Prologue #2
“You will run and you will run fast,” her mother instructed quietly, straightening the little girl's coat. “You will stop for no one and you will stick to the alleyways and the shadows, do you understand?”
Her mother held her small shaking shoulders, as she looked deep into Syra’s grey eyes, as if to memorize the girl's face.
She waited until Syra nodded in acknowledgment to her instructions before she pulled her into a tight hug, voice shaking as she asked, “What do we always say? One last time and then you must never repeat it aloud.”
The pounding at the door continued, voices growing louder.
Syra, her little voice cracking, spoke softly. “My name is Syra Lunatici, blessed follower of the Goddess Lua. I am shadow-blessed and I do not fear the light nor her wrath.”
“Very good, my little shadow,” her mother whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you, Syra.”
Before she could say it back, Syra was falling. Falling as her mothers pained face peered down at her.
It wasn't until Syra let out a shaky cry as her small body landed safely in a pile of cold snow, that her mothers head disappeared from the window, followed by the muffled click of the window latch locking.
The cold soaked through her old and ragged clothes as she lay still, momentarily dazed by the events she had just endured.
Remembering her mothers instructions, she crawled to her hands and knees.
Still she held her tears in as she tiptoed to the street, peering nervously around a corner.
The scene before her caused a small gasp to escape her lips.
Many of her neighbors were lined up in the street, a crowd of silver, white, and the palest of blonde hair.
Those who weren’t, watched in horror from behind their curtained windows.
She recognized a little girl from her classes at school, hair so white it was nearly iridescent in the moonlight and her skin a deep black against the snow littered landscape—her little fist was clutched in her mother’s skirts as she stared around fearfully.
A hush fell over the crowd, however, as Marianna Lunatici was dragged by her silver hair out into the street.
Her mother.
She took a step forward, but hesitated. Her mother said she must run to Mrs. Sommers. How could she leave though?
She stood, frozen to that little dark corner of the alley, her shadows pressing and urging her to back up further, to hide.
Run. Run. Run.
They hissed frantically in her mind.
But she couldn’t.
Not as she watched the Solerian guards tie her mother to a post in the middle of the courtyard.
“Citizens of Tavari,” A large, bearded Solerian soldier roared to the crowd, “King Artius Soliel brings a new era to our beloved country. An era of peace and prosperity for our loyalty to the Goddess Soli. No longer will we be plagued with the darkness of the cursed, these followers of the moon.”
A crowd of Solerians had begun to form amongst the street, cheering at the words as they pressed in upon the Luanthians that were bound and crowded around the post her mother was tied to.
“Marianna Lunatici, you are hereby accused of treason against the crown of Tavari, the rightful rulers of this country and descendants of the Sun Goddess Soli, for worshiping the false Goddess Lua and for the shadow-curse.” He spoke clearly, decisively, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you deny these allegations?”
Syra didn’t, couldn’t understand. Her mother didn’t have shadow magic, she wasn’t shadow-blessed. Why had this man charged her with that?
Her mother merely stared up, her eyes on the moon, her lips moving in prayer for all those gathered to hear, “Mother of the Moon, hear our cries, see our tears, embrace us in your darkness. Forgive our sins, for we have failed you in life, but we will honor you in death.”
The Lunathians that surrounded her, repeated the words, voices growing stronger in reverence despite the fear that coated their throats.
The next words the soldier snarled, froze Syra to her core, “Burn the bitch.”
“Burn them all. They will have no chance of repentance.”
It was the screams that propelled Syra into a run, her little legs moving quickly as she kept to the shadows of the alleyways.
Trying to escape the blistering heat at her back, the pained cries that echoed in the wintery night air.
Her own shadows whirled and twisted to conceal her from prying eyes.
I am shadow-blessed. I do not fear the light nor her wrath.
She ran and she did not stop.
It was the middle of the night when Merle Sommers was awoken to a frantic thumping upon her door. Heart in her throat, she rubbed her chilled hands together as she hurried to answer it.
Upon opening it a little girl with hair as black as the night sky, clothes soaked through and matted with snow, stood gasping on her doorstep. However, it was the grey eyes that gave her pause, that caused her to peer more closely at the features shrouded in the darkness of the night.
A small flame flickered to life in her palm, lighting up the face of the little girl who flinched away from her. She quickly extinguished it as she stepped closer, pulling the small child inside and hurriedly shutting the door, clicking the lock into place.
“Syra?” She asked, bewilderment in her tone as she ushered the girl through her potions shop and to the apartment above.
Merle locked that door too after they entered, before peering out the curtains of her home, staring out to the streets of Amori City—the capital of Tavari.
It was then she saw the smoke and flames in the Old Quarter that she finally began to understand.
The Cleansing had begun.
She did not call forth the fire that danced in her veins to light the hearth, rather she took the time to coax and create one from the flint and stone she kept tucked away in a drawer.
She hadn’t missed the way the girl had flinched at her magic outside.
When she had sufficiently lit the fire she breathed softly upon it, coaxing it to life so the child would stop shivering.
The flames danced over Merle’s brown skin, as she pulled the girl closer.
“Do not fear these flames, little one, they aren’t made of magic, but of life and creation. They will warm you—not harm you.”
“I do not fear the light nor her wrath.” The girl whispered, eyes glued to the fire.
She took to undressing Syra, tossing her sodden clothes to the side as she wrapped her in warm blankets and made a mental note to grab a change of clothing for her in the market first thing tomorrow.
“Mama?” A small voice called from the doorway to her left.
“Go back to sleep, Branson.” Her son hesitated, taking a step forward as he saw the little girl who sat in their living room. “Now.”
At that tone little Branson turned and rushed back to his room, the door shutting softly behind him.
Syra stared blankly at the fire, her cold body warming beside the hearth as silent tears streamed down her cheeks, her face void of all emotion and fingers nearly frostbitten.
“What happened, Syra?” Merle coaxed gently, hands combing through the girls knotted, wet hair. The black tresses chilled Merle as she wondered what happened to this little girl with hair that once was as silver as her mothers.
“I am Solerian, I was born Solerian,” she spoke so quietly that Merle had to lean in to hear her. “My parents, who loved me very dearly, died of The Fever.”
Merle sat back, shock written across her face as her hands stilled.
“Syra—“
“I am Solerian, I was born Solerian. My parents, who loved me very dearly, died of The Fever,” she choked on a sob. “My mother is dead.”
Merle felt her own eyes fill with unshed tears as she wrapped the girl up in her arms and sat closer to the warmth of the fire with her.
They sat together in silence, long into the dark night, the smoke of a burning city filling their noses.