The Tressians

Chapter 1

A child nearby is crying. I turn to my left and immediately spot her- a jungle of frizzy, brown curls, pressed between the frames of several men and women, towering above her like tree trunks.

She looks no older than six and clings to a woman, her mother most likely, who I recognise just then as Mrs Miller, the local seamstress. Around me, old women glance at her over their shoulders, tut and shake their heads. The Preacher doesn't look too happy either. From his higher vantage point on the wooden platform, he scans the gathered crowd before him with narrowed, beady eyes then purses his lips. He's a thick-browed, pale fellow with fat fingers matching his plump cheeks and round belly. On either side of him stand two stocky guards in Tressian, iron vests. Their grim faces shine with sweat from standing so long in the harsh sunlight, and two unwound leather whips dangle like serpents from the sides of their belts.

Mrs Miller catches me starting at her and shrugs, her eyes apologetic. I weave through the men and women between us and stand by her side. She's a bulky lady with short, kinky curls and has to crouch down to speak into my ear.

'She refuses to look,' she whispers, while the Preacher recommences his sermon. 'I don't know what else to do.'

I stand on my tiptoes and aim my voice at her left ear.

'Give her some time.'

Mrs Miller blows out a sigh. 'It's her third crucifixion Miss Ilnett. She won't look no matter how much I explain the importance of these processions.' She tugs at the child. 'She's shaming me.'

She's right about that last bit. But I don't want to upset her by agreeing. I rest my hand on her elbow and she gives me a weak smile. Against her smooth black skin, my own looks patchy, a pink-yellowish colour like the market eggs I buy.

'It's not always easy to look at death,' I say.

'None of the other children are making such a fuss.' She waves her arm in the direction of a toddler. He's watching the crucified Avander on his father's shoulders and sucking on a mango stone. His blank eyes are a bit unsettling, but I don't mention this in case Mrs Miller understands my comment to mean more than it does. She drops her chin and speaks through gritted teeth.

'If you don't do as I say Sophia, if you don't behave like a good Elriyan girl, I'll spank you raw.'

I squeeze her arm. 'Give her time Mrs Miller.'

'She'll never learn.'

'She will when she's ready.' I squat beside Sophia, my waist-long auburn curls swaying between my knees. She senses my presence and turns her face away.

It's time for my secret weapon. I pull out a long piece of candy from a paper bag tucked away in my trouser pocket. 'So-phee-yaaa,' I say in a sing-song voice. 'Look what I have for you.'

Her head turns. She has these wide brown eyes that remind me of my own and a cute pointed nose I wish I had.

She sees the candy and brightens. 'Pineapple straws! My favourite!'

She doesn't wait for me to offer her the piece again and snatches it out of my hand.

I laugh then lower my voice when I notice the Preacher glaring at me. 'They're my favourite too. I can't stop eating them.' I run my fingers over her tight ringlets then lightly pinch her cheek.

'Good girl,' I whisper. 'Today is a special day, did you know that?'

Chewing, Sophia nods. 'It's the Festival.'

'Well, yes. But it's also special because our officers caught a naughty Avander, and when they catch a naughty Avander, we should be happy and celebrate. We don't want them misbehaving do we? And we definitely don't want them growing out their hair like this one did.'