The same ambition can destroy or save, and makes a patriot as it makes a knave.
~Alexander Pope
I learn a lot here, too. Darsinik is not happy with my fighting abilities. And he’s justified in that opinion. I’m still mastering my shifting abilities, but they aren’t useful as a defense, for they are likely to attract far too much attention. The kicks, bruises, curses, and other abuse I pick up in my “training” serves only to harden me further. I also become multilingual, another requirement of Darsinik’s. After a year, I am fluent in Elvish, two other human languages, and a rough dialect called kinnersprat, the jargon used by street people in all the major cities. But learning here is not easy, no matter how bright you are. I hate what I am becoming, but I cannot stop it.
Almost three years pass. I’m nearly ten years old now, but I look younger, Danner says. He’s probably right. I’m shorter than the others, mostly since I never get enough to eat, and Danner says Darsinik works me too hard for one my age, which has stunted my growth. I think he’s right, too. Most people think I’m scarcely eight, rather than almost ten.
Hunger and cold are feelings I’ve grown very accustomed to here. As well as pain. All of the younger members of the Mistmirk are scratched and bruised all the time, a testament to Darsinik’s explosive temper and harsh discipline. But we never cry. None of us. We are not weak.
I usually work my marketplace shifts with Danner. Tonight, we’re making a house call in the Rantas District, a residential area for the wealthy. Darsinik is expecting the take to be high, and was in an excellent mood when we left. But we aren’t as fortunate when we get back.
“Who did you tell?” he demands, furious, as we walk back in. I stare at him in bafflement, and a moment later, a blow to the face knocks me to the ground. My bag falls to the floor, spilling coins and jewelry everywhere, but Darsinik, in his rage, doesn’t notice. The others in the room are silent and motionless against the walls, and Danner stands frozen in the doorway.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I falter out, touching the side of my aching face, then doubling over in pain as a kick lashes out, hitting me in the side. “I don’t!” I cry out, genuinely afraid now. Darsinik has worked himself into a frenzy, his grey-blue eyes flat with rage.
“Lying little brat,” he hisses, reaching down and yanking me to my feet. His hand remains fastened on the front of my shirt. I don’t bother struggling. It will only make matters worse. He slaps me again, and I taste blood. “How did the Guardians find out about the ‘Mistmirk’s pet shifter’ then, eh? How did they find out, Melinor?” He’s insane with fury.
“I don’t know!” I shriek in terror. “I never said anything!” He slams me against the wall, enraged further by my answer. The back of my head hits hard, and sparks dance in front of my eyes.
“Liar,” he snarls, and strikes me again. A fist drives into my stomach, and the only thing that keeps me from doubling over is his hand pinning me to the wall.
Danner clears his throat. “Darsinik,” he says softly, but his voice somehow is heard by all in the room. “The child tells you the truth.”
Darsinik turns slowly, still holding my shoulder in an iron grip. He suddenly throws me to the floor, and I curl up in pain, gasping for breath. No one moves. “What?” he demands, icily.
“I said, the child speaks truth,” Danner repeats. Darsinik’s fist connects with Danner’s face, and he reels back, steadying himself on the wall. His features darken with anger. “I speak the truth, too, Darsinik Rheen! Have you ever let the girl be alone? Ever? She doesn’t go anywhere without one of us with her. How could she have told them? Ask any one of us if she’s ever so much as breathed a word to the Guardians. Someone else betrayed your precious secret, not the girl.”
Darsinik’s eyes narrow. “And why are you so concerned about little Melinor so suddenly, Danner? Do you want her? A child?” He sneers, and it is clear what he means. Danner doesn’t deny his words, either.
“I sought to speak the truth, something you often suppress. About time you let someone tell it to you. As for the girl,” he shrugs, and a hint of a smile plays across his face, “I suppose only time will tell, eh? Now, we have a house call in two hours. Unless you’ve beaten it out of her. If you’ll excuse me,” he brushes past Darsinik and kneels beside me, “I’ll be readying my partner for our mission.” He picks me up; I can tell by the faint trembling of his arms that he is not nearly as casual and nonchalant as he seems. Dazed with pain, I barely notice the unnatural silence and stillness in the place as Danner carries me into an empty sleeping room.
He sets me down carefully on a pile of folded blankets, making me remain in a sitting position. He then tilts my head to examine the cuts and bruises on my face. A chill feeling starts deep inside me at the way his fingers trail down the side of my face, but he immediately turns businesslike, and I start to wonder, in my pain-fevered mind, if I just imagined it.
He fetches a bowl of cool water and clean rags and sets about cleaning me up. Once he’s finished, he brings in small cup of diluted brandy and makes me drink it. I cough and gag, but manage to force it down. My head immediately feels a bit clearer, and the pain dims slightly.
“Will you be able to handle tonight?” he asks. His face and tone are both unreadable. I nod slowly, and he looks relieved. “Good,” he says. “Although I don’t know how much longer Darsinik will let you stay. There’s no way we can hide you, now that the Guardians know.”
“Can’t I just cut my hair and pretend to be a boy?” I ask, my voice scarcely a whisper.
Danner gives me a funny look. “I’ll show you why you can’t, tonight,” he replies, and turns away, taking away the basin, blood-stained rags, and empty cup. “Be ready in an hour.”
Once he’s gone, I let out a deep sigh of exhaustion and slump down on the pile of blankets. I ache, all over, from my head to my toes, from Darsinik’s beating. I know what will happen to me. Darsinik will either kill me or have me run out of the city. Now that the Guardians know I’m here, he won’t let me endanger him or his precarious position of power. I’m doomed. Before I nod off with exhaustion, one last thought runs through my head. I hate life.
I awaken to a hand shaking my shoulder, and wince with pain, as Darsinik left bruises there. With a groan, I flinch away, rubbing at the sore place, and open my eyes, blinking sleepily. Danner’s face confronts me. He has a sack tucked into his belt, and another in his hand for me.
“It’s past sunset, now hurry up! We have to get moving, now.” He thrusts the sack into my hands as I rise, biting my lip to keep from crying out in pain. I’m so stiff and sore, I wonder if I’ll be able to walk, much less run. Danner impatiently tugs at my arm and pulls me out of the room and into the streets.
The last light of the sun is fading in the west, the last hints of rose and gold fading from the clouds and sky. Shadows stretch their velvety darkness over the streets and buildings, and vague shapes can be seen slipping through them, edging nervously along, fearful and wary. Like us. We are like animals, wilder than anything in the forests and wilderness. The wild creatures of the city.
We reach the Rantas District soon, and slip around the back door of the appointed house. Danner stands guard as I slip a bit of wire out of my sleeve and pick both of the locks. After checking to make sure no one is there, we slip in, and start the looting. Danner lights a candle to dispel the darkness, and we work in silence for several minutes. He calls me into the room he’s working, and sets the candle on a table. I glance around nervously. “What?” I whisper.
He points to a mirror. “Look in it. I told you I’d show you why you can’t pretend to be a boy.” He picks up his sack and mine, and slips into another room, lighting another candle on his way.
I hesitantly step over to the mirror and look into it. I’ve never seen one before; the poor cannot afford such luxuries as a looking glass. Fine glass is not cheap, and mirrors are very expensive. I’ve never seen my reflection before, either. A pale-faced girl stares back at me, her face gaunt, and bruised, but...dare I think it? She’s pretty, in a way. Her eyes are dark with fear, but swirling with flashes of silver-grey from curiosity. She’s thin, and looks to be eight or nine years old. Hair the same pale gold as dawn sunlight and leaping candle flames frames her small face, a few stray wisps falling in her eyes, the rest pulled back in a loose braid. I reach up and hand, and trail my fingers down the mirror. So that’s what I look like, I think to myself. That’s me. Rois Melinor. But my musings are interrupted by the sound of someone unlocking the front door.
Danner dashes back in, his green eyes panic-stricken. “They shouldn’t be back!” he hisses. He starts for the back door, and I follow. But we are not in luck. A servant walks inside, and spots us.
“Thieves!” he bellows, and takes after us. Danner swears furiously and runs for the stairs. I’m right on his heels; the servant is right on mine. Danner races into a bedroom and slams the door shut behind him. I gasp, feeling betrayed, and runs down the hallway, only to meet with a locked door. A dead end. The servant comes to a halt before me, sputtering with rage.
“Little thief!” he hisses, and reaches for me. A knife slides into my hand, and I slash at his fingers. He jerks back with a howl of pain, and I shove past him and run back down the hall, only to meet another servant as I reach the stairs. I try to dodge his reaching hands, and lose my balance. Everything seems to be happening so terribly slowly. An expression of panic crosses the servant’s face as I tip back and go tumbling down the steep flight of stairs. The last thought that races through my mind as my head strikes against one is, I’m going to die...