, hoping for the worst-

-and felt nothing.

After waiting for some more time, Marra dared herself to open one eye. She had been holding her breath and when she finally could exhale, her muscles relaxed. The fire somehow gone, same like how the three boys somehow gone.

And like before, the same voice boomed to her again. This time, it wasn’t a mockery but instead a battle-cry. A young girl, probably her age, jumped from below the hill and then tackled her upfront. Marra wasn’t prepared for this and ended up lying on her back, her chest heavy because the girl was placing her feet right above it.

“You can’t run again,” she said. Under the direct glance of the sunray she seemed so big and divine.

Marra flailed, but in vain. She was far too weak and the opponent was too strong for her. The peculiar way the wind had behaved indicated that her opponent was a Durre, and for Marra, it wasn’t a good thing. Made it harder for her to win.

“What do you want?!” she spat the words.

But the moment after she finished, another thought concurred to her mind.

How in the name of Hardeeth did she get into the village?!

“What my master wants is for you to go back to the palace,” the girl said. “What I want is for you to somehow drop dead and begone forever.”

Marra didn’t like the tone the girl used. It’s like there’s some unresolved matter lingering between them, when in fact there was none. “I like your master’s bidding better.”

“You should realize that your position doesn’t allow you many options,” she countered, but she let go of her feet. Marra shifted her whole body, as if checking if all was still whole. She got up into a sitting position, her eyes squinting as she tried to make out the face of her attacker.

Turned out that her previous guess was right. The girl was in no way older than her. Most probably younger, even! Her blonde hair was cropped short to just below her neck and her rather pale skin was more of an evidence that she was one of them People. Marra wasn’t convinced, though, since only few People bothered to get here.

So Marra searched for the girl’s wrist. Everyone that had lived with even a little degree of permanence in the village would have some kind of an incision on their left wrist, a mark of their indispensable chagrin. The mark would be in a shape of ‘O’ letter with thorns snaking on its outline.

The girl had nothing even close resembling to a tattoo.

Uh-oh. Now the option of running away seemed like the only option she had.

Marra only could shift her hand a little further when there was an invisible rope tied all around her. “Don’t even think about it,” the girl said.

Marra turned her attention to her. “You can’t expect me to play nice and hang on your every word after attacking me!”

“Well, you can’t expect me to play all nice to you after seeing you running away from me for saving your life.”

Marra’s brain cells showed her the previous scenes in which she just ran away after the girl beat those three boys up. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “What are you talking about?” she tried to lie her way out of it. “I’ve been in the village for years! I don’t even know you.”

The girl snorted. Marra almost thought that she’s enjoying this. “Whether or not that cowardice redhead was you, I don’t care,” she said. “All I care now is, your blood is blue, your hair is red, and your hands can produce fire.”

Oh. Oh! Marra held the urge to spit to the girl. So she was one of those bloody hunters whose main targets were abandoned nobles. Petty ungrateful people who seized nobles for the sake of their blue-blood which rumors said could serve as a remedy.

Marra’s brain whirled hard to remember any of the spells she’d learned. There weren’t many, but she was sure that the ones she remembered would come in handy had she ever got involved to a situation like this. Finally she remembered one wicked spell that would bind her attackers to their own shadows. Marra concentrated hard, remembering in which page she had read about this. Her mind raced to a few years back, the old books she stole from the Land’s library, the excitements she felt when she saw some interesting spells. The outrage that many of her people released when they found out.

No, no, don’t stray away. Stay to the object. Find the right spells.

The girl kept saying other things, but this time Marra wasn’t inclined to hear any of it. She would shut this girl’s mouth up. And she would do it in the most torturous way.

Ah! The Shadow-Binding Spell!

Marra closed her eyes, and then murmured the words that came to her head. The spell was a long one, and as the result her body became even wearier than before. She felt as if she had just done a hard labor work for three days nonstop.

The spell, however, worked quite well, seeing as to how the invisible knot loosened around her, releasing her free. Marra’s first instinct was to flee, but then again, the condition of her body didn’t allow her. It didn’t matter. The girl wouldn’t be able to do anything until dark, anyway. A smirk blossomed across her face as she glanced at the bellowing blonde. The last thing Marra saw before blacking out was the girl’s screaming face as she resisted her own shadow capturing her feet.

AN:

Oh yeah, this story is actually the revised version of 'The Others', my fantasy story which is more focused on drama. The characters are like, 4 years older and thus there will be romance... which I don't really like to write...

anyway, thanks for reading!