Amara
She felt the wind on her face.
Its touch had the warm softness of morning as it brushed against her cheek.
She felt the stumps of the cut trees as she walked the dirt path towards the village below the hill, and the posts of the fence that lined the road.
"Where should I go?" she asked.
The Voice in her chest did not hesitate:
Keep walking, sweetheart. You’ll find what you need.
The sun pierced the ground with spears of light that she felt on her skin, and the cuts on her arms and legs started to sting in the summer breeze.
She headed towards the village and the wafts of smoke that she saw climbing into the clear sky in the distance. There were people there too, meandering around the streets like little ants.
Not yet, dear, the Voice murmured. Into the forest. You must not be seen as you are.
She obeyed without question. She turned on the road and strayed from the path to enter the trees beside her. Branches cracked under her feet. Mud stuck to the soft flesh between her toes. She started appraising the trees with new eyes – eyes that told her new things. Branches would burn. Leaves would crisp, and the sparrows chirping up there in the eaves would fry and melt if she commanded it. She needed only to command it.
Five minutes later her faith in the Voice was reaffirmed again – the trees and sharp thistles she brushed through opened out into a forest glade with a shimmering pool at its center. She looked at the water with unbelieving eyes.
Go on, the Voice said. Don’t be afraid.
She did as she was told. She stalked towards the shimmering pool with the furtive curiosity of a deer looking for sustenance. She dunked her hand into the water and felt its cool touch travel up her arm with a shiver. She moved her fingers. Small ripples played across the pool’s surface, and she felt its salty fingers reach into her through her scars, biting her skin through the openings in her arms.
"It hurts," she said.
Yes, the Voice replied. But there is no progress without pain, dear. You can’t let fear take control of you. You need to be strong.
"I – I can’t…"
Her mind fumbled. The visage of her dead daddy flashed back into her brain and she recoiled from herself. She saw the image of her dirt-caked, tousled hair, cut lips and scarred breasts reflected in the pool. She felt her lips tremble, but she did not scream.
"I’m horrible," she whimpered.
She brought her shaking arm out of the water and stared at it her scars. They were still there, but they felt tingly – like the water had seeped into them and cuddled her arm close, begging her to enter its depths. The self down there in the water was copying her every move. It was looking at her with bright amber eyes and its freckled face scrunched itself up as it appraised its doppelganger.
Its mouth started moving, forming a word that had meant something once.
"A – Am," it was saying, though the stuttering voice spilled from her parched throat. "Ama – Am –"
Amara, the Voice stated. That is your name.
Her hands flew to her mouth. She felt herself trembling now. Tears wouldn’t come even if she begged her body for moisture. But she did shake with the heavy heaving in her heart that precipitated her panicked sobs in the first days when she had woken in the darkness of the cellar.
"I am…Amara."
The water-self agreed with her. She said it again, louder, and with more conviction.
"Amara!"
The water-self screamed out her name, and then its surface began to ripple with ethereal energy. Before her emerged scintillating letters that flowed with the tiny circles that radiated out from the image of her scarred face:
Profession: GLANCER (Pyromancer)
LVL: Unleveled
She tried mouthing the word – the foreign concept that was flowing next to her confused reflection on the surface of the liquid mirror.
"P-p-pyro-"
Pyromancer, dear, the Voice within her breathed. That is what you are. That is what you’ve always been, you just didn’t know it.
The birds in the trees flew from their perches. Their chirping ceased, and the vocalizations of her throat reigned in the glade. No longer was her voice the frightful whisper of a tiny girl waiting in the dark for her doom. She felt the heat in her heart take her again.
That’s good, dear, the Voice murmured in her mind. That’s good.
Grasped by an impulse that pulled at the very heart of her being, she dunked her head into the pool and drank her fill of the life-giving liquid within. She threw her head back in the next second with a loud splash and breathed deep to take in the air again. She felt it fill her lungs.
And she did not know how she knew it, but she knew that that air all around her was the nascent form of something that could blaze into terrible, and incredible, life. This oxygen was to be her ammunition.
She closed her eyes and submerged her body into the pool, letting her reaching toes touch the dirt at its foot and feeling her skin react to the nipping liquid playing across her limbs and wounds. She breathed deeply, feeling sweat creep down her brow.
Good, the Voice told her. That’s It, baby, just let yourself soak.
Her eyes looked through the veil of sweat that covered her and she began to notice all the life around her – small and insignificant yet beautiful in its simplicity. She had not a mind to understand the intricacies of the small chirping sparrows that had returned to their boughs, or the fish whose home she had intruded upon. She reached for them but saw their tiny forms float away from her with ease.
"I feel slow," she said. "I feel heavy."
This is not your natural domain, the Voice admitted. But just keep breathing deep. Practice. That will serve you well when the time comes.
"What time?" Amara asked.
Soon, honey. You will know.
She nodded, then closed her eyes. She leaned her head back and tried to will herself into slumber. But when dreams did not come, she focused her mind instead on her hand under the pool, feeling it ringing on reaction to the still, vacant water.
Then she looked down to discover that, on impulse, it had closed into a fist.
----------------------------------------
Honey, the Voice whispered. They are coming.
Amara opened her resting eyes, heard the rustling of the leaves in the brush beside the pool. Angered voices emanated from within.
‘What do I do?’ She whispered.
What do you want to do? The Voice asked back. Feel the instincts of the flame. Where does it burn?
She looked down again and saw herself in the pool. But not as she was. She was the human cage for a flickering light that bounced in her chest, desperate to be freed.
"Here," she said, touching her heart.
She felt the Voice’s satisfaction deep within her bosom.
Good.
She had soaked for around an hour, and now the sun had long departed the glade. Now, the only light was the thin strips of fading radiance that shot through the gaps in the trees. And into this light came two beings – odd creatures Amara’s mind only dimly registered. She remembered seeing them amongst the townsfolk back when she walked in the light: they were called ‘Tigran’ – the head and fur of a cat and the body of a human. Her daddy had called them ‘hybrids’ – which was synonymous with another phrase he’d often uttered after such reference: ‘filthy half-breeds.’
But daddy was a fool, the Voice whispered. Look at them closer.
Amara did so as she submerged all but her eyes in the pool. They wore long coats and leather gauntlets bound together with chains. One of them carried a coiled whip on his belt and hid his face with a rugged cloth mask, so only his feline eyes and twitching ears were visible. The other one held a rope in her hand, and sniffed the air as she entered the glade.
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"Clear?" she asked the mace wielder.
He pulled down his facemask and took a whiff of fresh air, twitching his whiskers as he replied. ‘Clear.’
She yanked on the rope once, hard. And then Amara fought to keep herself from gasping under the water.
A human child of approximately her age stumbled out of the bush. He was dressed in rags, with a body gaunt, emaciated, and totally shaven. His bald scalp had a kind of image burned into the skin – some symbol Amara couldn’t interpret. He tripped over himself and she noticed that both his hands and feet were bound by the same rope that was attached to his neck like a leash. His mistress pulled him again and kicked at him when he didn’t move.
She felt her hands clench again under the water. Bubbles started to form around her.
"Careful!" the male Tigran called back to his associate.
"Buyer don’t care if the produce is a little beat," she said with a smile. "This little chicky-wicky knows the rules, yes? It keeps up, or it gets the lash again."
The boy’s eyes flew to the whip on the male Tigran’s belt, and he struggled up to follow his captors. The male, however, had suddenly stopped in the middle of the glade, and was fervently sniffing the air.
"What’s the hold up?" the female asked, almost giddy with excitement as she tugged on the boy-slave’s collar.
"Dasha," the male said. "We have company."
The birds in the trees themselves seemed suspended in stopped time as the eyes of the felines lighted on the chestnut-haired girl in the pool. Amara did not shirk from their view. She rose, but kept her hands in the water.
Internally, she felt her heartbeat, screaming ‘What do I do?’
The Voice replied to her as the male Tigran licked his lips and drew closer.
Whatever you want, sweetheart. But I will say this: kittens have fur. And fur burns up good.
She felt the excitement in her chest rise again and breathed heavily. She felt the water bubble around her. Something was happening. She was letting a little piece of the power drain from her fingers, letting it seep into the liquid that surrounded her.
The male took another step forward. ‘Hail,’ he said.
Amara did not reply. The fear in the young boy’s eyes as he glared at her told her all she needed to know. She had seen that look before reflected in the small puddles of water her tears had formed down in the cellar she’d awakened in.
"My name is Kuda," the male said, fingering the leather strap on his whip. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Buyer wanted a male chick,’ Dasha murmured to her partner. "Male. You can’t see the fucking difference?"
"One must not leave a little chick alone," Kuda replied, licking his lips again. "This one looks like she needs some clothes and candy. Would you like that, little one?"
Amara’s mind raced in the moment, and she found herself mimicking the creature’s own tone back at it.
"I’m cold," she said. "Can you help me, mister?"
Dasha murmured something about muzzling her while Kuda shot her a glance of fury. She turned her attention back to her charge, scratching one of his eyes.
"You like her, you litte chicky-wik?" she giggled. "Maybe we could let him have a piece, Kuda!" she laughed. "Never seen two chicks fuck. Two little chicks going at it all sloppy and shit, haha! What you-"
"Dasha, if you don’t shut up, I’ll make you," Kuda growled.
As he stared down his companion Amara kept the power surging through her fingers and released it into the pool.
That’s good, sweetheart, the Voice told her. Keep going, but not too much. And think: what does he want to hear? What does that face remind you of?
And Amara breathed again – full and deep – as the Tigran called Kuda let his hand fall to his side and stood on the precipice of the pool.
"Can you help me?" Amara asked. "Daddy?"
Kuda gave a gruff laugh and let his tongue loll out his face. He looked like a kitten in heat, all right, and without even another word he jumped into the pool after her.
The next moment passed by like a quick succession of seizure-like images flashing through Amara’s brain. As the Tigran disappeared below the water, he rose again and wailed – an animalistic squeal that pierced through the final twitching songs of the birds in the trees before they departed the glade. She saw his eyes bulge and the fur on his hands crisp as the water burned through the nerves beneath his hair. He looked at her with rage filled eyes and surged forwards, his claws glinting against the scalding pool.
Filled with a delicate mixture of excitement and fear Amara shot her hand out in front of her and focused on the creature charging at her through pain. This time, she didn’t have to move her fingers and flick for the power to activate. This time, she extended her arm and fingers as straight as she could, and one thought dominated her mind:
Fire.
GLANCE channel (PYRO): Blazing Gout
SEEKER LVL
Fire damage: 10 pts/Sec (Target)
Channeling Cost: 2pts/sec
In a moment of panicked adrenaline, she felt the power rush up her veins and pool at the end of her fingertips. Then, like a prisoner finally released from its cage, a gout of fire flew towards the Tigran’s head – wrapping it in wreaths of crimson. His screams were barely audible as the fire consumed him, his head disappearing under the light of the billowing flames. Amara tried to stop the fire, but even as she tried to focus her mind again the burning would not abate. It was as though her fingers were merely a conduit for what lay within, trying to get out as much of its essence as they could. As the cat-man finally fell face first into the pool she had to grab her arm with her free hand and thrust it back into the water, sweat glistening on her forehead. Only then did the charge disappear from the air, though the smell of the smoking cat-man’s flesh filled her nostrils. It was a different smell from Daddy.
The other one – Dasha – had seen it all happen with unbelieving eyes. Her fear had risen far sooner than any fury or wish to avenge her partner, and only now did she fly from the glade, leaving her charge behind.
"Glance!" she screeched in the forest, "Glancer!"
She wailed this to the tops of the trees as she stumbled through the brambles. Amara was frozen, focused on the floating cat under her.
You need to stop her, the Voice commanded. I’m sorry, honey, but you can’t let her go. She’ll tell others about you.
Amara rose in the next instant and ran after the stumbling Tigran. She had no idea what this ‘Glance’ was, but neither could her mind stop to make any logical conclusions. He wanted to hurt her, and so she had to kill him. That was it. This one, however? This one was the Voice’s command. But it had never steered her wrong yet.
She crashed through branches, following the sound of the screeching cat. She saw blood caught on some thorns that she snuck through, and followed the trail that led her deeper into the forest. A straight path – lined with crimson breadcrumbs even a child could follow.
She found her without much trouble – limping uselessly due to a pierced leg. She was still screaming about the ‘Glance – girl with the Glance! Help! Help! By Yevua, help!’ It sounded like Amara’s own whimpered cries she’d made down there in the cellar. Back when she still thought her daddy would come and tell her everything was okay. But that was a silly dream – back when she was weak. Now she was strong. She didn’t need dreams anymore.
She closed her hand into a fist, narrowing her gaze to the cat’s cloaked back. She drew the fist back in a punch, and then thrust her arm forward, aiming for the back of the Tigran’s screaming head:
GLANCE channel (PYRO): Fireball
SEEKER LVL
Fire Damage: 25pts (Target)
Range: 50ft
Channeling Cost: 10pts
The force of the projectile shocked even her – and she was thrown back into a tree and winded by the bolt of flame that flew from her closed fist towards the cat, followed by a scintillating trail of smoke.
It struck the cat straight in the back, burning through her cloak and imparting enough force to knock her through a branch before she collapsed to the ground. Amara wasted no time – her energy was failing her, she knew it, but she still picked herself up and ran for the downed cat, her hands raised in threat, watching the one called Dasha try to crawl away.
"Help!" she bellowed in the heart of the forest. "Help!"
Amara’s eyes were bulging, but fixed. She knew the flame wanted to leap from her of its own accord. She just needed to let it fly.
The cat kept crawling, looking back at her only once in sheer terror.
"Please," she sobbed. "Please, don’t. Take the kid. Take the money. Please just…don’t!"
The fire inside wanted to reach out and grab her by the throat. It wanted to burn her to a crisp.
"What do I do?" she asked the Voice.
You know what you must do, it replied inside her with the calming tone of a mother. If it helps, you don’t have to look.
But Amara did not close her eyes. She gripped the back of the cat-woman’s head and felt the mewling creature’s paws fly to claw at her. But she ignored it. She ignored it like the lion ignores the gnashing of the flea’s teeth inside its skin. She gripped the back of the cat’s head harder, felt the flame travel through her arm again.
And she killed her.
----------------------------------------
When she returned to the glade, she saw that the boy had not moved an inch. He’d huddled next to the pool, eyes fixed on the dead Tigran that still floated there, fur singed and skin boiling in the water.
She approached him slowly, and only then did he react to her. He looked up, seeing her clad in Dasha’s cloak, looking down at him with those burning auburn eyes that had stared in terrifying symmetry at the one he had been forced to call Master for as long as he could remember.
His breathing was sharp and heavy, and his head hit the ground with the instant supplication of one who has only known servitude.
Amara did not know what to do with him. Truthfully, deep down, his prostration disgusted her.
‘What do you want to do?’ she asked him.
He did not look up once. ‘Please,’ he stuttered through chattering teeth. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
She scoffed, and fished the Tigran out of the water. Searching his pockets she found the gold and silver pieces that the boy had been sold for. He saw them glisten in her hand as she held them in her palm for only a few seconds before nodding and placing them in her cloak’s pocket.
He could see the specs of his mother’s blood that Dasha had not cleaned from her cloak glisten now on the girl. And without knowing why, he started howling with pain, tears streaming from his eyes.
The girl approached him again and threw the whip of the master down in front of him.
"Take it," she said. "Now you can be powerful."
He flew towards the whip in shock and immediately he brought it back to his Master. He then started pleading with the burned Tigran – telling him that he was good, that he had brought Master back the lash. He didn’t deserve it today. He didn’t do anything.
Amara stood back and watched the whole sorry spectacle unfold.
"You are free now!" she shouted at him. "Do you not understand?"
But the boy ignored her and kissed the scarred finger of his former captor. It was enough to turn Amara’s stomach.
She raised her hand, and willed the flame to consume her again.
But it didn’t come. She looked at her fingers – not even smoke.
GLANCE: 0/20
She thrust her hand towards the pathetic creature again. Nothing. Again – nothing.
GLANCE: 0/20
She was about to panic when the Voice intervened.
You have spent yourself for today, sweetheart, it whispered. You are strong, but you are still a child. You have only begun to walk your path.
"I – it will come back, won’t it?" she asked aloud.
She felt the being living inside her smirk. Tomorrow, dear. Tomorrow.
She walked from the scene with relief, leaving the feeble slave alone. As she made her way back, she tried to puzzle out the meaning of what she had seen. The voice, it knew, was a teacher. It had taught her that daddy was bad, but weak. And that she was strong, and good. But the boy had been a captive just like she had. Why was he so weak? Why could he not see that he was free now?
Freedom is a funny thing, the Voice answered her from the deep dark of her heart. Most never have the mind to free themselves. They lack not only power, but the will to live beyond the future their captors have planned for them. It is the same out there in the world, in the dwellings of man. You will see those who are trapped by chains you cannot see – money, ideas, possessions – all these things that have power over mortal minds. The only way to break these chains is to realize that they must be destroyed. You must be more powerful than them all, Amara. You must rise to the top and see them all burn.
Amara reached the edge of the forest and felt her cloak billow in the wind that ran rampant through the night air, free and pure. She felt its oxygen fill her lungs, and the fire within her stoked up again.
"How can I get stronger?" she asked.
She felt the Voice’s immaterial grin grow.
Child, there is one place where your powers shall flourish. And by happy coincidence, I know exactly how to get there.