Prologue: The Past
My mother died when I was eight. I can hardly remember those last few minutes with her, let alone everything else that happened later. She had held my hand in both of her, staring at me as if she couldn't get enough--and a she couldn't. She passed away that evening while I was asleep and the next morning, the time of mourning that would last my entirely life began.
The morning of my mother's funeral, my father came into my room with package in his hand. He did not speak a word, but left the package on my bed and silently left. I tore open the wrappings to find a set of black robes and red sash--the traditional outfit worn by adults but certainly not children. I did not question my father's motive then and I still do not today. I wore those robes on her funeral and no one questioned it. This was a sign that I was to take over the household in my mother's place and a daunting task that was.
While I was only eight, there were still things I didn't know. I didn't know how to cook a good meal; my father had to hire a woman to help instead. Shani was a widow who bore five young men who had all grown up and left their mother. I knew she pitied me the moment she set eyes on me because things changed after that. I became her surrogate daughter and she my mother. She taught me of all of the things I needed to know to be a woman and even though I was barely competent at each task, she never criticized.
The summer after I turned fourteen, our village was raided by Barbarians. Homes were burned, people were slaughtered at first sight and my father--a common silk merchant--was in the midst of it. As the warning bells rang from the church, Shani turned to me with wild eyes. She said we needed to flee now if we valued our lives. I refused, wanting desperately to find my father. Shani couldn't wait; she left me to find my father on my own. When I reached the shop, I was horrified. I watched it all happen; I stood there frozen and terrified as I watched the last member of my family was beaten to death. As a young peasant girl, I could do nothing. I was just a human; nothing special nor great or so I thought. I sat down next to my father's body and cried.
I wept the entire evening and when the sun rose the next morning, I was alone in the middle of the street. The barbarians had moved on and left the charred village and me in their wake. I should have realized it then how lucky I was to be alive. Barbarians don't exactly leave a legacy behind them. But I didn't think about that. All I could think about my broken family. I was alone now.
The first thing I had to do was bury my father. I wanted to give him a proper burial so I found the black silk in his shop--scorched and burned in several places--but it would have to do. It took me nearly all day to sow the robes and it was not perfect but I was still honored to wear it. The next morning, I dug the three meters into the ground and lowered his body. Tears flowed from my eyes as I took one last look at his distinguish, peaceful face and then covered it with soft dirt. A single stone marks the site and I still visit it every year on his birthday. Since then, grass and weeds have grown over it, but the stone still rests untouched.
After his burial, I left our village. There was nothing for me left in a ghost town and I was now extremely hungry and thirsty. I walked as long as my legs would carry me, drinking water from nearby streams and trying plants and grass for food. I was never the hunting type though now I wish I was. I was on the outskirts of another village when I collapsed from exhaustion.
"She's not dead, Wyatt," a playful voice broke into my unconscious dreams. "A little worn out, but I think she'll be alright."
"For now," the man named Wyatt replied in a raspy voice. "Did you not notice the villagers walking past her? They did not see her! Surely you don't expect her to live."
The first voice did not sound put out at all. "That's not exactly yours to predict, is it? She'll be fine." There was a brief pause and then her voice become quiet and gentle, "No, she isn't like the others. This one is very special."
I can imagine the man named Wyatt looking slightly disappointing and if I had realized then what I realized now, perhaps I wouldn't have been so surprised when I finally opened my eyes to see not two adults, but a child and a monster staring back at me. I must admit, I screamed bloody hell. Obviously, I wasn't in heaven.
"See?" the little girl, one with dark hair and amused dark eyes, pointed out triumphantly. "Stand up, Mya. I know you are very tired, but we are here to take care of you."
How she knew my name was beyond me, but I obeyed her command as if I was a servant. The monster had not disappeared into the brush leaving the two of us alone in the middle of nowhere. I should have been shocked, frightened, and even confused that I was following orders from a girl that must have been half my ages. Yet, that did not seem to affect my will. I knew the moment that she spoke to me that my will was completely at her disposal. I did not protest or fight as I followed her to the village where I was given food and water and rested. A week later, back on my feet and with an unbelievable amount of renewed strength, I was taken to a place where even the mind cannot put together such beauty and majesty. This, she told me, was her home and where I would now live.
That was is how I met Fate.
