A/N: I'm currently trying out two stories and this is the first. I had already written a lot of it a while ago so if there is interest, updates will probably come very quickly!

Just to let you know, this story is set in a made-up village called Keersha in a made-up country called Nivar. I hope nobody minds :).

*Just to let you know, I updated the current chapters in order to try and remove some of the mistakes that were annoying me and probably you too. There are probably still loads and for that I'm very sorry!*

Forbidden

1.

All the way home no one told me that my shawl was slipping from my shoulders. No wonder everyone was staring! I really need to make more of an effort to cover myself from vision so that no one can identify me. That old hag, Jaina, told everyone that I made her foot swell up the other day. She doesn't even know that I tried to heal it for her, asked the Spirits to do something. I even went and got some izmi from a tree for her, and that cost me too many scratches to the ankle.

Agh, she won't come to visit me anyway. She's one of the 'all-knowing'. She wouldn't dare sneak over to get some treatment.

These villagers don't appreciate any culture or background other than their own, they don't even want to learn. Mother says that they don't know any better, so who can blame them? I think that really they do know better.

I chop up three purple geras into exactly twenty-four pieces and stir it into mother's tea. She'll moan and complain but it's the only way she'll get better. I ask for the Spirits' blessing as I stir, and take it to her room. The room is dark as the shutter is closing away the hot sun, but the floor still burns my feet. It's so difficult to keep away the heat, and there's no way that I can constantly sit by Mother's side, and fan for hours and hours.

"Neda," she whispers when she sees my silhouette.

"It's alright, mother, I have your tea."

I sit on the edge of her bed and she lifts up her head as far as it is able to move. She takes a sip of her tea, before spitting it back out at me.

"You know I hate this, Neda!"

"You have to drink it, to make you feel better. The Spirits insist on it."

"The Spirits want me to die, Neda. I've told you time…" she stops to cough violently, "and time again. There's nothing left for me now. They want me to die!"

"I want you to live," I say, forcing her to carry on drinking. "You're the only person in the world who understands me, you taught me everything I know."

"Yes." Mother nods with closed eyes. "Everything, so that you can manage on your own."

She finishes her drink and goes back to sleep within seconds. I sit and watch her for a good half hour, trying to stop any tears from coming to my eye.

What if she's right?

Maybe the Spirits want her to die, want me to be alone. Then what can I do?

I kiss Mother on the forehead and move out of her room. A mosquito bites me on the arm as I attempt to wash the cup, and the tap refuses to let out any water. I grow irritated and throw the cup back into the sink before I move away to cut some more herbs, scratching away at the mosquito bite and continuously asking the Spirits to look after Mother, begging them to let her live, pleading with them that I keep my only companion in the world.

"So, here we are, John," Oliver smiles, patting me on the back. "Keersha, an exotic village of the past and the present combined!"

I look around, all I can see is a market. People hurrying about everywhere waving away flies and not really looking where they're going. I don't see anything exotic at all and I want to go home.

"Isn't it just astounding to be here?"

Oliver is genuinely excited. He says we're here to 'investigate the secrets of Nivarian life', when I think it should be left alone. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for visiting new places and seeing new things, but Oliver's got his hopes up on this one. There's nothing for us to find here.

"Hello, good friend!" Oliver stops us as we walk and rolls up his sleeves in excitement. The cart driver gives him an odd glance. "Do you speak English?"

The cart driver narrows his eyes in confusion before saying something in Nivarian.

"Never mind." Oliver smiles, and he goes to the next man. The same thing happens and he moves on, and then the same thing happens again and we move on.

This is ridiculous. We're in a tiny Nivarian village and we cannot expect anyone to be able to speak English.

"You," a voice calls and we turn to see an old skinny man seated at the front of another cart. "You English! I speak English. I good. You come with me."

"Excellent." Oliver smiles. "We'll be at the guest house in no time."

---

In truth, the old man is taking his time to get to the guest house, and all the way he natters on and on, proud of his skills in the English language.

"Yes, few people speak English in Keersha. I clever, I speak English. I take you to guest house. Not long way from here. No, not long way."

I look around me, there are small little houses everywhere and people wandering around and nattering like the old man. Old women are huddled together, constantly shading their eyes from the sun and looking angry. Old men are seated outside their homes, playing cards or napping. The few young people that my eyes catch are simply wasting time, I notice a couple of teenage boys playing football on one of the streets, before another old woman comes and shouts at them.

"Why you here?" The cart driver asks. Great, this is going to get Oliver started.

"Well we want to know everything about this village," Oliver starts, before he begins his lecture on our Journalist work and the mysteries 'we' think this village holds. It's all nonsense.

"English people come here not often," the old man says when Oliver's finished. "It's good to see you. You want to know 'mysteries'. What they?"

As Oliver starts to explain about the rumours, I notice a mosquito flying towards my arm. I bat it away furiously, not paying attention to anything other than this frustrating occurrence until I hear the old man laugh.

"Ah, those 'mysteries'," he says. "We have many these. You choose right place. Keersha best place in Nivar for 'mysteries'."

He's exaggerating, obviously. I don't know why we couldn't have stayed in Biseeya for longer; that was a great Nivarian city.

"What do you know?" asks Oliver.

"Oh, you will see," says the old man. "It against Spirits to say. You must see yourself. You will see, you will see."

Oliver gives a little sigh in excitement, and I just look around again. All I see are these tiny houses, and all these people idly sitting and talking and doing nothing that will help us. I never though I'd be so frustrated to be here.

The guest house is a shack. It's small and full of flies and there are only three guest rooms in the whole building. It differs highly from the large and stunning guest houses of Biseeya. The man at the desk looks like he's got nothing better to do in his entire life than to sort out three keys.

"You in first one," he says, handing over one key to Oliver.

"You in second one," he says, handing over another to me.

I bet we're the first guests he's had in ages.

"Breakfast at 9. Dinner at 8. You dress normal. No English stuff."

I whisper to Oliver, "if we can't wear 'English' stuff, then what can we wear?"

"He means we can't dress formally," Oliver explains. "He's being polite, saying we don't need to bother."

I don't see why we would; there are only two of us in the whole place anyway.

"See you at breakfast." The man goes off somewhere and we have to make our own way to our rooms.

My room is small, like everything else here. There is one single bed with an itchy blanket, a lumpy pillow and a mattress as hard as the stone walls. There's also a small chest of drawers and a sink. That's it.
I go to the window and open the shutters to hear the noise of this small village. All I can really hear is the odd moving cart and a few calls from old women. It differs so much from the exciting hustle and bustle of Biseeya. The carts that move quickly and numerously, the calls of the men who have proper work to do, the children laughing in the streets. Everything that this idle village does not have was there.

A loud bang comes to the door, and I open it to see a young boy holding a tray with a glass of water and some of those odd Lyrian biscuits.

"Thank you," I say, and I drop a few coins into his hand. The boy mumbles what I think is a thank you in reply, and runs off.

"Is this not the start of an amazing experience? This village has so much to offer for us, did you hear the man driving the cart? There must be so many fascinating things going on if they cannot even talk about it for fear of the Spirits!" Oliver almost shrieks in excitement a little later in the evening.

"Surely you realise that the old man was exaggerating?" I mumble, trying to get the last few drops of water out of my glass.

"Of course not, John. Why else would I come here? Dragged you here? Do you not think that after everything that the people in Biseeya told us, there must be something here?"

"There doesn't seem to be much," I reply. Oliver frowns.

"Of course not, you fool. We have to look beneath the covering! That's why it's so exciting! Imagine what everyone back home will say when we reveal the real truths of this tiny little village- it will make a great story!"

I nod slightly and lie on my bed.

"I guess I'll leave you now then," Oliver mutters, a little more subdued. "Let you rest so we can start tomorrow."

I don't say anything and he silently goes away.

What we can actually start with tomorrow I have no idea.

Please let me know what you think! Reviews will be greatly appreciated :).