Child of Fire

Chapter 1: This is How it Began

I had always admired the way she could move like that without ever tripping over the haphazard pebbles littered about—Grandma sidestepped them without a single break in her step. I used to wonder aloud sometimes if she had a magical secret ability to float above the ground and glide across the earth, but Father always replied that it was simply elegance honed by years of being a respected, unbreakable High Chieftess.

I know better now. I ignored the markers. Chose to ignore them. I chose, and that made it that much harder to get up when I fell. I chose to wrap myself in an illusion of safety that would never truly be, a barrier made of only dust and cobwebs, and when I fell, there was nothing to stop me.

Grandma needed her rest after telling tribal stories to the village children late into the night, but it was up to me to escort them back to their homes, which, needless to say, took a while. I will never understand why they paid pre-school teachers to sing nursery rhymes to toddlers, but then, oh, it's campfire time, we're just going to leave, have fun telling stories for the children until you're dead on your feet! Herding children was an arduous job; they could sniff out the slightest trivial difference in how I said their names and teased each other (not to mention me) mercilessly.

Thankfully for my former self, there were a few parents who actually managed to raise their kids properly.

"Arla!" I called out. A midget of a girl with beautiful chocolate skin miraculously appeared in front of me.

"Yes, Chieftess?" she answered smoothly.

"You don't need to call me Chieftess, you know. I'm not even of age yet," I replied. It was a throwaway comment, but it set my heart pounding—back then. In a few months would be my Agecoming ceremony—a traditional ritual where very rarely, the new adult was never seen or spoken of again. It was these terrifying few cases that made me fear the Agecoming, though my father was never disturbed after the incidences where the sixteen-year-olds disappeared. As if one of our community, one of us, hadn't just disappeared without a trace. As if their names hadn't been practically wiped from memory.

Chieftess. The title had done nothing to stop the fall.

"Yes, Chieftess," Arla intones.

"Seriously. Call me Amita," I insisted. Semantics, really. It did not make a difference whether I was a queen or a peasant.

"Yes, Chieftess Amita."

A little too properly, it seemed.

"Whatever. Arla, do you know the girl who lives over the hill in the nearest residential block? Black hair, dark blue eyes?"

"Yes, Chieftess. That's Viola. Do you need me to look after the others while you take her back?"

"Yes please, Arla. That would be super helpful." I kept my voice steady as always, but inside I sagged with relief, fearing there would be a riot otherwise. No, that wasn't right. If Arla wasn't there, then by the time I got back, at least two explosions would've occurred and there would be a minimum of five children bawling their eyes out on the ground. That was a rule.

"Viola?" I shouted, sighing internally as I attempted to control the teeming mass of unruly kids fighting, squealing and generally causing trouble.

"It's Vivi, not Viola!" The diva stuck her tongue out as she then went back to playing chopsticks with the boy next to her.

See? Little kids. "Vivi?"

Wearing the single most disgruntled face I had seen in a while; she pushed her hair behind her shoulder with an exaggerated movement worthy of a drama queen. The position I held was one of power, one that was meant to command respect (emphasis on meant to), but as soon as they were out of their parents' sights, it was like they were imbued with doses of some sort of craziness drug that exceeded the normal (non-existent) limit by about ten million times.

Still rolling her eyes, she followed me up the grassy hill. She trekked painstakingly slowly, so slowly I wondered if she was doing it on purpose. As soon as I dropped her off, I jogged back down the hill, aching feet breaking into a run as the curve of the land flattened out. Kaleveh was big, but why, why did they all have to live so far away from each other!

The walks across my homeland are nothing now. If anything, they make me long more for something I might never see again.

"Narreta!" I shouted. "Narreta-Kayani Zarramere, come here right this moment!" I sighed at a girl with a ribbon of black hair running off over the hills. "Where is your brother?"

My eleven-year-old cousin shook her curls at me and poked her tongue out. "I don't know where Ricco went. Probably snogging his girlfriend behind a bush somewhere." I finally caught up to Narreta, my hands seeming to burn hotter than they should, slick with sweat.

I thought nothing of it.

I thought it was just my body releasing the heat bottled up from the campfire, burning off the inner fuel from chasing Narreta over the hills.

I thought wrong.

"He better not have gone to stay at Maevy's. Your father wants him at home."

"Does it look like I care?"

"I know you care what your brother is doing, little panda," I hastily wiped the sweat beading my palms on my pants and scooped her up in my arms, grunting a bit at her weight, setting her giggling like a child. "Come on, let's go home."

Narreta giggled as I tickled her again. I spun her around, her holding onto me as we twirled dizzyingly, and set her down on the grass.

She laughed, the sound merry, joyful and childishly free, and we bounced over the hills hand in hand, headed for the ocean, chatting every bit of the way.

If only that image was one that had lasted.

Author's note: if you are able to, please comment, vote and share if you like it so far! I love constructive feedback and I want to be able to use it to improve get out there as a writer. 

What do you think is going to happen at her Agecoming ceremony?