It didn’t take long to find him. “Hey there, old man.”
He stepped out of the shadows, his eyes shining proudly. “Hello, my lady. Finished?”
She blushed and muttered something under her breath. She seemed calm and composed, prideful even, outwardly, but on the inside, she was buzzing with an unexplainable energy and countless unanswered questions. She felt like she had begun to wake up from a deep sleep, somewhere between dreaming and being truly alive.
“While you were enjoying yourself,” he chuckled, a bright sparkle in his eyes, “I was able to get some great deals on these. Seems fear has an excellent way of making a man forget about money.” He held up his parcels, and she caught a glimpse of silky fabric and fresh bread.
“I'm just going to drop them off at the holding room. You don’t have to come. I think you can fend for yourself now, eh?” He winked at her, and she couldn’t stop the unsure grin that adorned her fair face.
Watching as Dalton made his way through the streets, she nonchalantly leaned against the post of a tanner's booth; an evil smirk spread across her face as the tanner nervously abandoned his tasks. She barely heard him mutter that he needed to purchase something for his wife before he disappeared into the back of his shop, clearly relieved to be rid of Stephania’s toxic presence.
Now that the adrenaline and anger had dissipated, she felt small and empty. A deep sigh escaped her ruby lips, and she visibly deflated. Toxic. Am I toxic? Her lips tugged downward. She ran her hand across the sharp sword, her reflection frowning back at her in the shining blade. Her finger came to a small drop of blood on the almost immaculate metal, and she gently rubbed it off. She looked at the sword and then at her finger, her eyes lingering on the red, sticky liquid. Was this really what she wanted? To have blood on her hands? Flashbacks surfaced of Jackson hitting her; her blood was on his hands; her blood dripped onto her own hands. Was this her fate? To have another’s blood on her to keep her own from spilling? Bile rose in her throat, and a wave of nausea crashed over her. Her eyes swam with tears as she hastily rubbed the blood onto her pants. She felt dirty.
Gods. What is wrong with me? Her hands curled into fists. Her eyes shadily roamed around her and slowly took it all in. She noticed how people cast their eyes at the ground around her, how they shuffled quickly to get past her, the mutterings under their breath—old mutterings to ward off bad spirits—the way they held their children closer to them though the children didn’t understand. She knew New-Fars hated her. She had always known. But why did they hate her?
In a sudden spike of rage, she thrust the sword into the dirt road. Her strength was more than she knew and she ended up driving the blade halfway to the hilt in the packed earth. She groaned, running her fingers through her hair. She could feel the villagers’ fearful gaze on her, heard them as they whispered and quickly shuffled away.
She was no one. She never had been anyone as long as she could remember. Regarded as a demon, a spell-weaver with no parents, a curse, a mistake—she didn’t belong. She had no one to turn to.
Except Uncle Dalton.
Hot, angry tears clouded her vision, and her fists tightened, her knuckles turned white, her eyes churned a sad, burning red.
Dalton. The man who had raised her, who had taken care of her since she could remember, and who had taught her everything she knew.
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes before it became apparent that she was crying. She didn’t want anyone to think she was weak. Her mask would only work if she kept it on all the time. It had been so much harder of late though. She found herself letting down her façade more and more, as if all the years of enduring the hate and pain were finally catching up to her. Fear gripped her. If she let her guard down, she would once again be as helpless as she had been all those years ago; she didn’t want to be scared of going outside alone; she didn’t want to go back to jumping at every shadow or coming home covered in bruises.
She bit her lip; melancholy mixed with anger roiled inside her.
She had always relied on Dalton for everything. He had fed her, clothed her, schooled her, comforted her, scolded her, disciplined her, and loved her. But there was something that bothered her. Why didn’t he talk about her parents? It was clear that it hurt him more than her to talk about them, but didn’t she deserve to know? And with all the hate she had endured here, along with never fitting in, living as an outcast in her own town, never having any friends, why didn’t he have them move? Why couldn’t they have gone somewhere else and made a fresh start? What was so special about New-Fars that they were forced to stay here no matter how bad it was?
A deep sigh escaped her lips. The bustling and persistent noise of the town was making her head throb and her skin crawl. She wanted to slide down the pole she was leaning against, crumple up into a ball and disappear. I need time alone. I have to get away from this.
She wiped her eyes and looked into the suns. She could see Dalton walking back to her. He stopped to greet some of the merchants and villagers. Somehow, despite raising Stephania, whom everyone hated, Dalton remained in good standing with a good number of the citizens.
With a bit of concentration, she was able to pick up some of their conversation, even though she was a distance away.
“Good noon, Lacey. How is William faring?”
“Fine, Dalton, but what about—” Her eyes shifted nervously as if speaking Dalton’s niece’s name would call up demons. “Stephania?” Lacey leaned closer toward Dalton, her voice barely a whisper. “I can't believe you let her do that to Jackson! She's a beast! A real liability. Dalton, she’s dangerous!”
Dalton laughed, waving his hand in a dismissing manner. His eyes flashed dangerously with fury, but neither Stephania nor Lacey saw it. “Oh not really. She’s more of just a tyke, don't you think?”
Stephania angrily turned her back to her guardian and stared blindly down the other side of the road, tears filling her eyes once again. Thank you, Dalton, for standing up for me as always. Her arms tightened across her chest, her lips viciously tearing into her bottom lip. Gods! Why does everyone have to mock me? Even Dalton.
She had heard many times: “Dalton, I can't see how you can put up with her!”; “She's a demon. You must take her to the town’s council. They’ll put her up on trial for black magic, and you won't have to live with her”; “She's a hopeless cause, Dalton. No young man will ever want her. I mean, she's got red hair!”; “You should just take her to the orphanage, they'll give her discipline”; “She’s dangerous!” Stephania had heard it almost every day of her life, but it never seemed to get any easier to hear or any less painful. It didn’t even matter how far she tried to bury herself behind an air of false confidence or indifference; the pain, the rejection, and depression were always lurking in the shadows.
All these stinging insults had been whispered behind her back, thought to be inaudible or even incomprehensible to the red-haired lass—some thought she was born disabled. However, with her extraordinary hearing and intelligence, she had fully understood these derogatory comments even since she was six.
But that’s why she had to be strong. If she could just wait it out a few more years, she would be old enough to live on her own and she could leave this god-forsaken place.
But until then, she had to find some sort of peace elsewhere.
Quickly banishing her tears, she composed herself. She didn’t want Dalton thinking that she was a wuss after all. She had just proved her worth against Jackson. She didn’t want that accomplishment to be tainted by her emotional vulnerability.
When they were finished in town, she would tell Dalton that she was going to spend some time alone in the woods. If he was worried about her, she would simply say that she wanted to make her own lyre. He had wanted her to make one, but she hadn't had the time with studies and sword fighting. It was, in her mind, the perfect cover.
A sly grin spread across her face as she thought of what a week of being away from all of these idiotic, rude villa
gers would be like. Finally, she would be able to be on her own for a while and figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
Barely making eye contact with her, Dalton nodded, and she joined him as he slowly made his way to the city square.
As they walked toward the fountain and the granite benches in the center of New Fars, children from toddlers to tweens poked their heads out of all sorts of nooks and crannies, which only they could find, and watched the two adults. When Dalton gave them warm smiles, they rushed out laughing. Pulling on his clothes and her skirt, they dragged them to the edge of the fountain. The children were never afraid of Stephania, despite the fear and hate their parents worked so hard to instill in them. They thought her to be something out of the stories that Dalton told them, and they looked up to her in awe.
As soon as Dalton sat down, the children climbed onto his lap and several fought over who got to sit on his shoulders. Stephania laughed at the sight of the hardened warrior covered in kids. The sight never ceased to please her.
He plucked one of the two kids off his shoulders and lightly scolded him.
“Now, Freddy, you know you got a turn last time.”
The three-year-old crossed his arms and pouted. “No, I didn't!”
“Nice try, young man! Here, you sit on my lap, and you too, Grace.”
He quickly scooped up a little girl who happened to be Freddy's cousin. She was five years old with long, curly, blond hair, and a sweet, dimpled smile.
“Now, everybody be quiet and sit down.” Instantly, the children who filled the square quieted and sat down, their eyes fixed eagerly on the man.
“Today I'm going to tell you guys a legend about the Dragon Riders of Duvarharia.”
This statement drew excited squeaks from the children. Stephania noticed that the stories of the dragon riding men were their favorites.
They were wonderful stories, at least to tell children, but Dalton also told them to Stephania, over and over and over again, and made her read and study them until she knew them forwards and backwards. She could never understand why Dalton drilled her about these legends. For hours every day, he made her write the stories from heart and take tests on them repeatedly.
When he told the legends to the kids, he told them in a way that the young children would understand, like fairy tales should be told. However, when he told them to Stephania, he always seemed so sincere, like he actually believed them to be true. That’s what really worried her. Perhaps his mind was failing him as he grew older.
A wave of guilt crashed over her, and she awkwardly shuffled her feet, her eyes straying everywhere but to her Uncle. If that really is the case, then maybe I shouldn’t be so eager to move away. What if he needs me?
She drew herself back to the present.
“Dragons!” a little girl yipped out happily, clapping her hands as Dalton answered, “Yes big dragons!”
One of the kids had raised his hand. “ 'ow big?”
Dalton spread his hands out and replied glamorously. “Huge! Bigger than four of your houses put together!”
“Woah.” The kid fell back on his rear end as if shell-shocked.
“Now, this is one of the most important legends of all, so listen closely.”
The children’s eyes widened as he began.
“Thousands of years ago, the dragon men were going about their normal duties, patrolling, learning about magic, and tending to the wild lands of Duvarharia, when the Etas struck! There were thousands of them! Then, the big dragons and their riders took off into the skies and fought the beasts! It was a magnificent sight! Blue, green, purple, and orange. Red, yellow, and brown. The colors flashed in the sky, and you could hear the roaring and the calls of the mighty beasts. Magic flew through the air in amazing shapes, colors, and with incredible power. The riders yelled out their battle cries as the battle grew in intensity. The fight raged on, and the Duvarharians fought bravely, but the Etas gained the upper hand.”
The children gasped. Dalton’s eyes sparkled joyously.
“Yes. Alas, many good men and dragons were slain, but what happened next was something no one would forget.”
Dalton paused and looked expectantly at the youngsters.
A small girl inquired as if on cue. “What?”
Dalton grinned mischievously. “Why don't I tell you?”
He launched into the story, describing it so vividly that Stephania felt as if he had taken her back in time.
§
The story went on for a few hours, and by the time Dalton had finished, the shoppers were just finishing up their purchases.
Now that the story was over, the children began to yawn and nod off to sleep in their parents’ arms.
Some of the parents thanked Dalton for entertaining their children while they were shopping. Many of them simply snatched up their kids, doing their best to not make eye contact with Dalton or Stephania, and left with a muttered thanks whispered under their breath.
When the last of the kids had run off, Stephania approached Dalton. She couldn’t explain the twisted knot in her stomach. Perhaps she was scared that he wouldn’t let her go.
“Dalton,” Stephania twirled a lock of her hair nervously, her eyes darting everywhere but to her uncle.
“Hmm?”
“I was wondering, could I, if you wouldn't mind of course, I was just thinking I could, uh, spend about a week out in the forest? By myself?”
Dalton turned, a mildly surprised look on his ruggedly handsome face. “Why yes, it’s okay with me. I knew it was only time before you wanted to be alone from them.” He jerked his head toward the village.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and he quickly turned back to the road. He swung his foot, kicking a stone a ways ahead. “Most of us do, you know. Crazy as it is, even I want to be back.”
A frown pulled down her lips and creased her forehead. Once again, he was spouting nonsense. “What?”
“Mmfm. Nothing.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
She gave him a puzzled look, trying to process what she thought he said. What does he mean he wants to ‘be back’? Back where?
Before she could press him to repeat himself, he shook his shoulders, as if dislodging himself from an unwanted memory, and continued talking.
“Although, I would prefer if you went tomorrow morning instead of tonight, if that was what you were planning.”
Her eyes widened. So soon? I was thinking next week, but this is much better. She couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed so eager for her to leave. Maybe he’s sick of me and the insults he has to endure because of me. She fiddled with a loose thread on her dress. Surely he doesn’t want me gone? A small frown dipped the features of her face. She pushed the unwanted thoughts away, but they lingered, filling her with an empty pit of rejection.
“The morning is usually the best time to find one’s self.” Dalton kicked the rock again when he reached it.
They both watched the pebble bounce down the road until it came to a rest, blending in with the thousands of other rocks along the road.
He sighed heavily. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were unsure if he wanted to say what was on his mind. Finally, he spoke. “I have another assignment for you when we get back to the house. I need you to finish it before you leave.” His tenor voice was hard to hear through his partially closed lips and over the gravely crunch as he dragged his feet across the rocky, dirt road. He avoided looking at her.
Stephania’s frown deepened, puzzled at this change in his attitude. She hadn’t known him to go from exuberant one minute to quiet and reflective the next. Something was wrong. Something she had said had disturbed him.
“Dalton?” Her small, long fingers softly squeezed his arm reassuringly, her eyes tender and worried.
He absentmindedly jumped at her touch.
“Huh? Oh, yes, I’m fine, of course. Just uh, a little tired, that’s all.”
He quickly gave her a weak smile and needlessly began shifting thro
ugh his bags, once more mumbling incomprehensibly.
She stuffed her free hand into one of the dress’ small pockets. Her other hand dragged the tip of her nearly stolen sword through the dust. Dalton had bought it for her, but now she wished she wasn’t carrying the weapon that had drawn the blood of another human. She snuck a glance at Dalton, a new knot tying in her stomach.
Whatever he had thought of mere moments before had radically changed this man of many secrets. She knew him well enough to assume that whatever it was, he would never tell her about it. At least, not for a long time.
Chapter 16
New-Fars, Human Domain
Nearly 8 Years Earlier
Stephania! Stephania!” Dalton’s worn hands were cupped around his mouth. “Stephania!” His hair was disheveled, his eyes wide and dark with worry.
Curse the gods. Where is she?
He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, and listened.
He heard … sobbing.
His eyes snapped open, and he ran farther down the dirt road before veering off into the woods.
The crying grew louder. He heard her sniff.
“Stephania?” Cautiously, he brushed aside the thick undergrowth and peered into the base of the tree.
Stephania’s curly, red head hung between her legs. Her shoulders shook with her tears.
“Stephania?” His voice was quiet, asking her if she wanted him near.
Her head lifted, her eyes peering out at him through a veil of tears and tangled hair. Sticks and leaves clung into the mass of curls; cuts lined her arms and legs.
She sniffed and wiped her nose.
“Why do they hate me?” She bit her lip against the tears, hardly able to speak around the emotion choking her.
His heart lurched at the desolation in her eyes. Dread sank into his stomach. An illness rose in his throat. He crouched to the ground, sitting on his heels.
“Because they are small-minded, scared people.”
She bit her lip, wondering what he meant. Small-minded? What is there to be small-minded about? Am I not one of them?
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