Young Writers Society

2

When morning came, Zita was sore. Oh so very sore. Her whole body ached and her wings felt like they’d been put through a blender. She shifted her blanket-wing and nearly screamed. She heard groaning and looked up to see Emily stretching and sitting up with her usually waist-length cinnamon hair in a wild rat’s nest around her head like a halo. So yesterday hadn’t been a dream. If Zita hadn’t wanted to cry so much, she’d have laughed.

“G’mornin’,” Emily greeted, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

For a second Zita couldn’t remember the correct response the ‘good morning’, “Good morning,” She said too quickly when it suddenly popped into her head.

Emily snickered, “How long you been up?” She asked, digging around behind a pillow to produce a set of clothes. At some point the night before, Emily had changed into a pair of polka-dot pajamas and hung her sunhat with a collection of others on the wall of the tent.

“About thirty seconds,” Zita groaned, trying not to give away her pain as she sat up with turtle speed.

Emily gave an apologetic smile, “Did I wake you?”

Zita shook her head, “No, I woke about ten seconds before you did.” Emily laughed and went back to digging behind her pillows, occasionally pulling out various pieces of clothing and shoving one or two back in.

“Breakfast lasts until, like, nine, so we’ve got time,” She glanced at a watch, a Chorismagian timepiece, around her wrist, “Yep, we’ve got time,” She repeated and pulled out a shirt.

Zita eased herself up and tried to shift her enormous wings into a semi-comfortable position, a task that proved impossible. She gave up and settled on biting down on her tongue to combat the scream.

“You want something else to wear?” Emily gestured to Zita’s ruined shirt, “I’ve got, like, all the clothes, so you’ll be doing me a favor.” She never really seemed to stop smiling.

“Uh,” Zita glanced down at the shirt, “yeah, sure.”

Emily grinned wider, “Great! Let me show you what I got.” The following process was longer than Zita had anticipated. Emily joyously pulled out a seemingly endless supply of dresses, shirts, pants, skirts scarves, jackets, and every other conceivable piece of clothing from under the pillows and blankets of the relatively small tent. Zita had spent more time saying ‘that’s fine’ than she had in her entire life, but Emily would have none of fine, so she kept going.

Finally, they settled on a backless green dress and green leggings, with a tan belt that Emily insisted on and a pair of knee-high black-and-green boots that the vamp had forced Zita into upon seeing her own ratty slip-on's. Emily then led Zita back to the fire circle, where most of the camp was already gathered with little biscuits and sausages on their plates.

Emily and Zita retrieved some of their own food from the cook, a thin man with a balding head and a pair of long canines that revealed him to be a werewolf, and took a pair of seats next to the fire where a little boy was tending to the flames with a stick.

“So, I didn’t want to ask before, but what’s the deal with your wings? You keep flinching whenever anything touches them and they look a little...off…” Emily didn’t seem to know how to phrase it, but Zita was equally uncomfortable no matter what she said.

“I...uh…” She stared down at her food, grasping at an explanation that wasn’t there, “they...I…”

Emily rolled her eyes and bit off a piece of sausage, “Look,” she said through a mouth full of food, “‘eir ‘early broken,” She swallowed, “I can fix ‘em if you’ll let me. Believe it or not, I’ve set a few wing bones in my lifetime,”

Zita hesitated. Yeah, she believed it, age was always deceptive with vampires. Emily may look thirteen, but she was probably hundreds of years old. Zita had no trouble believing that she had many years worth of medical training, but… he glanced back at her crooked wings. But nothing, she decided.

Zita nodded, not trusting her mouth to form the words. Emily grinned through her second bite of food, then realized it was gross and swallowed before grinning again. It was like she could not survive without a smile. The grinning girl scooted closer to Zita, “Under-ul,” She said through another bite of food. Could she just talk after she finished eating? She gulped down that bite as well, “I can do that after breakfast, it’s best not to let it sit for too long. How long have they been broken anyway? It’s good to know before I do anything.”

Which time, “Yesterday.” Zita shifted, her stunning ability to lie suddenly about as prominent as her supposed ‘natural’ ability to fly. Emily’s eyebrows scrunched together, probably puzzling over why Zita would lie so badly about something like that, but she said nothing, just shoved the rest of her biscuit in her mouth like an uncivilized heathen. Zita wrinkled her nose.

When Emily somehow forced the load of food down her throat in a single gulp, she got up waved Zita after her toward the wagons. Zita got up hesitantly and followed a second later. They came to a big covered wagon with faded paint depicting stars and the moons in a swirling, artistic style. Emily bounced up the three steps to the door and knocked on the door. A moment of rustling later, it swung open.

On the other side was a woman with long dark hair in two braids draped across her shoulders, her smile revealing elongated canines and smile lines around her eyes and mouth. She gestured for them to come inside, then made a few more gestures with her hands that momentarily puzzled Zita, then Emily made some gestures of her own and she understood. Zita, unable to understand sign language, went inside and took a seat on one of the woven grass mats that were arranged in a sort of rectangular imitation of a circle in the limited space.

Zita watched curiously in the flickering candlelight as the pair communicated without a sound. Emily mouthed the words as she signed them, but Zita didn’t understand that any more than the hand motions. Several times, Emily would gesture to Zita and ‘say’ something, then the woman would look over and nod thoughtfully. Zita felt a bit like an exhibit. A displayed piece of artwork for all to see.

Finally, the pair seemed to come to a conclusion and the woman hobbled over to Zita, her swishing skirts hiding what the cyr guessed to be a lame foot or injured leg. The woman sat down across from her and signed something. Zita looked at Emily.

The vampire sat down next to Zita and translated, “She’s going to give you something to numb the pain.”

Zita nodded to show she understood. The woman nodded as well and turned around to rummage through a large wicker basket. After a second, she produced a small wooden chest, about the size of her palm. She slid open the latch and opened the lid with an odd sort of ceremony. Both Zita and Emily sat quietly while the woman took whatever was in the box and dropped it into a stone bowl, then added more and more ingredients while using a matching stone tool to grind it all up into a thick paste.

The woman made a circle in the air with her finger, a clear signal for Zita to turn around, confirmed by Emily mouthing those very words when Zita glanced at her. She did as she was told and immediately felt the woman’s hands on her wings. She tensed up instantly out of instinct but forced herself to relax when her brain seemed to register that these hands weren’t there to hurt her. The woman worked carefully, prodding gently at the numerous breaks in her wings and working the salve under her feathers and unto the skin. It was a time-consuming process.

Emily got up after a little while and went around the small space, lighting some candles and incense, putting out others, so soon the once musky scent of the space was filled with the smell of sage and lavender. Zita’s nerves calmed, her eyes closed. The sharp pain of her broken bones dulled to a throb, the tension in her muscles relaxed for maybe the first time since she was an infant. She cracked her eyelids open to see Emily beside her, a bowl in her lap like the one the woman had used and ingredients spread around her in a fan while she worked them into am identical paste to the one the woman was using.

A long while later, the woman stopped her working and stood. Emily scooted to take her place. Zita wasn’t sure what Emily was doing until a minute into her doing it, she was setting the bones. Where they were freshly broken and unhealed, Emily popped them into place and set them with tools the woman handed her. Zita felt nothing. After all her bones were set, Emily bound Zita’s wings with swaths of white gauze, then helped her to her feet. Zita wabbled for a second on her sleeping legs, but they soon gave way to pins and needles and the pair thanked the woman and left.

“What’s her name anyway?” Zita asked once they exited into the heat of the autumn sun.

“She’s been deaf all her life, so she just introduces herself as,” She did a couple of hand motions, “which is roughly translated to ‘Running Wolf’, so that’s what we call her out loud.”

Zita nodded, “Okay,” there was a pause, “How...how long do you think it’ll take my wings to heal?” She asked, cringing at her own words.

Emily shrugged, “Five to ten weeks maybe. You won’t be flying for a while, that’s for sure,” She looked at Zita out of the corner of her eye, gauging her reaction.

Zita turned away from her, it’s not like I’ve ever flown in the first place. Emily fiddled with the straps of her light, blue dress, the red swirls on her orange undersleeves shifting with her movement.

“So…” Emily broke the silence, finally, “you wanna’ play a game?”

Zita didn’t like the mischievous smirk Emily wore so blatantly, nevertheless, she responded, “Okay…”

Emily’s smirk transformed into a grin, “Do you know how to play Winic?”

“No…” the look on Emily’s face was that of a cat with a cornered mouse.

☽O☾

Emily stood on top of one of the moving wagons as they moved in a caravan down the road. Zita was one wagon over and not nearly as composed as she regretted her life decisions. With every bump in the road, she yelped and clung tighter to the planks of the wooden roof. Meanwhile, Emily was pacing back and forth and all but doing cartwheels in a show of either balance or magic far beyond Zita’s crouching and clinging.

Emily flipped her hip-length hair over her shoulder with a flourish, “Good evening my inexperienced friend!” She called over the sound of the wagon wheels and horses hooves, “Welcome,” She threw her hands up and her head back dramatically, “to your first round of winic!” She dropped to the floor and crossed her legs with a cheery smile, “The rules are simple, don't’ fall off, and don’t drop the ball,” She chirped and tossed a colorful wooden sphere to Zita. she fumbled it for a second but managed to keep it in her hands.

“Wonderful,” Emily laughed, “one point Zita.” She waved one hand in a pattern, not unlike the sign language from earlier and a scoreboard blinked into existence above their heads in bright yellow.

“Now the hard part.” Emily launched to her feet without warning and took off across the wagon-tops, hopping from platform to platform with practiced ease. Every time her feet landed a point appeared in her column. Like Kison was Zita going to let her win so easily. She got to her feet and leaped without letting herself think. One point. She leaped again, careful not to drop the ball. One point. She hummed under her breath a rhythm to work by, soon enough, she and Emily were nearly tied.

Zita got close to Emily and tossed the ball, “Heads up!” The other girl laughed and caught it with a twirl as she lept to another carriage. Two points were awarded to her column. Points for drama, Zita smiled to herself and lept to another carriage.

“Round two! Don’t keep the ball for more than thirty seconds!” Emily shouted and tossed the ball. Zita managed to catch it and keep her balance. One point. She hopped closer to Emily and tossed her the ball. The game went on for a few more rounds - every time one of them got fifty points, she figured out after the third round - a new rule was added. Don’t hold the ball for more than thirty seconds. Don’t hop onto the same carriage twice in a row. One point per jump, one point to catch the ball, two points doing both simultaneously, three points for doing a trick in the air while catching the ball. Emily kept on doing three-pointers every time Zita got ahead. Cheater. The game ended when Zita fumbled the ball and dropped it during round five.

Emily laughed and waved a hand. Her finger glowed yellow and the ball returned to her hand, “Good game,” She chirped as she danced over to Zita’s wagon.

“You cheated,” Zita accused, laughing.

Emily shrugged, “It’s not my fault I’ve had more practice than you.”

“How long have you been playing this game?”

Emily counted on her fingers, “Well, I invented it so… two? Three hundred years? I don’t know, not long though.” She shrugged.

Zita gaped, “You do realize not everyone is immortal, right?”

Emily just laughed and swung down into the wagons’ window. Zita sighed and pondered how she would tackle the task of following. She was saved, however, from actually reaching a conclusion by Emily, who opened a hatch that most certainly wasn’t there before and beckoned her inside.

When her feet touched down, Zita felt her body instantly tense. You’re not at the Striker’s, she reminded herself as she took in the faces of all the kids in the wagon. Most of them looked younger, maybe seven to ten years old, physically, but a few were older, about Zita’s age, twelve or thirteen. Zita gave a smile. Be positive, they aren’t going to hurt you. She felt her wings tingle despite the numbing, preparing for the beating that would never come. The hairs on her arms stood on end.

“Zita,” Emily broke her from her thoughts, “these are the fam, fam, this is Zita.” an off-timing chorus of ‘hi Zita’ momentarily covered the roar of the wagon’s wheels on the gravel road.

Zita’s smile was no less strained, “Hi,” She managed to squeak.

Emily shot her a puzzled look, but, thankfully, took the attention off of her, “Who wants to hear a story!” She called. The kids cheered. “I’m sorry, what was that?” She put a hand to her ear and turned it to them. They called out again, the sound pounding at Zita’s ears. She backed into the far wall as the kids huddled around where Emily now sat on a blanket-covered crate and sat down.

She didn’t pay much attention to Emily’s tale, but from what she could tell it was about Chorismagia. Emily was recounting a tale about a place called ‘The United States of America’, which was fighting a war with itself over the enslavement of an entire race. The way Emily told it made Zita shiver. Thank the gods I didn’t grow up there. Emily’s tale ended with the freeing of the slaves, but the look in her amber eyes told Zita there was more. The kids clapped and begged for another.

The hint of sadness in Emily’s eyes vanished and she grinned, “Who wants to hear about the fall of Rome?” The kids cheered enthusiastically and Emily launched into her tale.

The caravan rattled to a halt hours later and they made camp for the night. Zita’s shared Emily’s tent again, and the responsibility of putting it up and taking it down. As the days passed, Zita was assigned a job cooking when she proved to be a nervous wreck around the other kids, despite her trying to hide it. Emily was really too good at spotting her lies. Either that or she was just really bad at hiding just how uncomfortable they made her.

Zita was peeling a purple fruit she didn’t have a name for, when Emily skipped up to her with her usual cheeriness, “Hey-a Z,” She greeted.

“Hi Emily,” Zita sighed, forcing the knife past a particularly tough section of fruit.

“Soooooooooo, we’ll be arriving tomorrow,” Emily said it as if Zita should know what that meant.

“Arriving where?” She asked in general disinterest, still focused on her work.

“The inn, didn’t I tell you?” Emily tilted her head.

The knife slipped, narrowly missing Zita’s fingers, “Obviously not.” She repositioned the knife and dug it under the thin peel.

Emily’s mood was not dampened, “We’re headed to an inn in the middle of the country on the way to Thala, kinda. That’s where I’m stopping off.”

Zita fumbled the knife, “What?!” She managed not to yell it, but she wanted to, “You-you’re leaving?”

Emily shrugged, “Yeah, me and a few of the kids. I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me? I’ve got this place where I sort of live? Kinda? I’m only there sometimes, but I’ve got a room and stuff so…” She frowned, piecing together the puzzle of what qualifies as ‘living’ somewhere.

Zita was shaking her head, “But…” She shook her head again, “I don’t...I…” Words failed her.

Emily knelt and picked up a spare knife and took a fruit from the pile, “I probably should have told you sooner.” Zita raised her eyebrows like ‘no kidding’ but said nothing, “Sorry about that, but would you like to come? I mean, are you going to? I mean-”

“Maybe,” Zita interrupted her, “where is it, the place where you live? Describe it to me.”

Emily thought for a second. The only sound for that time, being the sound of the knives scraping through the fruit, “It’s lively,” She decided, “There are lots of people everywhere, but it’s pretty big too and a bunch of people there are super good at expansion charms, so we never really run out of space...umm,” She thought for a moment, switching out her peeled fruit for a fresh one, “The food’s good,” She chuckled, “but in all seriousness, you’ll love it, and there are great healers who could get your wings fixed up in no time.” She flashed a grin. Before either of them knew it, the fruit was gone and Zita vaguely remembered agreeing to go with Emily during the ensuing conversation.

The next day came without warning. Suddenly, Zita was sitting in one of the carriages with her legs crossed, wearing a white jumpsuit that flared around the ankles and looked like the sleeved had been torn off at the seams, an outfit Emily had said made Zita look like a ‘disco queen’, whatever that meant. Regardless of what she was wearing, Zita stared down at the floorboards with nervous energy rushing through her. Emily was telling another story, this one about a group of siren-descended humans who wrote a song called ‘bohemian rhapsody’ which enthralled the world in a weak spell for generations even after it was revised by someone else. The corner of Zita’s mouth twitched up in a smirk, sometimes she was sure Emily made this stuff up. You didn’t just write a sirens song on accident and then proceed to have no idea what you’d done. That just wasn’t how things worked.

The wagons rattled to a halt. Zita looked up to see Emily hop to her feet excitedly. Before any of the kids could do the same, Emily had burst out the door behind her and vanished around the next wagon in line. Zita got up more slowly. Her legs were stiff from sitting all day, and her neck was stiff from the almost-forgotten amulet around it. She stretched her sore muscles and followed the sawm of children out the door.

They rounded the wagon and beheld the place they had gone so far to get to. In either direction, there was only dirt road, with various colored trees like spilled paint beside them. The wagons were all parked in front of the only structure to be seen, a modest, two-story building with a giant’s wing built onto the back so it loomed above the main structure so it looked like a dollhouse in comparison.

The sign above the door, in faded black letters clear enough that even Zita could read them, was written the name of the inn. Imani’s.

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Notes: Hey, I know that this chapter was a little less exciting than the last one, in my opinion at least, I can't know what you think unless you tell me, but I'm sorry either way. This one's a bit shorter so at least a few of you should appreciate that as well. I promise the next chapter will have some more interesting stuff, and I assure you that the little game time that took up a big section of this was perfectly necessary as well. It comes up again in a big way if all goes well, if not it gets cut in the final draft, no harm done. Tell me what you think of this chapter, as is implied by the fact that it's here. If you for some reason decided to read this before chapter one, head over there to read it (the re-write version, mind you. If you read the original none of this is going to make sense). For those of you who are all caught up, correct me on whatever you want, but I'd also like your opinion on the characters, specifically Emily and Zita, as they are the only ones with really fleshed out personalities at this point.