A Song of Exile - Prologue: Sun and Stars pt. II

Cyra woke to a world of fire and light. A searing white scorched the back of her eyelids. For a terrifying second, she couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but the aching pain in her ribs. She imagined a host of birds nesting in her ribcage, trying to poke and pry themselves out of her. Is this what it’s like to be dead? Then the light cleared, and she saw that she was in her room, lying like a stone in her bed. Her limbs were numb and unstable, flinging themselves helplessly over the covers. A sharp pinprick of tears stung her eyes, making everything go fuzzy. She whimpered silently. The pain was becoming too much to bear, and oh, gods, where was Esfir?

As if hearing the summons, the witch came rushing through the door with a bowl in her hands. This time Cyra couldn’t stop the rush of tears at the sight of her mentor. The girl tried to speak, only to find her throat burning and the sting of acid behind her tongue. “Hush,” Esfir stroked Cyra’s curls and brought the bowl to her parched lips, “you’re safe, you’re here.”

A warm liquid sloshed into her mouth, trickled down her neck. Whatever it was, it soothed the aches almost immediately. Cyra choked, pulling away from the bowl. The feeling returned in her arms and legs. She sat up, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. “I didn’t do anything to them. I wanted too, but I didn’t. Please believe me.” 

A memory surfaced in Cyra's mind. She was six years old and playing with the baker's boy, a scrawny child with blue eyes and a messy blonde mop of a head. 

They had just spent the day playing chase through the streets and alleys of Eden. Sitting outside of the bakery, hot-crossed buns in each hand, Cyra could almost pretend that she was just a normal child with not a drop of magic in her blood. It was a quaint fantasy; one that Cyra knew was not the truth. 

The fantasy shattered when the baker's boy sneered at a pair of witches crossing the street. A fat glob of spit rocketed out of his mouth, just falling short of the witches robes. "Witches. I don't trust 'em one bit. They think they're so high and mighty, with their curses and their black blood."

Cyra frowned, her cheeks full of bread. "Lady Esfir is not like that." 

The baker's boy scoffed. "Of course she is. They all are, and if you continue bein' a witch apprentice, you will be like that too."

Her young mind reeled at the insult, fury making her skin flush scarlet. "Take that back. You don't mean it."

"I do mean it. Everybody says so. And your 'Lady' Esfir is goin' to be hunted down by witch hunters one of these days. Just you wait."

That day the baker's boy suffered from a case of horrible boils, covering his skin almost completely. And Cyra, proud of her curse, walked into the shop with her head held high, only to be slapped across the face.

Cyra could still remember the fury seething out of Esfir, sparking a rush of indignation from the apprentice. "I did it because he was making fun of us."

Esfir raised her brow. "Oh? And do you think that this boy will like us now, after you cursed him? You will go to the baker right now, apologize, and fix the mess you made." Cyra trembled, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Esfir sighed and placed a hand on her apprentice's shoulder. "You can't use your magic against someone who cannot defend themselves. Your magic is a gift. Do not use it to cause harm, only good. Alright, Cyra?"

Cyra bobbed her head. From that day on, Cyra had never used magic against another person, and she hoped she never would.

She wondered if Esfir believed her now. There was an unbearable sadness in Esfir’s eyes, and Cyra didn’t want to think that it was because of her. She had failed her teacher. She was too weak to bear the title of witch.

But when Esfir stroked her apprentice’s cheek, it was full of warmth and trembled with emotion. Her features were hard, demanding that Cyra look at her face and hear her words. “It is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. Do not let them beat you down. Do not, ever, let yourself think that you deserved this.” Her features softened. Esfir suddenly looked much older. There were lines in her face that didn’t used to be there, and a sort of greying at her temples. All Cyra could do was nod and clench her tiny fists. “Fear is a powerful thing. It can turn even children into monsters.”

Cyra remembered what the leader of the group of boys had said before running off. She scrunched her eyebrows in thought. “They said that guards were coming to take us away soon. Do we have to leave, like all the other witches?”

All at once, Esfir shot up, a new alertness in her stance. She was mumbling something under her breath, pacing the room. “No, not now. Not like this.”

“Esfir?’

The witch whipped her head in Cyra’s direction. A fire was lit in her eyes, frightening in its intensity. “No, you will not have to leave. I will keep you safe.” With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving a confused, frightened apprentice witch in her wake.

___

The sun had just gone down when Esfir burst into the room, startling Cyra out of her sleep. She flung herself onto the bed, gripping Cyra on either side of her face. “You must listen to me, child. I do not have much time.” All the sleep drained from Cyra’s face. “I am leaving for a while, on an errand. I do not know when I will be back.”

“Can I come with you?” Cyra suddenly felt very young, like she was that same stubby child she was so many years ago, who cried because of the faerie wings in a jar and how the faeries who they belonged to could no longer fly.

“No, you cannot. I’m sorry.” She kissed her forehead, and before Cyra could protest, she began uttering words in a foreign language. Although Cyra didn’t understand what the words meant, she felt a familiarity with them. As if they formed a lullaby that Cyra heard when she was an infant. The words swam in her head, making her dizzy and jumbling her thoughts.

Almost instantly, Cyra’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she fell against the bed sheets. The front door of the shop burst open. Esfir blinked back tears and stroked her apprentice’s hair with a mother’s softness. “I swear I will come back for you. This is not for forever.” Esfir wasn’t sure if those words were to assure herself or her apprentice. The spell she had cast was not a permanent one, and the wizened witch knew she only had a few years to fix the mess she made. Until then, she couldn’t be with Cyra. She had to keep her safe.

Half a dozen guards came bursting into the room. Their chest plates bore the insignia of the royal family. “Lady Esfir,” one of them announced, while two others took hold of her arms. “You are accused of treason and heresy against the crown. We are here to escort you to the royal prison, where you will await trial.” Esfir didn’t say anything. She let the guards drag her out of the shop, her body drained of energy. The guards didn’t notice the strange child in the bed with a glowing mark on her forehead. They didn't blink an eye when the mark shone a brilliant white. 

___

A/N: And that is the end of the prologue installments! Next update is the first chapter! If you've made it this far, then let me just say: thanks so much! I have a lot of hope for this series, and I'm going to try to upload at least once a day. Also, question: should I also try to post this series on wattpad? Anyways, see you in the next chapter! Much love.