"Dad? Why can't I play with them?"
Her father paused his work of piling the freshly-chopped wood to look in her direction. Back then, as a child, her father had always been tall, much like a mountain— steady and solid. He then looked at the subject of her inquiry; some of the village kids gathered to play tag close to the forest, a short distance from their house. They were darting around, using the trees as cover, and their laughter echoed amongst the sounds of the woods.
His face changed then, and even as young and small as Amila was, she could tell that her father was sad when his eyes returned to her.
He knelt in front of her and patted her head. "Sorry, love, but you can't. We talked about it, right?"
"But why? Is it because of my hair?" She pulled at the bright-colored strands, so unlike the others' dark hair. Dad said it's because she's special. Her mother had the same color, and Dad always says she's the most special person there is. Therefore, she, with the same red hair, is also special.
Her father just refused to tell her why.
She squeaked in protest when her hair was ruffled. "Sorry, spitfire, but it is a rule."
"The rules don't make sense!" She's pouting, but she couldn't help it. She doesn't understand them.
"They do. You couldn't understand yet." He gripped her by the shoulders. "Listen closely, Amila. Everything we see exists in balance, and to preserve it, rules are a necessity." He moved his hand towards her chest, where her heart was. "Keep them close here. Remember them. It will help you greatly.
"Rule 1: Do not listen to anyone so easily. You can never tell a friend from an enemy by how they look. Rule 2: Conceal your feelings. Do not let them show. Rule 3, and this is the most important one: if you feel there's danger, drop everything and run." The grip on her shoulders tightened a bit. "Run as fast as you can, and do not look back. You cannot let anyone catch you."
Amila wasn’t sure how far she’d run, but she didn’t dare stop until her legs were about to give in. The place she had stopped had a wide view of the ocean, stretching towards the horizon. It was slowly getting late, and the warm orange light from the setting sun danced on the water’s surface like glistening jewels.
She slid down a wall, trying to catch her breath, her clothes and some hair strands clinging to her sweat-damped skin. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, but the image of the event earlier just flashed through her mind more clearly, making her want to vomit.
After the woman was basically burned to death, the stall that caught fire quickly followed its demise and spread to its neighboring stores. The city guards tried their best to do damage control, with a couple of them managing to grab pails filled with water. However, the flames quickly engulfed the entire alley, adding at least three more victims.
She knew it was futile. Fires like that only devour everything they touch.
Whispers of the tragedy caused by something unnatural spread, and the fear turned into something sharper, evident in the way they looked at the little child. She had stopped crying, but she looked confusedly at the unmoving charred figure of her mother.
The city guards quickly took the little girl into custody. And then that dark-hooded figure turned in her direction. It looked as if it was looking right at her.
Amila ran after that.
Even as the sun was halfway on the horizon, the feeling of dread continued to fester. Images surfaced from the back of her mind, and she wasn’t sure which of them were memories and nightmares, the lines separating them blurring. The image of the burning stalls, the image of burning houses , the mother’s agonized voice, her father’s last words , the little girl left standing, Amila left standing, confused —
Amila let out a scream, clutching her head in a tight grip and tucking it on her knees close to her chest, pulling herself into a ball. Her voice spooked the birds nearby, but it had effectively cleared her head: calm, muffled, blissfully empty.
It was familiar. Just like how she'd practice. Rule no. 2: Conceal your feelings. Do not let them show.
She can't stay, she knew, but the thought of more running made her legs quake.
A small stone rolled and lightly hit her shoe, just at the edge of her vision, then she could hear a group of people—males, from what she could tell—coming from the direction of the stone, laughing.
“Oh, what have we here?”
From the corner of her eye, Amila counted five... six, all male, looking like young adults who were trying to pose as intimidatingly as they could. They don't look big, and the clothes look a bit worn and faded. Local townsmen, then.
The middle one smirked and, after throwing a look at his buddies that prompted a series of snickerings, walked in her direction.
“You look troubled, little lady. Maybe we could be of assistance, escort you somewhere?”
Little lady... even though they looked to be close in age. She remained unmoving even as the rest of the group slowly circled her.
"Hey, hey, night’s almost here. Maybe you want to come with us? The city’s dangerous at night, you know.”
The group laughed harder, each leering word giving them courage to move closer. “Hmm, you have really pretty hair. Uncommon color, too.” One of them reached to grab a few strands of her hair, but his fingers only managed to graze them when Amila turned her head to him, making him step back.
Maybe they saw something in her face and eyes, as the others were also slowly walking back, the irritating smirks were wiped off their faces. The air shifted, kicking the sand into tiny sandstorms near their feet. It made the group look around uneasily.
Amila’s eyes never left them, watching as their breathing started to become shallow, a couple of them brushing their sweaty palms on their pants, their eyes darting around.
She could see them, too—the threads, all bright warm colors wrapping around their small space and tangling around the young men.
She should pull at them. She knew she could do it, knew what could happen. She could get away with it, as they couldn't see the same sight she does.
Slowly, emotionlessly, Amila straightened her legs and pushed herself up, the action making the men jump. Her hair, which had fallen from her simple updo, curtained most of her face, so the guys could only see a few of her features.
She saw something move below from her periphery. Her gaze followed it to look at the amulet from her father, dangling by its worn-out cord. She usually tucked it inside her shirt, but all that running must have rustled it out.
The sight had completely brought Amila back to the present. She blinked, and, realizing what she had almost done, felt like the air was stuck in her chest.
The tension was now gone, leaving the boys confused as they looked at each other. Behind them, the dark-hooded creature stood like a statue. Amila threw them a wide-eyed look and started sprinting away.
Did that thing saw? Did it notice?
She ran back towards the city blindly, looking behind her to see the creature steadily catching up to her. She pushed her legs harder and turned into an alley, only to find herself in a small stone courtyard brimming with refugees. They all looked at her confusedly. Amila hesitated for a second before speed-walking across the tight space, pulling her cloak tighter to herself.
Her anxiety ramped up more when she noticed that the hooded creature continued to follow her across the courtyard, phasing through the crowd like thin air, unnoticed by others. She started pushing anyone out of her way.
She felt something grab her by the wrist, and before she could cry in surprise and fear, a hand covered her mouth as she was swiftly pulled to the side towards a dark, narrow alley and pushed against the wall.
“Shh,” the person said, raising a finger close to his lips. “Stay still. I’ve already laid out points, so it shouldn’t sense us here.” His eyes narrowed towards the entrance of the alley, and he pushed their bodies closer to the wall when the hooded phantom came within sight. It stopped briefly at the entrance and turned in their direction. Amila held her breath in anticipation, seeing what looked like long, dark, gnarly fingers from its sleeves, but the phantom continued after a few seconds. When it was gone, Amila could feel her body sagging in relief.
“Are you alright?”
The hand covering her mouth was gone, prompting Amila to look at the other person. It was a young man dressed in a crisp casual shirt and pants, a coat hanging by his shoulder. His black hair was long enough to be tied in a small ponytail. She was only above his shoulder in height; the man was quite lanky and pale, almost chalky in countenance.
“I advise that you don’t move away from this alley for a few moments. We cannot be sure if the wraith has left the vicinity, and they’re quite difficult to lose when they’re on your tail.”
Wraith… Is that what it was called? “You. . . You can see it, too?”
The man’s eyes widened a bit before his face settled into a polite smile. “Apologies. It seems like my manners have escaped me.” He took a step back and offered a bow. “My name is Alastair. Please excuse my rudeness for pulling you like that without your consent.”
“What is that thing? Why does it keep following me? And why can’t others see it?” It was the same back from her village, before it was—
“Easy,” Alastair patted her on the shoulder. “I can’t answer any question if you ask them like that all at once. As for the answer, that creature earlier was called a wraith.”
“A.... wraith?”
“A foreign entity that doesn’t belong in the plane of Life. It is the remains of a person after they died.”
“D-died?” Amila felt her limbs go cold.
“As for why you and I can see it while others cannot, I would have thought that you already have an idea of why that is.”
“What do you mean?”
Amila stepped back toward the wall as Alastair moved closer. He grabbed both her hands and raised them to the height of her chest, eyes wide in what looked like earnestness.
“It’s ok. I know you might be scared, probably for most of your life, but you’re safe with me. I won’t bring you to the authorities, nor will I allow anyone to harm you.”
“Let go of me!” Amila pulled her hands, bringing them protectively to her chest. “I would appreciate it if you would stop acting with such familiarity with me, sir. Even if you claim that you bring me no harm, the fact that I only knew you today is not enough to warrant trust.”
Alastair moved back with his hands raised. “Apologies again for losing my composure just now. I understand that you may have reservations about me, but I tell you now that you can trust me, and I am speaking the truth. It’s just. . . It’s been so long since I’ve met someone like me. I’ve been looking for you for some time now, Amila.”
“. . . How did you know my name?”
Alastair smiled. He grabbed a flower from the pocket of his coat. He crushed the flower, letting its petals fall into his palm. He then closed his eyes and started whispering words in a language she couldn’t understand, but she could feel foreign words tugging at her chest. The petals in his hands floated and danced on an invisible force, grouping themselves as they slowly glowed, illuminating the dark alley like a lamp.
Alastair opened his eyes and said to the shocked Amila. “I was born with the ability to use Magick. Just like you.”