The Child, Chapter 1

Leaves rustled on the ground, wet from a recent rain. A girl with hair as red as the fire ran, chased by men on horses. Her dirty and torn dress flailed in the wind behind her, a flag of her freedom. She had been running longer than she could remember. She was one of the few left. Her kind had been hunted since she was an infant. Giving up now could mean the extinction of a race once so plentiful.  

Every few steps she looked back to see if her hunters still chased her like the fox. She feared they had dogs, nasty, bloodthirsty dogs. Those mutts would catch her scent, and she could not run faster than them. It would be nearly impossible even if she had her father and brother.

As she ran, the girl listened for the dogs. She heard nothing, except her own breaths and the cheers and yells of men still holding prejudice from the Death. The men chasing her were too poor to afford them. But they did have horses, and horses were dangerous for a fool. But she was not a fool in the way of the torch hunt. They were serfs borrowing from the lord of the manor, she knew this from their dress. She was fortunate. They would not dare go off the land in case their lord took unkindly to that, and outrunning the cappers saved her life countless times.

“Come ‘ere, torchy. We gon’ cap you back to your fiery Hell,” one man taunted with a distasteful, peasant accent. She could hear him now, and the girl ran faster than before. They were coming closer, and she would run out of places to hide. Even her father was not immortal.

Her legs began to fail her. Oh curse those weak limbs of hers. She ran too long and too hard, but she could not give up for if Vaterpa was out there, he would protect her from his astray children. He would give her the strength to continue.

If she did stop from exhaustion, her death was certain. She loved The Family, but she was not invincible like They. No, she was mortal but unready to meet Death yet. Life was too exciting to end it. She had to keep running till she hit the sea.

So she refused to stop. She ran. With her brother and father in her mind, she ran. Their sacrifices would not be in vain, and she would sail the seas toward the Orientalé Empire, toward safety and wealth for the remainder of her pitiful but existing life. Her brother told her what to do in case this would happen. She had to get lucky. She had to outsmart the townsmen.  

She looked behind at the darkening trees. They fell farther and farther away, their torches smudges in the distance. There was hope yet. She could live to see another day. She could rebuild her family and take back everything she lost before her birth.

In her burst of speed, the girl did not see a root from a tree. When her nimble, clumsy feet came to pass it, she tripped and fell over the gnarled limb onto a sharp stone, but she continued her flee as fast she could, ignoring her cut knee and she kept running toward the west.

But the fall set her back. It brought her into their torches’ glow. There was no escape now. They knew where she was, and her capture would come soon. The darkness could no longer hide her, and she couldn’t outrun their horses. Her father taught her to trust the darkness fore she was a light. In the familiar wood, they had the vast advantage.

One of them bid their steed to go faster, and snatched the girl off the ground. He yelled, “I found the demon, boys.” They cheered at her fear. “In the names of Mamadre and Hermaschwe, I found her.”

The smelly man put her between him and his horse to constrict her movement. She knew her fate was sealed, so she didn’t bother to fight. There was no point in fighting fate when he hated her so.

She would be tried as a witch of Hell come dawn. The townspeople would convict her, and in a fit of irony, she would be burned at the stake. All because she was born with hair of fire.

So the girl didn’t bother to fight. It would only make it more unpleasant. Her brother fought, and she remembered the sound of when they cleaved his head in. It had been a hammer he took for her safety, but it was useless. His distraction did nothing when she was captured  days later.

The girl did the only thing she could do: she prayed. In her mind where only she lay, she prayed and prayed that someone would save her. Yet no one was listening. Frerbro nor any of warriors bothered to hear her call. She seemed to think He wanted her dead. This act was in his family name, and if he wanted her blood, he would take it.

The men brought her into town and locked her in the cellar of a freeman’s house. It was dark in there. She had no light to keep her company in the dank subroom that sent shivers throughout her body.

The girl spoke to herself, to The Family, and anyone else listening . “Why must I be so unfortunate as to die at such a young age? I haven't seven summers, yet I am to be slaughtered in your name, in the name I always claimed to love. Give me a reason, Family of All. Please, I have done no wrong except been born with hair brighter than the flames.”

There was a slam on the door, and a man yelled, “Quit talking, witch.” She was no witch nor demon and doubted any of the murdered were. All had been people with something out of their control. There were no demons fighting inside their bodies with their soul. The torch cappers were the true evils. The Anglain king was the most evil capper of them all, and the girl would cut his throat if she could.

Quieter, she spoke to the gods. “I beg you to give me freedom. I care not where, but I have not sinned, just survived. Why do I deserve Your wrath?” In the darkness, no one answered her prayers, but they never did. Always, her gods were silent.

The girl lay there for hours. Hunger rumbled in her tummy. She had not eaten in several days, but the hunger was overshadowed by her fear. Come morn, they would burn her at the stake, and there was nothing she could do to escape.

While she lay in wait, she listened to the voices above her. One was a woman who carried the thick accent of Paño and the other a native to this town. They discussed her fate  from above. The girl listened to the conversation with impending doom. She wanted to know how long she had left before they summoned Death without mercy.

Muffled through the floorboards, the girl made out some of the Paño’s words. Even if she was more familiar with the foreign accent, she would still have difficulty deciphering the conversation. “Leave her to me. She will not escape, and there is no need for you to stay.”

The man hesitated before allowing himself to leave. The slam of the door confirmed his leave. The girl did not know whether or not she should be relieved he was gone. He distracted the Paño from her for at least a moment, but now nothing stood in the way between her.

Several minutes later, a weak light filtered down into the cellar. It hurt her eyes to look at. She was so used to the complete darkness that any light was overwhelming.

The woman crept down the steps with a candle to light her way. “Child, are you there?” The girl hid farther back into the corner. “I am not here to hurt you. My name is Bernadette, and I am a friend.”

Bernadette found the girl hiding in the corner, curled into a small ball with a gaze of hatred reflecting in her eyes. Bernadette brought a plate of peas and chicken in her hand. The girl did not want to risk it being poisonous, but she was so hungry.

Bernadette put the plate down near the girl and stepped away. “Do not fear me. I am a friend. I carry the torch.” Carry the torch. Her brother told her about those people. They were the true saviors for they would bring her to the Orientalé Empire. They protected the torches from the brunette and the blond’s wrath here in Anglain.

The girl approached her and started eating from the plate. The woman had brought her a fork as well. Her father, even on the run, always told her to use a fork when possible. It was a sign of class and elegance, and he was optimistic about their future and humanity’s. She never carried the same, foolish optimism.

The girl could now see Bernadette. She was a fair woman with tan skin and dark brown hair. Her green eyes were large and doll like, her lips plump and pink. She was a Paño, through and through, and by the gods, she was gorgeous.

As the girl ate the meal, Bernadette talked to her. “I am going to help you escape tonight, but we must hurry. When dawn comes, it will be too late, and I can no longer save you then. So eat up, sweet love. We do not have time to waste.”

“Do you know about my brother?” the girl asked hopefully. If Carriers of the Torch were in this town, he could have been saved. “He was captured a few days ago.”

Bernadette pushed a lock of the girl’s red hair behind her ear. “I do. He was a thin boy, quite short, so yes, I remember him. A friend of mine ambushed the men before he could be killed. He sailed off to the Orientalé Empire the next day. You will be meeting him there.”

Her brother was alive. It gave the girl new astonishing hope. Maybe even her father was too, and her family could be whole again. She wanted to leave sooner than possible.

The girl finished her dinner in so few bites. Not only was time of the essence, but she would get to see her brother at last. From land or sea, she would see him again, no matter the cost. He was the reason she survived for so long without their father.

When she finally finished her rich meal, Bernadette brought her a new dress. It was not bright or fine like the upper class wore. In fact, it was a common peasant dress with faded dye and thin, patched-up fabrics, but it was better than the torn, ragged smock she had on. She didn't complain at all. This dress was hers, and it was not stolen. She felt more royal than the Imperian queen in it..

Once dressed, Bernadette bid the girl to follow her outside to a covered cart pulled by two oxen lighted by a dim lantern, and Bernadette lifted a board from the driver’s bench to reveal a hidden compartment. She threw several blankets and pillows into it before having the girl climb in. “I’ll get you out once we leave town.”

The girl crawled into the hidden alcove. It was large enough for an adult, so she was left with plenty of space without the blankets. Then the wagon started to move while Bernadette apologized for the jostling and throwing about. She felt sore, but she had no complaints. She was going to the Orientalé Empire where she would be safe. A little pain in between, she expected, and also she had faced much worse pain than a few bumps and bruises.

The Orientalé Empire, better known as the Eastern Empire to the serfs and peasants, was an empire far to the east. They prized the torches for their hair, and many of their upper class people paid for their voyages eastward. Any torch went at the first chance. The eastern government fought to protect their precious prizes from those who wanted the fire’s blood..

It took a long time for them to travel far enough outward for Bernadette to let the girl out. She traveled at a lethargic pace to not cause the girl too much discomfort, but she wished Bernadette would go faster. She wanted to be leagues gone before anyone noticed their absence.

When the girl was let out, Bernadette gave her a hood to cover her hair. “For your protection.” She pulled it over her long, matted hair and kept her head down to attract less attention.

Dawn came, and the child felt a sense of relief. She, despite all odds, lived through the night and had a chance to make it the Orientalé. She would survive this torturous hell live to tell the tale to her children and theirs.

Out of boredom and curiosity, the girl said, “Why do you do this? Why do you carry the torch?” Bernadette sped up the oxen and smiled down at her. She went out of her way and put herself in danger so others she never met before lived, and the girl had no idea why anyone would ever do that for a stranger.

“I had many children and a husband,” she said. Bernadette looked down at her hands holding the oxen’s lead. “For my safety, my husband had to leave me, taking two of my children like so many others have done before. The rest traveled with their aunts and uncles.” Her voice cracked. “Every child was a torch. I fear the worst of their fate. I have not seen them since he left. If my husband died, then Serafina and Murdoch were sure to follow.”

A tear fell from the Paño’s eyes as she clutched at her neck. She held onto a necklace like it was the weight that kept her tethered to the earth. It was the winged symbols of The Family. Frerbro’s inflight expanse underneath the protective closed feathers of Mamadre with Hermaschwe’s tucked in and Vaterpa’s wingspan spread out to connect them all together. The necklace was the most intricate thing she ever saw.

“Do you know my name?” the girl said. She moved closer to Bernadette, staring up at her beautiful face. Even at her young age, she saw the beauty within the Paño’s features.

Bernadette shook her head and patted the girl’s hand. “No, that is for only you. If I get captured, I would be forced to tell who you are. The king could demand you back, and I would not want all this effort to go to waste only because you told me your name. So no, I wish not to hear it.”

“My father was a torch,” the girl said. “He died a year ago from a village capturing him. My brother managed to keep us alive and hidden by himself. My father taught him well.”

“Your father sounds like he was a good man.” He was. When she was scared, her father used to sing her to sleep. His voice was the warmest honey, and she hoped never to forget it. When all was hopeless, he believed in humanity. He said one day, they would welcome the torches back.

The girl and Bernadette traveled together for several days. They headed west toward the vast ocean. There the girl would get on a boat sailing for the farthest port from the Anglain Empire. She would then take the Trader’s Road to the Orientalé Empire.

They went through many towns on their travels, and in not one of them was the girl persecuted. Sometimes, a native welcomed them and flirted with Bernadette. In those places,  As long as her head was covered, she could go from town to town unnoticed. She never felt so free in her life.