Chapter two
Ibrushed my copper hair back, fighting through the knots.
Stupid brush.
Frustrated, I chucked it across the empty cot.
After a slow, dreadful week following the incident, I realized Fenrah was right; it had eaten me alive.
And every time it did, my hands shook uncontrollably, and I lost all of what little confidence I had.
It was a constant battle in my head. I would tell myself it wasn’t my fault, but then the next moment, I’d hate myself for not being able to save that woman’s life.
I was exhausted.
I woke up almost every morning feeling like I hardly slept.
But it wasn’t only because of the crowded cot or what had happened last week.
It was because it didn’t feel safe as a home should feel when there was no love there.
I stared at the wooden brush lying on our ripped blanket, silently cursing it and wishing I could cast some sort of spell on it.
When the brush miraculously didn’t change into a magical new bone brush, I snapped my head back to the blurry mirror.
No brushing for today, it is, I thought, narrowing my livid green eyes in the reflection and staring at my red curls…angry that the rumors weren’t true.
Just for a moment, I wished they were.
That I was a witch who could cast a spell on anyone or anything I wanted—wishing I could change stale bread into a warm, fluffy baguette or that I could transform into another being just so I didn’t have to live through another day of hateful glances and cursed words.
I studied my pale, freckled body…
Since I could remember, I’d been branded as a witch.
For so long I blamed my copper-colored hair for all the attention it had brought me.
It made it impossible to avoid attention.
Perhaps there would be a day when people didn’t associate hair color with superstition. But today was not that day. Some had hated me for looking different, some because they thought me a child of the devil, and some lusted for me in ways that made my stomach churn.
My mother used to tell me there were people who looked like me in faraway lands in the north, but I’d never met anyone else who looked like me besides my brother.
He had shaved his head as often as he could, which helped to a certain extent.
I often wondered what life would look like if I were up north.
I wondered if I’d still feel lonely or if I would feel like I belonged.
If I were being honest with myself, it wasn’t just today that I wished for that.
It was every damn day of my life.
Well, ever since my family left.
My brother was the first of us to leave this world.
He died in the previous war with an overseas country, Wendlen, that we’d been fighting with since the beginning of time.
There was no body recovered.
No body to grieve over. I never got to say goodbye to him. His friend brought the news upon his return home from the war across the seas. After my brother’s death, we watched my father fade in result of it. It was almost as if he died long before a plague took his life. He didn’t want to live anymore; guilt had swallowed him whole, and his life force depleted quickly—no longer caring for his breathing family. I closed my eyes and quickly shook my head to stop the memories from flowing.
The crisp summer winds slammed into my face as I left the tavern that swarmed with crowded bodies and muddied boots.
I rushed down the steps, not bothering to look at anyone who entered for their daily murky cup of coffee ale.
The weather in the Western Sea Islands, especially in Prustan, was always like this in the summer.
I didn’t mind the whispers of cold in the weather; it was a pleasant contrast to the heat of the sun as it lifted itself into the sky.
I continued my way through the village, walking through puddles of gods knows what, towards the cliffside that looked over the Western Sea.
For the most part, the cliffside was vacant from visitors.
Most people didn’t want to trek the difficult path that was necessary to reach it.
But it was worth it. The view was always worth it. I liked to imagine that one day when I had enough coin saved up, I would build a lovely cottage by the cliffside. It sent a bolt of tingles down my spine just thinking about it.
I kept my head down, focusing on where my leather boots hit the cobblestoned streets as I imagined my cottage in the woods and its—
“Witch!”
A young boy appeared in front of me.
His eyes darted briefly to my hair, but there was no fear in them.
I stopped and placed my hands on my hips.
I leaned forward, and his voice lowered as he made his daily request.
“Did you turn my flower into a sweet almond overnight?”
Tristan asked, eyes sparkling.
These were the moments I cherished and kept tucked away deep in my heart for the rainy days when life didn’t seem worth living.
These small moments were worth everything to me.
My lips curved into a slow smile.
I whispered.
“Why, yes, I did, young Tristan.
What’s the secret passcode?”
“Solei’s the best healer in the village.”
He scanned our surroundings to ensure no one heard the super-secret passcode he swore up and down he’d never, ever share with anyone.
I opened my palm, like I did almost every day, and revealed a sugar-coated almond I purchased earlier.
I knew my coin purse was light and held hardly any savings for the cottage I dreamed of having one day, but if his smile and happiness at one sweet almond meant my dreams would wait just a little longer, then it was worth it.
Plus, the flower he gave me yesterday expecting a sweet almond this morning was on my bed stand, and it made me smile.
Today’s flower was going to add to the collection for the week before they wilted and died. We traded, and the moment the almond hit the young boy’s palm, he was sprinting off across the cobblestones towards his friends, beaming with excitement.
Lifting the daisy to my nose and inhaling its sweet, fresh scent, I smiled and resumed my walk towards the west woods and up the mountain until I’d eventually reach the sea.
The village, Prustan, stretched through the small valley and was bordered with sparse woods and shrubs.
Predictable in the sweetest yet most annoying ways, my life here in the village seemed clear.
“Hey, cherry, how much for a fair trade?”
a man asked in a low, sultry voice, leaning on a brick building outside a closed tavern as I passed.
I regrettably lifted my gaze and saw he had a hanging pot belly that reflected the amount of ale he consumed, matched by a balding head and patchy beard.
My stomach roiled, and I refused to lift my gaze any more from the stone ground.
I finally rounded the corner away from the reeking man.
As a woman and child passed me, she grabbed the back of her young daughter’s dress, glaring at me as she warned.
“Careful, sweetheart.
Look at her hair.
Do you see how unnatural that is?”
The little girl nodded her head nervously, terror filling her eyes.
“That’s the witchcraft at work! You are to never go near her, do you hear me?”
The woman pulled her even closer to her bosom.
Even though I was used to their fearful, wandering eyes, relentless hisses, and insults, it still crushed my heart.
The little girl couldn’t be more frightened of me.
If I had bent down and told her it was all a lie, that I carried no magic and I was the same as her, they would scream and believe they’d just been cursed by me.
That afternoon, after visiting my family’s four small graves near the forest edge, I sat at the edge of the cliffside gazing out at the Western Sea, feeling the cool breeze on my cheeks.
The cliffs went on for miles and miles.
They were the largest on the island, known for their treacherous falls.
For some reason, I had never been afraid of these cliffs. The sun was finally dipping below pink-tinted waves crashing into the soft sand bed below.
After waiting here for hours, I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling a heavy, unbearable weight on my chest.
Swallowing the tightness in my throat, I eventually opened my stinging eyes.
I breathed in the salt in the air and searched the seas.
I searched the skies, too.
Anyone who saw me on this cliffside wouldn’t know.
They wouldn’t understand my searching.
They couldn’t possibly know what was on my mind.
He was out there.
I knew he was.
My brother would be coming back for me.