Islands of the Wisps

Chapter 1

Chapter One
Izalia

Anyone who thinks that thieving is a result of laziness must have never stolen anything in their lives.
   I wear a cloak, brown and plain, made of an itchy fabric. I have my shoulders slumped just a little, and I walk slow. Even though I don't plan on spending it, I clutch a pouch with only a few coins in it. Deceit is everything.
   The markets of Solati are busy as they are every weekend, filled with vendors selling fishing supplies, produce, clothes, fish, jars, soaps, and jewelry. Everything imaginable from all over the archipelago. Over half of the market is on sturdy bridges crossing, occasionally sprayed by the salty waves, while the other part rests on the rocky shore. Bright cloth ripples around the stands as cats creep through the sea of people, snatching loose food items. Boats creak while people bring in fish, and leafy fronds of trees clinging to the stony cliffs whistle in the wind. Solati has always been known for the market, and people from all over the lands, even beyond Sunkra, the southern islands, visit.
   I like how busy it is. It makes it less likely for people to spot a hand slipping an unpaid for ring into a bag, or an apple sliding into a pouch. Two opposites, two things of near equal value to me.
   I'm trying to spot a vendor selling either a necessity or something expensive, who also looks tired, or distracted.
   The woman selling baked goods will do.
   Her stand has baskets of jelly-filled rolls and lemony twists. Seed sprinkled bread and crispy, salted buns. It'll be a treat to enjoy later after I'm done my work.
   "Is there anything I can help you with?"
   I turn to the voice. A girl about my age wearing an apron with wide eyes and a pretty smile. She's helping the older woman as she sorts goods into bags and replaces samples. I almost feel bad for what I'm about to do.
   Almost.
   "No, I'm just browsing right now, but thank you," I say, trying to sound smooth and sincere. I need to be careful. Focus, but seem calm and natural. Don't fiddle, don't scratch. If your body language isn't perfect, they'll keep an eye on you.
   "Well, if you need anything just ask!" she says, practically bouncing as she turns to unpack some rolls to replace the bought ones.
   Now that she thinks I'm just looking, she won't watch to see what I do.
   I grab a roll with seeds sprinkled on it and a cinnamon-dotted pastry. Quick and simple, they fall into my bag. Even better, someone immediately buys some of the rolls, distracting from me taking one. I stay only for a few moments longer before turning to leave.
   I turn and walk away for a bit, blending into the crowd of people. Even if the two bakers realize some of their goods are missing, it won't matter. They won't trace it to me or find me.
   A cat purrs as a little boy flicks it some jerky, and carries it away to a nook under the decks. A woman sells roosters and hens from the far southeast, where the birds glimmer red-gold. Voices of vendors and hagglers echo around me.
   "—I won't take less than thirty—"
   "—there is no way that's worth that—"
   "—and two of those, please—"
   "—I said I'm not interested, so would you—"
   I smile at it. The market, though I'm commonly thought of as a disturbance of it, is my happy place. The business, the bright colours, the sea-salt scent mixed with freshly made food. The warm fragrance of fresh spices and herbs. Even the cats that get caught underfoot. It all works together to make a place that attracts people from far and wide, and one step into it makes it obvious why.
   I manage to sneak a head of lettuce, not much, but something, along with some jerky.
   And then I spot it.
   A tired vendor selling some of the most beautiful jewelry I've ever seen.
   Sapphires wound with bronze and shimmering amethyst rings. Emerald necklaces and amber dotted bracelets. Plain jewels sparkle on top of an expensive violet cloth. Even the man working is wearing an expensive cloak, covered in intricate golden embroidery. It is meant to attract the rich who come here just for the fun of seeing the market, and I can see from the empty holders it does a good job.
   It isn't meant to bring in thieves, but it is a lantern glowing in a dark cave.
      I approach the stand carefully. I can see him looking over my cloak, probably guessing the price, doubting I can afford  the gems on display. Damn it.
   But I force myself to look up and put on my sweetest smile. "These are beautiful. I don't have the money right now, but I'd love to look if you don't mind. I could come back later today with some more coins though."
   I know he wants to send me off, but he just rubs his head and sighs. "Fine. Just don't stay for long." He eyes my clothing as though it's poor quality would warn off customers.
Rude, I think. I'm always fine with stealing from rich stuck-ups. They don't need the money, and they deserve to lose some if they think they can act like that.
   He must have come here later in the morning, I think. I've never seen someone selling things so valuable over the water. The noble's goods are normally on the shore. He must have been forced to sell among the bakers and farmers. I smile a bit to myself. Payback for judging those poorer harshly, huh? Poor guy will have to sell among the peasants, ha.
   I eye the necklaces and rings, guessing how much they could sell for. Sixty silver, easy. That one, far more than one hundred. Maybe even two.
   And then I spot it.
   A brooch, golden thorns trapping a perfectly cut violet stone, twisting outwards to create the shape of a moth. Beautiful.
And expensive.
   As the man is looking away, I reach and grab it, quick but careful. I open my pouch and slip it in quietly, satisfaction flooding my veins. I won't need to steal for more than three moons, four!
   I start to turn, but the man's eyes narrow. "You didn't pay for that!" He points a finger at me, anger boiling in his eyes.
Oh, damn it.
   I turn and run.
   "Guards!"
   Suddenly the soldiers placed to protect the market are on me. Their gazes burn through my cloak, blister my skin until it's squeezing my gut. I want to vomit, but I can't because the only thing I can do now is dash away.
   I leap onto the stall, knocking the glittering gems over, salty splashes hitting the wooden boards as prized pendants sink into the ripples. As the vendor lets out a furious roar, I jump over him, across a vein of water and onto another deck. People are staring, looks of fear, judgment, and anger in their eyes as they make paths for the guards to chase me.
   The guards shout. "By order of the Guard, stop!" They yell at me, swords ready. A child hugs his mother and cries, eyes puffy and red as they meet mine. They were having a nice morning, filled with pastries and new toys. I've ruined it. Through my eyes, I send a silent apology to the boy, but he watches with fear before turning his head towards his mother. I shake my head and keep pushing through the crowd. I can't let one sad kid get me caught.
   I jump onto a boat, a small, rickety thing filled with citrus fruits, and hop off onto another one, crossing through the water until I reach a cart selling melons on the edge of the rocky beach. Over here, the sellers and buyers are only just realizing that there is a thief being chased. They're still trading coins for hats and fish, unaware of the approaching chaos.
   "Stop! Stop now!"
   I turn my head. The guard is a young man, only a few years older than me. But his eyes are narrowed with disgust as he looks down at me from atop a rock, sword drawn. "Stop running!"
Not a chance. I look for a way to get away from the market, where it'll be easier to hide. I avoid the staircase. There'll be guards waiting to capture me there. Instead I turn to the pile of rocks resting against a steep cliff.
   I spring up, scrambling onto a boulder. By the time I steady myself, I'm already gripping the next one, plotting out the best way to climb to the top of the rock wall of haphazard boulders. The rocks tumble over each other, creating caves between the individual boulders, threatening to fall.  Luckily, I spent many hours when I was younger crawling over these stones, imagining I was scaling a mountain. The guards look at me in surprise before starting to climb after me. I might be wearing a long cloak, but I've climbed this before. I easily outpace armoured, unpracticed guards.
   I get to the top, and relief surges through me. The pursuing guards are still far below, and the ones on the stairs....
Damn, Maylaya.
   The young guard I'd faced before and the guards from the stairs ran to the cliff side, glaring down at me. Terror flys through me and I look down, only to see the guards below gaining on me. A few more seconds and I'll be in their reach.
Caught.
   But I can't be.
   I can't.
   I won't  allow it.
She won't allow it.
   I take a deep breath and look down into the crack where the two boulders met. I lift my arms and meet the triumphant gaze of the boy who's only a bit older than me. I grin, and confusion floods his eyes. Then I swiftly lower myself and slip into the crack, just to hear his angry "Asenkra damn it!"
   I smile, but I know I'm not safe yet. The guards will follow me in or wait until I crawl out. I have to find it.
   Shards of crumbled stone scratch my knees through my pants and my cloak is snagged on a sharp rock. The rocks fall to create a gap for me to fit in, rough and small. Minimal light reaches the dark tunnels, and what I can see is just stones and dust, letting me crawl farther into the dark crevices made by the fallen rocks.
   I hear the guards start to shuffle in and I unhook my cloak, then squeeze into a smaller, darker area. Claustrophobia grips me as I try to feel for an exit so I can get into another cave. The guards armour will once again buy me time, but I have to find the right cavern before they catch me. I don't want to even think about what may happen if they get to me.
   I crawl deeper, trying to keep quiet. My palms are torn by loose, rough rock and sore spots soon to turn to bruises cover me. I know what I need to find, I just don't know how to find it. I stumble through the dark, scratched and knocked by rocks. I'm lucky I'm small for my age; normally a fourteen year-old wouldn't be able to squeeze through the cracks between the boulders.
   The guards lower lanterns in. Through the splits where the rocks have fallen in a way that allows you to see into other chambers, the golden light shines. I hold my breath, hoping for them not to notice me. Not that they could squeeze through the gap, but even knowing my general direction can help in the confusing tunnels of rock.
   Not every cave has more than one way in. Hell, some have none. I bite my lip for every second wasted by one of those caves, praying to the gods that I'll make it out safe. The yells of the guards are trapped by rock, leaving only haunting whispers of their demands. I realize how easily the rocks could shift, fall and crush me. Suddenly fear holds me, taunting me as I push it away.
Just ignore it.
   Ignore the pain; the scratches are small.
   Ignore the yells; they're only a noise.
   I can't be chained and thrown away.
   I need to-
   I slip and fall. I can't help the shriek that escapes my lips. A shock goes through my legs and my hand is scratched as I try to grip a rocky wall. I slide over the edge of a rock and stumble. Luckily, nothing feels badly injured.
   This cavern is wide, rocks balancing so I can crouch rather than crawl. Above, there's a wide hole leading to the cavern I was in before. A smile breaks over my face as I squeeze through a tight hole and enter a long, tall tunnel.
   I found it before they found me.
   I've never heard why this tunnel was made. Perhaps for mining, long ago, before Solati was known for fish and markets. Before it became a mix of rich noble's fine cottages and muddy slums, maybe a small community searched for precious stones. I'll probably never know.
   It doesn't matter, because now I'm safe. Even if the guards found the cavern, they wouldn't find the right hole to enter this place. I know the only people who are aware of the tunnel. The guards won't follow me here.
   I run through the tunnel, even though I don't have to. Just in case. No. It's because I just want to get far away from it. The looks on those people's faces when they saw me.... No. I just should get home.
   It's pitch black. I can't see a thing. But by running my hand along the wall while I run, I know exactly what route to take. My cut palm burns as I touch the wall, so I flip it over, letting my knuckles guide me. Regret for being seen and chased grows through me and I stumble in the dark, but I manage to keep myself upright. The sharp rocks don't matter, because the tunnel means safety.
   Sometimes, as I run through the tunnel, I hear rotten wood crunch under my feet, or feel it's softness under my hand instead of rock. Hard, cold stone, possibly metal, rises from the ground, nearly tripping me. I'll kick hollow, fragile shapes, possibly old, burnt out lanterns. The smell of the old wood and ash fills the tunnel, so different from the welcoming smell of ocean and spices that swirls through the market. You'd think I would've taken one of the things I feel outside where I can see and confirm what it is. But something about the cold, dark uncertainty almost comforts me. This place does not want to be known.
   After about half an hour I come to an entrance, where the noon's light enters bright in the dark cave. I follow it and come to another rocky area of the shore, around a bend in the island's coast so I can't see the market from here. I wonder if the guards are still searching through though's caves, risking the boulder's collapse as they search for me.
   I bet I would seem as the mysterious, disappearing criminal. A coin that slipped from a seemingly strong grasp.
   The light stings my eyes, but I blink it off and start to climb the rocks up the cliff, ignoring the sharp sting in my hands. Now that there's good lighting, I can see how the skin of my palms is scraped, leaving raw, bloody marks. I'll need to bandage them.
   When I get to the top, I walk through a thicket of reeds and burrs, pushing them away. Tall, bright green trees start to appear, the golden sun mixed with their leaves creating dappled shadows across the ground. Birds sing and I smile. It's so different from the bustling market, far different than the dark, rough caverns. I love its peace.
   It doesn't take long to reach my hut. Mud and sticks create it, and though it's crude, it's comfortable enough.
   I peek through the entrance.
   My mother sits on a rug sorting through seeds and pearls, apples and gold. She is a pretty woman, with darkly tanned skin like mine and long waves of black hair. A violet scarf curls around her neck, and she wears a dress made of fine fabric. When she looks at me, her blue, ice chip eyes narrow.
  "Yes, Izalia," my mother nods and gestures for me to sit beside her. "What do you bring?"
   I set down the rolls, the lettuce and the jerky. She scowls as she examines them. "So? You brought back some snacks? This isn't even enough for a meal!"
   I wince. Presenting items is a dangerous game when it comes to my mother. "Yes, I know, but I brought back something better."
   I pull out the brooch, still glittering despite the grime covering me after crawling through the rocks. Though dirt and blood swirl together and drip from my hand, the jewel shines with pristine. It catches the light that enters the hut, glowing beautifully, and I feel a small twinge of pride, but also regret. If I'd been more careful, maybe I would have even more to show.
   My mother stares at it, before lashing out to grab it so quick her arm is a blur. She looks over it, turning it in her palm and running her fingers around it.
   "It's real," she says, a smirk in her voice. "I could easily sell it for three hundred silver." But when she looks up, her eyes are narrow.
   "Tarka went to town. She just came back to tell me that there had been a chase with a thief in the market." My mother stands, her ice eyes slicing into my skin. "Tell me, Izalia, do you know who was caught stealing?" Her voice is a dangerous quiet. A frigid hiss.
   I stiffen. "Mother, please! I got away!"
   She grabs my arm so tight her nails dig through my cloak and she hits the back of my head. I stumble but catch myself as pain echoes down my spine.
   "We won't be able to go there for at least two weeks, maybe more with how alert the vendors and guards will be!" Her voice cuts through me, furious and sharp. "I thought I taught you better!"
   I curl into the huts darkest corner.
   I am no longer a cunning thief.
   Under her gaze, I'm just a weak little girl.
   "I'm sorry, mother," I say softly. "But I got away from all of them. They couldn't catch me. I still got it...." My voice trails off. My simple words won't put out her angry blaze.
   "At least my daughter can do that much!" she snarls, shoving the brooch into a pouch. "Gods, Izalia! Maybe you aren't ready if you're going to cause such a mess!"
   "No, mother, please!" I'm begging, eyes wide. "I've gotten so much! I rarely get spotted! You know I'm good at this!"
I can't pick berries and sort crap all day.
   Not after how hard I've worked.
   For almost two years, I've gone out, stealing things for us and to sell. Since I was seven, I've been practicing. It's my only escape, my only chance to not have her watch me.
    My mother just huffs and turns away. "You won't be going out alone for a bit. You can help me."
   "Mother! Please—"
   "Shut your mouth, brat!"
   I turn, pushing down the tears that threaten to fall. I curl my hands into fists, digging my nails into already injured palms. Don't let her see you cry. You can't cry in front of her, you can't.
   I steady my breath and release, wrapping a clean cloth over my hands after smearing them with a stinging paste made from medicinal plants. I turn to go outside, looking over my shoulder at my mother. She waves me off, eyes hard and cold.
   The birds still sing, the wind still flows through the air. I pull off my cloak and untie my hair, letting its brown ripples run free in the breeze. I ignore how my mother's words twisted me, snapping me in two.
  I made you what you are. Never forget that. You owe me everything.
   I know what she says. I know how it holds me. Her tongue cast a net. It throws me in a pen.
   Unlike the guards, it knows just how to capture me.
   "So, Zal, got yourself in trouble?" I turn to see my sister, Tarka, smirks at me, blue eyes narrow.
   Her twin, my brother, Tarn, grins. "Figures."
   About a year and a half older than me, tall like mother, my siblings hold power over me. It doesn't matter if I'm a better thief, which I know I am. They point out every mistake. I can see the satisfaction my failure brings to them.
   "Shut up," I grumble, turning away to walk towards the cliffs.
   "Wait, Zal! Don't go! We get it!"
   I look back at my brother, curious.
   "You're embarrassed at how pathetic you are. Starting a chase like that? Barely getting away? And in the market!"
   Tarka steps ahead of him. "How sorry I am for the little thief! What a story, the thief that couldn't steal!"
Ignore them.
   "You're just mad 'cause it doesn't matter that I messed up once," I spit in my siblings' face. "You're still not as good as me."
   Their faces go red and I run. I don't want their taunts. I don't want it anymore.
   As I get to the cliff and gaze over the crashing ocean, hair flying around in the sea-salt spray, I know that's all I want.
I just wish I was free.