Simmer (E)

⚠️ Mentions of murder, kidnapping ⚠️

Mishka stared out of the blank window, too exhausted to attempt to use her experimental magic. Something was nagging her - an answer to a question she hadn't yet asked herself, just out of reach. She was too exhausted to try to understand it now, so she gave up.

After sitting and staring for a few minutes, Mishka felt her strength slowly growing. When she felt stable enough, she stood up and sat on her bed. She needed to do something, she felt. The 7 more beds in the dormitory-prison told her there were more children – what if they were angry with her, or scared of her like that man had been?

Her muddled head said Be confident. Something told her that a shy, singular child would be suspicious. Out of the 4 children she had seen so far in this world, all were confident. She smiled, thinking of Wynter, and the nagging feeling came back. Her subconscious was asking a question about her. Mishka tried to ignore it, focusing on her problem.

Confidence. For the first time in her life, she would have to be confident, unafraid.

Footsteps thudded against the hard wooden floor of the corridor outside of the dormitory, coming nearer, and Mishka took a deep breath, preparing for the show she would have to put on. The doors burst open for 8 children to enter. Their ages ranged from 6-13, excluding one boy who looked about 15. They crowded around Mishka's bed, all shouting over each other and trying to get her attention.

"Shut up everyone," the older boy shouted. He turned to Mishka with a friendly grin, rolling his eyes. "Every time."

She stared at him. For her whole life, she had only seen adults and girls her age or younger. She'd assumed that girls grew, and boys - were born already grown up. With a cautious hand, she reached out to him. Would a boy feel the same as a girl?

He frowned at her, and she withdrew her hand, puzzled. Maybe he was normal, and her never seeing a boy was by chance. Mishka chided herself for for her awkwardness. Confident. Be confident. Like Wynter. She repeated it until she had calmed down.

The other children had quietened down, except for one small girl who was persistently squeaking, "What's your name? What's your name?"

Mishka smiled at them, and waved . She tried to remember the sensation she'd felt when her name had appeared in the air before, and concentrated, hoping, but not feeling, that she was strong enough.

Mishka appeared in warm colours in front of the crowd.

"Howdy Mishka," one of the middle children said. The others began a chorus of "Hi Mishka," "Nice to meet you," with a few interjections in foreign-sounding languages. Mishka was silently grateful when none of them asked why she didn't speak, or were surprised at her magic. (They all have it, she had to remind herself. Or at least something similar.) She laid her hands out in a questioning gesture.

“You don't know about Them?” The oldest boy asked. Mishka tilted her head. “They take us, see, and sell us as slaves to bad people who want magic or magical help. But we never get sold, so I've been here for 2 years, see.”

Before Mishka had time to process the information, the rabble had started again. The children asked her questions, introduced themselves, told her how long they had been captives.

“Are you an Ever? You look like an Ever. You don't look like a Star, I'm sure you would've aged more than you have, except you don't know about Them so you haven't been around for very long, how old really are you?” The excitable girl reminded Mishka of Wynter, and the tiny nagging thought came back again. She pushed it away, not wanting to waste precious energy on figuring it out.

How can I be confident if I can't talk? she thought. How will that work?

“I said shut up everyone! She's been in the Majesty's presence, see?” All the children turned silent, as if someone had turned off a switch. Those that spoke lowered their voices so that Mishka could barely hear them.

“Did you see him as he is? I think you did, because you're weird,” the energetic girl whispered. Mishka, bemused, took it as a compliment, knowing that is was meant as one.

“Did she have any special plans for you?” Another asked.

“What did she look like?” Then all the children were piping up, as quietly as their excitement would allow. The room exploded in a cacophony of explanations and impressions.

“He's like Robin Hood,” declared a little boy.

“She looks like a mermaid, but with legs. She's so beautiful,” the girl added wistfully.

Seeing Mishka's confused face, the older boy waited for the children to quiet down naturally before explaining. “We call her the Majesty because none of us can agree on a gender, and also -” He was interrupted by a loud burst of knocking and an impatient shove on the door. It opened, revealing a scarlet-cloaked guard. He was silent and tall, and he held a gun.

As the guard scanned the room, the children clustered protectively around Mishka with determined faces, although Mishka could see some of the younger ones shaking. She pulled the youngest girl closer and wrapped her arms around her, trying to sooth her as they trembled together.

The guard searched their faces lazily, as if looking for someone he didn't expect to be present. When his eyes caught on Mishka, they widened. He's shaking, Mishka realised. He can't be, she added doubtfully.

Slowly, with a tight grip on his gun and both hawk-like eyes on Mishka, he circled the cluster of children until he was behind them. The older children froze, clutching the smaller ones to them and holding them so that they wouldn't move either. The scarlet guard poked the closest child in the back with his gun, and grunted at them to move forwards. Mishka stepped forward, remembering the resolution she'd made, and led them out. Shivering, they followed.

*****

“You okay, sis?” Autumn sat on the edge of Wynter's bed and looked down at her sister. Then she pulled back the covers and gave Wynter a small shove. “You're not asleep, dummy.”

Wynter rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. “Summer thinks Mishka's a murderer, Spring thinks Mishka's a murderer, and Mum won't let me out to help her,” she chanted in a sing-song voice. “And you too,” she added.

Autumn smiled at her sister. “She's not there, Wyn. I've looked. You're not going to find her.” Wynter sat up.

“What d'you mean?”

“I'm allowed to go out, you know.” They hugged, then Wynter collapsed back onto her bed.

“Nutty, she's out there somewhere. Something's happened to her. Since I told everyone about her burn and her not speaking, they all know how to recognize her and they won't give her any help because she burnt the tree because she didn't know we're Linked!” Wynter's speech grew faster and less coherent as she went on. “Even Summer, Summer knew her and I told Summer that Mishka couldn't have known she was killing those people when the tree burned and she's not used to her weird unchild-proof magic anyway is she? Is she, Nutty?”

Autumn shook herself after falling half asleep, and murmured “No, she isn't,” like a good pantomime audience.

“I'm going,” Wynter said. “I'm going to find Mishka and give her something to write with so she can explain everything. Then people will understand, and -” she brightened, “- and I get my friend back.”

*****

The children gathered in Narkesh Na Vïd's giant hall. Despite their fear of the gun, most of the younger ones were struggling in their elders' arms, wanting to escape. But gradually, the presence of Narkesh Na Vïd whittled them down until they collapsed on the floor, unable to stand. The still, silent children wobbled, their faces paling. Even Mishka, who had only previously been in the Majesty's presence once, felt her head fog up as Narkesh Na Vïd stood silently watching them. There was something – a whisper – something she wanted to remember, to figure out, but she pushed it away. Thought was too tiring.

“Mishka,” Narkesh Na Vïd said, curling a long blue strand of hair around her burnt little finger. Mishka loosed herself from the small girl she'd been holding, and stepped forward, remembering to kneel. She tried to hide the growing pain of exhaustion and apprehension. Confidence. She had barely enough energy to wonder why she tried to keep the façade in front of a person who had already seen her without it.

“Mishka. My little murderer,” Narkesh Na Vïd said with mock affection. Her mood had changed. “You didn't tell me you had burnt a tree. Right down to the ground, with nothing but your mind.” The children gasped. “How modest of you. And to hide that you're not from here – that your magic's not childproofed – you don't trust me, my child.” She made a sad face, then laughed as the children simultaneously stepped back from Mishka. The girl's cheeks burned, and she clenched her fists.

“The market will open again tomorrow,” Narkesh Na Vïd declared. She turned and walked away, leaving the children bewildered and upset.

“Tomorrow?” One of the older children whispered under his breath, anxious to not disturb the guards. “But Market Day is once a week, and we've only just come back.”

The guard behind them grunted and shoved them with his gun. He motioned for them to go back to the prison-dormitory. Most of the children obeyed, but Mishka stayed where she was.

“Go on,” the guard said roughly. She dropped to the floor, crossing her legs and arms. The children looked at her, puzzled and scared, worried that her insubordination would affect all of them.

Mishka glared up at the guard, who didn't know what he should do. The children had never resisted before.

He poked her with the gun, but she didn't react. He lowered it to her head and pointed it straight at her face, flicking off the safety catch. She stared at it, outwardly calm though panicking was spreading inside her like a wild-fire. Why? she asked herself. Why am I endangering my life for a petty disobedience? But still, she wouldn't let herself move.

The guard's face turned red as he tried to hide his shaking from the surrounding crowd. He'd never had to shoot anyone before, and he was scared. Whispering was spreading through the group of children as seconds that seemed like hours passed.

His finger stroked the trigger hesitantly. And pulled.