Stephania merely turned her head up at all of them.
By now, Dalton and Stephania could start to smell the fresh meat, herbs, and wheat, along with the tantalizing smell of baked bread and cooked potatoes. They could also detect the fresh spring-like aroma of the assorted flowers, including roses, lilies, and buttercups.
They strolled nonchalantly through the bustling market, taking samples of the food and feeling the fine clothes and other products.
Stephania wilted under the judging, hateful gazes she drew from all the townsfolk. She wished she had brought her hood so she could pull it over her face and disappear. Instead, she pulled her hair down around her face, peeking out every now and then. She took a few deep breaths. You don’t need to hide. There is nothing for you to dislike about yourself, no matter what other people say. Nothing. She repeated the words Dalton had said over and over to her while growing up. I have nothing to hide. She closed her eyes and imagined putting on her mask. She shouldn’t fear them. They should fear her. The strength of anger flooded through her, and she threw her head back, banishing her hair from her face. A few people spat at her feet, but she only sneered and turned her head up at them.
As she and Dalton entered the middle of the market, the whole bazaar fell silent, except for those few who pointed and whispered at her. All eyes turned to her. A dog whined at one of the booths.
Her eyes narrowed, sparkling red in the suns’ bright light. She glared at a few people until they could no longer hold her gaze, moving from person to person until she had made it clear she was finished being stared at. A few of the townspeople scurried away, wanting to put as much distance between her and them as they could.
Slowly, the market shuddered back to life as the people continued their duties, although less energetically; whatever positive energy the market had possessed earlier now seemed forced and superficial. Though the villagers appeared to be ignoring her, they always had one eye on her, watching, as if she were a snake about to strike.
A wave of confidence washing over her, she smirked and strode proudly through the booths and small stores as she and Dalton purchased the necessities for the week. Though Stephania was quiet when they were purchasing their goods, and Dalton was always the one doing the negotiating, the sellers never ceased to become very nervous when she walked up. Usually, they wouldn’t look at her for more than a brief second, hurrying the buying process as much as they could so she would leave.
When the last of their products had been bought and they turned to make their way home, a loud, obnoxiously egotistic voice rang out over the crowd.
“I see that you had the guts to show your repulsive face here in the market, spark head.”
Her stomach twisted. She knew that voice. Go die in a hole, she remembered it whispering to her. I bet no one would even notice you missing. Tears stung her eyes. Yes, she knew that voice well. It was Jackson. Her first instinct was to run—to run all the way home, lock the doors behind her, and hide. But she had done that before. He had caught up to her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she shoved the memory away. She could beg. Beg that he forgive what she had said to him last time. A tear escaped her eye.
Her skin crawled. Her hands balled into fists. She hated him. Oh, she hated every inch of him to Susahu and back. I told him that if he did it again, I would ground him into a pulp and leave him for the vultures to eat. If only she could! If only she had a sword. She wouldn’t have to run away. A streak of light blinded her eye, and she found its source—a blacksmithing shop. Two brand new swords were hanging out front. Anger heated her blood. A smile flickered across her face before being washed away in cold-blooded hate. Today she wouldn’t run.
Her eyes blazing, she whirled around to face him.
He was tall, and rather muscular for his age, only a year older than Stephania herself. As if in a bid to constantly mock her, his medium-length brown hair was the most common type of hair color, and he loved to remind Stephania of this.
“Jackson,” Stephania replied coldly, her voice dripping with near seduction. “Do you remember what I said would happen to you if you mocked me again?” Her eyes batted almost childishly, as if she were begging him to pick a fight. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her head throbbed. Come on, you brute. Take the bait.
Jackson spread his hands wide, a lazy, self-absorbed smile spreading across his face. “Oh, sure I do. After all, it was so terrifying of you to say such a gruesome, violent thing, and I just quake with the fear of what you might do to me.” He made a show of being scared stupid of her. His cronies guffawed loudly.
She rolled her eyes and placed her fists on her hips.
“Look, little girl.” He was dead serious now.
A flicker of fear flashed through her at his tone.
In only a few strides, he was standing only a few inches from her, his hot breath on her face. She was unable to move—unable to step back, to run away, or push him away. Her head spun nauseously.
“I’d appreciate it if you would just realize that no matter what little ‘threat’ you throw at me, you’re just going to be a helpless little demon baby like you’ve always been.” His lips almost touched her ear, his whisper like nails on glass.
Demon baby. She felt his hot breath on her skin and his hand and knees pinning her to the dirt. She was unable to scream, unable to move when he raised his fist. Pain exploded in her head. Darkness then blood covered her vision. Her ears rang. She tasted blood in her mouth. She screamed, kicked, and struggled, but she was too weak to stop the beating. She was alone, so alone. It was dark. The pain was unbearable.
A barking dog wrenched her from her thoughts. She licked her sweaty lips. Jackson’s eyes still stared challengingly down into hers.
She wasn’t beaten, bleeding, and bruised. Not yet. Not this time. Her breathing steadied. The knot of fear loosened. Rage coursed through her. There is nothing for you to dislike about yourself, no matter what other people say. Nothing. Enough was enough.
“What’re going to do, spell-weaver?”
She wanted to punch out his toothy grin.
“Helpless baby!” Jackson’s friends joined in jeeringly. “Yeah, little demon!” “Spell-weaver!”
She glanced just slightly to her right, locking eyes with Dalton. He was still, poised like a wolf before striking. She knew he was ready to protect her. She turned back to Jackson. Don’t worry, Dalton. I’m not weak anymore.
People began to back away as the tense atmosphere grew violent around them; a vicious energy emitted from Stephania.
Stephania spat on the ground by Jackson's feet. “You think I make idle threats, boy?”
He opened his arms mockingly and stepped back from her, taunting her. His eyes glinted. He relished that she wasn’t backing down. He wanted a fight. “Who are you calling ‘boy’? I’m older than you, and you’re nothing but a wuss. A weak, little girl.”
Dalton melted into the shadows to wait, his eyes shining proudly. Subconsciously, she felt him watching her and she knew that while he wanted to protect her, he knew this was her fight. He wouldn’t intervene unless he absolutely had to, and this time, she would make sure he wouldn’t need to.
Stephania whirled around, her hands balled into fists and her eyes flashing angrily. Little demon baby. She turned to the blacksmith shop and pulled the two swords from the rack. A sly grin spread across her face. The cliff before the unknown in her mind was just under her feet; beyond the edge was instinct—the one that felt like home. She took a deep breath and stepped out. Perhaps I’ll show him just what a demon can do.
Without warning, she threw one at Jackson. He caught it and laughed. “You wish to fight me, girl?”
Stephania adopted a ready stance and flexed her muscles, popping her neck and back. She was already sore and exhausted from the morning, but she could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was Stephania, demon of New-Fars, and she wasn’t going to let fatigue get in the way of revenge. She closed her eyes and rolled her head
in a circle to loosen her muscles. Images sporadically flashed before her. She couldn’t tell if they were memories or a message or both. She strived to reach for them, but they fled from her. They felt like the instinct, as if the instinct was one with the images and they were all a part of something deeper within her.
She remembered every hateful thing Jackson and his friends had shouted at her. She remembered every time his skin had bruised hers. And she remembered how it had made her feel—angry, bitter, humiliated, alone, despised, fearful. It was time he felt it too.
A new strength flowed through her. Her eyes snapped open; they were glowing pits of bright, gleaming red: fire dancing in them. The pendent on her neck seemed to be burning with a similar energy, pulsating and burning like a heart of fire. She directed her burning hate toward him, willing it to somehow reach him.
Jackson’s eyes widened. A grimace twisted his face as if he were in pain. He spat on the dust road and rolled his shoulders as if he were trying to rid himself of an unwanted plague.
A victorious sneer decorated her lips and she raised her sword. “On guard, commoner.”
He quickly collected himself. “What could you possibly do to me, girl? I’m the best in New-Fars.” A chuckle parted his lips. “But if it’s a fight you want, I can’t deny a lady, now could I?” His goons howled with laughter. “On guard, spark head.” He returned the insult with a flourish of his sword. “Perhaps you’ll finally learn your place, demon.”
Lunging at him, she swung her sword in an arc and hit his with the flat of her blade. The move seemed childish, but if one had looked at her sure, flawless stance, and the ease which she had swung the heavy weapon, one would have instantly known that she was merely testing the strength and reflexes of her opponent.
Jackson was a very strong man, and the sword she had provided him was well-made. However, neither of these were a match for her. She smirked.
“This is child's play. What are you going to do? Bang on my sword all day until you exhaust your anger and yourself?” Though he jeered loudly, the confidence was draining out of his voice and eyes.
His friends laughed, but Stephania was no longer affected by the mockery. Now she had a way to fight back. She smiled a heartless smile that, despite how full of himself Jackson was, made his arrogant sneer falter and made fear dull his eyes.
“No. No, child’s play today, boy. Today you learn to fight like a man.” She smiled seductively and motioned in front of herself, half bowing in respect. “Now, we fight.”
Jackson was fuming. He rolled his eyes, his bullish confidence and anger oozing from him again as his cronies goaded them on.
Stephania’s mocking laugher rang throughout the market and drew more spectators to the fight.
“First, I will go over the basics.” Her voice was gentle, as if she were talking to a very young child. She then quickly proceeded to perform some very basic sword thrusts. It took all her self-control not to defeat him right away. I will, but only after he tastes humiliation. Just a little longer.
At first, he tried to brush it off with mockery and laughter, but his joviality was fading as a wretched realization settled over his face. He quickly aimed a few intricate swipes at her, his footwork quick and fancy.
She merely blocked his attacks as if they were flies. His elaborate show of skill appeared silly next to her casual, calculated steps.
“Very good, Jackson,” A honeyed grin spread across her face, the smile failing to travel to her eyes. She lost focus of people around her; they began to fade until all she saw was Jackson in excruciating detail. She could almost feel his heavy, nervous breath and clearly see the cold sweat that collected on his brow. “Not bad for a commoner. Now I'm going to give you a few things to work on.”
“Like what?” He spat at her feet. “Like how to block a child holding a stick?” He laughed, but it was nervous.
“Not quite, boy. More like this.”
She feigned a strike to the left and then whacked him sharply on the shoulder. Taking advantage of his pain, she followed up with gently jabbing him in the ribs. Masterfully, she blocked a thrust from him. She looped her sword around his, batting it out of the way, before slapping him on the thighs, just like Dalton had done so many times to her.
By now, his face was as red as the tomatoes in one of the many farmers’ booths. He was trying desperately to gain the upper hand, but to no avail. His sword had not even touched her skin, though hers had given him some nasty bruises, which would most likely show for a couple weeks, along with a few minor cuts.
“Now that you have something to practice, I'm going to show how a real swordsman fights.” Stephania’s smile was cold and unfeeling with no mercy. Whatever playfulness had been in her stance, words, and face was gone, replaced with a burning hate and a lust for revenge. No longer will I cower. Feel my pride. Feel my hate!
Before he could prepare himself, she spun around, bringing her sword in an arc around her head, her red hair flying everywhere and her skirt swirling around her ankles. The bright shining blade crashed into Jackson's, creating a shower of sparks; the sheer force of the strike nearly knocked him off his feet.
Effortlessly, she unleashed the same volley of thrusts and cuts with which she had defeated Dalton. Her feet danced on the packed dirt, light as a feather, barely touching the ground. She looked gentle and delicate, but her sword hissed through the air, its keen edge begging for death.
Jackson's eyes were wide with terror. Rivers of sweat darkened his brow and soaked his shirt.
Her eyes pierced into his soul.
Now he realized that she wasn't human. She was something more—something much more powerful. She was something he hated and feared deep down, but something that also brought him a strange peace and awe, as if his very soul were content with this new knowledge.
Blow after blow she laid on him until, with a powerful strike, she threw him to the ground. His sword flew through the air. The crowd around them screamed and scattered, afraid that they would be impaled.
The sword speared one of the blacksmith’s posts, vibrating as it wobbled back and forth.
A snarl decorated her face as her eyes burned into his. He couldn’t look away. He whimpered. She pressed her sword tip under his quivering chin and drew a drop of blood. As gasp of pain parted his lips, she said, “Today, you have my mercy, boy, but next time, my threat will prevail.”
Turning, she stalked away from the defeated man and nearly shoved her way through the parting crowd, though most of the people jumped out of her way, making a path through their crowded bodies. She didn’t look back once at Jackson as he struggled to his feet, sliding in the dust, before he slunk into the crowd, trying desperately to hide his shame.
Chapter 14
Dalton’s Home
New-Fars, Human Domain
Nearly 13 Years Earlier
Father?” A little redhead peeked around the corner.
Dalton looked up from the drawing at his fingertips, carefully putting down his pen. “Stephania?”
The dark eyes, barely visible from around the door, blinked slowly. “May I come in?”
A smile crept across his face. He chuckled and carefully rolled up the half-finished map, sliding it into a drawer in the desk.
“Of course. Come here.”
Timidly, she opened the door wider and stepped through, her footsteps soft on the heavy carpet. Her eyes roamed for a moment over the tall shelves full of books, some big, some small, some covered in dust.
A single stream of light poured in from the lone circular window high above the shelves and bounced off the dusty air.
Dalton patted his lap, and Stephania struggled up, pulling herself onto his knee. His strong, gentle hands steadied her. “Stephania, I’m not actually your father.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.” She played with one of the drawstrings of his thick, warm shirt.
“Your parents, Stephania, were killed in ambush while they were traveling to the Domain.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “They knew it would be safer if you stayed with me.”
“Then, who are you?” Her innocent eyes pierced into his soul.
He looked away. Emotion rose in his throat. Who am I? Even he no longer knew. It had been a long time since he had known, since he had cared.
“I’m a good friend of your parents. Your father was like a brother to me, and your mother was … like a sister. I’m kind of like your uncle.”
“Uncle.” She wrapped the string around her finger and pulled.
The shirt tightened around his neck.
A heavy sigh left her ruby lips. “Can I call you Uncle?”
“Yes, of course. You may call me Uncle Dalton, or whatever you would like.”
A small smile flickered across her face. “Friends. Will I have friends, Uncle Dalton?”
His mind wandered to the other children in the city. Will they accept her? He looked at her red hair, her dark, sparkling red eyes. I doubt it. A frown tugged down his lips.
“Yes, I’m sure you will, Stephania. I’m sure you will.”
Chapter 15
Present Day
The crowd finally dispersed from around her and shuffled back to what they had previously been doing before the fight. Stephania meandered around, looking for Dalton. She had seen him just before the fight but had lost track of him.
Her heart was still pounding against her ribs. Her ears buzzed. Her hands shook. A new confidence flushed through her. She had stood up to Jackson and all his years of bullying. And, this time, she had won.
A new spring in her step, she strode proudly through the scared villagers. She didn’t know how good it would feel to be feared instead of mocked.
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