by E E Rawls
“Stop it!” She jerked away.
“Did you think changing your clothes and painting your face would make you one of us?”
“Teehee, as if!” laughed a smirking brunette.
“Cherry-top is just a girly boy who’s confused. Vempar blood does that to people, y’know,” tutted another, and they laughed harder.
Clenching both fists so hard they turned white, Cyrus marched away, past the ridicule and taunts, outdoors to the playground, to the farthest edge where it was muddy and smelly from last night’s rain and where she could hide among tall bushes in peace.
So much for that plan. She never should have listened to Heily! She kicked at the soggy grass.
She’d always be a half-blood, and always be ridiculed for it. “I wish I’d been born a boy. Then I’d be tougher than this, and wouldn’t cry anymore...”
She listened to the hum of the town’s single airship as it slowly rose, propellers whirring. If only somebody would accept her just the way she was...but some dreams were too much to dream.
“No,” came a voice behind her.
She squeaked and turned around, coming face to face with a pair of gleaming copper eyes, flecked with blue like sprinkled rain.
Huntter, a boy who was a year older, stood there. He was cute with thick, fluffy brown hair that jutted bangs down his forehead, except he always wore a glare that could make rocks tremble.
Sometimes she would catch glimpses of his shadow during recess or as she walked home. But whenever she met his eye or tried to draw near, he would melt back and vanish, elusive as a wolf. He went to the Argos Corps Academy, and had on their olive-colored uniform, training to one day become an Argos and protect humans from enemies, such as vempars.
“What do you mean, No?” She tried to smooth back strands of stubborn hair peeking out from perturbed hairclips.
“You were born a girl; you shouldn’t wish for something different,” Huntter stated bluntly. Those intense copper eyes held her frozen. “Don’t be what other people want you to be. They call you names to hurt your feelings, but they’re just empty idiots trying to satisfy their need for attention. Ignore them.”
She gaped, speechless. Not only was he talking to her, but giving advice? And the way he spoke was so grown-up.
Huntter’s mouth hesitated, his gaze fidgeted. “I know what it’s like to be...different. But stay the kind girl you are. Don’t let mean people change you.”
Cyrus’s wide eyes showed her surprise better than words could. Before she could speak, Huntter shrunk back and sprinted away, vanishing once more into the street shadows.
She let her outstretched hand fall back to her side, and tipped her head up at the pale sky. A solitary cloud drifted its shadow slowly over the town’s curvy roof tiles.
“Don’t let mean people change me—why does Huntter care?” she asked it, and felt her cheeks heat.
Her wrists began aching again, and she rubbed them.
Chapter 2
A current of warm air wove through Elvenstone Town, carrying with it the scent of spring. Years had passed, and Cyrus would soon turn thirteen come summer. She held her arms out, knees bent, ready during a game of longball-tag.
“Catch it! Catch it!” a scruffy boy shouted her way.
Cyrus ran into a leap—grabbing the longball out of the air before her feet landed back down.
“Touchdown!” She waved the ball in triumph, all sweaty.
Her team hollered in victory, waving their arms and making faces at the losing side.
“I can’t believe she caught it,” a gangly boy commented.
“Heh, just like a boy,” added another.
They snickered at their little joke.
Cyrus tossed the ball over her shoulder without looking. The ball bounced off the gangly boy’s head and into his friend. Both rubbed their noggins and looked for the culprit.
Cyrus hid a smirk; longball-tag was great fun. But it was also hurting her wrists more than before. She adjusted the fingerless gloves that wrapped around her wrists and hands, keeping them stiff and safe. White lines like scars now zigzagged around each wrist like a bracelet, hidden beneath the glove fabric. There was no explanation for it, and it wasn’t something she could openly talk about.
The thrill of the game still bubbled inside her, but deflated when she glimpsed Heily walk past the field—a disapproving frown clear on her pretty face. Cyrus grumbled under her breath.
As Cyrus left the field and followed the sidewalk home, her thoughts strayed to the future. She couldn’t stay forever in a town that didn’t want her, could she? Some boys might let her join in on games, but that was the extent of her social life. No one wanted to be associated with her.
‘What is it you want me to do, Lord God?’ she prayed silently to the Creator as the sun dipped below the terraced hills. ‘What am I supposed to do with this life? I can’t just stay here and... I want something meaningful.’ She wiped off a frustrated tear.
Once back home, she dumped the trash into the pickup bin, and watered their small garden, before finally taking off her shoes and heading inside into the kitchen. She grabbed a seat and opened a container of crackers, munching them over the counter.
Narcissa strode past, switching on the oilpowder stove to begin work on dinner. She fingered the engraving on the wall that represented Suez, a god in folklore whose body some believed had formed their continent.
It made the woman angry that Cyrus had a different belief, following only Lord God. “I thought I told you to take a shower before coming in the kitchen,” said Narcissa.
Cyrus looked down at her clothes, which had some dirt smudges and wet patches. “I will, I’m just grabbing a snack.”
Narcissa made a sound through her teeth. “Always playing games, always dirty...” she muttered, adding a Néos curse. “Is it that vempar half of you that keeps you from being dainty and clean?”
Cyrus chewed, swallowed. “You make me do most the chores—how could I be clean? Sorry I’m not another Heily.”
The human woman barked a laugh. “No, you’re most certainly not, tainted the way you are.”
A cracker broke in Cyrus’s grip. “My mother was different—not tainted.”
Narcissa lowered a slab of meat into the soup pot. “All vempars are monsters. And the sooner you realize that, the better. You should focus more on your human half.”
Anger heated Cyrus’s face. She lowered her hand to the counter. Her mother had never been a monster. No matter what this town thought, or what this human woman said, it wasn’t true!
A sharp gasp made Cyrus look up. Narcissa had frozen, staring at the counter.
Cyrus followed her stare to the metal spoon Cyrus’s finger was resting on—only now the spoon was melting itself into a blob. She watched as the blob of liquid metal drifted over, into her palm, and there re-molded itself into the shape of a knife.
A scream tore from Narcissa’s throat, and Cyrus flinched away from the knife, letting it fall to the floor where it clattered solidly.
“Elemental Manipulation.” Narcissa pointed a trembling finger at what Cyrus had just done. “You’ve inherited that evil magic from your mother’s blood!”
Cyrus backed away, not understanding.
Narcissa kept shouting, “Get out, witch! Get out!”
Cyrus hurried outside.
And she didn’t stop running until the house was out of sight. She found and sat on the curb by the town’s book shop, with fear and a mix of emotions in her chest. A pretty mosaic of vines ran under her seat along the white street walk, and she traced the leaves absently with her gaze.
Passersby gave her stares after a while, so she decided to go inside.
The shop was one of the places she used whenever she needed somewhere to hide. The rows of books were a comforting maze.
Mother had an Elemental Manipulation Ability, or so Cyrus had heard from town gossip, though she never fully understood what it meant—only that it was something townspeople lab
eled as dark magic.
Cyrus searched through the Science aisle of the shop, until she found a curious book labeled Vempars, & Their Ways. She browsed through its worn pages.
Ability: the gift that a select number of vempars are born with, also known as Elemental Manipulation. It is the power to manipulate certain elements via the wielder’s essence (a form of life-energy).
In most cases, a vempar’s Ability is awoken during an emotional outburst or stressful situation...
She paused. That didn’t quite sound like dark magic or anything evil. More like an unusual life-energy that some vempars could put to use. She recalled how angry she’d felt before the spoon shifted, then read on.
According to the book, it seemed that in most cases Ability was passed down through blood, though not always. These gifted vempars were taken and trained to be made into Draevs for the Draev Guardian League—the elite fighting force of the Vemparic Kingdom. One page showed a list of Ability classifications:
Terravis (Eartha)
Blazevis (Fire)
Liquivis (Water)
Aerovis (Air)
Metamorvis (Transformation)
Armavis (Weapons)
Electrovis (Electromagnetic)
Cyrus sat back, taking in what this could mean for her, if she had the power of a Draev. Would the town find out? Would she be arrested, or worse?
She didn’t want to go back home, but there was nowhere else to go. Maybe Dad could reason with Narcissa and gloss this whole incident over...
She placed the book back on the shelf and made her slow way home. She tiptoed through the door, only to find that Narcissa was in a fit, ranting at Heily about the ordeal, while the step-sister stood looking confused and afraid. When Narcissa spotted Cyrus, she began pointing and shouting, “May the god Suez burn the evil that’s inside you!”
Dad was there, and he gripped the woman’s arm and raised his voice. “Stop shouting, and calm yourself! What happened today was a fluke, nothing more. Understand? No one needs to know of it. Don’t ruin the Sole family name any further than it already has been.”
Narcissa snarled under her breath. Heily remained uncomfortably silent.
“You won’t let this dark fluke happen again. Will you?” Dad turned to Cyrus. She nodded feebly. “Good. I don’t want to hear it ever mentioned again. It’s time for dinner.”
As they went to the table, Cyrus instead slumped her shoulders and went upstairs to her room, losing any appetite. She sat on the floor before the window, watching dusk arrive.
She had prayed for a purpose, something important to do that would make people stop judging her, but now things were worse than ever. Being half-vempar was bad enough, but now she had the power of a Draev?
‘Why did you make me this way, Lord?’ she cried.
She didn’t care about ruining the Sole name, but this Ability, or whatever it was, had to be kept secret, no matter what. Cyrus had once overheard Dad talking with members of the Argos Corps: the specialized combat division and protectors of human kind, the exterminators of vempars—in particular, of Draevs. And they’d been talking about her.
“Contact us if she begins showing any vempar traits, or anything like the Ability her mother had,” they had said.
The Argos didn’t exactly say what they would do to Cyrus if she did have Ability. But she knew what they did to vempars down in the town’s square... Her gut turned queasy.
The next day came and went, and then several more, and Dad didn’t contact the Argos Corps about her Ability. She still feared there was a chance he might, one day. Whether it was guilt over Mother’s murder keeping him silent, or social status, how much longer could it last? Surely it wasn’t for love; he’d never loved her.
Meanwhile, there was a constant undercurrent of tension in the house. None of them talked during breakfast, unless necessary, nor met her gaze. Narcissa avoided her like a poison that might corrupt them if they got too close. The woman’s frown was disdainful each morning when Cyrus passed through the kitchen on her way to the door, and each late afternoon when she came home. Cyrus wasn’t sure how much more of it all she could take.
She used to wonder how Dad could hate vempars so much when, in the past, he’d gone and married one. Heily had given her the full story one evening, years back, while doing embroidery on a scarf. Cyrus thought back to that memory now:
“Dad didn’t know your mama was a vempar then, Cyrus. She’d kept it secret. And by the time he discovered the truth, they were already married, with you on the way.”
Something about that felt off, and Cyrus had voiced so.
“I’m just telling you what my mama told me,” replied Heily, threading the needle.
She didn’t feel like Heily was lying, but something about the story was fishy. How could Dad not have known what Mother was?
The story continued that when Dad didn’t want anything more to do with Mother, instead of divorcing her (he wouldn’t forsake the vows, and shame himself further in front of the town) Mother had been allowed to stay and live in a cabin just outside Elvenstone’s wall.
Cyrus imagined how hard life must have been for her. Maybe much like how it was for herself, now, without friend or family, isolated...
Another school day passed, as she held these thoughts close, and she stayed after to join a group of orphans in a game of longball-tag. Younger orphans didn’t care as much about what she was, for now, and she enjoyed playing with them.
Mist rolled along the terraced hills beyond town as the day grew late. Cyrus finished one last game before heading home, and she breathed in the calming scent of moist air. She decided to take the long route home. There was plenty of time before dinner, and the cloudy day with its damp, cool air and earthy scent was beckoning her to stay outside.
She let it wash away thoughts of the past and problematic Abilities, and let it soothe.
Strolling white street after street, she curved through town following a line of orange mosaic flowers. Teens on rollerboards zipped by. A small cargo carrier full of jars rattled past, and chatter from an open tavern drifted across the sidewalk. Melody from the town’s bell tower sounded out the evening hour, spooking a flock of pigeons.
There was no sign of Huntter’s shadow today. Usually she spotted him when she left the school building, though he never hung around to talk. He must be off on a training exercise with his mentor...
“Hit him!”
“Slimy monster. Haha, try and reach us if you can!”
“Do you know why you’re caged up like an animal? Because that’s what you and all your kind are: animals.”
Taunts were echoing through a side street that opened onto Town Square. She spotted the group, who were throwing sticks, rocks and whatnot at a hanging death-cage—one of several lined up; cages of rough black silver bars and straps bolted together, suspended in the air by rope and thick T-cross poles. There was no escaping one of those. Black silver was unbreakable, except by dragon fire, as far as she knew.
Death-cages dotted Town Square, showing off criminals and caught vempars for the public to scorn as they starved and rotted away. She always avoided going near the Square. It was a haunting sight she didn’t need. But now, against her better judgment, she was venturing close, drawn in by the taunts.
Squinting, Cyrus spied the death-cage currently under assault: a male contained within its bars. He had pointed ears, with ridges similar to a bat’s lining the insides. A vempar.
The prisoner’s hunched body looked gaunt beneath the ragged clothes clinging to him; his head dirty under a mop of long, oily black hair and grime. Dark circles under his eyesockets made them look sunken, his skin drawn and parched. The result of no food or water, and nothing but rain from the sky for a shower; and a lack of essence—the life-energy vempars fed on. Bruises and welts covered the exposed flesh the rags couldn’t hide, and his bony hands gripped the black silver bars.
Cyrus felt a pang of sympathy in her chest, and couldn’t stop her feet from guiding
her closer. His body wasn’t Healing, probably due to lack of essence.
Did the man deserve this fate? Just for being born different? If he was a murderer, then she’d understand, but most dangerous vempars were killed on the spot—not brought back to the cages. Most likely this person had been caught trespassing through human lands.
“Hey!” Cyrus called to the group taunting him. “There’s no reason to throw rocks. Leave him alone.”
The group turned, all eyes fixed on her.
Uh, did she just say that? Out loud? When she was one person, and they were seven boys?
Oh crud.
“Well, look who’s come to greet us.” The tallest boy flashed an unpleasant grin.
It was too late to back down, now.
“I guess their kind come in packs,” laughed another boy. “Where one is, there’s bound to be more—not unlike cockroaches.”
Cyrus searched for something to say.
The group drew near.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She almost took a step back before catching herself. She dashed forward, instead, and placed herself between the gang and the death-cage. “Vempars are people. They have feelings, same as you,” she argued.
The imprisoned vempar raised his head slightly.
She didn’t know what she was doing, only that she couldn’t stand to see someone being tormented.
The boys edged closer. “Puh-leeze. Don’t try and get us with that cheesy They’ve got feelings and emotions talk. We don’t care. They’re all murderous scum who feed off of us,” said the tallest.
“You don’t know that!” she protested.
He grinned. “How about you come play with us instead? You motherless tramp.”
Her hand gripped the pole that held the death-cage, trying to keep her balance, mind racing.
The group moved in, circling, cutting off any escape.
How had she manipulated the spoon?
Was there anything metal to use now?
‘Pull...stretch...remold the metal...’
Her eyes cast about, searching for something, anything.