Amara

She’d woken in a cold sweat again, her fingers reaching down to the place below her navel to protect herself. She felt his hands grasping down there, doing whatever the hell he wanted, choking her with his other hand, pressing himself on top of her. She’d screamed out in the darkness and met only the lukewarm vacancy of her room at the Inn when she returned to the waking world.

She looked down at her singed palm before she even realized she’d allowed her power to burn her hands. She got up, opened her window, felt the freezing chill of Averix’s Northern air bite at her peach skin, and dug her hands into the snow that covered the windowpane.

Sometimes she still saw him – still felt his hands grabbing her breasts, raking his nails along her body, telling her she deserved it. Telling her this was the way her life was meant to be.

Now he was a charred corpse in the same cellar where he’d inflicted that horror upon her, but even all the fire she had in her body couldn’t burn away his memory from her mind.

Do you know what this place once looked like, sweetheart?

The Voice was there. Mum was beside her, hugging her close. She could feel her warmth even against the cold air of the night.

"Tell me."

It was full of wonders, the Voice whispered into the winds. Creatures mingled with humankind, hybrids, and ancient dragons. The world was in constant flux – the people and places that existed here were never meant to stand for more than a few days. They were supposed to change – to grow – to wither – and to be reborn as something the imagination of those villagers down there could never conceive. That was what our world once was, dear. It was potential. And it was beautiful.

Amara instinctively placed a hand on her bare shoulder, where she knew her mother’s hand was in this moment.

What do you think, Amara? The Voice asked. Is this world you have seen beautiful?

Amara didn’t even need a second to think about it.

"Nah, mom. It’s full of shit. Shitty people and shitty places."

She felt the Voice chuckle in the odd way it did when she amused it.

Now, this world has been wrested from its anchor. Those with the gift are cast out and discarded, poured down the hole in the earth at the behest of the Chainbreaker. Due to her machinations, our world has become imbalanced, decadent, and forgetful of its own past. It is a world where a man can turn against his own neighbor simply for practicing arts he cannot, for looking like he does not, and a world where a father can debase his daughter in broad daylight while the rest of the world ignores her cries.

She felt her mother’s arm hug her tighter, and she breathed deeply – feeling the sensation as much as she could. She could almost smell her mother’s old perfume behind her. She didn’t pretend to understand everything the Voice said. The feeling was enough. She could hold that deep inside her and it could calm even her most potent rage.

We have both seen this world through your eyes, Amara. But there is one more thing you must see here, on the precipice of your destiny. There are things about yourself that you do not even know yet. But you must learn. You must know yourself before you venture to the world below. Only then can you survive.

Amara nodded, even if she didn’t really understand. She rested her head on the cold windowpane, pretending the snow was the soft arm of her mother.

Tomorrow, you shall meet someone important. You must accept their hand when it is offered to you.

She nodded, looking at the expanse of falling snow out there in the dark.

"Mom," she whispered. "You’ll stay with me, right? You’ll be here no matter what?"

She felt herself shake in the cold and with her own fear. She could only ever ask this of her mother. She felt more bare than she’d felt in a long time.

But her mother’s hold on her only tightened, and as she closed the window she fancied that she could see long wreaths of auburn hair fall over her, and was suddenly looking into a reflection of her mother’s chestnut eyes and gentle hands. Then her full, rubied lips started moving.

Amara, she said. Even if the whole world calls you enemy, and those you meet on your path turn against you, know that I will always be here. Always.

And when Amara’s head hit her pillow again that night she slept soundly, without another stir.

…

The next morning, she knew something was different about the Inn.

She was not roused from her sleep as she expected by the buxom Tilonxeel that served as the maid of this place. Instead, she made her way downstairs and helped herself to a bowl of oatmeal porridge for breakfast – the local specialty according to the Innkeeper.

As she sat at a grime covered table next to the exit, she took cursory glances around the room and saw several new faces were here – faces she had not seen the night before. Five of them to be exact – each one a hybrid of a different kind. They were sitting together, munching on toast and shoveling globules of porridge into their mouths between jovial conversation, but there was something distinctly off about the whole thing. Now and then, Amara just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched by the creatures.

Five hybrids suddenly appearing in a quiet town full of humans? Nah, something was up here.

One of them in particular gave her pause. He was a creature she’d never seen the likes of before – a being with chainmail-like scales covering its face, painted green like the swamps she’d heard about down South. Its eyes were reptilian slits that fixed on her, resting his hand on his drink like he wasn’t too concerned about it. Like it was just there for show.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"Something’s going on, right?" She asked her guardian. "What do I need to do?"

Just remember what I told you, sweetheart, Mom replied. And everything will transpire as it must.

"Who you talkin’ to?"

Amara’s eyes shot up to see those of the lizard man dangling over her, his breathing sharp, and heavy. Now she could see the rippling muscles that poked out of his cloak, and his slimy tail that trailed behind him.

"None of your business," she responded coldly.

She immediately looked away from him, returning to her porridge, but then she felt him sit down across from her.

"Lemme buy you a drink," he said. His voice was like a steel blade being grated across a chalkboard.

"No," she said.

"Come on," he insisted. "Don’t be like that."

She felt his tail slither up her leg from below. One gnarled, reptilian hand reached across the table to grasp hers.

"I said no."

She tried to keep her voice steady, recoiling back from him, trying to keep from shaking. She felt the will to call up the flames well up inside her. It would be so easy to let it out – turn this freak into a pile of quivering ash. But in close quarters like this, she could burn the whole Inn down as well as the rest of its occupants. Not that they mattered to her, but then the whole town would see what she was. And she’d be the target of the newest witch hunt.

Images of the burning Tigran boy back in Bethalmz swam in her head, and she felt blood rush to her hands. She tried to calm herself, keeping her breath slow even as blinding rage built within her, till it was about to reach boiling point.

"Just one drink," the lizard-fiend kept saying, edging closer, like he was tempting her to destroy him then and there. "Just one…"

Mom…

"Oh, Sasha!" a voice suddenly boomed from beside her. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, a thin Tigran girl wearing a tight bra-strap and tussled skirt emerged at Amara’s side, taking her by the arm and dragging her to her feet.

"It’s so great to finally meet you!" the Tigran chuckled in her high-pitched, jovial voice. "I hope you’re ready. We’ve got a long, intense day ahead of us."

And she gave Amara a surreptitious wink that told her what her aim here was. The Tigran’s eyes then darted to the lizard at the table, and she brushed her dangling ponytail nonchalantly in his direction.

"Arekis," she stated.

He gave her a look that was something beyond disdain, almost something like begrudged respect.

"Anna," he replied, matter-of-fact.

He leaned back and ducked his tail between his legs, eyeing them both up and down before licking his lips and downing his drink.

"So, that’s how it is?"

"That’s how it is," Anna replied, matching his tone.

He downed his drink, nodded once, and then took his leave.

"Maybe I’ll see you later," he said to the Tigran before he went back to his band.

"Maybe," she shrugged, noncommittal.

And before she knew it Amara was being dragged away outside by this Anna character – who was chattering on and on about how soft her new bedsheets were and how she’d finally gotten that new perfume she’d been bartering for down at the market for weeks.

When they were far enough away from the Inn, Mara breathed a sigh of relief and dropped the act.

"You ok?" she asked.

Amara scarcely knew how to respond. She kept her eyes forward, still scanning for other adversaries.

"Fine," she said.

The Tigran’s fur felt soft against her skin, and strangely she did not feel the need to detach herself from her arm. Truthfully, it was doing wonders to insulate her from the cold.

"Why’d you do that?" Amara suddenly asked. She knew it sounded awkward before the words even came out.

The Tigran called Mara chuckled in her warm tone, the sensation of her laughter traveling up her arm and sending ripples through Amara’s being. She stiffened, instinctively.

"Didn’t exactly look like that creep was your type," she said, and now her voice was soft, melting over Amara like the gently falling snow. "Thought I’d come help ya out."

"You know that guy?"

Anna sniffed at the cool air. "He’s one of my clients. Usually rolls around this time of year. Trust me, you don’t wanna get involved with a horny old Yok’ra like that."

Amara looked away. "I can take care of myself."

Anna chuckled again in response, this time louder, so that Amara was forced to turn and ready herself to berate this cackling kitten. But her eyes were suddenly distracted by the shortness of the hybrid’s skirt, her exposed midriff, and the scent emanating from her collar. She’d never seen anything like this girl before.

"You remind me of me," Anna said after her giggling abated. "I thought I knew how to handle everything life threw at me when I was your age. Lemme guess: only child, right? Probably never knew your mom?"

Amara felt herself blush. Once more she turned away. But, though she felt her bones ache in the admission, something kept her from throwing this girl off her completely.

"So what? Doesn’t mean you know me."

She suddenly felt the Tigran’s soft finger stroking the inside of her arm. She whirred, looking at her with shock and disgust.

But the look on the girl’s face was calm. Serene.

"I don’t know you," she said. "But I know what it’s like to feel alone in this place."

Something in her words struck Amara, and she felt herself calm down as they both stopped to look up at the ramshackle Yarruck chapel – its belltower booming to announce mid-afternoon. Silhouetted by the snow, Amara thought it looked ghost-like – a pale specter howling in the eternal blizzard that blanketed this place.

"Where are you taking me?" Amara asked her companion.

"Oh, I’m not taking you anywhere," Anna replied with a slight laugh, taking her arm away and putting her hands behind her back, balancing on the soles of her feet. "We merely seem to be walking in the same direction. You can keep walking with me, or you can go back to your porridge."

Amara blinked, confused, and rubbed the flecks of fresh snowfall out of her hair. Only then did she notice the warm grin the Anna was flashing at her. It suddenly occurred to Amara that she was being…teased?

Or maybe this Anna girl was just a psychopath.

Almost like she could feel Amara’s internal scrutiny, the Tigran laughed again.

"Sorry," she said. "I’m actually just heading to visit someone. Over there," she pointed to the chapel. "To tell you the truth, I’d be glad to have some company. But if you’d rather not, that’s ok."

Amara suddenly felt the snow on her shoulders and cold, biting wind on her face far more keenly.

The girl turned on the spot and shot Amara a tiny glance over her bare shoulder.

"Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. It was nice talking with ya."

But as she made to leave, something in Amara’s body tightened. Then, like she was listening to another voice rising inside her, she called back to the girl.

"Hey, look, wait a minute."

Anna spun back round again almost as fast as she’d turned away and cocked her head at her. Amara bit her lip, trying to find the words.

"I – look - I’m not doing anything. So…"

Her fists clenched at her sides. She was suddenly acting like a moron.

Then she felt the shadow of the cheerful Tigran burst into view again. She looked up to see her smiling face brimming with joy, and a single hand reaching out to her.

"Before we go, let’s do a proper introduction. My name’s Anna. What’s yours?"

Amara just looked at the cat’s paw. She returned only a look of confusion at its owner.

"Don’t worry," Anna said softly. "This is just what people do when they meet. We shake hands, and we tell each other our names. That’s all."

Amara looked at the hand again, and a burst of electricity rushed over her.

Tomorrow, you shall meet someone important. You must accept their hand when it is offered to you.

Mom, she thought. I understand now.

She took the Tigran’s soft hand and shook it firmly.

"Amara," she said.

"Anna and Amara," the Tigran giggled. "Has a nice ring, doesn’t it? Anyway, come on. I promise we won’t be long."

And Anna led her by the hand through the snow-caked streets, past the wandering eyes of villagers who spared the strange pair only a momentary stare as they went about their days.