I imagine nightmares will follow her home tonight, of a giant traipsing through town, hunting her and her family. The adults around the group smile at her question, knowing the same as me. Giants are the things of fairytales, grim stories told to make children behave.
“I wouldn’t think so, my dear.” The old lady smiles at the girl, her bony hand reaching for her chin. “He only eats old ladies like me. You have youth on your side,” she says with a wink, and the girl giggles.
Entranced with the exchange between the two, I don’t notice when a large man stumbles backwards until he stomps on my already sore foot. I yelp. The old woman meets my eyes, scrutinising me, I wave apologetically, mouthing ‘sorry.’ I should be accustomed to the stares, but after all these years, it still bothers me.With one dark brown eye and the other a vivid, ruby red, I think it gives me a distinguishing feature. So, I try to ignore idle gossip or the gawps, acting as though I am unfazed.
The old woman’s eyes seem to have darkened, her pupils now pinholes, boring into my soul. No matter how much I try to break away from her gaze, I can’t.
“I’m not scared of giants. Tell us something scarier.” A little boy stands and yells.
Her focus on me breaks as her attention is called back to the crowd. “What about a Mimicry then? Ever heard of those?”
The little boy shakes his head.
Darkness plays tricks on my eyes as the light and warmth she first portrayed, vanishes into something sinister.
“Who has heard of the tragic tale of the Tanith dynasty?” A wicked smile spreads across her face, as she looks around the crowd to shaking heads and eager faces.
“No one? Hmm, I guess it has been many years, twenty I’d say.” Darkness surrounds her as she delves into her tale, making her story ominous. “The Tanith royals were an unusual sort, hailing from an old tribe of people—Septir’s—sorcerers if you will. With each member having the ability to control a different type of magic: ice, fire, water, time, shadow, you get the idea.”
“What makes them so special? Other folk have magic,” the boy shouts.
“Yes, but Septir’s magic is always replenishing. It’s in their very bones. The magic wielders you have heard of eventually need to rest.”
Murmurs fill the area, folk muttering about which magic they would love to wield if they could. Those with magic are usually travellers, never staying in Vendyl long enough for anyone to get used to them. Most marvel at the powers they have, some however, become fearful at the unknown.
Listening to them now, I laugh at the fake reverence. Every time a magic wielder tries to settle in Vendyl, they’re soon driven away, unable to live with the whispering and abuse thrown at them daily.
“A special marking can identify this family, a four-pointed star on their back, sitting between their shoulder blades—the symbol of Septir.” My face drops thinking about the strange scar on my back.
No, stop being stupid.I got that scar falling from the oak tree in our garden. The pain is vivid in my head. The blood trickling down my back, Mum patching me up, and Dad fuming because I was told to stop climbing many times, yet I never listened.
“Many moons ago, the Tanith family was attacked and killed by a mimicry—a ferocious man who wanted the powers for himself. Everyone within the Tanith family was slaughtered for their magic, or so King Zayn announced. Except, these old ears of mine heard the tale of an escapee. Simply fables, though.”
The crowd goes silent, until a small boy breaks it, “What happened to the mime–mi…”
The old lady smiles, and the darkness disperses, stars sparkle around her once more.
“Mimicry.” She answers for him, “No one knows. Zayn proudly proclaimed he defeated the beast that took the lives of the beloved royal family, as he claimed the throne for himself.There have been murmurs that the mimicry still roamsthese lands, hunting for his next victim.” Folk gasp, looking at those around them, like one of these idiots could be the mimicry. “But you know how the rumour mill goes. A story will grow arms and legs within a matter of days.”
A blast of fireworks breaks the old woman’s spell, bright, colourful designs explode into the clear night sky. The crowd breaks away in small groups for a better look.I follow, hobbling along, flinching as I step on broken branches and sharp stones.
Bony fingers grip my arm, pulling me off my feet. I trip, crashing into a body.The old woman stands uncomfortably close, reaching her hand up, she takes hold of my necklace, and rubs her thumb over the gemstones.
“Pardon me, dear. I have been admiring your necklace. It’s unique. Where did you get it?”
The frail and old woman from a few moments ago, leaning on her walking stick, is gone. Now, she appears strong, her walking stick hooked over the crook of her arm.
Subtly, I take a step back, giving myself some space.
“My Dad gave it to me when I was young.”
The old woman rubs her fingers over my necklace once more before letting it drop, a weight unlike anything I have felt before slams into my chest. She retreats, muttering something to herself. Her eyes wide open, with a wave, she turns and leans on the walking stick to stroll away.
I don’t know what she had on her hands, but my necklace stings the skin on which it rests. Limping backwards, my ankle twists and I cry out in pain.Mum catches my eye from across the field, frowning at my foot.
“What happened to you?” she asks as she walks my way. I hold up my shoe; Mum’s eyes soften as she understands. They weren’t a good fit but they were all we had. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”
Chapter Two
