Amara
For the next two weeks, Amara stayed at Anna's simple house in Yarruck, helping her every now and then with groceries, cleaning, and chatting with her when she didn’t have to work. In her spare time, Amara did whatever she could to make the Tigran’s life easier. She learned about preparing the special tea that Anna brewed, and often had a piping cup of it ready when Anna returned from one of her nightly visits to her clients.
When she had visitors of her own, Anna made it clear that Amara should head out for a few hours. She often wondered about the peculiar nature of Anna’s job in such moments. This ‘healing’ that was so pivotal to her faith in Yevua also served as her only means of profit in this place. Whatever happened in that bedroom, it must’ve been impressive, because the men and women Anna brought home often came back, usually with larger coin pouches.
Some nights she’d stay in her room while Anna honed her craft next door. The walls were thin – too thin to leave much to the imagination. She’d hear the grunts of the men and their wails of pleasure, mixed with Anna’s own moans of ecstasy. At times, she’d hear these things and wipe her brow unconsciously, feeling sweat come away in her hand.
"Why does she do it?" she asked the darkness of her room as the bed next door thumped against the floorboards.
The Voice answered: People will do what they must to achieve their dreams, darling. Remember that. Often, one’s dream takes precedent even over oneself, or others.
And then she remembered then Anna’s wish to leave this place – to board a carriage to Lucent and live there amidst the bright lights and busy streets. What her mother had apparently wanted for her.
She listened closely some nights to those sounds of pleasure next door, and she felt her face flush all over again. Yet, as one part of her mind wandered the new tunnels that had opened within the chambers of her brain, another part was questioning: was it really worth it? Did she really enjoy it? Some nights, Amara couldn’t tell if her screams next door were wails of pleasure, or howls of agony.
Some nights Anna came back home to a blazing hot fire in the hearth (which was always just a little warmer than she remembered) and saw Amara just gazing into the flames. She’d join her, and together they’d talk the rest of the night away. They often spoke about Anna’s past, about Yarruck, and about the things they’d seen in the world of Averix. Anna was amazed by Amara’s tales of Lucent and Milport – far off places she’d only ever dreamt of. She wanted to know everything – about the clothes the people wore, about the way they spoke, what they drank, what parties the ladies went to. But for Amara, there was only one subject worth talking about.
"They burn the magic people down there," she said, staring into the crackling hearth. "The people with the Glance."
"Glancers," Anna corrected, quietly. "Yeah, I know."
Amara shot her a look of anger, and out of the corner of her eyes, Anna saw the flames of the fire shoot just a little bit higher for an instant.
"So why do you want to go there?" Amara asked. "I watched them burn a Tigran like you just because they said he could cast spells. But they don’t know anything about magic."
Amara, the Voice cautioned. Careful.
But its warning was faint. In fact, it was almost inaudible these days.
She certainly couldn’t focus on anything when Anna took her hands and kissed them gently, shooting her that smile that could disarm entire armies.
"You know what’s amazing about you?" she said. "You don’t just say that the way we treat people is wrong. You actually believe it. I can tell, Amara. I can tell that you’re a good person."
Amara looked away, returning her gaze to the fire. She didn’t hear the Voice’s warnings.
"I’m far from a good person," she spat at the hearth. 'I’ve done horrible things.'
She looked into the fire and could swear that within its embers her own amber eyes looked back at her with hatred, despising what they saw.
"Horrible things," she repeated.
Anna gripped her hands tighter, and Amara felt her lay her soft head on her neck, her ears tickling the sensitive skin that tingled there.
"We all do terrible things," she said quietly. "That’s how the world works."
Amara whispered through the silence that had enveloped them. She’d completely forgotten her previous line of questioning.
"Why?" she asked.
"I don’t know," Anna whispered beside her ear. "No one does. But what I do know is this: you are not a bad person."
They sat there together for the rest of the night after that, till the raging flame of the hearth whittled down to dying embers, and their heads nestled together in a picture of tranquil sleep.
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The next morning, Amara woke to find Anna absent from the house. She didn’t bother checking the adjacent room – if the Tigran was deciding to sleep in, that was her business.
She headed downstairs and donned her cloak, sparking the hearth fire into life with a flick of her finger. She’d felt even stronger than usual recently. She barely even thought about the energy leaving her body now – it happened naturally, just as basic as taking a breath.
She left the house and held her cloak close to hear breast, feeling the chill bite at her bones with greater intensity than she’d experienced before. Yarruck was a frigid town through and through. She was reminded of this as she made eye contact with the various citizens that still braved the streets. They avoided eye contact, even those that had seen her frequent the local bakery and marketplace. Her red locks and freckled face branded her as an outcast immediately and it seemed like, no matter how polite she tried to be, she could not force them to shift that perspective.
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Apparently, some team of hybrids had saved this place from rabid wolves about a week ago. Some of the shopkeepers whispered about it with the gossip spreading townswomen with their small minds and common prejudice – they didn’t need filthy half-breeds to save their town, after all. Amara heard these things and held her tongue. Truthfully, she was wondering why the hybrids had even bothered saving this place. She sniffed the air and found that even the oxygen was weak and unaccommodating to her powers. She would’ve let this place die like the ailing weed it was.
As she made her way towards the Yarrukian forest she noticed that there were some eyes amidst the dull wooden houses that watched her intently. Rounding one corner she saw one shadowy figure loitering in a back alley – hooded, but tall, much taller than any regular human. As her vision passed over the specter it immediately turned and walked down the alley, becoming lost in the blanket of snow that hung over the village.
She pretended she hadn’t seen anything and began whistling nonchalantly as she stopped on the edge of the forest to pick a few Elderberries for Anna’s tea.
Out the corner of her eye she saw one bush shuffle deeper in the woods. Within, the eyes of a hound – indisputable.
She focused. She breathed.
Appraisal: Success
Morphology: Canis
Lvl: Unleveled
Dog-man, she thought. She hadn’t seen many down South.
She pinched her eyes as she committed the information to memory. So, there were hybrids tracking her after all. She tried to put the thought from her mind as she added a final two berries to her pockets, but even as she turned away from the woods, she felt a new chill run up her spine.
On the roof of the local blacksmith: another one.
Morphology: Tigran
Lvl: Unleveled
Useless thing! She growled in her mind. The information it gave was so limited. She had no idea what kind of weapons they must have under their shadowed cloaks. But one thing was certain: they were here for her. At least three of them.
Amara, the Voice echoed in her mind as she walked as calmly as she could back to Anna’s house. You must run.
What?
You need to go, baby, the Voice said with more strength. Run into the forest and do not stop. Run to The Everloft – there you will be safe.
She felt her heart pound as the instinct to obey her mother’s command raced through her veins. But she looked towards Anna’s home, and glanced at the berries in her hands, and she knew she couldn’t leave her friend. Not like this.
Mom, she thought. I can’t leave her.
And as she dashed through the door of Anna’s house and bolted it shut, she heard a sad sigh from her mother before the Voice was silenced.
I know, sweetheart. I know.
She calmly walked towards the kitchen and began brewing the tea. She did not stop to stoke the fire. Now, she knew, she was probably going to need it.
Just as she set the berries in the old kettle and readied the stove, she heard the slow, meandering steps of someone on the stairs. Accompanying each pained step was the moaning of an injured animal.
She turned suddenly to see Anna emerge into the living room and slump down on the couch.
"Hey, sleepy head," Amara said, trying to feign a jovial mood. "How’ve you…"
She stopped as she noticed that Anna wouldn’t look at her. In fact, at the mere sound of her voice, she turned her head away as though she’d just been slapped.
"Hey," Amara said, suddenly feeling her legs quake as she walked forwards. "Hey, Anna –"
"Don’t," the Tigran said, and only then did Amara notice the rips and tears in her friend’s gown. They looked like bite marks, or the tell-tale signs of a knife having sliced through the fabric. As Amara’s disbelieving eyes trailed down Anna’s body, she saw blood dripping from gashes etched into her legs.
The flame within her rose with each new wound she saw. Each laceration on her friend’s skin was another torch tossed into the growing, raging bonfire of her furious soul.
"Anna," she said, sitting beside her on the couch, and gingerly touching her face with a shaking hand. "Anna."
It was all she could say.
The Tigran turned her head and Amara saw the bruises that marred her face. Fresh tears streamed from her once sparkling eyes, even though she tried her best to hide them.
"I…" she murmured, trying to laugh. "I didn’t think you’d be home so soon."
Amara did nothing but take Anna’s face in her hands, wipe one single tear from her cheek, and breathe deep, taking in as much air as she could.
"Who did this?"
Anna’s breaths were staggered. She tried to smile, to grab Amara’s hands and smooth the fury that was apparent behind her eyes.
"Amara, its ok," she said. "Really, this just happens sometimes. It’s just part of the job. I knew it when I started."
Amara barely heard the words. She felt the flame building in her chest. The way it did when she awoke to burn her father to cinders. Back then the gout of fire had shot from her fingers like the ejaculation of a serpent – poisonous, laced with venom, ready to tear away at the skin of her prey.
Something smashed upstairs.
Her eyes flew to the ceiling.
"Anna," she said again. "Is he still here?"
She saw the answer in the Tigran’s eyes. That was all she needed.
"Amara," Anna pleaded, grabbing her hands and weeping fresh tears. "You should leave."
She inched away from the Tigran and rose to her full height, taking a final long, deep intake of air. She felt the hairs on her arm raise erect and ready. The blood in her veins bubbled with anticipation. Her fingers could barely keep still.
"Amara?"
She sprinted upstairs with barely contained fury. She was pure rage. She didn’t pay any heed to the shrill screams of Anna that followed her. As her hand gripped the stair railing, she felt the wooden post melt under the power that seeped from her hand. It was beyond even her control now. She was ready to throw that bedroom door open and let the power in her flow over whatever creature lay there.
She gritted her teeth as she kicked open the wooden door, hearing it splinter under her foot. She entered with a fireball already prepared – its spindle like threads coiling round her shaking hand.
There he was: him! The Yok’ra that had accosted her in the inn before Anna had taken her away. He’d come back to punish her, was that it? There he was, sitting there, blood trickling from his lips. Her blood. The blood of her friend. Her only friend.
She looked at his naked body, slimy scales and muscles wet and bloody. His cock was still stiff, and she clenched her fist around the fireball that she’d launch right at it – she’d turn that thing to nothing but a shouldering pile of ash first and then deal with the rest of him.
She growled more than spoke – a low, primal sound, like the wolf prepared to pounce upon an unwary hunter. She could barely get her words out right. She was only action now.
"Fucked with the wrong Tigran," she said, raising her hand to show him his fate. She wanted him to know that he was done.
Yet he did nothing but smirk at her, letting his thin tongue play around his dry lips.
"Yeah," he said calmly. "You did."
She felt pain concentrate in the back of her skull as something forcefully bludgeoned her head. Instantly, the flame in her hand dissipated as her consciousness began to fade. She slumped to the ground, tasted blood, and fell against the hard wooden floorboards.
Just before darkness took her, she saw the image of Anna crying at the top of the stairs. She was on her knees, tears streaming down her purpled face. A cloaked dog-man held her by her hair while she repeated the same three words:
"Amara," she cried. "I’m sorry!"