Mama and I rose early the next morning, checking that our wares were secure in the cart before hitching up our aging donkey Lettie.
The light of the sun was just spreading beyond the tops of the mountains to the east as we set off along the road toward town, the crooked back wheel of the cart squeaking all the way.
Mama was quiet as we made our way down the winding roads. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me. She is never a woman of many words. But I knew how she hated making the trip into town, and I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault. The other families always directed their looks of mistrust and disgust my way.
I had asked her once, as we’d made the journey home after market, why they were so afraid of me. She had dismissed my question, snapping that people were foolish. Her voice had been so bitter that I had reluctantly let the topic drop.
As the rugged brushlands thin out, giving way to sweeping fields of crops as we get closer to town, other families join us on the road and I wonder if it isn’t more than that. If there truly is something wrong with me. Conversation chokes off abruptly and my mood drops further.
By the time the mismatched tiles of the village roofs come into view, hushed conversation has resumed. I ignore the whispers the best that I can, focusing my attention on guiding Lettie around the deep wheel ruts that marred the road. I duck my head low against my chest; as much against the appraising looks and mistrusting glares the others shoot in my direction as the harsh Exu breeze.
We reach the square and I can see villagers with their carts already in position arranging their wares and calling out greetings to friends and neighbors.
No one greets mama and I as we make our way to our usual corner. I hear several mothers call their children back, pushing them behind carts and moving to block them from sight. The hush moves through the crowd like a summer breeze through the rye fields, and I lock my gaze on the worn leather boots that cover my feet.
It’s me they fear, I tell myself. Me that all the rumors and questions are about. Me that they don’t dare let their children come anywhere near.
Mama takes the whispers in stride and pats my shoulder as she moves to unhitch Lettie from the cart. She ties her harness to a nearby post and gives her a few handfuls of grain. I follow her lead, ignoring the stares and turning the cart to face the square. We rarely have extra grain to sell, but everyone knows that our produce is the best in the region because the richer soil close to the mountains makes the vegetables larger and more flavorful .
As mama sets to work arranging bags, I retreat behind the cart, leaning against the stone wall of a merchant’s shop.
Now that we have reached the square I will spend most of my day watching from a distance as mama haggles with customers.
Only once, when mama had traded several plump, ripe, tomatoes and a bundle of carrots for a bag of flour, did I venture out from behind the cart. The farmer backed away as I approached, bending down to throw the bag over my shoulder. He inched forward once I was behind the cart to take the carrots and tomatoes from mama and then hurried back to his own cart.
I set the flour down behind the cart and then returned to my relegated post against the wall.
Around mid-day, I jerked from my near doze when I spotted a familiar pair of yellow eyes peering through a gap between buildings. I had never seen Bethalia in town before. I only met up with her in the woods past the end of our fields. Even my mother did not know of her existence.
What is she doing here?
The look of urgency in her eyes quickly draws my attention, and I am surprised when she speaks directly to me, something she hasn’t done since our meeting nearly six years ago. I had almost believed I had imagined it.
‘Come.’
My hair stands on end and I glance over to where my mother is arguing with a plump woman.
‘Hurry child.’
My gaze travels back to Bethalia.
‘What about my mother?’
‘There is no time.’
With a last glance to my mother, I slip around the cart and hurry to Bethalia who has already turned and is darting between buildings toward the edge of town. Once we reach open meadow she speeds up to a run, sprinting toward the trees in the distance. The faster I run to catch up with her the more she speeds away and by the time we reach the tree line, I am struggling to breathe. Still, she doesn’t slow to a stop until we are several hundred meters in.
I sink to my knees. Gasping for air I shoot her a glare.
The air splits with screams from behind me. I whirl around. Staggering back to my feet, I break into a run. As I move, I can hear Bethalia running alongside me.
I come to a halt at the tree line. Smoke is rising into the sky and flames are leaping from the rooftops. The screams are growing, both in number and volume. Through the smoke I can see the silhouettes of enormous forms moving through the sky.
“What are they?” I ask, my eyes fixed on the scene before me.
‘Sarkany.’
Soon, the screams stop. There is no longer movement visible through the smoke. I race down the hill. My heart is pounding by the time I reach the village. I sprint through alleyways between buildings in search of my mother.
By the blacksmith’s shop I lose my footing on a loose cobblestone and find myself on the ground. The brief silence taunts me. I need to find Mama. Jumping to my feet, I keep moving.
Finally, I see her. She is lying beneath the wreckage of our cart blood seeping from her forehead. I shove the cart aside, falling to the ground next to her. Her eyes are closed and panic flashes through me.
“Mama?” I whimper.
Her eyes flicker open and she reaches for me as a smile spreads across her face.
“Basil. You are alright.”
“Oh, Mama.”
I take her hand as a sob rips its way from my throat.
A blow to my head sends me flying to the side. As I roll onto my back, I see a man clad in a bright red tunic bringing his sword down on my mother.
I scream and dive forward. I only make it a few feet before I am thrown back into the wreckage of our cart. I struggle to my knees, looking up at my attacker. The creature is massive with wings that extend high into the sky. Blood drips from sharp teeth.
My mother whimpers off to my right and I feel a fiery rage building in my chest. To my surprise, the creature releases a howl of pain and collapses to the ground with a thud that shakes the ground and thrashing about. My vision fades to black, the only visible shape is the creature’s wing, which glows an eerie blue.
“What is the matter with you, beast?” a bellow draws my attention.
The black retreats from my vision and I look for its source. I see the blurry form of the soldier looming over his mount, his polished metal helmet glinting in the midday sun.
I turn my focus to my mother and the howls stop, my vision returning to normal though the edges remain blurred. I ignore the man continuing to shout behind me as I press my hands down in a growing puddle of blood.
“It’s too late for me,” Mama whispers, “Go. Before he realizes it was you. Bethalia will keep you safe.”
I stare at her in open shock. How does she know about Bethalia?“
There is much that I know.” she says, pulling my hands away from her stomach, “Much that I should have told you. But now there is no time. Go. Now.”
I give her hand one last squeeze and swallow tightly before pushing to my feet, turning to sprint back through the smoke.
Behind me, the man screams at me to stop, but I only run faster, desperate to escape.
As I pass the last of the buildings, I hear Bethalia’s familiar footsteps at my side. She keeps my pace easily as we run together into the night.