Playing With Fire

by Jordan Mendez

  Luckily, we had landed right in front of the grave yard, so there was no one to notice our out of place cloaks and arrival in the shining sun. Bustling activity drifted from the bazaar that was a little ways off, and my mind began to reel with ideas. My first step was to get to that bazaar, then the rest I would wing and hope for the best.

  Gidian and I removed our cloaks and made our way into the small graveyard. Old graves were easily distinguishable from the new ones, and in almost no time at all, we found the grave of Al’s parents. They stood side-by-side, identical in everything with the exception of their names: Francis Lucelles and Susanne Lucelles. Under bother their names was the same sentence:

  Driven into loneliness from loss of their son, the grave bearer had only their spouse to leave behind in death.

  It made me sad, but at the same time I didn’t know them. I set the roses on their graves, probably the first flowers set on them since they died. I looked back at Gidian, trying to find the best lie I could. I couldn’t say I wanted to get Seth a book, since Moraj was full of them. I couldn’t say I wanted to get Darren anything, because he has no specific thing he likes, and I couldn’t say I wanted to get Jake drawing utensils, because once again Moraj had an endless supply. Then something came into my mind, and I found that it was perfect.

  “I want to get Vaze a present at the bazaar, can we go for a bit?” I asked Gidian innocently. I showed him that I had gold, but he simply stared at me with total and utter shock.

  “You want to get Vaze a present?” Gidian couldn’t help but gawk. It’s true that my affection levels had never been good…in fact they were almost nonexistent, so it would be shocking that I would show anything of the kind.

  “I want to get something to say ‘thank you’ for saving me and my family,” I said blushing. It annoyed me at how much the thought actually bugged me. Gidian looked at me, never losing his surprised look, but eventually agreed.

  The bazaar was so crowded that I was absolutely certain I could get away from Gidian with no trouble at all. We passed many vendors, and I only half observed everything, rejecting each thing as if I were actually putting thought into it.

  It was only when we passed the ninth or tenth vendor that I actually looked at what I was pretending to consider. It was in no way impressive, and I was surprised it actually caught my eye. It was only a little ring, made from a light grey metal that was the same color of my eyes, and had a tiny scarlet stone inlaid in its center. Gidian was especially surprised when I pointed it out, which only added to how unnoticeable it was. I grabbed it off the table and looked at the dark skinned vendor who looked as though he was about to fall asleep.

  “Hey, how much is this?” I said, completely void of politeness, which shocked the vendor. He was probably used to girls my age being very polite and having a little class, not leaning over the table shoving a small piece of metal in his face. The vendor examined the ring, and scoffed.

  “That thing?” he asked, and Gidian flinched in slight embarrassment. “I’ll give it to you for three pieces, if it means that much to you.” I could tell he was haggling me, and he knew the ring didn’t cost nearly that much, but I didn’t care. I shoved three gold pieces onto the table and took the ring. I had a split second plan, and decided it best.

  “Gidian, my pockets are full, can you hold the ring for me?” I shoved it into his hand before he could object and scanned around the bazaar. Finally, my eyes closed onto a suitable target.

  “Look Gidian, a perfume stand! You should get Kyra something. I bet she’d love it!” I pushed Gidian over to the stand, the whole time with him trying to object, blushing so red he resembled a tomato. I hit the table and started pointing things out to confuse him. It worked. Within no time, the young vendor had pulled him over to examine some ‘exotic’ perfume, and his attention was completely reverted away from me. With one last look at the blonde man, I turned tail and disappeared into the crowd. I estimated I had five or ten minutes to get away without him noticing. It would be plenty.

  At the edge of the bazaar, I spotted a young man dragging along a stubborn horse, cursing and screaming at the mare to move. I made my way over and examined the horse. It was young, strong, but a liability to the boy.

  “Give me that horse,” I said straight forward to the boy. He looked at me in disbelief and told me (with words I won’t repeat) to get lost. I shoved my entire coin purse to him.

  “Fifty pieces of gold,” I demanded bluntly, and he stood dumbstruck. I took the reins from his hand and jumped onto the saddle. The black horse whined in protest as I shoved its head in the direction of the town’s exit. Losing my temper, I let a lick of fire bite its rear. The horse responded with a cry of pain, beginning a bounding gallop out of the town.

  The wind whipped my hair back from my face, stinging my nostrils with thick salty air from the sea. I knew where I was going. I could feel the direction deep in my bones, and I had no doubt that it was the right way.

  I was going home.

  Epilogue

  It only took about two weeks to reach my destination: The Warehouse. It had been my home for the past fourteen years (possibly fifteen at that time). I tied the black mare to a tree outside. The horse was very obedient after the two weeks, ever since it realized I could punish it more than any other master if it didn’t obey. I wasn’t cruel to the creature—just strict. I had named it Shade, according to the likeness of its color to the color of a Shadow’s skin.

  I stood as still as a rock I gazed up at the old Warehouse, and Shade nuzzled my shoulder affectionately with her nose. It had been so long since I had seen my house, and when I finally returned I was afraid to enter. Mustering up my courage, I walked forward with an alien confidence. I pushed back the makeshift curtain door and entered, the smell of damp moss greeting me. Sunlight peaked through the cracks of the metal roof, and I could clearly see the five moldy cloth hammocks that had once been my family’s beds. Each one had below it had some sort of item that defined us, making each hammock distinguishable from the others. Mine hung by the broken window, a place where I used to gaze at the stars, and beneath it rested a collection of burned wood and other random objects.

  Seth’s hung in the corner across the room. It was close to the ladder that led to the second floor where he kept a makeshift bookshelf with some books that the Bookworm had given to him. A book ruined beyond repair lay open underneath his hammock, a sight I knew Seth would be pained to see. Darren’s hammock was lazily hung right next to Seth’s, beneath it sat rotting food that he never finished along with assorted junk that he stole.

  Jake’s was near to the door, a place where he could easily attack anyone who trespassed, and under his hammock were assorted pictures he drew. Jake was quite the artist, and he had drawn pictures of our family countless of times, each one incredibly life like. A certain picture caught my eye. I strode over and carefully folded it up, tucking it into my pocket for safe keeping. It was one of all of my family, laughing and happy. Finally, I made my way to Al’s hammock.

  It was beside mine, as he had always been close to me when we lived there, almost as if he were my shadow. Under his hammock was a small box. I reached for it hesitantly, hoping it wouldn’t be invading his personal space. I opened the latch, the hinges giving a soft squeak from the rust.

  Within it, to my surprise, were bronze coins, and a drawing of a knife with a small S scratched onto it. It took me a little while to realize what it was. I threw the box down to the ground in anger.

  “You idiot…” I bit my lip and tried to keep my tears from spilling over. Al had a thing for getting people gifts each year, and up to the time we met Vaze I had been complaining to Jake about not having my own knife. Al had been hiding the money in order to save up to buy one for me. Tears trickled down my cheeks and I dropped to my knees, finally allowing myself to weep. Outside, a bird began to sing alone, its song resounding throughout the Warehouse. The bird’s song was beautiful, but its voice sounded sad, as if it desired more to sing w
ith it. It was not answered.

  “I swear Al…” I managed to say between my sobs. “I will get him for this…I will kill all of them. I promise.”

  Outside, the bird’s song was cut short by a hiss of a cat as it swiped out its paw, killing the small bird at its time of blissful weakness.

  To be continued...

  About the Author

  Jordan Mendez resides in Northern California and is currently a high school senior. She began creating and writing stories from a young age. The idea for Playing With Fire came to her during her sophomore year in high school and the book was completed the following year. Along with writing, Jordan enjoys drawing. She also has a passion for Japanese culture. More information about Jordan and the Playing With Fire series can be found at www.jtmwriting,blogspot.com