Twelve Years Ago

  The day has grown long when I step out of the classroom. I tip my chin upwards to catch the last bits of summer, glad for at least this small thing after the last ten hours. In the tiny clearing where the schoolhouse sits, the sun doesn’t shine bright enough through the trees to bring warmth with it, but I aim for a patch of light anyway.

  I find one on the edge of the open space, letting the other kids gather as they will. I won’t be here long, only until Mom finishes repairing the bridge across the creek, washed away in the summer floods, and Mama returns from seeing Auntie Grogg. Neither would say why Mama left, so early the sun hadn’t yet risen, but the way her mouth pulled down around her tusks and the size of her pack said it couldn’t be good.

  So I move towards a patch of soft clover and sit down. My tail curls around my knee, the weight comforting. I relax into the sunlight, reaching into my satchel for the hard cheese Mom sent with me before she left with a bag of tools in one hand and tied lumber in the other. Back by dinner, she’d promised. The sun is already past its high point, meaning only a few hours stand between me and her special-occasion glazed trout.

  “Hey! Horn-head!”

  I look up, back towards the schoolhouse. An elven boy a few years older than me—ten summers old, maybe, or at least he looks that way—stands in the middle of the clearing with a vicious grin and his arms crossed over his chest. Jat, I think his name is. The one who answered incorrectly when Ms. Tillinaire asked us to share our sums.

  I glance around at the other kids—one halfling girl, two dwarven twins, a handful of wood elves and a boy who comes from a were-bear family but hasn’t shifted yet. Slowly, realizing none of them fit the hurled description, I reach up to my head and find one of the curved points with my fingers.

  Yep. Talking to me, then.

  When I don’t reply, Jat’s grin falls. He stalks closer, and the look on his face is enough to make me stand. I glance behind him, but Ms. Tillinaire isn’t outside with us, probably straightening papers or hiding from the band of children that get dumped into her care every morning.

  Jat pauses again about ten feet away. Glances around him, at the other kids now staring at the both of us. Waiting to see where this goes.

  Jat’s sneer curls his mouth into something wicked. “You’re on the wrong side of the village, don’t you think?”

  “There isn’t another schoolhouse until the next town.” And that’s more than a full day’s walk.

  “This one doesn’t serve half-breeds like you.”

  The insult stings. “If this is about the math problem, Jat, I can show you how to do it. It’s not hard once you know the trick.”

  “You and those freaks you call moms should stick to the northern trees.”

  Anger surges through me, hot enough to sear my tongue. “The only freak here is the kid who can’t put eight and six together.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say. Mama gets on me for my quick mouth all the time, but the words are out before I realize it’s exactly the kind of thing she wouldn’t want me hurling at other kids. Even if they insulted her first.

  Jat’s whole face changes. His brows draw low and red splotches appear on his skin, one on either side of his face. His pointed ears quiver, turning as pink as his cheeks. “At least I’m not a charity case picked up off of some smoking ruins. Pity the fire didn’t get you, too, huh?”

  Memories clamber for space in my head, but they don’t make sense. A snarl and a scream, a body thrown to the dirt. A red sky heavy with smoke. The smell of charred things stuck in my nose.

  It’s all I remember of what existed before my moms found me. They’ve told me the story as well as they can piece it together, but their band didn’t arrive until after the village was nothing more than smoldering remains. Not much left to learn from the ashes, especially when the only survivor couldn’t yet feed herself.

  When I don’t answer, Jat presses his lead. He stalks even closer, until he’s less than an arm’s length away. I realize with a sinking in my stomach that not only am I younger, but I’m shorter by at least a couple inches, if not more.

  And words can’t hurt the way fists can.

  But I won’t give ground. I don’t back up, not from the anger burning in his expression nor from the way his hands clench at his sides. The silence stretches, neither him nor I nor any of the other kids rising to meet it.

  He takes it for an admission. Of what I don’t know, but his mouth turns upwards and triumph glints in his eyes. “I thought so. No wonder your moms dropped you off here. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with you any longer than I had to, either.”

  “My moms chose me. Can’t imagine how your parents feel, getting stuck with an idiot for a son.”

  His fist moves as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

  The strike is wild, lacking any of the coordinated grace Mama has drilled into me. I dance backwards, my feet light on the clover. I feel the air whoosh as the blow passes harmlessly by my nose.

  Jat’s own momentum pulls him off balance. He twists, stumbling over his feet, before righting himself once again. Burning green eyes find mine, a message contained within that’s easy enough to read. I’ve crossed a line by not letting my face get knocked in, and he means to remedy that with his fists.

  Jat shouts to the dwarven twins, burly boys even older than he is. They rise, faces drawn like they don’t want to move. But Jat’s family and the dwarven one go back some time, and they’re not about to let him stand here and get humiliated. Not now that he’s involved them.

  I finally allow myself to fall back a step, then another. Reni and Royin are both built like the towering trees, twice as thick as I am and infinitely more sturdy. I haven’t been on the wrong end of any of their blows, but I’ve seen Reni punch a boulder to dust when he missed a word on our last spelling test, and I’m pretty sure Royin lifts fallen logs for fun.

  “There a problem?” Reni asks as he comes to a stop beside Jat.

  “There doesn’t have to be,” I say before he can. “I’m just trying to enjoy my lunch.”

  Royin turns to look up at Jat.

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  “She should go back to the other side of the river,” he snarls. “With the rest of the horned and fanged freaks.”

  The jab hurts, even if I don’t want it to. I know no one looks like me, or like my moms. I know we’re strangers among the strange, even if most of the village smiles when we pass. The warmth I’ve always known doesn’t reach here, in the face of Jat’s insults.

  Royin rolls his eyes, but Reni steps forward. “You heard him. Best get going.”

  “Where?” I demand. “My Mom told me to stay here until she comes to get me.”

  He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter to him.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Royin swings dark eyes back to me, one bushy brow rising. “You going to fight us over it?”

  I can’t win. I know that. Probably not against one of the dwarves, let alone both and Jat. But I still tip my chin and hold my ground and don’t let them see the way my tail trembles.

  Royin grins. He’s done the math as well, and he’s better at sums than his friend. He raises his hands and shifts his weight in a move I recognize from Mama. Bunches his legs and jumps—

  A fist-sized rock hits him hard enough to make a thud.

  Royin grunts, the impact twisting him mid-step. He steadies himself before he falls, one hand going to the long line of red now leaking from the torn sleeve of his shirt.

  “Next person who moves gets it to the head!”

  The voice reaches me like water touching parched soil. I risk glancing over my shoulder, relief flooding me as I see Leiva running.

  She looks older than her eight years should imply, though no other humans exist in the village apart from her family for me to compare. Her silken-honey hair flies behind her with the speed of her steps, and already there’s another river rock clutched in her hand. Round, freckled cheeks twist in protective anger, blue eyes flashing as she takes in the boys facing me down. Ready to draw blood in the name of my defense, though we don’t know each other more than what a few weeks can tell.

  Beside her, already moving his hands to carve glowing symbols into the air, is Gellin, her gnomish neighbor. They reach me before the others regroup. Leiva comes to a stop beside me, standing shoulder to shoulder with her rock hefted. Gellin appears on my other side, his fingers full of green light as he holds the spell at the ready.

  This time, it’s Jat and Reni who take the step back.

  “That’s what I thought,” Gellin says. Though he barely reaches my shoulder, he’s almost an adult himself, and his magic is more than enough to even out this conflict. “Go back to your books and leave Vitani alone.”

  Jat sneers. Royin retreats to stand beside his brother. Reni almost looks like he’s going to open his mouth and keep this going, but Ms. Tillinaire’s shout reaches us before he can.

  “Children! What is going on?”

  She appears on my right, holding her skirt out of her way so she can run faster. Her boots nearly slide on the grass, but she manages to keep upright as she comes to a stop beside our little face-off.

  Jat turns, a far too innocent expression crawling over his face. It’s so perfect I can only think that he must have practiced it in the mirror. “We were just trying to enjoy lunch, Mrs. Tillinaire, when Leiva started throwing rocks. She’s not even supposed to be here today, and she just ran up and hit Royin—see, he’s bleeding!”

  Ms. Tillinaire does indeed look, and Royin is, indeed, bleeding.

  “It’s not like that!” Leiva protests. “They were going to hurt Vitani!”

  “It’s true, Ms. Tillinaire,” I add. “I was sitting over here trying to eat my lunch when Jat walked over. He called me a half-breed and told me to go back to the other side of the river.”

  Ms. Tillinaire breathes so sharply the air whistles through her teeth.

  Panic flares across Jat’s face. “I would never do that!”

  “You called my moms freaks!”

  Leiva lifts the rock again. “You called her moms what?”

  “Children!” Gellin yells. He drops his hands, the spell dissipating into nothing. “That is quite enough. This spat is over.”

  Jat narrows his eyes. He glances at Ms. Tillinaire before resting a hand on Reni’s shoulder. “Come on. They’re not worth it anyway.”

  The trio turns, each shooting Ms. Tillinaire a smile. Her pointed ears twitch as she shakes her head.

  “Do I want to know what actually happened?” she asks, sweeping her gaze over us.

  I fight the urge to shrink. Leiva presses herself into my side, lowering her rock.

  “Children being children, I’m guessing,” Gellen sighs. He glances up at Ms. Tillinaire with something like a blush. “Want some help wrangling them back into the classroom?”

  She smiles, a soft expression that looks nothing like her trying to drill math concepts into our heads. “Only if you’ve got the time. I’m sure you have a busy schedule.”

  He shrugs. “Leiva’s parents asked me to see her safely here. Long as she doesn’t go anywhere without me, I’ve got a minute.”

  Leiva lifts the basket she’s been carrying in her other hand. “My mom told me not to come back with any of these. So you have as long as it takes Vitani and I to eat them.”

  He nods, as does Ms. Tillinaire, and that’s that. They start walking back towards the schoolhouse, leaving Leiva and I in the field.

  Only when the others are out of earshot does she drop the rock. She sticks out her tongue towards Jat and the others. “Gods, I hate him.”

  “My mom says I’m not supposed to say hate.”

  “Me neither, and yet I hate him.”

  I giggle at the vehemence with which she says it. She smiles too, and reaches for the basket, pulling two pastries from the roughspun cloth.

  A noise crawls out of me before I can stop it.

  Leiva bites into hers and smiles through a mouthful of crumbs. “Do you want one?”

  I nod, taking the other dessert from her hand. I take my own bite, blackberry filling seeping from the corners and dribbling into the grass. It’s so good I can’t stop a groan, my tongue darting to lick sanding sugar from my lips.

  “I’m not sure how that would have ended if you hadn’t shown up.”

  Leiva sighs. “I hope you didn’t take it to heart. Your moms are great.”

  I nod.

  Leiva sets the basket down at her feet. “You don’t believe whatever they said, do you?”

  “I mean…they weren’t wrong. We are freaks.”

  “Vitani.” Leiva’s tone is heavy with reproach, like I haven’t done the dishes when I told Mama I would. “In case you haven’t noticed, the village is full of freaks. You—and your moms—are some of the best.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Please. I would not share my mom’s baking with just anyone.” She doesn’t even look at me when she says it. As if it’s such an obvious thing, she doesn’t feel the need to explain. Her absolute certainty lifts something inside of me.

  “Thank you.”

  Leiva smiles, crossing her ankles and dropping to sit in the clover. She motions me down with her. “If you want, you can spend the rest of the day at my house.”

  I hesitate, even as I lower myself beside her. “My mom told me to stay here.”

  “I’m sure Gellen can Message your mom. It’s better than going home with a split lip, isn’t it?”

  Again. The word stays inside, because I’m not sure how Leiva would react to knowing it’s not the first scrape I’ve gotten myself into. Nor the ugliest.

  I think of her house, with its bright lavender bushes and the smell of baking things. The sound of her siblings’ laughter, loud enough to catch from the road on quiet mornings. “If you really wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to impose.”

  “Not at all. My dad just got home after being away for a while, so the house is already fuller than it was. What’s one more to get lost in the shuffle?”

  I hope she doesn’t see how ridiculously happy the words make me. “I’d like that.”

  She leans her head on my shoulder, the touch warm. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

  Friends. I’ve never had one, not in the way that Leiva says the word. I let my head fall against hers and take comfort from the feel of her breathing against me, the sun bringing warmth with it at last.