Phoenix Child

Chapter 1

Calida staggered through the door. The eighteen year-old had found a large bag of potatoes for only one
silver galatos. Her entire way home, she
expected someone to realize the prize she had gotten
away with in the market.
“What took you so long?”
Calida slumped the bag onto the ground with a grunt. She had bought enough to feed an army. She shouldn’t need to go
to the market for another week with all of this.
As she silently pulled the bag along the ground, unable to
speak and drag the heavy weight, her mother tapped her foot
impatiently. Then, when she took too long to stop and answer,
the clanging of pans and metal scraping on metal pounded
against her eardrums.
“Answer me, you impudent child!”
After more dragging, she was beside the kitchen’s washing
basin and Calida propped up the bag, opening it for easy
access. Last time she didn’t, her mother grew angry that it
wasn’t already open and insisted Calida stop what she had
been doing to open it.
Cressida muttered complaints as she scrubbed Calida’s
father’s cup on the table. It was the only dish she insisted on cleaning, but if her daughter didn’t help, she became more
upset.
Calida trudged back to the door and picked up the purse
holding the vegetables she bought, vegetables she needed to
dry or else the bugs would come for them. She laid them on
the table beside the washing basin and turned around to get
the salt, but a sack of laundry came sailing at her unexpectedly.
She stumbled as she took the brunt of the impact.
“Be more on top of the chores this time.”
Calida gritted her teeth. She would be more on top of it if
it wasn’t all left to her.
It was useless to shout at her mother. Cressida didn’t
understand Calida’s perspective. It was better to be silent than
to defend herself.
“Of course, why would you speak to your mother? Should
I even expect love from you?” Even with all her criticism, she
still loved her mother. Calida’s chest tightened and weighed
her down. If someone could su"ocate from wrongdoings and
criticisms, then it was a miracle she was still alive.
“I will take care of the laundry after I salt the vegetables.”
“No. Do the laundry now. I will do the salting later. Last
time you did it, we had a swarm outside our door.”
Calida barely held back an eye twitch. Last time she salted
like all the other times, she had salted the vegetables well. Cressida
had been shouting anxiously the entire time she salted about
the swarm growing outside their house eating the food. The
pests had been attracted by a dead rabbit nearby. Calida saw it
when she had gone out for the dried meat she had hung up.
The bugs were completely unrelated. Not that it stopped her
mother from complaining.
“Yes, mother.” She sighed.
Calida shouldered the laundry sack and walked to her Calida
shouldered the laundry sack and walked to her room to get
her laundry beating stick.
“Where are you going?!”
From her bedroom, she controlled her breathing. If she
lashed out at her mother, they would only fight, and it would
resolve nothing. Calida would end up apologizing later for
being a young, foolish girl. She snatched the stick and urn of
wood ash from beside her bed and marched back into the
living area.
“I just needed to fetch my laundry stick, Mother.”
Cressida stood up from the table and shouted. “Is that
attitude I hear, Calida?”
Calida bit her lip to keep from yelling back. Her mother
heard attitude and verbal attacks in her words no matter what
she said in protest.
“No, Mother. I was only making a statement.” Because you
asked. Calida left the last part out; it would only get her mother
upset.
“You have to answer me properly. You will not
accomplish anything, anywhere, if you give me such an
attitude.”
Calida stared at the ground as the hurt swirled into
numbness. Her heart stabbed her chest, and the pins and
needle prickled her !ngers until it covered her body and mind.
Without a word, she trudged out the door with the bag of
laundry and her stick.
The door swung closed behind her, and with it, the breath
she held. In the outside air, Calida inhaled deeply. Her mind
drifted to the memory of what she saw in the market that
morning. Someone new had come with a skit to bring buyers
to his stall. He was an object magic caster. The man had called
the attention of those around them and then showed
something like a “magic” show. He had a necklace in his hand
and explained to the crowd what he was about to do. The man
wore a mysterious cloak that covered his face. He held up the
necklace and then it vanished in his hands, only for it to
suddenly appear on a wealthy lady wearing a rich blue dress in
the front of the crowd.
Like the rest of the crowd, Calida was absorbed by the
man’s display. He invited the woman to the front to play his
assistant, then he performed one more trick. He told the
woman she could keep the necklace if she were able to use the
ring he held in his other hand to turn invisible. He plopped the
ring in her hand. She clutched it tight and closed her eyes as
she wished herself invisible.
The crowd gasped out when, before their eyes, the woman
disappeared.
Calida had been enthralled by it, but thanks to that nagging
little impression in her mind, she was thrown off by a wandering
worry if it was rigged from the start, and if an innocent woman
had just been taken. Objects that could make you invisible
were rare because of how long it took to make them. The lady
had been wearing the enchanted necklace that no doubt could
transport anything. Calida could only wonder if she had been
taken by the seller for nefarious reasons. She had stayed silent,
though. What could she do? What if she was wrong? She didn’t
know what she would do if she were to blame for yet another
incident and nothing was wrong. She could hear her mother’s
voice in her head.
It’s your fault…It was only a little skit for the audience. Why must
you make more out of than there was? What a paranoid, petulant child.
Calida had diligently kept her mouth shut, just like her
mother had said. A loudmouth led to folly. The lovely event
twisted to something upsetting in her mind.
As she walked down the path carrying the soiled laundry
her mother had left outside the home, she was no longer
excited about being outside. In her peripheral, her friend tied
up her horse and approached.
Jetta Arundel walked beside her, and Calida stayed silent,
not looking for conversation as she hoped to finish the laundry
without incident.
“When will you come live with me at the Crescent League
base?” “I am needed here.”
Her friend grabbed her arm and stopped them. “You are
only needed because your mother refuses to lift a finger.”
Calida shrugged off Jetta’s arm, and the two set of into the
forest behind the house. The leaves were almost the same
color as Calida’s red hair. The same red bubbled inside her
from bottling up her emotions for so long. They strolled down
the path.
Her skin crawled with the need to do something, say
something, just to fill the silence. But she did not want to say
something while she was in such a vulnerable state. Why
would she need to share anything, anyway?
Stop that yelling this instant! Why must you yell at me when I have
not done such things to you? How peevish.
Calida flinched at the memory of her mother’s sharp
words. The dear daughter of a Faction Knight argumentative.
Nonsense. No explanation, just the statement. So, when her
friend, the lackey of the esteemed Crescent League faction,
made a statement about her mother, something triggered
inside her. The hurt under the numbness blossomed like a stab
wound.
“She is getting older. I am her dutiful daughter, so it falls
onto me.”
Calida was someone who stood above commoners and
gained preferential treatment. Calida was fortunate to have
what she did. Unlike Jetta, who grew up on the streets.
“Friends are there long enough to use and then they leave.
You must love your family forever, child.”
“Calida, don’t tell me you believe that.”
She didn’t tell her. Her mother was getting older and
couldn’t do the same things other older woman could do
without complaint. She took care of her mother and the house.
Cressida had no interest in the emotional health of her
daughter, including the jealousy over the looks of Calida’s
dearest friend.
Jetta’s black hair was always kept in a knot on her head.
The strands fell out constantly, but she would hurriedly fix
them to keep her esteemed faction standards. Sometimes,
Calida wished she could have Jetta’s hair. Any hair but her
own. The fiery locks upon her head were akin to an animal’s
mane. Wild, tangled, and large in volume. Frequently, she
wished to have Jetta’s appearance entirely. Her pale skin and
eyes that were almond in shape and colour. And on her head,
Jetta wore the Crescent League headpiece. The accessory
represented the remarkable guild, and meant they held their
members to a higher standard.
The trees thinned out, and the burble of water lazily
moving down the river greeted her ears.
She reached the edge of the nearby stream and made a
pool of water in the stream’s mud. Scrubbing the laundry
against the stones, she removed the !lth before she churned
the clothing with her laundry stick.
“Let me help you.” Jetta tried to pull some of the laundry
away.
“No!” It was her responsibility. Hers alone.
Jetta hu"ed before she crouched by the closest tree, staring
intensely at Calida.
Tears pricked Calida’s eyes. Her vision clouded as she tried
furiously to hide her emotional fault. She churned even harder.
Her mouth tightened as she fought off the sadness welling up.
After so long feeling this sense of black and white, her chest
hurt in protest.
It had been so long since her mother smiled her way or
lovingly said, “my beautiful daughter.” Not that she was
convinced that Cressida was her mother, nor Rayner her
father. She didn’t think they truly considered her their
daughter, either. Why would they? She was so vastly different
from her parents. Her fire-red hair was unruly and wild and
stood out compared to her father’s brown and her mother’s
blonde.
Calida’s complexion was similar to her mother, but there
were noticeable differences, like an upward tilt of the nose or
higher cheekbones. Calida stared into the muddy water as she
shook o" the spiralling thoughts. Who in their right mind
would think there was even a chance for a girl from the
backwaters of Eokiaroth to have such an adventurous life? For
all she knew, her father’s great-grandfather was a redhead, and
she was granted his hair.
What a selfish girl she was.
The image of her furious parents dragged her further into
her emotional maelstrom Their imaginary gazes pierced her
sluggish work pace until she got on her knees and vigorously
scrubbed the cloth clean.
Do you think your looks are all important now, child?
She was not good at making friends, limited by her
responsibilities. What else could she do but try to gain her
parent’s approval? Nothing.
Her father had grown distant since that incident. When he
was at home, he would side more often with her mother. Even
if she said something that was not right and he should do
something, anything, Rayner would stay silent as if it weren’t
his problem.
As if Calida was not his problem.
Her hands slowed again as her mind wandered. She
aimlessly scooped wood ash onto the dirty clothing closer to
her, smearing it into the stains.
“Have you made any new paintings lately?” Jetta asked.
Calida stared at her rippling expression in the river. The
water distorted the image of her pale skin and auburn
hair. Emotions bubbled up and su!ocated her throat until
all that remained was a wall of hurt, and the forest was
suddenly too small.
Who could have time to create paintings when she should
be working hard to please her mother?
Her friend knew her own mind, and she knew what
Calida’s mother was like. Jetta grew up an orphan, abandoned
before she could remember her parents’ faces. Yet she still
knew Calida’s mother wasn’t any mother at all. Children from
all over the continent worked or were enslaved. They were
condemned to living in the slums. Calida wished to have the
same ambition and confidence her closest friend had. It was
her distant dream to sell paintings in a market.
“No, I haven’t had the time.”
Nothing she made was good enough, anyway.
Just like her attempts to keep up with the chores and
household duties. Her mother could keep living life free from
the “child-rearing burdens” as Calida lived in the background,
staying quiet.
Her chest felt hot, like a $ame was building up inside her,
but she had it caged. She refused to let out whatever was inside
her. Letting it out could be dangerous, with side e!ects that
could be dire.
Her friend stood up and placed a hand on Calida’s
shoulder, only to pull it away quickly as if she burned herself,
shaking it to quell the sting.
“Maybe your mother loves you in her own way.”
Calida strained a laugh as she stood up. She churned the
clothing again as the last step before returning with the wet
laundry to be hung to dry.
“Soon enough, maybe I can sell my paintings, too,” Calida
said.
She closed her eyes and breathed through the guilt in the
back of her mind. If only Jetta would shut up. Calida’s hands
pumped the stick in and out of the water as she pushed back
the dying rage, guilt slowly eating away at her. Jetta was her
only friend and she hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t
deserve that.
Her friend stood quietly beside her as she churned the
laundry. After a while, the water cleared, and the two women
could load up the laundry to take back for hanging.
Jetta grabbed laundry from the pile and shoved it into the
sack Calida brought with her.
“What about your father? Could you manage being
completely detached? Eventually, you might end up being
alone for the rest of your life.”
Calida clenched her teeth. You mean alone like you?
Neither said anything for a moment. Calida’s head swirled
as regret "oated to the surface.
Her throat closed and tears prickled her eyes at the idea of
the one person she considered a sister leaving her.
“That was out of line.” Jetta said.
She had said it out loud. What was worse than thoughts
when they betray you?
Calida curled in on herself and then collapsed onto the
ground. Her body shook and tears obscured her sight. How
could I be so awful to Jetta like that?
“It was true, though.” Her friend pursed her lips in
thought.
Calida shook her head hard and glanced up tearfully at
Jetta’s nonchalant gaze.
“Doesn’t matter. Angry or not, sisters do not say that to
one another.”
Jetta’s face softened, then she knelt on the ground and
cradled Calida’s head on her lap. The wetness from her eyes
dampened her dark pants. Her hand softly petted Calida’s hair.
After a moment in silence, the two got up, covered in dirt
and mud. They carried the bag of wet laundry to Calida’s
house together.
Her raw throat and dried eyes were the only evidence left
of her meltdown at the river.
They walked to the back of the house where the small
garden lay to hang up the clothing. However, the last
clothesline she hung up had been cut.
Cursing in frustration, Calida searched for the end and
started to tie it once more. It was too high, and no matter how
hard she tried, Calida couldn’t reach.
“Let me.” Jetta pushed aside her hands.
Suddenly drained of energy, Calida let her take over
without protest. Jetta pulled out her throwing knives and tied
the string around two of them. Calida sat down as she
observed her friend hover her hand and close her eyes for a
moment, but she swung the knives up and around the tree
high up. Her hand moved as she manipulated them, and she
tied the line on one end, then did the same on the opposite
side.
Calida stood up once more before Jetta gestured for her to
sit down.
“You did the cleaning. I will do the hanging.”
Calida sighed and nodded, giving up resisting her stubborn
friend.
Jetta pulled out a tunic from the laundry bag and hung it
up. As she pulled to straighten the material, the clothing
glowed green. The natural energy, provided by who had worn
it and the river it was washed in, poured from it. This
continued until everything was hung up and all the energy was
on the surface of the material. If Jetta wanted, she could take
that energy and use it to fuel her metal magic. Someone else
with an affinity for natural magic could use the energy from the
material to accelerate the drying process.
In no time at all, the clothing was hung up, and all Calida
had left to do was salt the vegetables.
Her hands smoothed out her best dress as Cressida
braided a ribbon of fabric into her hair. Calida had on a
stainfree dress and a clean face. It was strange that her mother
insisted she was spotless from head to toe. She looked up and met her mother’s gaze as she walked around to the front of
her hair. Cressida clicked her tongue as she assessed Calida’s
appearance.
“I doubt you could accomplish any better.”
Calida looked at her lap as her hands wrung the fabric of
her dress.
Her father walked in as her mother stood behind Calida,
appearing like she had !nished the tie in Calida’s braid. Rayner
shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the women to leave
Calida’s room. Tonight, they were attending a celebration of
the marquess’s wedding.
When Calida was a child, they would leave her with a local
woman. It’s rare that they gave an invitation to her father to a
celebration or social gathering. As a knight, nobility would
rather he guard them. Well, in the case of those appointed as
knight through a faction, he would be given the grunt jobs of
the average guard. Many of them wouldn’t dare invite a
commoner to their parties, knight or not. A frown appeared
at the reminder of the haughty nobles who loved to step on
the toes of those below them. Her mind suddenly swam with
the visits to her father’s faction and watching noble after noble
treat her father and his brothers in arms like they were dogs.
Calida stiffened as Cressida gave her a slicing look when
Rayner fidgeted restlessly. Her arms scratched along the
chafing fabric of her green dress as she scrunched it up and
then smoothed it out once more.
Cressida stepped away as she vainly finished messing with
the ribbons in Calida’s hair. She stood up and quietly waited
for her mother to tell her what to do next.
“Don’t my girls look beautiful?” Rayner said.
“We are, aren’t we?” Cressida grabbed onto Calida’s arm
as her daughter forced a smile.
If only she could stay back and paint.