Oroans were not the most amiable nation towards strangers. Their slightly rugged appearance could scare off an inexperienced traveler. Tangled and usually ruffled wavy hair, blunt facial features as if carved from wood, large hands and rough voices. All of it induced slight apprehension among the new inhabitants. That’s why they tried to keep a safe distance from oroans.
Even though this nation didn’t turn up in terms of height (men were rarely higher than 160 centimeters, and women even shorter), the broadness of their shoulders and limbs gave out a trace of threat.
“How much for the girl?” blurted a stranger at the bar counter. He spoke at the top of his voice, trying to outshout his mates sitting next to him. The man shoved a pint of ale, spilling some on the counter. He leaned forward to an oroan behind the bar and pointed at Ginger. Judging by his glassy eyes, it wasn’t the first drink.
“The girl isn’t for sale.” Lori - the bar owner cut off. His face went from neutral to a whole riot of emotions. His right eyebrow pulled up, lips curved, revealing disgust on his broad face.
“I’ll pay twice!”
The man at the bar reached his hand into his pocket, barely holding onto the chair. He took out a handful of coins when suddenly Lori’s heavy hand dropped on his shoulder.
“I thought I made it clear she is not offered up. This isn’t a brothel.” Lori looked right into his eyes. The man nodded in response as if he understood, and the barman went back to drying off freshly washed mugs.
The stranger sat in silence for about a minute and seemed dozing off. But then he jolted awake and stared at Ginger. He smacked his lips as if trying to remove something caught in the teeth and turned back to Lori.
“Tell me then,” he challenged, “What could possibly a human girl do in a bar full of oroans ALONE?” His eyebrows reached up so high that creases on his forehead resembled a stack of accordion folds.
“Is it any of your business?” Lori answered roughly with his loud, hoarse voice. He remained focused on drying the dishes as if nothing had happened. “Aren’t you here yourself?”
It seemed the stranger had exhausted his number of arguments, so he went back to his drink. Luckily, it appeared that he forgot about the girl very soon.
The same moment the stranger lost interest in Ginger, she was pulled away from her lunch and taken upstairs - to the rooms on the first floor. Lori’s tavern also offered a bunch of chambers for rent.
Once Pryderi locked and bolted the door, she leaned back against it, letting out a deep sigh. Her curls stuck out from behind the ears, revealing a splendid mane.
Perhaps Pryderi had the most beautiful hair among all the oroans that Ginger had ever seen. Oro were often shaggy, their hair tangled and sticking out in all directions. It was quite rare to meet an oroan woman whose hair looked more or less decent. Pryderi, however, was a huge exception. Her wavy brown hair was shining with health and radiance. It was rare, even for humans. Ginger’s hair, for instance, was worse, though she was a human, and she was just fifteen.
Overall, Pryderi was suspiciously beautiful for an oroan. Even despite her age (she was close to fifty), she looked no older than thirty five - forty. Her eye wrinkles weren’t too deep, probably because she hadn’t laughed and talked so much and so passionately as most oroan women. But her brow crease was, however, pretty obvious as she had frowned a lot. She had angular facial features and a big nose slightly compensated by large almond-shaped eyes. And, of course, her voluminous hair was her main jewel. She, however, didn’t rush to show it to everyone. She typically hid it under a headscarf, a hat, or simply made a ponytail. Pryderi didn’t like to draw attention to herself, which was pretty obvious as she had been raising a human child with no documents for almost a third of her life.
Pryderi was rather solid-built as befits an oroan. She had broad shoulders and big hands. She was quite gracious, though. Like a statue sculpted by a masterful artist, who added lightness and mystery to a piece of stone, Pryderi seemed to have her own secret. Or maybe it was all about her narrow waist, which was prominent despite her massive frame (and, of course, if she took off a few layers of clothes).
Her height was just 149 centimeters, but Pryderi could have created a competition in an argument and even in a fight. At least Ginger thought so, even given she had never ever seen her adopted mother in any kind of conflict.
As for the golden eyes that all oroans have, Ginger was more surprised by her gray ones, as she had been living all her life among oroans. Sometimes, though, she would still look at their eyes as if it was an artwork. When the light fell somehow beautifully or conversely when it was dark and their eyes glowed.
Ginger had seen a variety of different eye color shades: from honey-golden (like Pryderi’s) to dull pale-amber ones, as if covered by a dull veil. In general, oroans had eyes of yellow gold color, occasionally tinged with hints of ginger or pink.
In childhood, Ginger always dreamed of having golden eyes to fit in among oroans and lead a normal life. And for Pryderi to be free of her. Squinting in the slightest twilight, Ginger often thought about the way oroans see. This nation possessed a gift of extremely sharp vision. What was more important was that they see perfectly in the darkness. Perhaps even better than during the day. Long ago, when Ginger was a kid and they took rare evening walks or camped somewhere for the night with Pryderi, she asked non-stop: “Do you see this? And that? And that?”. And Pryderi always confirmed.
However, even in the gold of the oroan eye, there is a weakness. As strange as it seems, it is the sun. As Pryderi described, direct sunlight hurts their eyes as if it burns them out. It causes a massive aching. Long-lasting direct contact of oroan eyes with sunlight worsens their vision and could even cause complete blindness. Ages ago, it was a common punishment for criminals.
Daeghelm, the land of Oro, didn't have a lot of sunny days. Whenever the sun emerged from behind the clouds, the streets of the town took on a whimsical appearance. In order to protect their eyes from sunlight, oroans wore sunglasses.
Not all of them were wealthy enough to buy brand-new glasses. So many oroans walked down the streets in self-crafted ones: lenses made from colored glass or simply tinted with black paint. Some even took it further. They made a sort of cover by attaching leaves, pieces of paper or fabric to a rim.
To foreigners, it looked like a masquerade. However, the moment an oroan heard laughter of any sort regarding his appearance, while strolling with his “glasses” on, an argument would immediately begin. So other nations who lived in Daeghelm got used to this peculiarity and never gave themselves a chance to joke or giggle about it outside.
Ginger slid into the room and sat on the bed. Pryderi was still staying near the door. These rooms at Lori’s tavern were modest, of course, but the mattresses were horribly uncomfortable. The small chamber had two single beds, one nightstand, a table with two chairs, and an old wardrobe. All the furniture had no doubt seen better days. The room lacked any sense of taste. They probably tried to be creative with a carpet. It was red with yellow embroidered flowers. And a single houseplant on the windowsill which was trying to bring more life to this place. But as they often forgot to water it, half of the poor plant drooped, while the other one desperately fought for life.
“I’m so sick of it,” said Pryderi and sighed slowly. Ginger gazed into the void as the wave of guilt engulfed her. Her heart trembling, cheeks flushing red. She tried her best to hide it and look just fine, not to cause any scene. Ginger often felt bad, as if she was draining the life out of Pryderi. So she had nothing to say and just stared at the window. Pryderi carried on, speaking mainly to herself.
“It was, probably, a bad idea to let you come this time,” Pryderi approached a table piled with sacks of toys, knitwear, and yarn. “You are too old for this… I really hope it’s gonna be okay this time.”
It happened first, when Ginger was just nine. A strange woman approached her, asking questions of her whereabouts. Then a year later, when Ginger had to run from a bunch of kids, scaring her with hunters. Then again, and again. Pryderi wasn’t aware of most of the incidents. Ginger had kept them quiet to save the opportunity to go to the town, which she begged for every time. She hated even the idea of lonesome life, being hidden in the distant hut in the forest.
Despite this, two years ago, Pryderi not only witnessed a scene but also became a part of it. It was so bad they had to hide Ginger for two weeks after. That was the time Pryderi faced a hunter personally. She had sworn off then not to take Ginger to the town ever, but compassion for her practically daughter prevailed.
Pryderi grabbed an unfinished toy of a cat, picked a hook and returned to her crocheting.
Ginger was still silent, as if frozen. Not only did she see herself as a burden in a situation like this, she also felt immense loneliness and a lack of a friend who could show some empathy. But Pryderi wasn’t very warm. She tended to speak straightforwardly, leaving no room for sentiment. Of course, such situations had always been terrifying, not just for Ginger, but for Pryderi as well. Yet, the truth remained: one of them was still a child.
Being a 15-year-old girl in this world was probably wonderful, but only if you had documents. Without them, it seems you would have had to blend with nature, or hide in a cave, or not exist at all.
“Or just get the documents,” thought Ginger.
Fifteen years ago, Macaria and Avakum (human lands) released a new law, obligating all children born in 1539 and later to show up to register and get documents. Since that time, it became mandatory for every child born in a human country to be registered. No one knew for sure why this all started. But it was widely known that they had been haunting children without these documents. Once they caught one, they took them away for questioning. It was still a mystery what they ask those kids about, as the content of these questionings was strictly private. But they said that kids got their documents after and lived just fine. Some whispered, though, that not all the children got out.
Pryderi always refused to get documents for Ginger. She blew her off and used her favorite excuse “Your parents told so”. Ginger didn’t know what they had actually said there. She had been living with Pryderi almost since infancy and had none memories of her parents whatsoever.
Stolen novel; please report.
It seemed Ginger could have had an absolutely calm life, given that she grew up in the land of Oro and had nothing to do with humans. Yet everyone knew they were looking for undocumented human kids all over the world. They dispatched hunters to every country. Neither oroans, nor titans or salamanders wanted any troubles with humans, so unofficially, they turned a blind eye to hunters and let them scour their lands in search of those kids.
Ginger was lucky to live among oroans. They showed no interest in humans or their affairs, including Ginger. They would never sell her for an award, as they had no desire to help humans with their search. The concealment of these kids caused major issues in the human lands and led to significant problems. As for the other countries, they said that those hunters murdered a human family that was hiding their kid. It happened last year in Eadburg, one of the big cities of Daeghelm. There was no evidence, so the story ignited new gossip and theories, spreading like wildfire.
It was a running joke among oroans that the king of Macaria, who had a dozen daughters, had lost his only son and had been trying to find him ever since, to make him an heir to the throne. Others said that they must have looked for some exceptional kids. Otherwise, why would they turn the entire world upside down if it wasn’t for someone truly special? And though no one believed in magic, mystery shrouded this story. But of course it was of no concern to oroans.
In the evening Pryderi allowed Ginger to go out on condition that she would be extremely cautious and try to stay out of anyone’s sight. It was challenging for Pryderi to keep Ginger grounded as she feared that if she was too strict, Ginger could run away, or worse - reveal herself to hunters.
It was the middle of October. The weather left much to be desired. Dreary drizzle shrouded the town, creating a rainy semblance of fog. Lighted badly, streets of Araia (the name of the town) formed a labyrinth. Every road eventually led to the main square. It was easy enough to enter the town, however finding an exit in an unlimited number of turns and crossroads seemed a tough nut to crack. Many visitors wandered through the streets for hours, repeatedly ending up at the main square instead of the gate.
Ginger pulled on her shearling coat. The coat, being several sizes larger, served as a benefit as it allowed her to conceal her thin body and avoid attracting unnecessary attention. She took a hat off a hook on the door, tucked her hair by the collar and put it on. She lowered a small visor as much as possible to hide the eyes. Ginger couldn’t hide her height, obviously, but at 162 centimeters she was still relatively small for humans, making it unlikely for them to notice a difference. In addition, Ginger put on a hood. Before leaving, she said abruptly, “I’ll be back soon” to Pryderi, but as her adoptive mother was too deep into crocheting to answer properly, she just mumbled something indistinguishable in return.
Ginger closed the door and went downstairs. She walked out hastily. The stranger who had pointed at her during the dinner was still inside. He hung on the bar counter, half-asleep, clutching another pint of ale or perhaps something stronger.
Every year, in the middle of October, a huge number of craftsmen and merchants came to Araia for a harvest fair. The festival occurring in the middle of autumn was weird, but it had always been that way.
Each autumn the fair celebrated the most abundant vegetable, fruit or crop of the year. In the current 1564, the fair was dedicated to pumpkin. This, however, sparked a bunch of questions coming from visitors from the south. Stretched in the north-west of the continent, Daeghelm land had a quite harsh climate. While the winters weren't extremely cold, the summers were also not hot. And the fair dedicated to pumpkin - the crop that struggles to grow in a tough climate.
Oroans claimed that it’s all about fertilizers. They also believed that pumpkins in Daeghelm, having grown there for years, developed a resilience to the cold. They even gave it a name - the oroan pumpkin, as if it was an entirely new sort.
It was customary for all fair decorations to be matched with the crop of the year. This year, Araia was drowning in cozy and vivid yellow and orange colors. Throughout the town, garlands adorned with handmade fabric triangles hung between houses. Stores owners painted their signs with sunny colors. Merchants decorated stalls with pumpkins and colored crates yellow. In a nutshell, this year Araia was a feast for the eyes with its dazzling ornaments of pumpkin colors.
Quite another thing was a few years before that. A fair dedicated to potatoes took place. So all the decorations were dull and somewhat similar, often made from black fabrics that faded during the summer into some grayish brown. The ornaments mixed and mingled with the town, creating a frustrating and colorless view resembling the potato itself.
Ginger walked around the tavern and moved into a narrow street on her left. As Pryderi took part in the fair every year, Ginger had a decent training in navigation. She has no trouble finding a route to enter and exit the town.
Araia was not very far from their home - an old hut about 20 kilometers south. It was possible to cover that distance by foot. Go down to the lowlands first, then pass the hill. As Pryderi didn’t want to waste a lot of time walking, she had a pony named Farch - an old and grumpy creature.
Pryderi spent considerable time in Araia selling her toys. She also traded maps inherited from her father. It was common for Pryderi to spend a night in Araia, which meant Ginger had plenty of time alone. Sometimes she was alone for two or even four days in a row.
After some fifteen minutes of endless turns, Ginger emerged into the fields stretched around the entire town. As she strolled past endless rows of beds, only sporadic rosettes of carrot and beet leaves peeked out (most of the harvest had already been gathered).
It was already dark. The waning moon hung over the town. Its light barely breaking through the clouds. Darkness didn’t scare Ginger; in fact, she was so accustomed to it she would often go out late during the fair. This way, she kept herself less noticeable to other visitors.
The oroans, however, could easily recognize a human in her. But strangers were never their concern. Only if a stranger caused a scene, goldeneye would huff, purse their lips in indignation or disdain, and carry on with their own affairs.
After crossing the long sowing lands, Ginger reached the field. Further beyond was that same hill leading home. Ginger inhaled deeply, feeling the coolness of the October air, and watched as her breath turned into steamy clouds when she exhaled.
She was absolutely unaware of the reason that brought her to that field. Wandering nowhere seemed to be her favorite activity. Sometimes, Ginger couldn’t find a place for her and would end up wandering, drowning in the mud with her boots or soaking wet in the rain. Whenever the fear crawled so close, she would go somewhere as if trying to knock the dread out with the bottom of her boots.
Fear was a common feeling for Ginger. She grew up in an environment filled with insecurity and uncertainty, scared that someone might come and snatch her away as if she was a mere object. Though no one had ever come, she always knew far too well that they could. That’s how Pryderi taught her.
It was a constant refrain from Pryderi to never rely on anyone. Not to trust anyone. However, Pryderi had never explained her reasoning. So Ginger didn’t know why she couldn’t just get the documents and live among any nation. Why should she hide as if she committed a crime? Pryderi had never answered these questions precisely. Her usual response would be along the line of “I promised your parents”.
Meanwhile, there was nothing whatsoever special about Ginger. She didn’t keep any secret nor did she possess some ancient amulet, or, say, scroll of immortality if that ever existed. She was utterly ordinary, with no outstanding skills. Pryderi taught her to read, and by far this was the only thing in which Ginger considered herself successful - in the ability to read.
Her body was weak. Her body didn't handle sudden weather changes or catching a cold very well. She couldn’t run fast, or for instance, carry heavy weights. In addition, her anxiety was so overwhelming that any unfamiliar noise or presence of strangers would instantly trigger her alarm.
The older she got, the more hazy her future seemed. And if in childhood, she understood just a little, now she was fifteen and a half and thoughts of her future emerged more often in her head. Deep down, all she wanted and dreamed about was for someone to solve her problems, granting her the chance to live a normal life with no need to hide.
In reality, they often had these strange conversations with Pryderi, wondering if there would come a day when Ginger would have to leave home. Both of them felt the increasing darkness veiling Ginger, getting closer, as if calling her name. Ginger was constantly terrified of it, but she pulled it away in denial, saying, “It’s just a plot of my imagination”.
Sometimes, Ginger thought Pryderi was simply hiding the truth. “You must never end up in hunter’s hands”. Simply because “Your parents said so”. But what if for real her parents just ran away with the kid, imagining that she might be that girl with some document issues? This life in the shadow of her parent’s instruction felt like a cage for her. Ginger hadn’t even known them, nor had any flashbacks about them. Some strangers from the past were completely in control of her present.
She walked to a heather meadow. The raindrops shimmered and sparkled on the flower buds under the moonlight. Here and there, branches were so high they reached Ginger’s knees. Her pants became wet rapidly. She touched the flowers with the top of her fingers and went further.
As she wandered through the forest, the moon slowly disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds, prompting her to turn back. It seemed the rain was coming. Her hands and knees felt frozen. Ginger thrusted her hands into the pockets and walked back to the town slowly, kicking thick bushes with her boots.
She returned to the tavern another way - through the town square. In the middle of it stood a huge pumpkin - winner of this year.
Every year, Araia hosted a competition. Farmer, who grew the most immense crop of the year, got the prize of ten golden coins. The pumpkin was huge, about a half of Ginger’s height. She couldn’t grasp it fully if she tried. Around the pumpkin stood crates and baskets with smaller pumpkins and other fruits and vegetables (the leaders of the season).
A few humans and oroans were still walking around. Moving closer to them, Ginger hunched her back and lowered the head to appear smaller. It looked ridiculous and improbable from a side, but somehow it helped her reduce anxiety. She almost ran past the passerby, looked straight down, never raising her eyes.
Ginger squeezed her way into the tavern, barely pushing the heavy door open. She rushed up the stairs and entered the room. Exhausted from the long walk and the weight of her coat, she took a moment to rest her shoulders. Pryderi was still crocheting. Ginger knew very well not to interrupt her, as even a single distraction could disrupt the delicate loop counting process. And then a neatly crocheted toy would have a hole or what’s worse - a seam of decreasing stitches can become visible. Pryderi seemed to be finishing up, judging by the recurring grin on her face and the frequent loud exhales she let out. The lack of space to complete the toy neatly, whether it's just a part or the entire thing, was making Pryderi crazy.
Once Pryderi finished, she placed the completed toy into the bag alongside the rest. They didn’t have any dinner today. In order to cut costs, they skipped eating out three times a day during the fair, as it was too pricey for them. Typically, they would have a hearty breakfast and lunch. Since Ginger was abruptly dragged away in the middle of her lunch, her stomach grumbled with hunger. But she wouldn’t say a word to Pryderi.
Their relationship was strange. The increasing number of incidents made it even more weird. Ginger remembered that in her early years Pryderi was way warmer. With Ginger's aging came increased danger, and Pryderi became more gloomy, tough, and distant. Ginger didn’t really know how to react to that, so she just kept quiet. No butting in, no arguing, no additional questions. She aimed to be as unseen as she could for everyone, including the woman who brought her up.
For the past two years, they spoke a lot less and Pryderi spent more time in Araia than ever. Ginger was sure that she was the reason for these changes. She was bringing more trouble and worries. She believed Pryderi accepted that getting Ginger in was a huge mistake. There was nothing Ginger could do to change that. From time to time though, when loneliness consumed her, she wanted to surrender to humans, to release Pryderi from this burden. But the truth is, she would never actually do it.
They went to bed early, exchanging a few polite phrases. The next day was the last day of the fair.