Firi held firmly onto her father’s wrist as he dragged her through the endless crowd. An elbow to the forehead, a heel to her foot, and cacophonous shouts were all she could process while they cut through the market street. Stalls selling trinkets, household tools, and preserved meats tightly lined the cobblestone lane, occasionally separated by dormant firebug streetlamps. The rumble and rhythm of unseen horse-drawn carriages reverberated up her legs, the feeling foreign to the peaceful ground she was used to.
Her village had far less horses, six, and even then they struggled to feed them during the long winter. They were either used for work or short journeys, so she had only ridden one a few times before. She remembered the feeling of sitting tall on horseback, connected with the earth beneath and yet also closer to the freedom of the sky above. The girl looked up, the blue tapestry floating much further than she had ever known. She wished for that feeling even more now.
“You okay?” he repeated, apparently not the first time he had asked.
She did her best to nod within the swirling chaos of marketgoers. Each person she bumped into wore colors and fabrics she did not recognize, each fighting their own battles within the flow of the crowd. Firi shrunk deeper into her cloak to escape the frenzy around her.
“Sorry. There’s way more people than usual,” her father said. “We’ll be out of here soon.”
He tugged her hand, attempting to pull her closer to him. They continued through the narrow and winding lane, eventually breaking out into a small open square. Still trapped within the center of the markets, the space they found themselves in provided some minor relief from the packed streets of Kaliston. Although less crowded, some stalls sat along the edge of the square, where people continued to bargain and shout. She could even see some of the sellers use a bronze balance to weigh their goods, likely more precise than the one she used at home. The tightly packed houses that caged her in was something she would need to get used to.
At the center of the square sat the larger-than-life statue of a noble, raised by a stone pedestal, its carved words too far to read. The bronze man sat upon the back of a rearing warhorse, where one hand pulled the reins taut while the other held a longsword, pointed at the sky above. His intricate armor molded by someone who cared, with the visor of his helmet raised. It exposed a cold smile and blank eyes that gazed at the distant city walls, or at least, staring at what lie beyond.
Even Firi could tell that the statue was much older than the crenellated walls. Decades of dents and scratches left scars that attracted the eye, despite the recently polished surface. Although the centerpiece of the square, it appeared no one bothered to spare a glance towards it, indifferent to its likeness. It seemed having more gold made it easier to not hate the nobles.
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“You should rest.” Her father sat Firi down on one of many cut wood logs strewn about. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a moment.”
The girl felt nervous jitters grip her body as he disappeared beyond flocks of travellers and residents. Her mind caught up to the thoughts she held back while fighting the crowd. What if she was not magical enough for the academy? Her father, and others too, often said that every person had the capacity for magic. That becoming a mage was a simple combination of education and discipline. Now that the education came free, the idea of being selected seemed much more improbable. The carriage journey to Kaliston was long and expensive, and if she were to fail, the return trip would likely carry more disappointment than she could handle.
And if she did pass the selection test, would her father be able to live alone? Who would help him tend to the herds? Carry half of the water needed to hydrate their crops? If she became a student and graduated, would she earn enough gold to buy a house for her father here in the capital?
“Firi.” Her father placed a paper cup in her hand, containing shaved ice drizzled with fruit syrup. “You’ve never had this before, right?”
She shook her head and decided to focus on eating.
Firi used the small wood spoon to scoop fluffy heaps of ice into her mouth, even softer than the snow she rarely saw. Not too sweet and not too bland, the pleasant feeling of it melting on her tongue distracted her from her worries. Within a moment, she had finished her dessert before her father, and not wanting to rush him, she occupied herself by watching the crowd. Although severely uncomfortable up close, it was not too unpleasant watching from afar.
Near the edge of the square, people gathered around a dancer displaying magical arts. The dancer's arms weaved between floating orbs of water that shimmered in the sun’s grace. Each twirl introduced more water, crystal clear, and fascinating in shape. Some trailed along with the dancer’s flow, colliding and shattering into countless fragments of suspended refractions. Other orbs broke away from the rest, playing a game of chase with children amongst the crowd. The sound of laughter and delight echoed through the entire area. It was a sound Firi wished she heard more often in her ageing and solemn village far west of here.
Her fixation was interrupted by her father.
“Maybe you could learn to do that,” he chuckled. “Would be quite cool.”
Her gaze lowered to the neatly lined bricks beneath her, and for the first time in a while, words escaped her lips. More than a whisper, but not by much.
“Yeah.”
The girl’s father gave one gentle pat on her back and stood up, extending his left arm. She eyed his arm hesitantly, waiting. He surrendered to her silent request and offered the other arm. The scorched one. The one scarred and disfigured beyond repair. The wound which encompassed his entire hand and creeped up half of his forearm. A large indentation formed the shape of a hand around his wrist, right where Firi normally held it. A hand slightly larger than her's, carved into his flesh. He had never told her where it came from, besides saying that a fire demon had tried to kidnap her, and that he fought back. But she didn’t believe that.
She gripped her father’s wrist with her left hand, the only person in the world that felt comforted by holding it. Feeling Firi’s fingers settle into their usual location, he flashed a smile at her. Sometimes, he didn’t need to understand his daughter to love her.
“Let’s go.”