I stood still, appreciating the ambiance of the Garued forest. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I savored the scent of tall pines that stretched into the sky; massive and, for most, ominous. But not for me; the trees stood higher than a hundred men, and one falling sounded like the crash of thunder. Regardless, I felt safe and secure. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of moist earth and the musty, sweet notes of decaying leaves.
Shaking my head, I emerged from my momentary bliss, heading toward my destination. It took a few minutes of walking. My steps were cautious, so as to avoid tearing my shoes on a loose stone or errant tree branch. Sure, they were little more than scraps of brown leather tied around my feet with twine, but they were my only pair, and Mother wouldn't be getting me another until summer's end.
With my tree in sight, I glanced to my right and then left, ensuring no one would see me. With a nervous breath, I crouched near its roots and moved a fern, half as tall as I was, revealing a patch of bare earth. After digging, I found my box—my greatest treasure and secret.
It was a simple box, poorly made with rusted nails and peeling wood that I had gotten from a tinker passing through the village, only costing me a single bronze bit. Taking off the lid, I smiled as I beheld true beauty. It took me almost two years, but I managed to secret away thirty-eight bits, without my mother, brothers, or sister being any the wiser.
The comfort of the cold metal flowed over me as I dropped another two bits inside, rounding out my collection to an even forty. The face on a coin stared back at me coldly. It was a new one, freshly pressed, showing the visage of the current emperor. Who ruled Kelia didn’t matter so far from the capital. Emperors and Empresses came and went—some loved, some hated. But a border town like ours stood stagnant against the constant leadership changes. The only thing that stood out about the face was that it was rather young—ten or eleven summers, a few years younger than I was.
With another glance over my shoulder to ensure I wasn't being watched, I placed the foot-wide box back into the hole, covered it with dirt, and adjusted the fern so no one would stumble upon it. Sighing with satisfaction, I dusted my hands on my canvas trousers and headed home, my arms still aching from the day's work.
As I walked back, the trees cleared and Farway village came into sight. It was called Farway Village simply because it was built not ten miles from the border of Kelia and Helios, a great distance from any large town or city. The two empires were allies for generations; the imperial lines so interbred that they could be considered one family.
The village itself was a diverse collection of shops and businesses that had grown over time to serve the many travelers between the two empires. This wasn't the most popular highway, but there was enough traffic that the village had a small inn, a brothel, a tailor, a cobbler, woodsmen, blacksmiths, carpenters, and dozens of other businesses to serve those businesses.
The buildings numbered almost two hundred, many built along the wide dirt road, making the village three times as long as it was wide. We didn't even have a wall since imperial law forbade obstruction of crucial trading highways.
With a deep and solemn breath, I headed toward my home, hoping for a decent portion of supper. The highway ran east to west, then curved south toward Helios. Before I could cross the road, someone caught my attention.
“Hoy Ed, we’ve been looking for yah,” someone to my left shouted. I saw Sim and Dim walking over. Their names were actually Simon and Dimitri. Simon was a year older than I, at fourteen summers. The boy seemed doomed to never grow tall since we were the same height. He wore dark linen trousers and a cream shirt with proper brown leather boots that always made me green with envy. His shoulder-length red hair was slicked back with some kind of oil, mirroring the current fashion.
Next to him was Dim. He was a head taller than I was, built like an overstuffed ox, and not much smarter than the creatures themselves. He, however, was dressed garishly. He wore a man's shirt with frilly cuffs and a puffed collar that seemed to be in fashion, along with a matching pair of fine cotton pants in a dark blue. On his feet were well-made heeled boots of black polished leather. His blonde hair was also slicked back in the same fashion as Sim’s.
They were my friends, though to be honest, it was mostly because we were all, in some way, outcasts of the village, even though we’d lived here our entire lives.
As they crossed the distance, Sim, the one who shouted, continued, “Went in the forest again? Could’ve just used the void’n house.”
I shrugged. “Smells like fresh death today. Ernst’s not doin’ his job.”
“Not safe. Could have bandits or wolves or dragons or fairies in the forest, and it ain’t safe for you’s,” Dim said, sounding genuine in his concern. Why fairies seemed to be the most terrifying thing on his list was beyond anyone’s understanding.
Sim and I shared a look before we shrugged simultaneously. Dim was, well, dim. The story was either that he was dropped on his head as a child, or that his mother had him too close to Night tea. Either way, past twelve summers, his mind stayed the same, and his body kept growing.
“It’s fine, Dim. Bandits don't come this far south,” I said, trying to reason with the simpleton. He didn’t seem convinced. Knowing he wouldn’t drop the issue, I added, “’Sides, it’s not like I got anythin’ worth stealin’.”
“Dim does have a point, Ed. And bandits aren't known for being picky,” Sim said, glancing at my clothing, though I knew he was gesturing to what was beneath.
“S’not like anyone can tell most o’ the time,”
Dim giggled like an idiot, “Ain't that the truth. I wouldn't believe it if’n I didn't catch you.”
My expression turned deadly as soon as he reminded me of that fateful day. Sim, the smarter one, jumped in and asked, “Enough about Ed’s shy shits. I got real news.”
“What's that now?” I asked.
“I heard there’s a war brewing,” Sim said.
I sighed and asked, “Another one?”
“Aye. A trader came through and said that our own dear Baron Redstone started recruiting. Sim tapped his right arm and continued, “Might finally get a chance to put all that training to work. I’m sick of playing third fiddle to Brandon and Samson. I want my own glory.”
I rolled my eyes. Why boys were so interested in fighting in wars and winning glory was beyond me. It was almost like they forgot that dying was a real possibility, and I’d never heard of a glorious corpse.
“What ‘bout you, Dim, fancy fightin’ a war?” I asked.
Dim shrugged, “I don't know. Might have to ask me mum. She's been thinkin’ about leaving the house, but she ain't got no husband,”
By house, he meant whore house. There’s no chance any of the available men would marry her. So, she would have to leave and go far enough that people wouldn't know that she used to be a whore.
“Aren't you of marriageable age, Sim? Maybe you should focus on that instead of dyin’ in for someone you never met. I’m sure there’s someone in the village you can marry that's not ‘er.” I said, hoping to deter him from his idea of glory.
Sim sniffed in disgust, “If only Nadia and half the girls didn't worship at the feet of Brandon; I've got no chance.”
It was a disgust that I shared. Brandon and Samson were the sons of the town’s headman, who was also the owner of the Farway Inn. He was the wealthiest and most powerful man in the village. Everyone deferred to him. I loathed their entire family with a passion. Mostly because I couldn't find anything to hate. The only thing I got from them was apathy. Both for being a girl and not being pretty enough for them to spare me a second glance. I was glad he found our house too homely to visit very often.
Sim’s affection for Nadia was understandable; she was the second most beautiful girl in the village.
Dim started to giggle, then cast a mischievous glance at Sim. I worried about what nonsense was about to come out of his mouth.
“You’re the next best bet, Ed, none of the other girls would even spit in Sim's direction; me mum says he should focus on you,” Dim said.
Bile rose in my throat at the thought of marrying either of them.
“You don't have to look so disgusted by the thought,” Sim said quickly, then sighed, “Either way, you're not to my taste.”
I didn’t think I was to anyone’s taste unless, for some reason, a man had a fancy for young boys. I had no chest, hips, or arse to speak of.
“I've got to be home soon. I don’t think my arse can handle another lashing if I'm late,” I said.
“Maybe this time, don't spend your pay from Grelleth,” Sim suggested. I grimaced, remembering how cross my mother was.
“There’s a bard in town; says he’ll be telling stories tonight at the Inn. You should come,” Sim said.
I shook my head, both because I had more chores to do, even after my long day of work. And I didn't like stories.
Sim smiled dreamily, “Maybe Aalis will come.”
At the mention of my older sister’s name, my face curled into a frown. I turned on my heel and stomped off, leaving them behind.
“Ed, wait. I didn't mean it like that.” Sim said. I just managed to overhear Dim slapping him over the head and whispering, “Idiot.”
~
The streets passed in a daze as I walked home. Even though I was born in the village, like Dim and Sim, I was treated as if I were a stranger. People would take a glance, then disregard me in the same moment. Finally, after passing the peddlers hawking their wares, I reached my destination. It was a decently sized dwelling with three rooms: one for my brothers, another for my sister, and the largest for my mother and her husband. I slept in the kitchen.
I made the mistake of calling him Father once as a child, and that didn't turn out well for me. As I reached the door of the thatched-roofed house, I took a deep breath and entered. The main room also served as the kitchen. Off to the left was a hearth, where Mother was stirring a pot. To my right was a table with Aalis, who was concentrating on writing something on a roll of parchment, using a quill. I hated that she knew how to read and write.
Aalis was, as everyone agreed, the most beautiful girl in the entire village. She had bright blond hair with soft curls that almost reached her waist. Though she was only fourteen summers old, she was well-proportioned, lacking the gangly and awkward appearance I had. She had delicately featured, almond-shaped eyes and a figure that was just starting to blossom into womanhood; with her dark blue dress of fine linen, I burned with envy.
She was the family’s pride and joy. Her beauty was enough to charm Brandon, and their engagement was announced a year ago. It was expected that he would take over both his father’s inn and his role as headman, which meant many benefits for our family. Everyone thought she was perfect—a true blessing from Anier herself.
But I knew the truth. Her entire persona was a lie, manufactured by my mother. She was selfish, looked down on others, and was perfectly willing to lie to get her way, regardless of who suffered. Aalis looked up, took a single glance at me, sniffed in disgust, and returned to her work.
As much as I wanted to say or do something about her, I couldn't. Aalia could do no wrong, so I got beatings and punishments if I even dared to raise a thought against her.
My mother's cough brought me out of my musings. I turned to see her staring at me expectantly. Mother and daughter looked the same, the only difference being the ravages that thirty years and four children had on a woman’s body.
“I said to be home as soon as you finished with Grelleth, Edith.”
I walked over to her and pulled five bronze bits out of a fold in my canvas pants.
“Sorry, Mother, I—” Before I could even get a word out, she slapped me across the face with enough force that I almost lost my balance. I stumbled, dropping the coins in the process.
“Save your excuses.”
I didn't yell or cry, even though pain blossomed across my left cheek. Slowly, I picked up the coins from the ground and dropped them into her waiting hands. They vanished into her apron, then she pointed at the front door.
“The clothes are out back. Get to washin’. The boys are startin’ their apprenticeships tomorrow,” she ordered.
I held back my rising anger and stated as meekly as I could, “Yes, Mother.”
The satisfied smirk on Aalis’s face was almost enough to make me say or do something. But I held back. Once, as a child, I threw a wooden spoon at her. She had been pestering me and throwing insults all day. The spoon hit her forehead, opening a small cut. She screamed loud enough for someone to think she was being murdered.
Her father walked in, saw the cut and his daughter’s tears, and flew into a rage. Even though it was years ago, sometimes I still felt lashes across my back and her cruel smile. I couldn’t sit properly for a month. I’d been lashed many times, but that day was special.
The slap across my face, comparatively, was barely an afterthought.
I went around back, past the low fence, finding a pile of clothes in a basket sitting on a wooden bench. Next to it was a bucket. I sighed and grabbed the basket and bucket and walked to the stream, about a quarter-hour's walk from the house.
This had been my life for as long as I could remember. My mother’s green eyes were always cold, as if she saw not her daughter but some kind of monster. Bren, whom I learned that very day wasn't my father, was somehow even colder. As to who he was, I didn't know, nor did anyone from the village. The mere act of asking about him was enough to get me a beating. After three, I decided to leave it a mystery.
I hated my life, I hated my family, and I hated this village. Many nights as I slept curled up by the hearth, I imagined setting it all ablaze.
The fire of hate within me kept me warm through winter nights and gave me the strength to withstand the worst of their abuse.
Oh, how I imagined their faces twisted in agony as the fires licked at their skin, cracking flesh, burning away everything to naught but ash and bone.
I shook my head, chasing away the violent thoughts, and washed my brothers’ stinking trousers in the stream. I tried my best not to look at my reflection in the river.
Perhaps I was too stupid a child to see it at first. My mother and Bren, like everyone else, had Blonde or brown hair. It was the most common coloring in Kelia. There were a few people with red hair, like Sim, but for the most part, everyone looked the same. The pattern followed with their eyes. Most were blues, greens, and light browns. But not me, my eyes were black, as dark as ink, and so too was my hair.
It would have been better if I had been simply treated poorly, but no, most offered me the greatest insult one could imagine: To be ignored. I didn't understand their thinking; I looked much the same as everyone else except for my black hair and eyes.
I scrubbed the clothes with a rough straw brush, occasionally using a sack of lye to get them thoroughly clean.
~
It took over two hours to wash everything. My hands were rubbed red, and it felt like my fingers were going to fall off. The sun was setting, and I could only hope that a bowl was left out for me. I would hate to go to bed hungry and be forced to use coins from my stash to break my fast. After another quarter hour of hanging them to dry, the sun had set. I entered the house with a small amount of dread.
It seemed everyone was in their rooms. The whispers of conversation could be heard. Sitting on the table, which Aalis studied, was a bowl. After looking into it, I felt disappointed. It was empty. No. Someone ate it and left the bowl to taunt me. Treanor or Laron; Bren wasn't petty enough, Aalis was watching her figure, and Mother, well, she may have hated me, but I didn't think she wanted me to starve.
I sighed and added the bowl to the pile I would have to wash in the morning. What was the point of my being here? Why not just cast me out into the forest for the beasts to feast upon? It was like they wanted to punish me for the injustice of being born.
One day, one day, I would have my answers, even if I had to drag them out of their screaming mouths.