Resounding Echo
Page 2
before reluctantly accepting it. How bad could it be?
2
A loud, creaking sound cut through the air as the gates opened. Selissa waited, none too patiently, with Calen and a few of the temple’s apprentices. The gates opened fully, and a small group of people started entering the temple grounds. Most of them wore ragged, dirty clothes, clearly showing that they were refugees. Many of the people who came to the temple had fled their homes because of war or persecution. The outer areas of Sinaria had been plagued by the conflict with the enemy nation Ver’Dohna, ever since the war broke out between them a few years ago. No one knew the exact reason for the war, or who made the first strike, but that didn’t stop the two countries from despising each other. Unfortunately, it was innocent people that paid the price for that resentment.
The result was thousands of people fleeing their homes and being separated from their families. The temple provided sanctuary for anyone who chose to come there, so seeing refugees was nothing new to her.
She watched as the people approached, most of them shooting wary looks around them. By now, paranoia was so deeply settled in them that it would probably follow them for the rest of their lives.
A young girl stumbled on the road and fell to her knees. The hood on her ragged cape fell from her face and long, bright red hair spilled out from it. But it wasn’t her hair that caught Selissa’s attention.
On the girl’s face, right under her left eye, a black mark was tattooed. Even though it was the first time she had ever seen someone with such a tattoo, she recognized it immediately.
The Mark of the Cursed… She had once seen a picture of it in one of the library’s books, but never thought she would meet someone who was Marked themselves.
The Mark of the Cursed got tattooed on people who were influenced by demonic magic. They were considered outcasts and were often hunted down when people saw the symbol on their cheek.
A boy, probably a few years older than the girl, helped her to her feet. Selissa noticed that many of the temple’s residents who were passing by were staring and whispering among themselves. The red-haired girl lowered her head and tried to look as small as possible. The boy kept his hand on her shoulder and glared at the nearby people, who were suddenly in a hurry to get to their destinations.
Selissa followed them with her eyes as they passed by her. The young apprentice who was going to greet them was obviously nervous, his eyes constantly flickering to the tattoo on the girl’s face.
“She must have had it hard if she is met with such hostility even here.” Calen’s voice broke her from her thoughts and she turned away from the sight of the two children. Her only answer to his statement was a nod, as her eyes turned back to the last of the newcomers.
Most of them had already been led away, but Selissa’s eyes landed on someone who lingered by the gate. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed him before. Just by looking at him, she knew that he was neither a refugee nor an ordinary traveler.
She couldn’t see his face, since he was wearing a hooded cloak, but his frame was tall and abnormally thin. Seeing starved orphans or refugees were nothing unusual, but this man clearly wasn’t a refugee. His clothes were both new and clean, and when he started to walk towards them, it wasn’t the meek walk of a runaway, but a brisk, confident stride.
As most others had already left, Calen started to walk towards him. She heard him greet the cloaked man, who merely nodded as an answer.
Calen started to walk towards the temple halls, the stranger following right behind him. Calen smiled at her and acknowledged her with a nod as he walked past her. Selissa barely noticed him, her eyes never leaving the other man. As he strolled closer, he lifted his head and for the first time she saw his face.
A pair of dark, intense eyes looked back at her. The face under the hood was pale, framed by dark brown hair. His cheeks were sunken and the skin was practically stretched across the bones. If it hadn’t been for the intense look in his eyes, she would have thought she was looking at a walking corpse.
Suddenly his eyes met hers and her entire body went rigid. A strange feeling went through her, a feeling of recognition. Like she was supposed to know this man…
His eyes bore into hers, and he didn’t look away until he and Calen were past her. Selissa watched them disappear around a corner, too shocked to move at all.
She finally pulled herself together and shook her head in an attempt to shake the feeling off. “What the hell was that…?” She muttered to herself. She had never met this man, and she sure as hell didn’t have any desire to meet him again. But still, her mind was screaming at her to run after him and demand he tell her who he was and what he was doing there.
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Later she found herself brooding in her room. The stranger bothered her more than she would ever admit. Even Calen had noticed her foul mood, even though she was trying to act like nothing was wrong. Finally she had grown tired of his questioning looks and had hid in her room.
A sigh escaped from her lips. She was acting ridiculous and she knew it. It was not like he was the first strange person that had come to this place. Through the years, enough unique characters had passed through there to fill a Sinarian circus.
The temple welcomed everyone. It was dedicated to Issara, the angel of sanctuary. She was one of the seven archangels, servant to the Sinarian god Shi’laran. Six similar temples were placed all over Sinaria, each dedicated to one of the seven angels.
To turn someone away would be considered sacrilege, and Selissa had no intention of going against the guardians of Sinaria.
While growing up she had been surrounded by thieves, robbers and even a couple of guys she suspected might have been assassins. A thin guy in a cloak should not have bothered her.
She rose from where she was seated on her bed and went to her cabinet to pull out her training clothes. She might as well do something instead of sitting around and torturing herself.
A few years back, a blade master had stayed in the Issara temple for a couple of months. His name was Teren’thil and he had taken a liking to Selissa, despite the fact that everyone else preferred to keep their distance to her. In the time he had stayed there, he taught her a lot about sword fight and hand-to-hand combat.
She had gotten quite good at it and had continued training, even after Teren’thil had left. And at the moment, a hard training session sounded like a good idea.
She started undressing to change into her training outfit. As she pulled off her shirt, she caught a glimpse of her back in the mirror on the other side of the room. One would think that she should be used to it by now, but the sight still made her flinch.
The symbol snaked across her back, the black of the mark contrasting with her pale skin. When the priests first found her, they had thought it was a tattoo of some kind, but there was no sign of any damaged skin under the mark.
Selissa herself didn’t know what it was. She didn’t remember anything, except her name, from before she came to the temple, and the mark had been there ever since.
It was a strange symbol. Black lines circled each other, like snakes fighting for dominance, and covered much of her back. She had looked through thousands of the library’s books to find out what it meant and asked every priest who would listen to her, but no one seemed to know what it was or what it meant.
Selissa pulled the shirt on, willing herself not to care. The symbol, the nightmare... No matter what she did, she couldn’t figure out what it all meant. There was no point in trying if there was no answer. She had told herself that so many times, she almost believed it. Almost.
3
She slashed at the air again and again, trying to hit invisible enemies. She was spinning around herself rapidly, graceful movements making it seem as if she was dancing, rather than training.
As usual, she trained alone. Calen had no combat training, and no one else liked to spend more time in her company than strictly necessary. So ever since Master Teren’thil had
left, Selissa’s only opponent had been herself.
Slash, kick, dodge…
She moved vigorously, swords dancing around her. The blades in her hands were the only thing of value she owned. The pair of twin swords had been a gift from Teren’thil, just before he left. They were old, but well-kept and of good material. The blades were long and thin, and light enough to allow her to swing them with ease. From the hilt of each sword hung a long, red ribbon, which flew around her with each swing. They were designed to attract the enemy’s attention and distract them from the actual blade, and they flew through the air, painting scarlet red lines before her eyes.
Stab, swing, kick…
Selissa let everything else around her disappear, just focusing on every step and every movement. The weight of the swords in her hands was familiar and calming. By now, they felt like extensions of her arms.
Spin, slash—
Cough. She immediately stilled and spun around when she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. On the stairs leading up to the hallway behind the yard sat the strange traveler from earlier. He had changed his clothes and was now wearing a long coat instead of the cloak. Around his neck hung a long scarf and he had a lit cigarette in his hand.
“Small girls shouldn’t be playing around with weapons. They might end up getting hurt.” He said. His voice was low and surprisingly