Rebel

Chapter 1

A/N: The term 'fíth(e/á)' means 'magical person' in Hazandrian, a conlang that I'm in the process of developing. The reason that the main characters do not constantly speak Hazandrian is due to Hazandria's long and bloody history which I'll probably explain later on in the story. On another note, the gorgeous art you can see above is by a good friend of mine, under the alias pigeonsandmarshmallows.

*****

17/07, 20th Year of the Rebellion.
Government Territory.

The sun was setting, casting otherworldly shadows on the cottage and enrichening the eaves in hue. The roses were in full bloom, the hydrangeas a rosy pink. The woods beyond were lush, dark and foreboding. In the other direction, the faint skyline of the city could be seen.

It would be a nice day, thought Felicity Coal, notorious rebel hunter and talented fíthe, if it were not a day for death. As she reigned in her steed, she caught her reflection in the small cottageside pond and frowned. Her elegant dress of teal silk was stiff and dusty from the journey, her golden hair limp.

She glanced at the huddled form of the rebel tied up on the horse, and sighed. A job from The Academy, as usual. She was sick of pretending to love it. To thirst for blood as so many of her peers did, to forget what they'd done.

What they'd done...

Felicity shook her head to clear it of all the memories that came rushing in - awful memories; memories that threatened to overwhelm her. She strode into the cottage, bidding the chained prisoner follow. She dressed quickly, not bothering with extravagance for once. When she entered the lounge, she found the rebel fíthe standing in the centre of the room. Her chin was raised defiantly, though Felicity could see that her lower lip wobbled slightly. She looked horrific. Her hair was matted and dirty, her face rife with cuts and scratches. Her left ankle was red and swollen, as if she had sprained it on the journey. The only respectable thing about her was her beautiful emerald cloak, which Felicity eyed appreciatively.

Underneath all the filth, though, Felicity could tell that she was very lovely. Raven hair and amber eyes that were all too familiar. And from the wisdom in her eyes, it was evident that she was at least a few centuries old. She'd get a few bob for this one.

"You can sit."

The rebel didn't bother reaching for a chair, just crumpled to her knees. Felicity sniffed uncomfortably. She tried not to look at her, to see the distinctive features as familiar to her as her own.

"Come on, Coal," the girl rasped. "Don't act like you don't know me."

Felicity opened her mouth. Hesitated. Tried again. "Angeline, I -"

"You know, I'm sorry for you" Angeline rasped.

"Sorry?" Felicity snorted, her pride kicking in. "You don't get to be sorry, not with the state -"

"What happened? How did they do this to you? Is he-"

She continued, but Felicity couldn't hear her. Her heart was pounding. Her ears were ringing. Her breathing accelerated. Memories came flooding back: of laughing, of smiling. She felt herself drifting away...

*****

01/09, 102nd Year of Peace.
East Hazandria.

Felicity pulled at her scratchy collar, huffing. It was her first day at the Academy for Talented Magical Folk, or The Academy for short. This was the most prestigious school in all of Hazandria, accepting promising fíth of all ages to train not only in magick, but also in weapons and self defence. It was an honour to be accepted, but she could not help but feel that she'd rather be at her cottage, curling up on the window seat with a book. And maybe not wearing these horrific robes.

As she entered the magnificent foyer, Felicity began to feel a little bit better. At least the place had some style. She was even starting to feel content, mulling around and greeting some of the students that she was acquainted with, when something caught her eye.

There was a dark-haired boy approaching her. Felicity was instantly wary. They don't make boys this good-looking, not unless there's a catch. Thinking back, she realised that she should have listened to her instincts.

The boy reached her and held out his hand. "Hello. I'm Liam. Liam Finn. And you are?"

"Felicity Coal." She shook it cordially, her eyes narrowed. She recognised the name, though she didn't know from where.

"Coal. Why yes," he said, "I do believe our families are acquainted. Must have been why I recognised you. I was feeling out of place, you see, and decided to come over."

Felicity decided she liked Liam's forthcoming manner. That was, until he asked his next question.

"How old are you?" He asked as though he was merely curious, though Felicity was insulted anyway. She'd known this would come up. It was part of her reluctance to come to The Academy in the first place.

"I'll be one hundred next Spring," she mumbled, staring at the mahogany floor.

"Ah," he said with an air of wisdom, "A milestone age. I myself have just turned one hundred and nineteen." Felicity looked up sharply in surprise. "It'll be nice to have someone my own age here, especially among these old bats." The young fíthâ smiled jovially at her.

And for the first time that day, Felicity smiled back.

*****

Tears stung the back of Felicity's eyes.

"Please," Angeline breathed. "Just do it."

Felicity nodded; steadied herself. Then she slashed out briefly with her stiletto blade.

The blade hit home.

It always did.

She crumpled to the floor, tears running freely down her cheeks. She couldn't stop them; she didn't try.

When she had regained her composure, Felicity Coal stood up and took the emerald cloak from Angeline Finn's shoulders.

She wore it from then on, a tribute to the rebel who'd made a difference.