Twelve years earlier…



East Sarutabaruta was quiet. The sun shone down across the plains as the shadow from a baobao tree battled against the light, protecting a small Hume who rested in its shade. His red hair ended at his slender shoulders, framing a delicately boned face. The little boy thumbed through an alchemy book, struggling to understand its concepts. Not far away, a rarab hopped and scurried through the grass as the green waved gently in the wind. From where he sat, the little boy could see a Goblin fishing in the river, eagerly waiting for a catch worth selling in town.

The Goblin looked over his shoulder as the grass crunched to his far left. A small group of older boys passed, the Goblin's line got a hit. The little boy did not notice the boys approaching until an Elvaan boy snatched the book from his fingers and glared at its pages.

"What's this?" The older boy stared, confused, at the book's contents.

The little boy climbed to his feet. "It's an Alchemy book. Like medi–" He was cut off as his skull thumped against tree he was sitting under. One of the other boys shoved him as he tried to get back up, and he let out a yelp as he tried to stand up yet again.

"Look at him! He's no bigger than a Taru!"

The little boy felt himself being shoved between two more of the older boys as they moved him a bit further away from the tree so they could surround him.

"I think he's Maimhov's kid. That means he's adopted…. uhhh… Milan."

Milan couldn't tell who was talking at that point, the sky seemed to jerk back and forth as he was pushed between the four older boys.

"Milan? That's a girl's name!"

"Look at his hair!"

Milan flailed his arms in an attempt to steady himself. In his panic one of his hands swatted across the face of the leader, a boy some five or so years older than him with blue eyes and hair close to his own colour. The older boy's fist cut into Milan's face, hitting him directly on his nose and sending him back to the ground. The boy, grinning, set his foot on Milan's back and pressed down with everything he had.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

The weight on Milan's back suddenly disappeared, and he looked up. And older girl with tattooed cheeks had pulled the bullies off of him and were facing off against them. In one hand she had a cruelly hooked and twisted knife and in the others, flames seemed to flicker between her fighters.

"What's with her?" One of the boys sneered.

"Looks like one of those girls that're visiting from Bastok."

"Pathetic, the wimp needs a girl to protect him!"

"She doesn't look so tough! Bet we could have some fun with her!"

Milan tried to struggle to his feet, worried about what the boys were going to do to her. "G-get out of here." He stammered at the girl, then sank back to his knees as his vision was filled with points of light.

"Don't worry." The girl grinned. "These little gnats can't hurt me."

Bristling, the leader pointed at the girl. "Get her!"

Milan hunched over, his eyes closed tight. He didn't want to see the girl being beaten, and he was angry with himself that he couldn't do anything but wait for his own turn. A scream tore through the air, and the little boy looked up in surprise. The scream was coming from one of the bullies!

"My nose!" The Elvaan was screaming, his hands cupped over his face as blood dribbled between his fingers. "She cut off my nose!"

One boy was on the ground, doubled over with a shocked look on his face as he desperately tried to suck in the air that the girl's knee had forced out of him, with another was screaming and running towards the river, his shirt on fire.

The leader stood alone, his face white. "Why'd you cut off his nose?!"

"The nose is still there." The girl laughed. "He'll bleed and scar, but it's still there."

"Bitch!" He screamed as he lept forward. "I'm gonna beat your face in until you look like an orc!"

With a practiced move, the girl flicked her knife at the ground, burying the blade up to the hilt as she turned her shoulder into the boy's charge. Using the boy's momentum to spin her, she whipped around and drove her fist into his cheek. Tiny spars and embers seemed to fly as her fist made contact, and the smell of burning flesh wafted in the morning breeze. The bully snarled and grabbed the girl's hair, forcing her to double backwards. She grabbed his wrist and twisted around to relieve the pressure on the back of her head, her nails biting into his skin and drawing blood.

"Not so tough now, are you?" The boy snarled, trying to ignore the pain in his arm. "Now, if you're really, really good, I'll leave enough of your face behind that maybe a blind person will marry yo– UGH!" His grip on the girl's hair loosened as a rock struck him in the back of the head. Snarling, he turned to glare at Milan. "So, the wimp's growin' balls? Too late, runt. When I'm done with her, you're–" His eyes glazed over as the girl's elbow cracked him in the skull.

"… Pile of shit." The girl straightened up and spit on the boy's unconscious body. She ran a hand through her hair, then smiled at Milan. "You okay?"

Milan nodded slowly, wiping at his drying bloody nose. "Y-yeah, thank you… Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She smiled again as she gently tilted Milan's head back and gave his nose a soft tweak. "That's good, it doesn't seem to be broken. Your arm's cut, though. Hold on, I'll fix it."

Milan glanced down at his right arm and for the first time noticed the cut in the sleeve above his elbow and the darkening red stain blooming from it. His eyes widened, and he suppressed a whimper as the girl rolled up his sleeve and exposed the bruising, jagged gash.

"You must've fallen on a rock." She remarked as she cupped a hand over the wound. Her eyes narrowed, and a pale light seemed to shine from between her fingers. When she removed her hand, the wound was mostly closed. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she folded it in half and tied it around the cut. "There, all better." She reached out and ruffled Milan's hair.

A man's muffled shout cut through the air. A moment later it repeated, this time clearer. "Malay?"

"Ooops." She rolled her eyes and giggled. "Gotta run. Be careful, okay?" Impulsively, she kissed Milan on the cheek and dashed off… in the opposite direction the shout was coming from.

Milan just stood there for several moments, a bit dumbfounded, until a flash of light from the ground caught his attention. The girl's hooked knife was still buried in the ground, and he yanked it free and slipped it into his pocket. Just then, the lead bully groaned and began to stir. Milan's eyes widened, and he snatched up his discarded book as he ran for the safety of the city.


–––––


The next day…


She's gonna pay.

That was Emrys' mantra as he trailed along behind the group of girls from the Bastok school, a bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. The sons of craftsmen and women who had relocated to Windurst to further their trades, he and his friends had spent the last year terrorizing the local Tarutaru and Mithran children. His discovery of Milan living in the Mithran encampment had been a surprise, and he had never forgiven the younger boy for completely blowing him off.

Yesterday had been even more of a blow to his pride – it had been in front of the local children that he and his friends had been picking on the little fosterling, and it had been in front of those same children that the girl from the school and the fosterling had thrashed them. And now, a day later, the little Tarutarus and Mithra were name calling them and fighting back. And perhaps even worse, an earlier attempt to flirt with the girls from the Bastok school had been ruined by the mocking laughter and abrupt dismissals from the older students.

Oh yes, Emrys thought as he climbed into a tree and perched himself on a branch. After settling, he fitted an arrow to his bow. She's gonna pay. And when I find him, that little runt is gonna get his next…

–––––


Milan was also following the girls from Bastok, the girl's knife wrapped in her handkerchief. The girls scared him – they were wilder than the Mithra he had grown up around, and he had watched some of the older girls get rough with boys who had gotten too close. There was a man in the middle of the group, the only one both the girls and the chaperons tolerated. And the girl who had helped him seemed to always be at his elbow; Milan figured that the easiest way to get to her would be through the man.

The group stopped, and Milan followed suit and leaned up against a tree, waiting to see if the man would move closer to the edges of the group. As he waited he felt the tree shiver slightly and a twig fell and bounced off his shoulder; looking up, he spotted red-haired and blue-eyed Emrys sitting high above him with a drawn bow. Milan looked, and he felt his stomach tie itself into knots as he realized who the bully was aiming for. It was a silly gesture, part of his brain told him, but for reasons he couldn't quite understand he found himself raising his arms and cupping his hands together, his open palms pointed at the bully.

"Watch out!"

In the crowd below, a man turned at the shout. He was a man in his prime, with short strawberry-blond hair and washed out blue-gray eyes. Clothed in red, black and gold, he stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of brown-clad girls.

As he turned, he raised his left arm to avoid hitting the girls behind him with the spiked buckler. His apprentice turned as well, a frown on her tattooed face as she tried to place the voice. Then the buckler moved to block Malay's view just as she spotted Milan standing under a tree with his hands raised, and as she started to push her mentor's arm down, then flinched away as shrapnel seemed to explode on the other side of the buckler, just inches from her face. And then she saw a fireball leave Milan's hands and engulf the tree. half a moment later, something dropped out of the tree and onto the little boy, and Malay watched as it raised one fist and then the other, pummeling the boy.

She didn't have to see the other boy's face to know who it was; she remembered Emrys' slightly darker red hair. Pushing and shoving her way through the now-panicked crowd, she managed to reach the foot of the little bluff the tree was growing on and scale it. Reaching the top, she shoved Emrys off of Milan, but her footing was bad and she stumbled over and stepped over the downed boy. Seeing her off-balance, Emrys shoved her back. Malay tripped over Milan as she fell backwards, and her head cracked against a rock.. White-hot sparks flooded her vision, and she felt both overwhelmingly sick to her stomach and terribly sleepy at the same time. She very dimly saw Emrys as he kicked Milan in the ribs, sending him rolling next to her. As she slipped into darkness, all Malay could do was roll over and shield the younger boy's body with her own.


–––––


"– stay herrre until tomorrrrow, but afterrr that he's gonna have to go."

"If it's a purrr-oblem, I can take him now."

"No, he's too banged up to move tonight. It'll be okay forrr now, but I can't keep fourrr otherrr girrrls out of theirrr rrroom too long."

Milan tried to crack open his eyes, but for some reason was only able to manage one. He recognized one of the Mithran voices to be his foster mother, Arma, but the other was unfamiliar to him. He tried to turn his head to look at the two Mithra, but instead let out a whimper of pain.

"Huh. Sounds like yourrr boy is awake." The unfamiliar voice murmured.

Two faced entered his field of view, and he recognized Arma's face immediately. The other Mithra was much older, with white hair and spectacles perched on the end of her nose.

"You silly boy." Arma growled, but Milan caught the tone of concern in her voice. "What mess did you get yourrrself into this time?"

"… Emrys…" Milan managed to mumble the name.

Arma wrinkled her nose as the other Mithra cocked her head in curiosity. "What's that?"

"A few Hume families settled herrre a couple of yearrrs ago," Arma explained. "They worrrk forrr the guilds. Some of theirrr kids have been amusing themselves by picking on the kittens and the Tarutaru childrrren." She frowned. "Mil came home yesterrrday with a blooded nose and some cuts…. and now this. I think it's time it gets brrrought to someone otherrr than the parrrents attention."

"I'll make a claim with you." The older Mithra moved out of Milan's sight. "My girrrl's prrretty banged up too, and herrr head and face is so swollen we can't tell if she's got anything crrracked orrr brrroken."

Hearing this, Milan struggled to sit up. he let out another whimper as his ribs creaked, but managed to get himself upright and look around the room. He realized he was in a rental room with five cots; three of which were empty. He was in one, and the one next to him was occupied by what seemed to be a mummy. As Arma forced him to lay back down, he gasped. "W-what happened to her?"

"… Brrroken rrribs. Concussion. Purrr-haps a brrroken nose and cheekbone; we won't know for surrre until the swelling goes down." The older Mithra gave him a hostile look. "I see you managed to farrre a lot betterrr than herrr."

"Back off." Arma hissed. "She jumped into the fight and if that Rrredmage with you is corrrect, that boy's arrrrow was forrr herrr. If Mil hadn't been therrre and saw him, yourrr girrrl would've been sprrroutin' featherrrs between herrr shoulderrrblades."

There was a tense moment as the two Mithra stared each-other down. The white-haired Mithra finally shrugged. "Whateverrr. It's not worrrth fightin' overrr. You got yourrr Hume-cub and all those kittens to take carrre of, and I gotta look afterrr my own younglin's."

Arma nodded, then looked down at Milan. "Will someone be sittin' with him overrrnight? Someone otherrr than yourrr girrrls?" She paused, then curled a lip. "I saw how some of them werrre actin' towarrrds Mil, an' I rrratherrr he get a few morrre yearrrs underrr him beforrre–"

"I'll be here." A man's voice came from somewhere out of Milan's sight. "I'm staying by my apprentice; keeping an eye on the boy as well won't be a problem."

Milan slowly rolled to look at the man. It was the same one the girl had been standing next to, and he sat in a chair in the corner next to the girl's bed. Close up, Milan guessed the man was in his mid to late thirties and while he couldn't see any physical resemblance between him and the girl, he practically hovered over her like a concerned parent would.

Arma was also staring at the man, her eyebrow raised slightly. "Out of currriosity, since when do you keep a male arrround?" She paused, then smirked at the white-haired Mithra. "Orrr arrre you starrrtin' to feel yourrr age?"

"Harrrdly." The other Mithra sniffed.

The man offered a smile. "The Headmistress hired me to help her with a special case." He made a slight motion towards the unconscious girl. "She's not male-shy like the others, and needs… a different type of discipline than the rest."

"Hrrrrmph." Arma stood up and placed her hand once more on Milan's head. "You behave, rrright? I'll be back in the morrrning forrr you."

"Yes, Mother."


–––––

Four days later…


Milan followed so closely behind Peb, the redmage that served as mentor to the tattooed girl, that he kept treading on the man's heels. The man kept looking back and offering Milan a somewhat amused look whenever he started apologizing. As they passed by a doorway, several girls stepped out and started following Milan almost as closely as he was following Peb.

"It's not fair," One girl, perhaps three years older than him, mock-complained. "How come Malay gets one all to herself?"

Another girl giggled as she reached out to stroke Milan's hair. "One? She has two!"

"This one's too young." A third girl, a little older than the other two, slipped an arm around Milan and pulled him against her as they walked, causing the boy to let out a small squeak of surprise and protest. "Adorable, though. I can see why she wants to keep him."

Milan stared at the redmage's back, mentally begging him to do something about the girls. More were starting to crowd around, and the giggling and petting was starting to scare him. He yelped as another pair of hands came from behind him, running over his shoulders, and as he tried to pull away from all the girls he missed Peb's slight nod to two older girls that were leaning against the wall, chatting.

"Get off him." One of the older girls snapped at the younger ones as she pushed off the wall, her hand going to the knife on her belt. "Unless you want to be on rations for the rest of the summer."

"But–"

"No 'buts'," The other girl stepped forward. "Get back to your rooms. Or do you want us to get the Headmistress?"

The hallway immediately cleared. Milan took a deep breath and started to thank the older girls, but stopped as they both turned towards him, glaring.

"Males aren't allowed here." The first's voice was quiet, her hand still on her knife.

"The Headmistress is permitting this." Peb reached back and put a hand on Milan's shoulder. "Besides, what sort of threat is this little boy to you?"

The girl spat a low curse and started to pull her knife. The other grabbed her arm, spinning her around and nearly dragging her into a nearby room. "Don't. Everyone knows that you're one more slice from getting expelled. You really want to lose all your wages?"

As the door shut behind them, Peb looked down at Milan. "You okay?"

"… Girls are scary." Milan finally mumbled.

He let out a laugh as he opened a door. "Sometimes, boy. Sometimes."

The room was empty, save for the tattooed girl sitting in her bed. Her face was a mass of bruises, but she managed to offer Milan a lopsided smile as Peb closed the door behind them. "Hey."

"… Hi…" Milan looked down at the floor.

She tilted her head slightly, then frowned. "Y'know, you shouldn't let your brother pick on you like that."

"Emrys isn't my brother."

"… Oh. Sorry. Y'two look a lot alike, I just assumed–"

"He's got parents. I don't." Milan rushed on. "And he's got a brother younger than me. So it'd be really mean if they got rid of me but kept them."

The girl blinked, then looked up at Peb. He tilted his head to one side as he studied Milan. "… Someone's said that to you before, I take it?"

Milan looked back at the man and nodded.

"I'm an orphan, too." The girl looked down, her fingers curling tightly over the edge of the blanket. "… My mother died when I was little. Ta– my father, a few years ago, in a fire."

Moving closer to the bed, Milan put his hand over the girl's. "… Do you have brothers or sisters?"

She nodded, still not looking up. "My older brother is… somewhere. I haven't seen him in a very long time. My little sister died in the fire."

Milan felt her hands clench even tighter, and with a gasp he jerked his back as her skin became unusually hot. He gave Peb an uneasy look but while the man looked concerned, all he did was make a gesture for Milan to keep talking.

Milan racked his brain for a moment. "… What's your name?"

"…. Malay…" She looked up. "… What's yours?"

–––––

A few weeks later…


The summer was almost over, and the Chocobo Stables found itself swamped by girls. Emrys shuffled his way into a far corner and pulled his hat low over his eyes, so none of the girls, or their Headmistress, could recognize him. Some weeks before, he and his parents had been brought before a magistrate, on claims of harassment and injury to many of the local children. It had only been the pleading of his mother that had stopped the magistrate from ordering Emrys back to Bastok to be fostered there. Instead, his parents had to pay fines and he was stuck doing service.

This week, it was mucking the stables.

Finally, just to escape the crowd, Emrys pushed his way out the door and into the early afternoon light. As he blinked, his eyes adjusting to the brightness, he spied three people standing together a ways down the road. He recognized Milan almost immediately, and a moment later the girl who had protected him and the redmage that always seemed to follow her.

Those two… Emrys ground his teeth as he ducked around the corner of the stables, again to avoid notice.

I won't forget what you two did. You'll get yours someday… You will pay.

It was springtime, and from Malay's favorite hiding spot in the school she could see the cherry blossoms on the trees specially bought for the Festivals. The Spring Festival was usually her favorite holiday, but this year she found little joy in the preparations. Her mood had been sour since just after the New Year, and with the warming weather she was becoming more and more irritable.

"Malay?"

She jumped at Peb's voice coming from the opening to the crawlspace-like attic, and pressed closer to the wall of the eave she was hiding under. Holding her breath, she stayed as still as possible; she knew she was completely hidden from view, but her mentor's hearing had always been quite sharp. She heard him grunt slightly, and there was a scraping noise. A moment later, he poked his head into the space and gave Malay an amused look.

"Hiding again?"

"… How'd you know I was here?"

"There's a lot of things I know." He scooted closer and sat cross-legged next to her. "What I don't know is why, all of a sudden, you've been a thorn in the Headmistress' side."

Malay shot him a look, then turned back to her view of the blossoms through the small window. "… I just want to get out of here…"

"Graduation is only a year away, kid. You really want to cut and run now?"

"No." She was quick to shake her head. "I'm… restless. I want to finish, but I can't stand the thought of sitting still for another year."

Peb tilted his head, regarding the girl. He had long since learned how how read her, and by the tone of her voice and how she answered him, he knew what her problem was. He crawled back to the opening and swung himself down. "I'll go talk to the Headmistress. I might be able to arrange something that'll be more to your liking."

––-

"So. She up there?"

Peb stopped and turned to look at the man in the white-leather coat that was leaning against the wall. "She was."

"And?"

"You were right." Peb sighed. "You know, Mirror, you really should talk to her. She's your sister, and she's hurting."

Mirror shook his head. "I can't."

Peb stared at Mirror for a moment then shook his head. "Then, you should get out of here. The cat'll claw your eyes out if she finds you lurking."

Mirror smiled as he pushed himself off the wall, pausing only briefly to clap Peb on the shoulder as he walked past the redmage. "I promise you, I'm not doing this to be cruel. There's a reason for all this. Trust me like you trusted the Farseer during the war."

Frowning. Peb watched as Mirror disappeared around the corner. "… If it were only that easy…" Sighing, he rolled his shoulders and headed to the Headmistress' office.

––-

If there was one behaviour the Headmistress was relentless in driving into her students, it was confidence. She took great pride in molding scared, shy girls who couldn't look up from the floor into self-assured, proud women who were at east with meeting the gaze of others. If the tendency to draw knives on a man who offered the slightest hint of insult was the side-effect of the her methods, she was perfectly comfortable living with it.

As a kitten at her mother's knee, a certain superiority over males had been impressed upon her, a cultural practice throughout all Gha Naboh. It had been a complete culture shock to her and many other of her sisters-in-arms when they arrived in the Middle Lands during the War and founds themselves being under the command of males. For her and her sisters-in-arms, males were strategists, councilors, scholars, and consorts. They had no place on the battlefield, and the Headmistress was certain that there would've been more victories – or, at least defeats with a lesser bodycount – if the women had just shoved the males off their high chocobos and taken charge.

Sitting back in her chair, the Headmistress allowed herself a moment to consider the male before her. Although a fighter in his own right, he possessed every other attribute she found attractive. She did more than just tolerate his presence inside her school; she enjoyed his company and had been seriously considering offering him a teaching position.

Ah, if only I was youngerrr… The tip of her tail twitched slightly as her mind wandered for a moment longer, and she narrowed her eyes as she forced herself back to the matter at hand. … I rrreally should hirrre him. The girrrls need morrre exposurrre to males, and he is purrr-fect candidate…

"– her training if I could take her with me." Peb sat forward in his chair. "I'll admit, she's learned some skills that would get her by, but…" He stopped and spread his hands.

"Hrrrrrrumph…" The Headmistress looked at Malay. "And what do you say, my girrrl? Does living like a vagabond sound betterrr to you than city life?"

Malay flicked a glance at her mentor and, after catching his slight nod, sat up straighter in her chair. He had warned her that she would have to plead her case to the Headmistress, and that she would have to make her case convincing. "I can't read. I can barely write my own name. There's only so much I'll be able to do in a city; I'll never be more than a cook or house servant. That's not what I want to be, and that's not what you've taught me to be."

The Headmistress stood up and moved to the front of her desk. "Therrre's morrre that you can do. I know you've been dabbling in alchemy; that can be fat living."

"Alchemy requires note-taking and the ability to do research."

"Skills that you may still learrrrn; I haven't given up on you." The Headmistress sat on the edge of her desk. "What benefits arrrre therrre as a vagabond? What makes you think that would be a betterrr choice?"

Malay hesitated. "… It'll open me up to other possibilities. Maybe I'll discover that I'm better suited to being a sailor, or maybe a minder. Maybe just being a hired sword is what I'll like." She went quiet for a moment. "Maybe, in the end, I won't be suited for any of those and I'll have to come back. But I won't know if I don't try."

The Headmistress tilted her head back. "Hrrrrrrmph. Acceptable rrrreasons, but is therrre anything else?"

Malay looked down into her lap. "It's… nothing against you, Headmistress. But I don't want to be here right now."

"Rrrrunning away neverrr solves anything."

"That's… not the only reason." She flexed the fingers of both her hands, summing a small flicker of flame in each palm. "I want to learn more about this. I know Peb has only been teaching me how to suppress it… I want to know how to control it, to master it. That's not something I can do here."

The Headmistress looked down at Malay, then stood up and moved back to behind her desk. "Hm. Well, just because you'll be on the rrroad doesn't mean you'll be excused from completing yourrr rrregularrr studies." She picked up a pen. "I'm rrrequirrring you to rrreturn once a month so I can see that you'rrre keeping pace with the otherrrs." She looked at Peb, then started writing on a piece of paper. "I'll supply you with the books she'll need, and I'll let you dip into what she's accrrrude forrr herrr funds so she can get the prrroperrr equipment."

––-

The leaf mail was heavier than Malay expected, and the constant jingling as she followed behind Peb sounded extremely loud in her ears. The light rapier felt good in her hand, though, and the buckler wasn't too unwieldy once she had been shown how to strap it to her pack while still in town. Her excitement doubled when her mentor ushered her into the chocobo stables and introduced her to a new style of saddle.

There was no bridle or saddle-horn to hold onto. The trick, she learned as they slowly made their way through Gustaberg, was steering and keeping her balance by gripping with her legs and knees. Her earlier enthusiasm started to fade as she continued to flail her arms to keep from falling off, and she started questioning the practicality until, to prove a point, Peb drew his bird and spurred his bird. Moments later, he bore down upon a lizard and the arrow he let loose went right through the animal's skull, killing it instant, and continued until the arrowhead itself was buried into the ground, pinning the lizard.

"I'm not a good archer." He explained as he slid off his bird to retrieve the arrow and carve some meat off the carcass. "And, watching you, I don't think you will be either. But we can make up for our lack of talent in that direction by being innovative. Lizards rarely are something you'll worry about, but that's what was handy for this demonstration."

Malay sat back on her bird, thinking. "… That'd be handy for fighting Shellbacks, yeah? The 'bo gives us some height, and we could just ride up to one and aim an arrow right into that gap between the back of their neck and their shell."

"Very good." Peb nodded as he climbed back onto his chocobo. "So, you understand what the design is for now?"

"Frees up our hands, right?"

"Again, very good." He wrapped the meat in a wad of waxed paper and slipped it into a pouch hanging behind his saddle. "You could also use your sword from up here, if you really wanted to."

Malay eyed the pouch holding the meat." … You're… not actually going to eat that, are you?"

Peb chuckled. "You, of all people, shouldn't complain about what you'll be eating for dinner."

"Nobody eats lizard!"

Again he chuckled. "How do you know? Feeding all you girls is expensive for the Headmistress – she probably gets whatever is cheapest. And once it's off the bone and into the stewpot, all meat is the same." He urged his chocobo on, and waited until Malay fell in beside him. "That's another thing I'm going to teach you. You're not always going to be able to find an inn or tavern to get your meals, so you're going to have to learn how to find your own food."

––-

"… First time on a ferry?" Peb asked as he crossed the deck and stood next to Malay.

She opened her eyes and smiled. She had been enjoying the wind in her hair and on her face as the ship made its way to Mhuara. "Nuh-uh. Was on one just before the war leveled Tavnazia. The boat was packed, though – couldn't even get out of the corner in the hold we were stuffed in. So… this is just my first time being on deck."

Peb chuckled, then looked back towards the door leading to the hold. "Speaking of down there, you should probably head back below decks and change. That mail can rust from the spray, and if you fall overboard you'll sink like a stone."

"But.. what about pirates?" Malay frowned. "I've heard all sorts of stories about boats being attacked…"

"If we're attacked, you'll be hiding below decks anyways." Peb's pale eyes were grim. "You're not ready for that sort of fight."

Summertime…



“Malay. Come here.”

Reluctantly, Malay got up from her bedroll and made her way to the other side of the unlit campfire. She stopped in front of Peb and hung her head, not even daring to glance up at him through her hair.

He was angry. She knew he was.

Peb looked down at the girl, his fingers gently prodding at the salve-covered burns on his face and neck. They had been practicing sword-fighting that morning when he deliberately struck at her arm, his rapier slicing Malay’s arm – it was a good cut, but not enough to seriously injure her. Her response had been one of shock and outrage and while he had been trying to provoke her, he hadn’t been prepared for her reaction. They spent the rest of the morning and into the evening in silence; Peb tending to his burns, and Malay sitting stone-still on her bedroll with a hangdog air.

Truthfully, though, Peb wasn’t angry. He was just busy trying to re-evaluate the girl.

“You know…” He finally spoke as he sat down on a rock. “When the Headmistress first hired me to be your tutor, I was rather surprised when she handed me a little Gold-Eye. The Sant family was wiped out during the War, so naturally I started looking into your background. I was even more surprised when I found the records of a Gold-Eye family – a father who had married in and two children – had been among the refugees from Tavnazia and had taken root in Bastok.” He paused. “Unfortunately, there had been a fire, and there was only one survivor.”

Malay continued to hang her head as she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. She didn’t want to hear this. Not now.

Peb continued. “So, I then did a little more digging, talked with some old neighbors. It sounded to me that the father was a little too fond of the drink, and that he did not spare the back of his hand to anyone. The oldest child was either forced out of the house or ran away – most believed the latter – which left the younger to bear the weight of the abuse alone. One neighbor in particular remembered the night of the fire. There had been a lot of yelling, and then she saw the first flickerings of flame. But by the time she had called the guards and they arrived, the house was engulfed in fire so hot, the stones themselves were burn—“

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Malay shrieked, clutching her arms so hard that her nails bit into her skin. “He deserved it! He really did! He made Momma sick! He liked to break Teg’s arms! He made Momma Kaileen sick! He never let me eat more than a ladle-full of weak broth a day and was always slapping me, and he liked to kick Sophia! And then me and Sophia started getting sick!”

Peb leaned back slightly, watching Malay closely as she continued to scream and claw at her own skin. In the failing light, he thought he saw the briefest flicker along the trickles of blood that ran down her arms.

“I saw him put the stuff in our food! I told him I was going to tell the guards, and then he laughed and started punching me in the face! ‘How can you tell the guards if your jaw is broken’, he said! And then… and then..!”

It wasn’t a trick of the light; flames really were flickering along the bloody rivulets, and Peb pursed his lips in anticipation. Malay let out a screech as she flung her hands out to her sides, drops of flaming blood landing on the ground and her red-stained palms engulfed in fire. It was a spectacular outburst, a tantrum that bordered on a divine display. As Malay continued to scream and shriek, Peb watched and waited patiently. This had to get out of her system; a rumor of pyromania and patricide had once circled among the School’s older students about her, and she had very nearly killed one student in a similar fiery display, albeit on a much smaller scale. It was that incident that ended with him becoming her mentor, although the Headmistress’ original request was for Peb to teach her how to suppress her abilities. Peb had disagreed, but the old Mithra was the one signing his cheques. That didn’t stop him, however, in very carefully putting Malay in situations where she had to learn a little magic and cultivating her towards an adventurering lifestyle. He had even gone as far as conspiring with her older brother – who even after all the years they had known each-other, he distrusted him greatly – to those ends. He knew exactly what type of stories to tell her to make her think beyond the walls of the School and city.

Malay finally sank to her knees, her head drooping as she started to sob. The flames dimmed, but didn’t fully die out on the wounds that still oozed slightly. “… He deserved it… He deserved to die in the fire, but Sophia… I left her in there. I didn’t mean to… I couldn’t get back in there…” She paused, and then turned her head to look at one arm and then the other. “… Why am I on fire…”

Peb smiled slightly as he moved off the rock and then knelt next to Malay. While he felt bad about provoking her in such a way, this is what he wanted; her to be too tired to be scared of what she had done. “Do you remember what happened that night?”

“… I remember him hitting me. I remember my nose bled, and that he knocked a tooth out… it was a baby tooth, but still.” She sounded completely exhausted and almost numb. “And I remember grabbing a knife from the kitchen. He went for Sophia’s room, and then…” She trailed off, and then frowned at her still-flaming arms. “… Am… am I going to burn to death?”

Peb shook his head. “You’re not going to die. And what about that scuffle your second month at the School?”

“Someone sliced my shoulder when I ran at that stuck-up she-goblin. And then I slapped her.”

“And this morning?”

She hesitated. “…You cut my arm, and I burned you…”

“And now?”

Malay frowned. The flames were dying away as her blood dried and the wounds scabbed over. “I don’t know. It doesn’t hurt, except where I scratched myself.”

Pulling out his canteen and a scrap of cloth, he gently started washing the girl’s arms. “Listen, Mal. This is very important, but unfortunately I’ve never been able to explain this very well.” Peb paused, collecting his thoughts. “You have… well, what I can only guess is a very high natural concentration of mana, and it’s mostly contained in your blood. You’re not alone like this; I’m like you, and I’ve met, trained with, and trained others like us. There’s not a lot of us out there – the Headmistress only knew to contact me because she and I worked together a few times during the War.”

Malay looked down at her blood-crusted hands. “… Am… I understanding this right? You’re saying that I use blood to cast spells?” She frowned. “What about the cure spell, and that stone spell? And… what did you call it? Dia? I didn’t have to get all cut up for those.”

Peb nodded. “Those are normal spells; you can cast those just like anyone else who can use magic. Most spells, actually, you’ll be able to use just like any other person… Did any of your classes teach you about mana and the elements?” When Malay shook her head, he sighed and sat back. “Right, of course not; the Headmistress doesn’t like the idea of any of her kittens becoming ‘vagabonds’.” He paused again. “Magic runs off of mana, and mana is… a type of energy. No-one is really sure where it comes from – some say it’s a gift from the Goddess, others say it’s a ‘light’ given off by the Crystals, and others yet say it’s the unrefined power of the elements that we all make.”

“Which do you think it is?” Malay tilted her head to one side.

Peb chuckled. “Personally? I lean a little closer to the last one, but there’s a reason for that.” He pointed at the remains of the rarab they had caught the night before. “Do you remember what happened when we butchered that for dinner? What did we find that seemed… out of place?”

“… You pulled that crystal out of its chest.” She paused. “It looked like the crystals we use to synthesize things…” She stopped, and her eyes widened. “Crystals come from..?”

He nodded. “Just about everything you’ll find has some sort of elemental alignment, a type of mana they naturally make. The elemental energies occasionally crystallize inside things – animals, plants, beastmen, monsters… even people.” He stopped, watching as Malay frowned in thought.

“…You said earlier that I have a lot of extra mana in my blood… And you think that mana is some sort of element, and elements can turn into crystals inside people…” Malay looked up, a skeptic look on her face. “… Are you saying that my blood is made from fire crystals?!”

Peb laughed. “No, no, no. What I’m trying to say is that you’ve got a talent for magic, and you’ve got an extra reserve of mana in your blood that’s very closely aligned to the element of fire.” He shrugged. “Maybe you do have a fire crystal somewhere inside you, but I’m not about to start cutting you up to find it.”

“What do you mean by ‘extra reserve’?”

“We all generate mana, but as people use magic, the amount of mana in them goes down. It regenerates after resting for awhile and there’s some foods and drinks that seem to make you regenerate it faster, but if you’re not careful you can run out.” He held up the bloodstained rag he had used to clean Malay’s arms. “However, as long as you’ve got blood running through you, you won’t run out… but, you actually have to use your blood.”

Malay took the rag from him and looked at the dark stains. “… Is that what happened? The bloody nose, my split lip and missing tooth… I made that fire happen because I was bleeding?”

Peb coughed slightly. “Well… not just because you were bleeding. You’d have a hell of a time each month if that was the case…” He trailed off then cleared his throat. “I think you were angry, and you were hurt. You had a talent for magic, and it just… got the better of you. You didn’t know any better because… you honestly didn’t know, and all you were thinking about was what he had done to your mother and stepmother, and what happened to your brother, and what he was doing to you and Sophia.” He put his arm around Malay’s shoulders as her eyes began to get watery. “You were just trying to protect Sophia – you always took your beatings without flinching, and shielded her whenever he went after her. He was starving you, but you always gave her half of whatever you did receive.” Malay let out a sob, and Peb pulled her into a full embrace. “Yes, you did something bad… but you did it for a good reason. You’re the best big sister Sophia could’ve ever asked for.”

“But I left her in the fire..!” Malay’s wail was muffled by Peb’s shoulder.

“And you almost killed yourself running back in to get her. Besides… she got out. Someone went through a window and found her.”

“And now she just sits there and stares at walls! She doesn’t talk; the nurse has to practically force food down her throat every day..!”

Peb sighed as he very discreetly pulled a knife from his belt and nicked his finger. Malay’s skin was starting to grow warm, and he knew that if she tore any of the fresh wounds she could very easily and just as accidently start another fire. And while he knew that she had to blow off this steam before she could begin to control her magic, he was only willing to deal with one outburst a day. He pressed his bloodied fingertip to the back of Malay’s neck and whispered something under his breath, and a moment later her eyes began to droop as wave upon wave of lassitude washed over her. Very gently, Peb picked her up and carried her back to her bedroll.

––-

The next morning…


“…. So, if you’re like me, and my element is fire… what’s your element?”

Peb chuckled as they continued their hike through the lower canyons of Tahrongi. “Guess.”

“… Iunno. It’s probably something cool, like lightning.”

“Nope. Water.”

Malay stopped in her tracks. “… Water? That’s a useless element.”

Without hesitating, Peb bit down on his already cut finger and drew blood. As he rolled the few drops of blood between his fingers, he uttered a soft word and then flicked his wrist at the girl. Malay’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she sank to her knees as her nose and mouth suddenly filled with water. Gagging and sputtering, she clawed at the ground as she tried not to ‘drown’. After several moments, Peb made another gesture and soft word and the water flowed out of Malay’s mouth and nose and gathered, bubble-like, into the palm of his hand.

Malay lay on the ground, gasping, for over a minute before finally pushing herself up. “Ghh… how’d you do that..?” She rasped.

“Because you’re fire.” He closed his hand around the bubble, bursting it and letting the water run through his fingers and onto the parched canyon underfoot. “Fire melts ice. Ice stills wind. Wind carves stone. Stone grounds lightning. Lightning electrocutes water. And water,” Peb gestured first at himself, then at Malay, “extinguishes fire.” He offered a hand to her, and helped her to her feet. “If I really wanted to, I could’ve drowned you in less than thirty seconds. If I tried that trick against, say, someone who’s aligned with wind, it would take me several minutes to drown them. But if I tried that on someone who was aligned with lightning, it would’ve just been an annoyance to them.” He paused. "It also makes it very difficult for me, personally, to drown."

“… What about the light and the dark?”

“Ah. Those two are only weak and strong to each other.”

Malay frowned. “How can something be both weak and strong to something?”

“I don’t know.” Peb shrugged. “But I have a feeling it’s because they’re just opposite sides of the same thing.” He stopped and looked around. “Okay, kid… it’s starting to get too hot for even me. I’m going to go stretch the canvas between those over there; why don’t you go find us some food?”

Malay looked at where Peb was looking. A giant skeleton, probably a dragon, lay poking through the dirt and stone and was bleached white from the years in the sun. “… Isn’t it… y’know, bad luck to sleep next to giant dead things?”

“Only if you believe it is. Besides, those ribs make perfect tent poles.” He started towards the skeleton, and then looked back over his shoulder. “Why don’t you try to collect some seeds from the saplings and maybe a rarab or two and I’ll show you how to make a quick meat porridge. Or, if you can find some honey as well, I’ll make those seed-cakes you seem to like so much.”

––-

Emrys almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

There she was, the girl who had been part of his humiliation the summer before, shaking seeds from the dead sapling that he had spent hours trying to coax from the ground. It was from a special variety of trent, one that only took root in very specific soil types; long ago, one of the trents had wandered in and put down roots there, but the harsh conditions of the Canyon were too much for the trent and it had withered. Only a single viable root remained, and when carefully watered it would come out of dormancy and put forth a single sapling, and the young wood of the sapling was prized for carvings. Emrys had intended to use the wood to carve a ring for the girl he was currently fancying, and after watering the root for the umpteenth time he had wandered off to pass some time by shooting some arrows at mandragora. He had come back around the corner just in time to see Malay cut the almost-ready sapling from the ground and start threshing it over a piece of hide.

That.

Bitch.

Emrys reached over his shoulder, fingering the fletching of his arrows until he selected one that was slightly different from the rest and fitted it to his bow. He blew a lock of his red hair out of his eyes as he drew the string, and watched in satisfaction as the loosed arrow sunk into the back of the girl’s shoulder. She jumped up with a yelp and turned to face him, her eyes first widening in recognition and then drooping closed as she slumped forward and fell face-first to the ground as the sleeping potion that the arrowhead was anointed with spread through her veins.

After she was unconscious, Emrys realized that he didn’t really know what to do to Malay. The initial thrill of shooting her with an arrow quickly faded to fear; he still wasn’t on good terms with the Windurstian officials and people knew he was out in that part of the canyon; if she went to anyone with stories about being shot, he knew he would be first suspect on everyone’s lists. Nighttime was also coming, and soon caravans from Mhuara would be passing through… he had to do something.

Yanking the arrow out of her shoulder, Emrys kicked the girl onto her back as he rummaged through the bottom of his quiver and pulled out the pot of sleeping potion he used for his arrows, then uncorked it and dribbled a few more drops into Malay’s mouth. Assured that she would stay asleep for a while longer, Emrys knelt down and pulled the girl into a sitting potion, then dragged her over his shoulder and stood up.

––-

“You lost herrr.”

Peb kept his tongue in check as the old white-haired Mithra stepped off the airship and onto the dock. “There’s only so much tracking I can do in the wind and shifting sands. But, you tell me.” He held up a bloodied arrow.

Hae Laastrom frowned as she took the arrow and sniffed at it. “Murrrrr… yes, its herrrs. Wherrre did you find this? And why is this otherrr scent familiarrr?”

“I found it the next morning, maybe a third of a malm from where I had set up camp. Her pack and shield were nearby as well, but in the dark it just looked like another rock.” He held the door to the Agency open.

“Hrrrrrrmph… Well, goblins purrr-ferrr crossbows to arrrows, and I don’t think Yagudo know how to drrraw a bow.” Hae Laastrom held the arrow under her nose, sniffing heavily. “… I know I’ve smelled this otherrr scent beforrre…” She tapped the fletching against her chin, and then looked at Peb. “Have you talked to the guarrrds?”

Peb snorted. “Yeah. ‘Tahrongi Canyon isn’taru part of our jurisdiction-wiction’…”

“Of courrrse.” Hae Laastrom rolled her eyes as she started stalking away from the Airship Agency. “Not like the Tarrrutarrru could trrrack herrr anyways.”

“Their ability to divine is well-documented.”

“I don’t trrrust it.” She snorted as they entered the Woods district. “Don’t like all the hoodoo; I purr-ferrr to deal with the Bastokerrrs and all theirrr technology. What I do trrrust, though, is a keen nose.” She raised her face and let out a call. “Ho therrre, Maimhov! Still have that Hume-cub of yourrrs?”

Arma Maimhov looked up from her place on the walkway. “Still the light of my life; you’ve no idea how nice it is to have a son that won’t be taken away frrrom me beforrre he hits puberrrty. How’s yourrr own horrrde of kittens?”

“Someone lost one on me.” Hae Laastrom flashed Peb a look, then turned back to the dark-haired Mithra. “The one with the marrrked face that was so fond of yourrr cub; you seen herrr arrround?”

“’Frrraid not, and Milan’s been staying close to home these days. Surrrre she didn’t rrrun off?”

Hae Laastrom shook her head as Peb spoke up. “I found her pack and her shield in a pass in Tahrongi, and there was a bloody arrow next to it.”

The dark-haired Mithra pursed her lips. “That’s not good. I’ll ask arrround with the otherrr hunterrrs, maybe someone saw something.” She pointed at the arrow in Hae Laastrom’s hand. “That the arrrrow?” When the white-haired Mithra handed it over, Arma Maimhov frowned as she examined it. “Hrrrrm… I’ve seen this style beforrre, but I don’t think it’s any of ourrr hunterrrs – we don’t use cotton thrrread in ourrr fletchings often; it’s usually grrrass thrrread or sinews.” She stopped a kitten that was running by. “’Ey, Misi, yourrr motherrr back yet?”

“Just got home with the rrrest of the hunterrrs.” The kitten said as she clapped her hands in excitement. “We’rrre having cockatrrrice forrr dinnerrr!”

Arma Maimhov turned to Hae Laastrom and Peb as the kitten ran off. “You’rrre lucky today; Nokkhi Jinjahl is one ourrr best fletcherrrs. If yourrr arrrcherrr is a local, she orrr he purr-obably learrrned to make arrrows frrrom herrr.”

The Mithran Encampment was busy with the spoils of the hunter’s efforts; just about everyone turned out to help clean and butcher the twenty large, bird-like creatures. Peb and Hae Laastrom sat off to one side, the old white-haired Mithra having been pressed into watching the kittens that were too young to be of any help. Peb’s attention was on a Hume boy that was practicing with a wooden sword.

“Not an unattractive boy.” Peb commented to the white-haired Mithra.

“Hrrrrmph, purr-haps, but too feminine even forrr my tastes.” Hae Laastrom muttered as she changed the diaper of a young kitten. “Males should be soft and genteel, but still male. That cub is just a second away frrrom a skirt.”

Peb laughed. “What do you expect from him, living only with women? Give him a little credit, though; he at least knows how to hold that sword.”

As the butchered meat was carted away, Arma Maimhov returned with a short-haired Mithra, this one wearing next to nothing for clothes; just a band of cloth across her chest for support and a breechclout that seemed to only be for the purpose of hanging her knives from.

“Hey therrre, sweetscent.” The Mithra nearly leered at Peb. “I hearrr ya got somethin’ ya want me to look at?”

Pushing a kitten out of her lap, Hae Laastrom climbed to her feet and stepped between the newcomer and the man. It was only through a supreme effort of self-control that she kept her tail from bristling. “Arrma says yourrr the best arrround when it comes to arrrrows.”

“Name’s Nokkhi Jinjahl, and yeah, I’m the best.” She tilted her head to one side and grinned at Hae Laastrom. “Ooooh, he yourrrs? You not gonna sharrre with a sisterrr?”

“Cool it, Nokkhi.” Arma Maimhov put a hand on the short-haired Mithra’s shoulder. “He ain’t interrrested.” She jerked her chin at Hae Laastrom. “She’s got a missing kitten, and it might be hurrrt. You rrrecognize the arrow?”

Nokkhi Jinjahl gave Peb one more look-over, then sniffed and took the arrow from Hae Laastrom. “… Ugh, yeah, I know who makes these. Little shitling, I’ve been rrregrrreting lettin’ him watch me forrr awhile now.”

“’He’?” Peb frowned.

“Yeah. Emrrrys – that Hume shitling that gave Arrrma’s cub a harrrd time last yearrr.”

Peb swore. “’Shitling’ indeed.” He looked at Hae Laastrom. “That’s the kid who tried to bury an arrow in Malay’s back last year.”

The white-haired Mithra let out a string of curses in Mithran that made Arma Maimhov and Nokkhi Jinjahl’s tails puff out in shock. “Damn it, I knew those Tarrrutarrru werrre being too soft on him..!” She spun to look at the other two Mithra. “You got some trrrackerrrs to sparrre?”

“How many you want?” Arma Maimhov half-turned, ready to grab whoever was available.

“As many as you can get.”

“Got it.” The dark-haired Mithra sprinted off, slowly only long enough to shout out to another Mithra with silvery-lavender hair. “Hey, Grrrran! Keep a good eye on Mil for me, yeah?”