by Aja James
I hadn’t been fed in two days. The harvest was particularly poor this year. The Masters had to eat first, then the children, then the animals, and lastly me. There often wasn’t enough scraps by the time it was my turn.
“You’re too skinny,” I said with a ferocious scowl, trying to stay strong despite the thunderous growling of my stomach. “No one likes girls who are skin and bones. You eat it.”
“Not true,” she argued, flashing one of her blinding grins at me.
It blinded me, anyway, because it was so bright, crooked teeth and all. She was always so pretty when she smiled. Well, truthfully, she was pretty no matter what she did, or even how she looked. She was always pretty to me.
“You like me.”
“What?” I blurted, having lost the thread of the conversation.
“You said no one likes girls who are skin and bones. But it’s not true. You like me, after all.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t,” I insisted, inching away from her to show that I meant it. Even though I didn’t.
“You do,” she insisted back, shuffling closer to me so that our shoulders touched.
Then, she wrapped both arms around one of mine and held on tight, making sure I wouldn’t move away again.
“I don—”
But I didn’t get to finish my argument because she stuck the cheese in my mouth to shut me up. Before I could stop myself, I’d chewed once and swallowed the cheese whole. So much for leaving the food for Ninsa.
“Here,” she said, pulling out a small flask from the inside of her bulky, coarse tunic. “I brought you some honeyed water to wash the food down. Go slower with the bread. You don’t want to upset your stomach like last time.”
Last time was when I hadn’t eaten for a week, and when I scarfed down the bits of fruit and bread she brought, I vomited it all back up just a short while later.
I didn’t argue any more. I couldn’t. There was a lump in my throat that I had trouble swallowing, probably a stuck piece of cheese, and my eyes stung. If I tried to speak, I might do something unmanly like burst into tears. At eight summers already, I certainly wasn’t going to cry like a baby. And certainly not in front of a girl.
Besides, Ninsa was almost a woman at eleven summers. It would be even more humiliating to cry in front of a woman.
Some of the other girls in the orphanage got married to local farmers or tradesmen by the time they were twelve or thirteen. The boys were either sold into indentured servitude, or the few lucky ones were taken into a trade. I didn’t think about what would happen to me. I had none of those options, that was certain. Most likely I’d be dead before long anyway.
Hopefully, my death wouldn’t be drawn out. If I were lucky (which I never was, alas), some Dark soldier would run me through with a sword or cut my head off. That’d be my preferred way to go. I’d thought about joining the Pure rebels for this very purpose—an honorable suicide. But I didn’t have any Gifts to contribute. Besides my changing eye color (Ninsa noticed the stupidest things sometimes). And I couldn’t fight.
Well, I never tried fighting. What was the point? If I lost, it’d hurt pretty bad. If I won, I’d just get into more trouble. Hence, no fighting. No hitting back when others hit me. No biting, kicking, or scratching. The path of least resistance was to stand still and take the beating, let the bullies wear themselves out.
I had a lot of experience with that approach. Worked like a charm every time.
Plus, I didn’t want to leave Ninsa. Somehow, I didn’t know how, I didn’t know what I could possibly do—I wanted to help her find a good home. I wanted to protect her as long as I could. Even though she was the one who always took care of me. I’d pay her back one day. I wouldn’t let her kindness go to waste.
Soon, it would be her turn to get sold off to some human male. I tried to look at her objectively to assess the possibilities.
She had a small, heart-shaped face with a pointy chin. Large, dark eyes, a tiny nose and tiny rosebud mouth that made her look like an owl. Even though she was older than me by three summers, and I was even more skin and bones than she was, I still looked older because I was tall, and she was small all over. Except for those owlish eyes.
She looked more my age than ripe-old eleven. She shouldn’t be sold to a man and put to “work.” In his bed, in the field, in the labor of giving birth to his brats.
Just thinking about it made my chest feel tight.
To distract myself, I didn’t argue further and started eating the bread in silence, taking small sips of the sweetened water to make it last.
Ninsa seemed to take pleasure in watching me eat, because she smiled and hummed a little to herself, sometimes nodding as if in encouragement as I chewed thoroughly and drank the honeyed water.
“A man came by to look at me today,” she said softly, just letting the news slip out as easily as someone might slide a dagger between my ribs.
I choked on the water and muffled my coughs behind my left hand, the one unattached to the arm she was still hugging tight.
“And?” I managed to rasp out when I was finally able to speak.
She shrugged.
“He didn’t like my looks. Said I was scrawny like a bird, so I wouldn’t be much use in the field. And too ugly to bed.”
She said this with another grin, as if she was delighted with the harsh words. I was rather relieved to hear them myself.
But I felt compelled to point out, “You’re not ugly, Ninsa.”
“Yes I am,” she argued, as if offended by my assertion that she wasn’t ugly. “I look like those funny giant birds at the village fair. You remember them? The ones that can’t fly? With bald heads and long, stick-like legs.”
“You mean an ostrich?” I recalled the term.
It was one of the only times I got away from the orphanage. Ninsa and I had snuck out after everyone was asleep to see the last of the annual fair. It was the best night of my life.
“Exactly those,” she agreed.
I shook my head. “No, you look more like an owl. You’re too little to be an ostrich.”
“But owls are adorable,” she argued. “I just look strange.”
She did, actually. And you could tell she’d never grow out of the “awkward” stage. Men were never going to look at her with avaricious lust in their eyes like they did with some of the other girls in the orphanage. Boys too.
It was perfect. Her “ugliness” was the best defense she had in this world. Just like me.
“I’d still marry you,” I burst out suddenly, feeling the need to be loyal.
Then, just as hastily backtracked, “If I were human, that is. I’m not suggesting that something low and dirty like me would ever—”
She leaned in suddenly and pecked me on the cheek, effectively shutting me up.
“I’d marry you too, An-Nisi. Everyone would be jealous of me. Because the ugliest girl got the handsomest boy.”
“Stop saying that,” I muttered, though I knew it was a useless admonishment.
Ninsa always did whatever she felt like; she never listened to me.
“Anyway, it’s never going to happen. I was just pretending,” I reminded her. “I’m…what I am, and you’re human. So it’s never happening.”
“Why? Because I’ll grow old and uglier, and you’ll be beautiful and young forever?”
I rolled my eyes.
“No.”
“Then why? Because I’m too ugly for you too?”
This she said with a teasing smile, but I still saw the vulnerability in her eyes. She might not mind being ugly to others, but she didn’t want to be that to me.
Well, she wasn’t. She was always beautiful to me. But I was certainly never going to tell her that.
“You know why,” I said with exaggerated patience. Really, I was the younger. Why did I have to explain the facts of life to her?
“It won’t always be
like this, you know,” she said. “One day, the Pure Ones will win their freedom, I just know it. It’s not right the way things are.”
Ninsa was always the optimist, but this was just plain unrealism.
“How do you figure?” I pushed. “The Pure rebels are outnumbered hundreds to one. The Dark Queen is gathering forces across the empire and even beyond, calling upon all of her alliances. She’s just toying with the rebels for now, like a cat toys with mice. One day, she will grow bored with this game and obliterate them all.”
“You seem to know a lot about the war.”
“I’m not blind. Anyone with eyes, ears and a brain would come to the same conclusion.”
“Not anyone,” she insisted softly, as if she was the one now having to rely on a store of patience with me. Like an older woman with a child who didn’t understand.
“There are those with something called faith,” she said gently. “I hear stories about a mighty General of the Pure Ones who lead well-trained warriors into battle. He might not win every time, but with every battle he does win, more Pure Ones join the cause. I also hear of a Lady of Light who leads with him, who heals the warriors’ wounds and feeds their stomachs, as well as their souls.”
“Rubbish,” I grunted.
“Don’t you want to be free one day, An-Nisi?”
“Still not my name.”
“My greatest wish is that you are free and happy,” Ninsa went on, undeterred.
She leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed contentedly.
“One day, when you’re on top of the world, An-Nisi, will you still remember the strange-looking ostrich from your childhood?”
“Owl,” I insisted. “Strange-looking owl.”
But she didn’t hear me, having already fallen asleep, her breathing deep and even. Comforting.
It’s a good thing Pure Ones were many times stronger than humans, because I could easily shift her in my arms, stand up and carry her back to her cot inside the mud house.
When I sat back outside against the outer wall, I closed my eyes and wished. I wished that life would continue like this and never change. I wished Ninsa wouldn’t age and die before me. I wished we could always stay together.
But like I said—I was never that lucky.
Chapter Three: Beneath the Mirage
*THE CREATURE*
Once upon a time, there was an ugly boy and a pretty girl. They were the best of friends. They took care of each other when no one else would, for they were orphans without a home.
One day, the boy and girl wandered through a haunted forest in search of food. The girl’s bright red cloak attracted the attention of a big bad wolf. So it pounced on her and tore off her arm, eating it whole. Well, that taught the girl not to be stupid in the future, to wander into a dark, haunted forest wearing a bright red cloak.
Let that be a lesson to her.
Then, the boy and girl encountered a nasty old witch. She cast a spell and turned the boy into a toad, making him uglier than he already was. The girl bemoaned the curse of her friend and tried to kiss him into a prince. But alas, he was a poisonous toad. So she got infected by his slimy toady skin and grew puss-filled sores all over her body. The poison soon seeped into her brain, driving her so mad (as in crazy insane), she hopped around waving her one arm, screaming in pain at the top of her lungs.
And squashed the toad dead underfoot.
The end.
Oopsie daisy.
Not quite the happily-ever-after fairytale I was aiming for. But hey, at least it’s funny! Haha!
Ha.
Hmm…
Perhaps my special brand of humor takes some getting used to. The next story I invent will be better, I promise.
But you know, little boys like macabre, bloody tales of hacked limbs and gruesome deaths. At least, if I were ever a little boy (I can’t recall that I ever was one, in reality, not pretend), I’d like those kinds of stories. Much more entertaining than the boring, eye-roll-inducing kissy-prissy fairytales.
But fine. I’ll tone it down for Benjamin. Given all the boring people with whom he surrounds himself, he probably likes the tamer tales.
Oh, and here he comes now.
I can hear his bubbly laughter from outside my chamber (*cough* prison) door. I must be on my best behavior for this special treat—a visit with my sunshine son.
“I want to see him too, Rain. Why can’t I come?” I can hear his sweet whine just beyond the threshold.
Yes, awful, kabuki doll Rain, why can’t my boy visit me?
“We don’t know what…state he’s in, Benji,” the Pure healer answers in that irritating dulcet voice.
Every time she talks to me I can hear her pity like nails raking across a chalkboard. Who is she to pity me? She’s the one who lost her Gift as the most powerful Pure Healer across the history of the race. She’s the one who chose love over immense, unparalleled power. When I targeted the Protector three years ago to put a sizable dent in the Pure Ones’ warrior ranks, I hadn’t anticipated this possibility—that the Healer would fall instead. Stripped of her powers forevermore.
Even when I lose, I win. The side effects of my schemes are sometimes even more impactful than my original intent.
“He might not be himself,” she explains with annoying patience.
Why do adults feel the need to talk down to children as if they’re not smart enough to comprehend? My Benjamin is the smartest boy—person—being—in the entire universe. He should be talking down to her.
“But he’s always who he is, Rain,” my darling little man answers with a hint of confusion, that of someone explaining the obvious, and uncertain why he has to explain it.
“I see him no matter what he looks like on the outside. That’s just camouflage.”
Such an impressive vocabulary for an eight-year-old! Much smarter than I ever was. Benjamin is the best of everyone. He has his mother’s gorgeous golden looks, my brains, and the soul of an angel.
If I had one of those Pure warriors’ puffy, muscled chests, it would be bursting at the seams with pride. My chest is rather puny, alas. My “camouflage” hides the protruding bones.
“Maybe I should go in by myself,” Benjamin murmured thoughtfully, ostensibly still talking to the healer. “Or just with you, instead of Val too. Maybe then he won’t feel the need to hide himself, and just be who he is.”
Good try, my boy. But it’s highly doubtful that the hulking, humorless Elite warrior would let his female enter a chamber with a rabid animal like myself without his protection. Looking on the bright side, he probably has his scythe with him. Maybe today will be my lucky, final day. (I’m not holding my breath at the prospect though. I’ve never been lucky.)
The Pure healer heaves a reluctant sigh and capitulates, “All right, Benji. You can come in. But stay close to Valerius please. We won’t be long.”
They’re coming in! Oh, the excitement of it! A special visit from my darling precocious boy!
What to do, what to do?
I must make myself look as presentable and as harmless as possible. Shall I put on my Binu face or my usual transgender mask? Or maybe someone else, someone even more beautiful to hide the ugliness within?
But Benjamin can always see what I really look like, I suppose. Damn it! The one person I want to hide my hideous true self from is the one person who always sees through the façade.
What did I tell you about my luck? You see what I mean.
I shift my arms until they’re in front of me, my wrists bound tightly by the accommodating but imprisoning hair. I lick my palms and smooth them awkwardly down the sides of my head, trying to pat down haphazard curls.
My real hair is a mess of black waves. I cut it myself with knives or scissors when it gets too unmanageable. I never bother with how it looks. I just hack off the chunks that itch my neck or fall into my eyes. It probably looks a fright, as if Chucky the demon doll decided to cut your hair in your sleep.
>
At least I never have to shave. Some of the immortal Kinds don’t grow hair anywhere except on their heads. I do grow hair in other places too, but at least not on my face or on my chest. Although, I kind of wish I can grow a beard. It would help hide my ugly face. But the upkeep of it would be a nightmare.
Tradeoffs. They define the precarious balance of my existence.
At last, the chamber doors open to admit my visitors.
“Hi Binu!” Benji rushes in ahead of his protectors despite the healer’s warning.
He stops abruptly about ten feet away from me as I attempt to sit with kingly grace upon the marble floor.
“That’s who you’re pretending to be today, right? Sometimes it’s hard for me to see your disguise because of the person beneath. It’s like looking at the VR of someone else juxtaposed on top of you. The disguise is transparent, and you’re solid. So all I see is you.”
“VR?” the healer leans close to murmur.
“Virtual Reality,” my little man answers.
Just when I think I can’t possibly be more impressed (and scared shitless!) by the brilliance of my boy, I am once again knocked on my VR ass in amazement.
“Good morning, Benjamin,” I manage to greet in a neutral, calm voice, not betraying my inner chaos.
“It’s afternoon,” he points out.
“I must have left my watch in my other pocket,” I return smoothly.
He smiles at me, knowing perfectly well there is no watch.
And then, my brief private moment with Benjamin is over, as his protectors crowd the periphery of my vision and stand on either side of him.
“How are you feeling today…Binu?” the petite healer asks hesitantly.
As if she expects me to unleash an explosion of evil fart bombs at any moment. Never can tell with unhinged psychotic ne’er-do-wells like me.
She sounds sincere enough, but then they all do. All the jackals look as harmless as fluffy puppies before they tear into you with fangs and claws.
“Just dandy,” I answer with teeth-baring cheer. “I can barely feel the cold hard marble beneath my boney ass because it’s fallen asleep from sitting here so long. And your wonderfully accommodating hair has allowed me to change position every once in a while to maintain blood circulation.”