by Charka Mon Jun 04, 2012 10:54 am(*translation footnotes below)
"Get back to the kitchens! You don't belong here!," the boy scoffed. The chatter of the group died down, as curious gazes turned upon the developing scene. He grinned smugly as he noticed he was the center of attention. His embroidered jacket gleamed gently in the sun as the gold threads picked up the light and his perfectly slicked back hair glistened.
Chraka bit back the sting of humiliation welling up in her eyes and instead thrust out her chin definatnly, little clenched fists plunked against her tiny hips.
"I can go where I want!" she spat back. The boy two years her elder took a few steps forward, his hand lifted threateningly. She raised her arms protectively ,but stayed where she was. His hand came down as if to strike her then stopped. A sneer full of condescending contempt curled his mouth as he took in the sensation of her fear.
Wide, pale eyes peeked out from behind her dark and slender fingers. When she saw that he had stopped, that little jolt of adrenaline flipped from frightened to confrontational, her young face hardening. Her arm extended and her hand quickly made a flicking motion, as if shaking water away. A small shower of hot sparks flew from her fingertips towards the boy who started to screech and dance around, brushing at his hair, face, and clothing. Her little cupid bow mouth perked into an involuntary satisfied smirk, but it quickly faded once the threat dissipated and his enraged face turned back to her. Small black smears dotted his clothes as a result of her fiery display. His hair was dislodged from it's perfect perch, angling this way and that. Those dark eyes of his narrowing dangerously.
Hushed whispers behind hands darted towards her ears which made them burn in a self conscious embarrssment. Charka flitted her eyes over the groups of children, some older and some not, their faces displaying varying levels of shock, anger, and pity. The world slowed. She couldn't hear the whispers anymore. She couldn't hear anything, but the sound of her own breath beginning to quicken. Her chest felt tight. She turned around and then again, taking in all those faces all looking at her. The hatred and disgust and fear pouring over her. Her gaze locked onto that of her best friend, a girl her own age with long brown hair and eyes that ordinarily glowed with a soft purple light, but now they were wide in fear. Her lips were moving, Charka peered to make it out...."Watch ou-".
That was as far as she got before the force of hitting the ground knocked the air from her lungs. Instinctively she curled up, rolling to her side as she worked her mouth wordlessly gasping for breath.
"Be'Karcha*!", he screamed at her and kicked up a cloud of dirt into her face. She gasped and coughed, her eyes trying to blink away the debris as she shakily made it to her hands and knees. His fingers closed around her ankle then sharply tugged her back her chin scraping along the dirt and gravel. Charka gasping and clutching at her chest did her best to kick her foot free, but he held tight, the sound of his laugh loud in her ears as he continued to kick dirt at her face. Desperate flailing was all she could manage as the dirt was flung into her eyes, stinging with every failed attempt to blink it away.
Suddenly his hand was ripped away, Charka half stumbled and crawled a small distance away, alternately gasping and coughing up spittle black with dirt. She staggered to her feet, rubbing at her face which quickly became a smear of dirt, tears, and blood. Through blurry eyes she was able to make out the boy being comforted by his mother. She was a slender, tall woman with angular features giving her a kind of harsh beauty which seemed to appeal to the wealthy merchant whose compound they lived in. He was an unpredictable man who had chosen this crafty and often cold woman for his head wife. Her snappy green eyes were peering at Charka not a drop of pity or remorse in her gaze.
"Go home to your mother, girl". Her words were quiet, yet left no room for negotiation.
Charka stood wavering slightly on her feet, casting a quick glance around. All those people were looking her over, judging. Slolwy she bent down to pick up her shoe which had come off in the scuffle. With a few quiet coughs, she turned and moved off towards the domed building behind them not caring that the chorus of whispers ramped up to a dull hiss, like the wind thorugh the trees.
* * * * *
Glossy tears pushed their way down her cheeks, adding to the wetness of the cloth her mother was gently moving over her face.
"Atmai Ki'Cha*," her mother whispered and leaned down to peek up at her daughter's face. "Why did you do it?". Soft, beautiful, kind...these were all the things that Charka's mother embodied. The young girl sniffled pitifully, reluctantly matching the gaze.
"He...insulted me," she mumbled. Her response sounded lame even to her own ears. She could only guess what her mother made of it. A quick glance to her older brother Amon sitting at the table by the window told her that everyone found it to be as poor a defense as she now did.
"Charka," her mother's voice was still quiet, but her tone demanded attention. "You do not udnerstand your place here. Your purpose."
A pouty lip was the response her mother got. "What? To obey? To be dirt beneath boots?" She plucked angrily at a tear in her dress.
"Ow!" Charka cried out as her mother grabbed her chin sharply to pull her daughter's attention to her face.
"No,Charka Ki'Cha*. You are here to learn. Every moment of every day. You will learn. It may not seem like we have power here." Her hand relased Charka's face, her thumb gently caressing the large scrape across her chin. "It is true. I must fetch or laugh or dance when asked, but, atmai ki'cha*...." Her mouth curled into a smile as she looked at her daughter and a light behind her eyes that Charka had never quite seen before. "...he must first ask. And then I know what he wants, don't I?" She gazed up at her little child, wondering if it had sunk in what she said.
Charka furrowed her brow, her young mind working at the edge of comprehension. "I guess so." she replied carefully. Her mother smiled quickly, her gaze returning to the soft smile Charka knew so well.
"There. All clean." Her mother set down the cloth and stood then leaned down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "I should go change." She patted the girl's shoulder then moved towards the small curtained doorway.
Charka glanced at her brother again who simply shook his head slowly and went back to reading. She looked down at her hands, flicking her nail against her thigh and sending out a tiny spark.
"What does that boy want I wonder?"
-----------
1 Be'Karcha: Castanic translation is dirt or filth
2 Atami Ki'Cha: Castanic translation is "part of my soul". A term of endearment.
3 Charka Ki'Cha: Castanic transaltion is "Charka of mine or Charka of me".
4 See number 2
"Get back to the kitchens! You don't belong here!," the boy scoffed. The chatter of the group died down, as curious gazes turned upon the developing scene. He grinned smugly as he noticed he was the center of attention. His embroidered jacket gleamed gently in the sun as the gold threads picked up the light and his perfectly slicked back hair glistened.
Chraka bit back the sting of humiliation welling up in her eyes and instead thrust out her chin definatnly, little clenched fists plunked against her tiny hips.
"I can go where I want!" she spat back. The boy two years her elder took a few steps forward, his hand lifted threateningly. She raised her arms protectively ,but stayed where she was. His hand came down as if to strike her then stopped. A sneer full of condescending contempt curled his mouth as he took in the sensation of her fear.
Wide, pale eyes peeked out from behind her dark and slender fingers. When she saw that he had stopped, that little jolt of adrenaline flipped from frightened to confrontational, her young face hardening. Her arm extended and her hand quickly made a flicking motion, as if shaking water away. A small shower of hot sparks flew from her fingertips towards the boy who started to screech and dance around, brushing at his hair, face, and clothing. Her little cupid bow mouth perked into an involuntary satisfied smirk, but it quickly faded once the threat dissipated and his enraged face turned back to her. Small black smears dotted his clothes as a result of her fiery display. His hair was dislodged from it's perfect perch, angling this way and that. Those dark eyes of his narrowing dangerously.
Hushed whispers behind hands darted towards her ears which made them burn in a self conscious embarrssment. Charka flitted her eyes over the groups of children, some older and some not, their faces displaying varying levels of shock, anger, and pity. The world slowed. She couldn't hear the whispers anymore. She couldn't hear anything, but the sound of her own breath beginning to quicken. Her chest felt tight. She turned around and then again, taking in all those faces all looking at her. The hatred and disgust and fear pouring over her. Her gaze locked onto that of her best friend, a girl her own age with long brown hair and eyes that ordinarily glowed with a soft purple light, but now they were wide in fear. Her lips were moving, Charka peered to make it out...."Watch ou-".
That was as far as she got before the force of hitting the ground knocked the air from her lungs. Instinctively she curled up, rolling to her side as she worked her mouth wordlessly gasping for breath.
"Be'Karcha*!", he screamed at her and kicked up a cloud of dirt into her face. She gasped and coughed, her eyes trying to blink away the debris as she shakily made it to her hands and knees. His fingers closed around her ankle then sharply tugged her back her chin scraping along the dirt and gravel. Charka gasping and clutching at her chest did her best to kick her foot free, but he held tight, the sound of his laugh loud in her ears as he continued to kick dirt at her face. Desperate flailing was all she could manage as the dirt was flung into her eyes, stinging with every failed attempt to blink it away.
Suddenly his hand was ripped away, Charka half stumbled and crawled a small distance away, alternately gasping and coughing up spittle black with dirt. She staggered to her feet, rubbing at her face which quickly became a smear of dirt, tears, and blood. Through blurry eyes she was able to make out the boy being comforted by his mother. She was a slender, tall woman with angular features giving her a kind of harsh beauty which seemed to appeal to the wealthy merchant whose compound they lived in. He was an unpredictable man who had chosen this crafty and often cold woman for his head wife. Her snappy green eyes were peering at Charka not a drop of pity or remorse in her gaze.
"Go home to your mother, girl". Her words were quiet, yet left no room for negotiation.
Charka stood wavering slightly on her feet, casting a quick glance around. All those people were looking her over, judging. Slolwy she bent down to pick up her shoe which had come off in the scuffle. With a few quiet coughs, she turned and moved off towards the domed building behind them not caring that the chorus of whispers ramped up to a dull hiss, like the wind thorugh the trees.
* * * * *
Glossy tears pushed their way down her cheeks, adding to the wetness of the cloth her mother was gently moving over her face.
"Atmai Ki'Cha*," her mother whispered and leaned down to peek up at her daughter's face. "Why did you do it?". Soft, beautiful, kind...these were all the things that Charka's mother embodied. The young girl sniffled pitifully, reluctantly matching the gaze.
"He...insulted me," she mumbled. Her response sounded lame even to her own ears. She could only guess what her mother made of it. A quick glance to her older brother Amon sitting at the table by the window told her that everyone found it to be as poor a defense as she now did.
"Charka," her mother's voice was still quiet, but her tone demanded attention. "You do not udnerstand your place here. Your purpose."
A pouty lip was the response her mother got. "What? To obey? To be dirt beneath boots?" She plucked angrily at a tear in her dress.
"Ow!" Charka cried out as her mother grabbed her chin sharply to pull her daughter's attention to her face.
"No,Charka Ki'Cha*. You are here to learn. Every moment of every day. You will learn. It may not seem like we have power here." Her hand relased Charka's face, her thumb gently caressing the large scrape across her chin. "It is true. I must fetch or laugh or dance when asked, but, atmai ki'cha*...." Her mouth curled into a smile as she looked at her daughter and a light behind her eyes that Charka had never quite seen before. "...he must first ask. And then I know what he wants, don't I?" She gazed up at her little child, wondering if it had sunk in what she said.
Charka furrowed her brow, her young mind working at the edge of comprehension. "I guess so." she replied carefully. Her mother smiled quickly, her gaze returning to the soft smile Charka knew so well.
"There. All clean." Her mother set down the cloth and stood then leaned down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "I should go change." She patted the girl's shoulder then moved towards the small curtained doorway.
Charka glanced at her brother again who simply shook his head slowly and went back to reading. She looked down at her hands, flicking her nail against her thigh and sending out a tiny spark.
"What does that boy want I wonder?"
-----------
1 Be'Karcha: Castanic translation is dirt or filth
2 Atami Ki'Cha: Castanic translation is "part of my soul". A term of endearment.
3 Charka Ki'Cha: Castanic transaltion is "Charka of mine or Charka of me".
4 See number 2
