Ginger woke up early in the morning. Irritating noise disturbed her sleep. It was only dawn, but someone was already busy wielding a hammer outside as merchants prepared for the last day of the fair. They were setting up their stalls, placing items into crates, and raising awnings to protect their products from the rain. And surely they had lively conversations speaking to each other at the top of their voices.
Oroans themselves were mostly loud and gregarious but warm at heart. Sometimes, though, they crossed the line, being presumptuous or even brusque. While oroans were proud of their nature, calling this quality a mere straightforwardness, other nations often considered them cultureless. The offhand “truth” that oroans so naively liked to share with everyone was, at times, annoying and infuriating.
Occasionally, their talent to rub someone the wrong way ended up in a ridiculous setting. One time, when Ginger maneuvered between the lines of merchants’ stalls during the fair, she overheard a very captivating conversation. A human woman, who, by the way, looked absolutely fine, was interested in purchasing a hair ornament. So the oroan woman who was selling these decorations simply replied, “Nothing can make this nest on your head better, so maybe you consider getting a bracelet instead?”
The goldeneyed were constantly surprised and couldn’t comprehend what is so offensive in their so-called truth as after all they had never plotted anything bad at all.
This character trait worsened their communication, however, it also made them quite resistant to what others have to say about them. An oroan would never get offended if someone called him a midget. He might slap you in the face for that, but get offended - never! And yet, most oroans perceived the comments about their appearance or character indifferently. They paid too little attention to words, or maybe they simply weren’t smart enough. On the other hand, this detachment from other opinions seemed to be a very mature quality to obtain.
Ginger crawled out of the bed reluctantly. It was cold and slightly humid in the room. The increasing noises made it impossible for her to fall back asleep. Pryderi, conversely, was sleeping like a baby. No loud sounds or clamoring, not even a rambling of an earthquake could disturb her peaceful sleep.
Ginger had always admired this ability to sleep tight. She would often wake up at the slightest rustle as if she was on the lookout. Besides, her dreams were odd and shady. Since Ginger couldn't remember any of the details after waking up, it was difficult to call them nightmares. But they left a bitter aftertaste and cramps as if she had been scared to death in that dream. Pryderi said that Ginger’s sleep was often restless with some bizarre, indistinguishable mumbling. Besides, Ginger frequently woke up in a cold sweat. Sometimes, she even burst into tears in her sleep.
That morning, the collar of her nightie was sweaty as usual. Ginger pulled on linen pants of olive color, tucked a simple v-neck cotton shirt into it and put on a warm knitted sweater - her early Christmas gift from Pryderi. The sweater was of an excellent quality, knitted from an expensive soft woolen yarn. It wasn’t itchy even if you wore it over bare skin. Pryderi selected color specifically for Ginger—golden ochre, as Ginger loved sunny shades. Pryderi could have easily sold the sweater at the fair to make good money that could cover their expenses for a week or two.
Humans and other nations valued clothing made from oroan fabrics and yarn. In almost every house of Daeghelm, there was a knitter, seamstress or other craftswoman. Oro also made fantastic pottery, pieces of furniture and decor. They were famous all over the world, not just for their golden eyes but for hands as well. So it wasn’t a surprise that fairs in Araia were high in demand, and every season oroans welcomed customers from the farthest corners of the world. Ginger saw not only humans at these fairs but titans, who always amazed her with their gigantic height and grandeur. Salamanders were also frequent guests at fairs, but they were usually not so different from humans to identify.
Araia was located in the valley between hills, which were a threshold of mountains - a historic home of oroans. Three major cities surrounded Araia, but this small trade town was one of the major sources of income for the entire country. Trading was conducted all year around, but quarter fairs brought the largest revenue. Getting to other Daeghelm cities was challenging for an inexperienced traveler. Tough routes led to those mount fortresses. However, oroans were sturdy and durable. They went up to the peaks again and again, crossing mountain necks and wild rivers. And though Daeghelm mountains were rather low, the wilderness of these paths was fraught with dangers.
Ginger prowled about the room, pausing by the window to listen to some squabble on the street. She didn’t want to wake Pryderi up, who was sleeping peacefully wrapped in a blanket with her head. There was still a good hour left before wake up time, so Ginger grabbed a book out of her backpack, settled on the bed and resumed her reading. As it was an early morning, the idea to read seemed questionable, but Ginger couldn’t find anything better to do. She couldn’t go out without Pryderi’s permission.
Ginger had been reading a lot since her childhood. Pryderi saw her obligation in giving Ginger at least theoretical knowledge. History, mapmaking, botany, survival tips - Ginger studied it only from books. She had never gone to school actually, so all the basics like counting, writing and reading were Pryderi’s doing.
Despite oroan simple nature, they loved reading and accustomed their kids to it. There were three bookstores in Araia. Their windows, decorated with books in stunning covers and toys, were irresistible, especially for kids who usually clustered around it. Children of all ages, fascinated by illustrated covers, dreamed of getting such a book for their birthday. The books on display typically costed an arm and a leg, so it was a real luxury to receive one.
Ginger had never received one as she had to read mostly useful books. She wasn’t really a fan of educational literature. Even after reading a ton of books, she barely noticed a difference between two looking-alike plants or berries. Her notion of hunting or survival in the wild was quite dim. Ginger could read maps well enough, though, but creating her own one seemed to be an impossible task.
Nevertheless, Ginger loved fiction. Her favorite author was Taffy Goldberg - an oroan writer who created a series of books about the adventures of two teenagers, brother and sister. They climbed to the top of Daeghelm mountains bravely and went down to mysterious caves. They immersed themselves deep into an investigation to find a magical stone which could help them deliberate a friend. Ginger reread those books over and over and every time the infinite courage and inner strength of the protagonists truly touched and amazed her. She pictured herself being like them. She had even mirrored the way of speech of one character, mimicking their voice tone and word choice. It was a childish dream that had faded, of course, and growing up Ginger realized that valor and bravery are meant for book heroes only.
That day, she read the most tedious textbook about knitting and crocheting driven by a dream to help Pryderi with toys. So far, inserting toy eyes was Ginger’s best achievement in this. Well, she also could stuff a toy with fluff, but who couldn’t? Crocheting wasn’t her strength at all, as her stitches would often end up either too tight or too loose. In addition, Ginger lacked motivation to grow her skill by simply repeating, so she often gave up and postponed the next attempt.
Pryderi wasn’t demanding anything from Ginger, which on one hand was good, but on the other hand, if she had taken a more strict approach, perhaps Ginger would have actually learned something. Like, for instance, how to overcome that horrible trait to give up on everything she couldn’t do well.
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“I’m gonna check first,” said Pryderi while putting her boots on. It was breakfast time, but as Pryderi was afraid that yesterday’s situation may have repeated itself, she decided to make sure it’s safe downstairs.
“Yes, sure,” Ginger replied. Pryderi left the room, banging the door loudly after her.
She came back in a few minutes confirming that they were good to go, and they went downstairs together. For breakfast, they had two sunny side up eggs, a big meat sausage cut in half and a large portion of canned beans and pickles. There was also a bowl of warm bread and a pot of tea on the table. Oroans typically had hearty breakfasts with an obligatory presence of meat in it.
It was hot on the ground floor. Mouth watering smells spread around. It seemed Lori was cooking his specialty - cinnamon buns. Ginger loved pastry and all types of sugary things, so it was hard for her to resist the smell. However, she swallowed and turned to her plate where dull grayish beans preserved in disgusting slimy sauce looked at her. She had no appetite at all.
There were a few more oroans having breakfast downstairs. But as soon as the smell of delicious buns had spread around the tavern, a huge line emerged. Many knew that Lori’s pastry was the best in all Daeghelm. He didn’t bake often, but occasionally delighted his customers with yummy treats. Lori carried out hot baking sheets, and they got sold out rapidly. Ginger looked furtively at oroans in the line, noticing that some of them bit their buns avidly right away before even paying. She switched back to her plate and picked at the wrecked sausage.
“Oh, what a crowd”, said Pryderi and smacked her lips, enjoying the breakfast. She looked at the line and turned back. It seemed she was nervous about the crowd, as Ginger was there, but there were no humans in the line, so she returned to her meal.
“Those are THE cinnamon buns,” Ginger half whispered.
“THE buns?” asked Pryderi, as her eyes turned to Ginger.
“Yes, these are Lori’s special. They are the best here. I think they might be the most delicious in the entire world.”
“Hmm,” Pryderi reflected, “I thought he bakes some different buns every time. Anyway, what’s so delicious about sweet pastry?”
“I tried them twice, and they are definitely special,” Ginger said it with awe as if she was promoting those buns.
Pryderi shrugged her shoulders, not getting the hype about it. She was pretty occupied chewing a slice of bread and contemplating a wall behind Ginger.
The last day of the fair was always crowdy. After breakfast, Pryderi and Ginger gathered all the remaining items from the room and headed towards their stall. Pryderi shared a display with her friend Ethel, who lived in Araia. She had her own tiny shop selling durable and warm oroan blankets, hats, scarfs, mittens and other woolen and cotton stuff. When the huge front window of the store was open, it transformed into a market stall, more suitable for a fair but more comfortable as it had a solid roof. Besides, as it was a separate shop, Ginger could comfortably hide behind a pile of blankets and sacks of down filling, avoiding attention. She could easily stay in the room, but the fair was one, if not the only, entertainment she had. From the hideout, she gazed secretly at customers, listened to their talks and, after all, this was giving her a chance to spend some time with her adoptive mother.
Ethel was fussy and sometimes jittery, as if she was trying to do everything under the sun. She was even shorter than Pryderi, had a brown head of tangled dull hair. She put it into a bun, but a few rebellious strands got out every now and then. Ethel wore vivid and peculiar self made clothes. Today she had a huge fuchsia polka-dot sweater on her. She also wore two rings with enormously large stones, hardly valuable. Ethel's eyes were the color of mustard with a faint but beautiful glow.
“I just can’t get it,” said Ethel in an undertone. Her voice was nasal and a bit high pitched for an oroan. “Why are these humans always looking for something blackish!? Isn’t it extremely boring? It doesn’t add even a shred of coziness or beauty. But a few weeks ago,” she looked closely at Pryderi, who was laying out toys on display, “a woman came. She bought out a good half of my stale goods. She even,” Ethel paused and squinted too much, “bought that baby blanket with butterflies!”
Ginger couldn’t hold laughter there. She giggled but pretended to be coughing. She saw that blanket quite a few times - it was greenish lemon with “butterflies” embroidered in all the colors of the rainbow. The problem was with the embroidery, as Ethel was so bad in it, those insects looked more like some crooked beetles.
“You have something to say, young lady?” shrieked Ethel. Ginger put her hands over her mouth, not letting a single giggle out.
“Nooo, not at all,” Ginger uttered lengthily. “Just remembered a funny thing.”
Messing with Ethel was a bad idea. She was extremely headstrong and incredibly persistent. If she needed to find some information or make a purchase, she would annoy every last person asking questions until the end of time. Pryderi had always taken Athel with her to buy yarns and fabrics to get the best discounts. Merchants were pleased to cut the slack just to get rid of Ethel faster.
But surprisingly, Pryderi and Ethel seemed to be a fine combination. Despite Ethel’s obnoxity, they communicated well. Pryderi was a reserved nature, while Ethel filled the air with chatter and fresh gossip.
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In spite of the last day, their earnings were meager. Pryderi counted coins and grumbled something to herself.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She hoped for some profit from maps too, but it was unlikely to happen. Along with debts, Pryderi inherited a bunch of maps from her father. He was a cartographer in his young ages. He was pretty good at it, knew all Daeghelm by heart and a vast amount of travelers and who knows who flocked to him in search of qualified advice. After he’d left his adventures behind and settled in Araia, he opened a small bookstore and got married. Despite how much he’d tried, he couldn’t get used to a sedentary lifestyle. At times, he broke down, attracted by faraway explorations, left the wife who had just had Pryderi and embarked on a new journey. He hadn’t returned from one of those trips and his fate remained unknown since. Perhaps he had lived a happy life on some abandoned forest edge or was killed by hunters or someone else.
Pryderi’s mother bore the bookstore till her last days, trying to make ends meet and pay off her husband’s debts. But she died early due to a sickness. She was just 76, which is the beginning of senior age for oroans. So Pryderi’s inheritance was: vanished father, a seedy bookstore and a bunch of maps. Additionally, she was quite young, about thirty years old. Not long after, Ginger fell on her head and Pryderi gave up trying to handle everything. She sold a bookstore to pay off her father’s debts and tried to build up a life from scratch. Not exactly from scratch, but from an old hut close to Araia, that was originally just a warehouse, but became an actual home for Pryderi and Ginger.
It got chilly in the evening. Clouds obscured the sky and thin rain began. It was common weather for Araia. Drizzle created an even more dull and depressing atmosphere. Fair decorations swayed in the wind, resembling the holiday just remotely.
Ginger helped Pryderi pack all the remaining items into sacks and, after exchanging long goodbyes with Ethel, they headed back to the tavern. Today was Ginger’s last day in Araia before going home and she was trying to enjoy every minute. After the fair, she would have to sit in the hut for at least a season with no other view than forests and fields. She loved the town vibe for its dynamic, even given it brought her anxiety. She could observe life here, see oroans, humans and other nations, perhaps even talk to someone once in a while. There was one more thing: Araia numbed the feeling of aloofness from Ginger, she felt less outcast there.
The tavern was crammed. Everyone celebrated the end of the fair. Ancient wooden tables overflowed with adults drinking ale and wine, and kids devouring baked potatoes greedily. As they came inside, Ginger lowered her eyes, hunched back as usual, and slipped through the crowd.
"Hey, Pryderi!" Lori called out to Pryderi. He was busy pouring shots of liquor and exchanging phrases with customers.
“Go upstairs,” said Pryderi. She handed all the sacks over to Ginger, went around the bar counter, and approached Lori. Ginger went up to the room.
Pryderi was gone for a good forty minutes. After a quarter of it, Ginger started feeling anxious. She looked out of the window often. “Where could she go?” thought Ginger, going over several options. “Maybe she forgot something at Ethel’s or went to collect money at a bookstore that’s selling her maps. Perhaps she just met someone downstairs or threw a glass of wine with Lori.”
Along with troubling thoughts, Ginger dreamed about food, imagining a nice rubby gammon served with baked potatoes. It made her mouth water, and the suspense of waiting increased, becoming unbearable. Ginger tried to read, but her focus flipped, so she finally just lay on the bed. She pulled her knees up to her chin. With infuriating anxiety trembling inside, Ginger lay there, catching faint sounds from downstairs. Someone began to sing. Time passed as slowly as the intro of this song.
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Pryderi came back late in the evening. Ginger dozed off for a while, but the sound of a shut door woke her up. Pryderi was pale as death, her eyes darting around, scanning the room.
Ginger sat up on the bed immediately, realizing something was wrong. She looked at Pryderi inquiringly, afraid to ask any question.
“We need to pack you up,” Pryderi blurted out without looking at Ginger. She paced through the room without even taking her boots or outerwear off.
“What?” Asked Ginger, taken aback. As she was still drowsy, it seemed like a prank or another dream. Pryderi remained quiet. She grabbed Ginger’s backpack and started to fill it with some stuff. She gathered it around the room, rummaged through the nightstand and even took something out from her pockets. Ginger sprang to her feet.
“What do you mean? Did something happen?” asked Ginger again, looking closely at Pryderi. At once Ginger had a wave of panic attack coming. Her hands were shaking hard, but she put them behind her back to hide it from Pryderi.
“They are looking for you,” Pryderi said shortly. She handed the information out in small pieces.
“Who? Pryderi, I don’t understand… Is it about that guy yesterday?”
“I’m not sure. Probably,” she said abruptly.
“Can you say something?” Ginger’s anxiety extended, and it seemed she was ready to clutch Pryderi’s shoulders to shake her up to get information. Blood rushed to Ginger’s cheeks as her heart pounded.
“Lori said” started Pryderi “That some man came to him asking about you. I’m pretty sure it was a hunter.” Pryderi put the backpack away and flopped on the bed for a second. Her face filled with exhaustion and desperation. But in a moment, she stood up and resumed packing.
“What?” said Ginger with a trembling voice. Everything was happening so fast that Ginger couldn’t keep up and cope.
Pryderi thrusted the backpack into her hands. She wandered around the room aimlessly.
“Pryderi!” cried Ginger. “Can you explain anything?” She stood beside the table, clasping the backpack tightly with both hands. Her wide-open eyes fixed on Pryderi, glowing with fear but glassy and empty at the same time as there was nothing behind that fright, not one clear thought.
When Pryderi finally caught sight of Ginger, she turned away, holding tears. She sat on the edge of the bed and dried her eyes. In a moment, she looked at Ginger again.
“Some man came to see Lori in the afternoon and asked about you. He was very persistent and precise, mentioning a girl looking exactly like you. Maybe that drunkard had remembered you and told someone. Perhaps he knows someone. Lori claims he didn’t say a thing, but I know hunters and they know their work very well. This guy assured he’d come back shortly and warned Lori to better have some answers this time.”
Ginger was still staying near the table with a backpack stuck in her hands. She wasn’t able to move a muscle. Chaos raged in her mind as Pryderi continued,
“You know,” she sighed, “Nobody wants any problem with humans, Ginger. Oro won’t protect you just cause you are with me.”
“Then we can just go home,” Ginger replied.
“I’m not sure,” Pryderi paused as she looked for the right words, “that it can work out that simple this time. They are looking for me as well. That hunter asked not just about you.”
“Or we can hide at Ethel’s or someone else’s place, like last time?”
“I doubt it,” said Pryderi as she lowered her head.
“And what does that mean?” asked Ginger.
“I don’t know… I don’t know. Maybe we can just wait it through and all the panic is in vain. But something tells me we wouldn’t get off that easily.”
“What do you mean?” Ginger glanced at Pryderi with her eyes wide open.
“I guess it may be what we most feared,” said Pryderi as she looked out of the window. In a minute, she resumed,
“You should be ready.” Pryderi’s voice was so quiet, as if coming from afar.
Ginger was very well aware of what Pryderi was talking about. All those conversations that there might come a day when Ginger had to run from Araia.
“I shouldn’t have taken you with me,” Pryderi mumbled under her nose. “I should have kept you safe, not take you to the town. I should have prevented this. I knew it… I knew.”
Ginger was standing still, as if moving was forbidden. Pryderi snuffled and said,
“Just in case, I asked Marena, she is going to Bothelm tomorrow early in the morning. She can take you too.”
“Take me with her? I don’t want to go anywhere,” Ginger exclaimed. She was trying to put some words together, but a lump in her throat messed all up. “I can’t alone… without you… How can I…”
“I still hope that it all goes away,” said Pryderi, trying to cheer Ginger up. She approached her and looked right into her frightened eyes. Pryderi ran her fingers over Ginger’s forehead, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Ginger dropped the backpack and hugged Pryderi tightly. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“What would I do?” asked Ginger, almost bursting into tears.
“I don’t know,” Pryderi whispered. “I need some time to think it through.” She grabbed Ginger’s arms and straightened her up. “Listen to me Ginger. You should never let them take you. Never, you understand me?” she squeezed Ginger's hands, trying to make her listen carefully. Ginger nodded. “You must hide. Try not to show up a lot in big cities. Avoid any communication with humans. And please, don’t trust anyone. Not one soul must discover that you have no documents.”
Ginger stood in front of Pryderi, powerless and somewhat miserable. A tough pause hung in the air, making plenty of room for sobs.
“I know you don’t believe me, when I say that your parents begged me to hide you and never let humans take you. But it’s true. I don’t know if you are that kid hunters are looking for, or it’s just some terrible rock, but I believe,” Pryderi hesitated, “I believe you can run away and maybe someday take a taste of a calm life.”
Pryderi hugged Ginger and softly stroked her hair. In the semi-darkness of the room, they remained frozen and silent, not making a sound.
“Can you come with me?” Ginger broke the silence in a while. She wiped tears off her face and took a deep breath.
“I think that if we go through this night fine, we might consider going to the mountains, maybe move there.”
Slight smile crossed Ginger’s lips, and she said,
“You hate real mountains”. Her eyebrows reached up as she looked at Pryderi, and they laughed.
“What won’t we do for…”
A faint knock interrupted. Three short and quiet but clear thuds at the door came like thunder. Ginger and Pryderi fell silent and stared at the door. Pryderi gestured Ginger to stay still as she moved closer to the door on her tiptoes.
“Pryderi,” a whisper came from the other side of the door. “Pryderi” it repeated.
Pryderi unbolted the door and slightly opened it. Brighter light poured into the room through the gap along with clearer sounds of customers jabbering downstairs. The conversation was indistinguishable, but Pryderi closed and bolted the door again just in a few seconds. She turned sharply to Ginger.
“He’s here” dropped Pryderi. Ginger swallowed loudly and glanced at her.
“We need to get you out” Pryderi grabbed Ginger’s coat and boots and rushed to her. “Now!”
Pryderi put a coat on Ginger, who remained motionless as if paralyzed.
“Come on, Ginger!” Pryderi hustled her, and Ginger slipped her hands into the sleeves slowly. Pryderi grabbed her shoulders and shook her up. “Please, hurry!”
Ginger put on her boots. The slow motion of her movements accurately reflected the speed of her thoughts.
Withal, it seemed none of them had come up with a suitable way out.
“Window,” exclaimed Pryderi in a halftone.
“But,” before Ginger could say a word, she found herself standing in front of the open window. The wind nipped at her cheeks. Pryderi placed the backpack on Ginger’s shoulders. “It’s too high here,” said Ginger, putting her hands on a windowsill. They heard an argument starting downstairs.
“You need to climb along the ledge. There is a black door behind the building with a sloping roof. Slide down that roof not to jump,” Pryderi spoke rapidly as she forced Ginger out of the window. Ginger obeyed reluctantly. She climbed out of the window, clinging to the window frame. Rickety ledge was slippery because of the rain. Ginger stared at Pryderi from the other side.
“I’ll hold them,” said Pryderi. She took Ginger’s face in her hands, leaned her head so that their foreheads met, and whispered. “Remember, I love you very much…”
Ginger seemed to be at a loss for the words, confused and terrified by what was going on. She gazed at Pryderi, hoping for some miracle to happen.
“But where should I go?” Ginger asked.
“Get to Bothelm. If everything works out, let’s meet there in two days. The northwest of the city, on the outskirts, there is a long forsaken corner. Find the yarn shop I’d told you about. Meet me at dusk.” Their faces looked similarly desperate and frightened. “Find Marena. You need to get out of Araia. If I won’t make it to Bothelm - run. Try to flee from Daeghelm.” She paused for a moment. “If you can make it to Cwenburg, Plucca lives there. He is the only person I can trust. He works in a local theater.”
They heard the sound of clattering broken dishes. Multiple male voices intertwined in a perpetual yell.
“Hurry,” Pryderi urged Ginger forward.
With a few weak steps, Ginger climbed along the ledge slowly. Her hair blowing in the wind. She looked at Pryderi one last time.
“I’ll find you,” said Pryderi, shutting the blinds.
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For the first time, Ginger was on her own, clinging to the ledge in the middle of the night. “I should have been ready for this,” she repeated to herself. Even though she was completely drained of energy and breathed heavily, she kept going, not letting herself to turn back. She moved along the edge, following Pryderi’s instructions.
Guilt resonated within her when she realized she hadn't said a single word as a goodbye to Pryderi.