(I cannot decide a name, so for the time being, it shall be called 'Mistia'.
Please enjoy and critique as hard as you can. I really need help with this story.
Thank you, and enjoy. <3)
The cold air stung. It was as if nettles were being thrown at her numerous times, from all directions. There simply was no escape from the sting. It mattered not how many clothes you piled on, how high your shoes came, how many scarves were tied around your neck, or whether or not you had a snow cap--the wind would still sting.
The curly-dark haired girl with the purple eyes rushed down the street, pointedly looking at the ground. She was avoiding glances from other people, milling worthlessly about, or stopping from their work to stare at her. I’ve lived here nearly all my life, she thought, and they still can’t stop looking at me like that. The thought sickened her deeply.
But it was no different from everyday. Perhaps she should just get used to it, move on. But it seemed as if she could never get used to the angry muttering, the daily torture for just simply being different that she had to endure.
A few of the murmurs drifted to her over the sound of the wind, but she easily tuned them out as only background noise. Only one voice pierced her guard, only one actually seeped into her brain: “I heard that more of her kind are coming into town.”
Mistia would have stopped right then and there--her heart stopped--but her feet would not, because she knew if she stopped she’d be stuck in the crowd for only God knows how long, and she was much too late for getting to the shack already.
‘Some of her kind.’ No. Could it be, really? She and her mother had left them so many years ago . . . they surely couldn’t be here. It’s probably just a rumor, Mistia decided. Anyway, I’m terribly late for meeting Ellie. I better hurry up. No more distractions.
That, for Mistia, was nearly impossible.
She pushed through the crowd, and the closer she got to her destination, the more the crowd began to thin. Soon, there came a time when she was walking alone on the cobblestone street.
Walking alone in the old neighborhood where nobody lived always gave her a fright. The windows would move in the wind, the doors would creek hauntily on their hinges--on Halloween night, the children would all play a game of dare where they would run through the old neighborhood, or run into houses. Mistia never wanted to go, because she found it stupid and merely dangerous, but not participating in the trespassing of the old neighborhood automatically made her ‘weird’ (but the purple eyes couldn’t have helped, either). She couldn’t care less, though. She had one friend that would stay by her side no matter what, and that’s the way, as she thought, it would always be.
Finally, the old neighborhood came to a quite sudden end. There was nothing but a rickety fence. It was so low, Mistia merely stepped over it. The edge of one of her feet nudged it, and the whole piece of wood she touched fell down to the ground, where it promptly turned into a pile of dust. She stood there, staring at the old fence and wondering how on Earth it stayed standing through all the winter snowstorms. But, not pressing the matter longer, she walked off into the open field.
The empty, bright green grass of the field warmed her heart, and she just stood there, letting the memories of the place fill in her mind for a while. So many memories showered this place, and everyday there seemed to be more adding to the pile. Of course, Mistia could not have built those memories without her closest friend.
The wind began to unravel Mistia’s curly hair, and as it did she thought about life without Ellie. In some ways, it would just be easier. In other ways . . . it would be so much harder.
As Mistia walked across the open field, she let her mind wander. She thought of the events of the day, of the week, of the month, of the year, of her life. An alarming thought occurred to her--If I hadn’t ever left the colony . . .
She froze in her tracks, the wind stolen straight from her lungs as the realization came to her, powerful. Her fingers searched for a necklace hidden underneath her scarf, and upon finding it she held it tight. She would never forget the colony, or the people there, but she’d never be able to go back, either.
She shook the thoughts out of her head. No. Not now. Not here. I’ll think about that later. She slowly hid her necklace behind her scarf again, and continued walking in the field. She looked at the ground, and blanked out all thoughts of anything else but walking to the shack.
It wasn’t too long before she came to it. The large, wooden house was tilting, it’s wood broken and disintegrating. Mistia shuddered painfully at the awful condition of the shack. She loved the shack like one would love any home, only the shack wasn’t exactly where she lived.
Mistia walked up onto the porch, gritting her teeth as she heard the wood groan and squeak under the pressure of her weight. She opened the door carefully, remembering the time Ellie threw the door open and it fell off it’s hinges, and stepped in, trying to make as little noise as possible. Of course, when the floor is highly protesting every step you make, it’s very impossible to be silent.
Mistia closed the door behind her and took off her orange scarf, her red coat, and her brown messenger bag, and put it right next to a small red bag with a red bow on it, which was Ellie’s favorite bag ever since Mistia had given it to her for Christmas. Underneath her coat Mistia had on a long-sleeved lime green peasant top and a soft purple peasant skirt. The large tan snow boots peered out from underneath her skirt.
Ellie had her back to her. Her long black hair was tied in a pony tail, but it still fell on her shoulders. She wore a long, black dress, which was her school uniform, and hair tied up was also a school policy, so it was obvious she had come straight from school.
Ellie took a few deep breaths. She then pressed her middle finger and her forefinger on her left hand together, and, continuing to take deep breaths, she crossed it to the other side of her. Pressing her fingers together so tight Mistia was sure they’d just simply meld together, she began to draw an invisible arch over her head. Only it wasn’t so invisible, at least not for long.
A crimson red stream of light began to follow Ellie’s fingers. Above her head and then, she brought it behind her body, and threw her arm in front of her with a flick of her wrist, pointing to a clay jar.
The light, though, went a mere three inches from her fingers and then died with an unencouraging pfft. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.
Mistia came up to her, the floorboards still protesting, and put her hand encouragingly on Ellie’s shoulder. “Good job,” Mistia said brightly. “It got a little further that time.”
Ellie, though, was in a mood so dark the very sunlight falling through the shack seemed to dim. “You’re late,” she said coldly. She pulled away from Mistia.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“Never mind, you’re here now.” Ellie turned to Mistia, and when Mistia beamed at her, she smiled a small smile which she usually never wore.
“There’s the spirit,” Mistia said happily, glad the brightness of the room was being restored.
“Can you show me how to do the spell where you break the pot again?”
Mistia smiled and nodded. “Yes. You’ve about got it. You’ve just got to focus a little more, and make your poises less accurate and more fluent.” Mistia straightened as straight as a pole, and held her two fingers together. She took a deep breath, and stared at the jar with eyes full of hatred, as if it were some enemy. In one fast movement (so fast, actually, it was hard to really see what she was doing), she made the arch above her head and then flicked her wrist towards the jar. The light flew over to the jar and shattered it into a million pieces.
Ellie and Mistia stood there, staring at the broken jar.
“That was the last jar, wasn’t it?” Mistia scratched her neck awkwardly.
“Yeah, it was . . .”
“Figures.”
They stood there, simply staring at the jar for a while.
“Why don’t you get changed?” Mistia asked, nudging her head towards Ellie’s bag, slumped in the corner. “I’ll clean this up.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Mistia waved her hand over her jar and watched as the pieces hovered in the air underneath her hand. Mistia bit her lip. She hadn’t yet perfected the repairing spell, but this was a perfect opportunity to try.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the objective. Repair. Repair. Repair. Repair. She murmured the words quietly to herself, her eyes still squeezed tight. Then, slowly, and imagining in her mind the jar repairing itself, she began to close her hand.
She imagined in her mind piece by piece coming together until finally, and slowly, until the crack marks began to fade and it had no foible. She imagined the perfect jar as her hand was held in a fist, and slowly eased her eyes open.
She found only half the jar repaired. The rest hovered in the air around the jar, without purpose, but when Mistia opened her eyes fully they fell to the ground lifelessly. She sighed, and tried again, but upon opening her eyes wielded no better results.
Finally, Ellie said, “Alright already, we’ll perfect your spell later, can we work on mine now?” It gave Mistia a start, because she hadn’t realized Ellie had finished changing, and when she turned to look at her friend her heart fell. She saw Ellie dressed in white collared shirt and long, black pants.
“What poor boy did you nick those clothes off of?” Mistia accused.
“My sister’s boyfriend.” Ellie grinned mischievously, and Mistia cringed, imaging where Ellie might have found them.
“You’ll be whipped within an inch of your life if you’re found in men’s clothes,” Mistia reminded.
“I’ll just change before we go back home. No big deal. Besides, how am I supposed to concentrate on magic seriously in all those puffy skirty things?”
Mistia smiled gently. “Alright. Here, come, I have something for you.”
Ellie’s eyes glazed over like a child’s does at Christmas. The two walked over to where Mistia had thrown her bag and scarves, and sat down. She opened her bag, pushed through all her school books, folders, and quills to find a small golden box. She handed it to Ellie, her eyes sparkling.
Ellie, without a moment hesitation, tore into the box and gasped. Her fingers stopped abruptly as she stared at it. It was a piece of polished wood, long, black, with a beautiful ivory handle. The light sparkled off of it’s polished surface, and her fingers itched to touch it.
“A wand,” she breathed.
“Yes.” Mistia grinned. “I’ve been curious, for a while, as to why you haven’t been advancing in magic much when I sense such a mythical power radiating from you. I’ve only just remembered getting classified when I was younger.”
Ellie looked up from the wand, interested. “Classified?”
“Yes. When you’re young, you take a test to see whether you’re a Shrub, Talling, Bumble, or, for those unfortunate ones, have no talent at all. Shrubs use only their hands for magic, Tallings use only wands. Bumbles are very rare--only five in the entire world--and very looked down upon. They can use both their hands and their wands. And, Ellie, I believe that you are a Talling.”
Ellie looked back down at the wand in awe. “But I could do magic with my fingers.”
“Yes, but it was quite difficult for you. I believe a wand will make it so much easier.”
“Maybe I just don’t deserve to be magical. Maybe that’s why I was born a normal person.” A shadow came over Ellie’s face.
“Nonsense. If you weren’t meant to be magical, you’d never have been able to do magic at all.” Mistia’s eyes sparkled. “Go on now, try the wand out. I want to see how it works.”
“But . . . How could you have found this wand?”
“I made it in wood working class. Don’t worry, I’m not that good!” she added quickly at Ellie’s glance. “I used magic to help me. All wands must be made with magic. Go on, try it out. I’m so itching to see you use it!”
Ellie felt quite the same way, or so it seemed. She picked the wand up and let the box fall from her lap to the floor. She cradled the wand in her hands, and taking a deep breath, gripped it in her right hand. She almost expected it to glow or something in recognition of touching someone magical, but when it didn’t, she proceeded to do the current spell she was working on--trying to break the jar.
She did all the natural procedures, only with a wand. When Mistia saw how bright the crimson light was following the wand, she grinned. Already she knew the outcome would be better.
Ellie drew back her wand and threw it in front of her. The crimson light surged forward. Not only did it shatter what was left of the jar, but it also blew a hole into the side of the shack.
“I did it!” Ellie screamed. She turned to Mistia, her face lit up, but then she frowned when she saw that Mistia’s face was pale. “W-what’s wrong? I did it, right?”
The shack groaned awfully. “That’s what’s wrong,” Mistia said, her heart pounding in her ears. Her blood felt hot, and her ears turned red as she heard the entire shack protest about the hole from the side of the wall. The girls both shared pale glances. They had the same thought: The shack is coming down.
Mistia leapt up, screaming, “ELLIE, COME ON!” She grabbed her bag and her clothes off of the ground, and Ellie skittered behind her, grabbing up her clothes and bag too. The girls leapt off the porch and were running down the meadow just as the shack collapsed behind them. The two stopped, turned, and stared. The large shack, the one that they had dubbed their secret hiding place for years upon end, fell to the ground like a weathered warrior. As it hit the ground, an alarming thought occurred to Mistia. The entire shack was full of dust, and of course, the impact of the shack on the ground would cover the meadow with . . .
“ELLIE!” Mistia shrieked, and grabbed her friend’s hand, running away from the shack. Ellie didn’t understand until the dust began to plummet from the shack towards the field, and by then it was too late. The dust covered the entire meadow in a cloud that was nearly impossible to see through. But Mistia had Ellie’s hand.
“Run back to town!” Ellie cried out, running in front of Mistia and pulling her along.
“But, Ellie--!” Mistia couldn’t finish her sentence because dust swarmed into her throat and dried her words away. The two girls, coughing terribly, continued to run. Only when Mistia tripped over the fence did she realize she was back in town. The two ran on and on, until finally, the dust began to thin. Mistia stopped running, and in turn so did Ellie, and they stood there, waiting for the dust to disappear. When it cleared, they found that the entire town had gathered to see what the awful dust was from. And, of course, when they saw Mistia and Ellie standing there, from head to toe in dust, they dubbed them as their culprits.
“Elliana Mariana Jayscoffkey!” barked the voice of a man. He pushed his way through the crowd and stood in front of Ellie. He had a long, thick, black beard and a tanned body. His eyes were nearly black, penetrating, evil. His very glance made a shiver crawl up Mistia’s spine.
“What in God’s name are you doing in those clothes?”
Ellie looked down, as if not remembering what she was wearing. Perhaps she really hadn’t, or perhaps she was just avoiding eye contact with her father.
“I...”
“No respectful woman would be caught dead in such clothes! Look, a disgrace!” The anger was wild and apparent on his face. The look on his face was so fevered with anger that Mistia was deathly afraid that when morning found her Ellie would be dead.
“You get home right now. I don’t want anyone to have to hear what I’m about to say to you! And you!” He glared at Mistia, and sure enough, a shiver went up her spine. “Did you influence my beautiful young girl to dress like such a farm animal?”
“No, Father, she had nothing to do with it,” Ellie cut in.
He turned back to his daughter. “Say goodbye to your little friend and get in the house THIS VERY INSTANT!” And, though he had said he wouldn’t speak crossly until they were behind closed doors, he let curses fly from his mouth, too awful and heart-wrenching to repeat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mistia whispered to Ellie.
"Bye," Ellie muttered back, avoiding her glance.
Her father proceeded to call her a variety of names for not listening to him, and dragged Ellie, by the ear, home. Mistia turned down the street and ran into the comforts of her own home, shaking.
She threw open the door and the moment it was open her mother chirped, “Had a good day?”
“Yes, thanks,” Mistia said hurriedly, and flew up into her room. She threw her bag on the ground and jumped on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest, biting her lip savagely so she didn’t cry. She knew she had failed when the room began to blur, and she wiped the tears from her eyes. She was so terrified for her friend.
“It’s not fair,” she murmured, tears running hot and fast down her cheeks, “girls should be able to wear whatever they want. Girls shouldn’t be hurt like that. Not Ellie.”
Mistia held up her necklace, and looked at it. The amethyst flower glittered up at her, and she pressed her fingers in the center of it. Immediately she got a vision of a young girl with light brown hair with tips that changed colors, green sparkling eyes, tan skin.
“You’d fight for this,” she whispered to the memory of the girl. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to Ellie. I know you wouldn’t. You’re too outgoing for that, Bair.”
She got another vision, one of a small, scrawny boy with light brown hair and light brown eyes. His skin was unnaturally pale.
“You wouldn’t whip a girl for wearing what they want,” she murmured. “You’re sweet. You’re too sweet to hurt a girl, Fredrick.”
She received only one more vision, one of a tall, strong man with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. The odd thing about him was his stare. His stare could convince you to think--or do--anything that he willed you to.
“And you, well, I’m not sure what you’d do.” Mistia tried in vain to remember something of the man in her memories, but she couldn’t. “Mom loved you, so it must have been good. I miss you. I really do.”
The visions faded from her mind, leaving Mistia quite alone in her room. Her mother knocked on the door, calling dinner, but Mistia admitted she was not hungry and her mother left her be.
Sighing, Mistia slid underneath the covers of her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Words rang in her head, words she had heard so long ago, some of the only words she could remember coming from her old friend’s mouth.
“Wanna be best mates?”
At the time, she had replied, “Yes, of course, Bair! I want to be friends with you forever!”
Friends forever, huh? Mistia thought, staring at the ceiling, feeling guilty. Friends forever. Some friend I am. Leaving my old friends, my old home, and then letting my new friend go back into the town with men’s clothes on. She probably won’t come back. Because of me.
Tears stung her eyes, and she rolled over on her side, falling captive to sleep. The last words she thought before she drifted off were, Some friend I am.
