Chapter Text
Alina wakes up with a pounding head. The first thing she sees is the face of an old woman staring down at her as if she were an animal to be judged at the market. The old woman tuts as the little girl stares up at her. Alina wants to say something, but her throat hurts too much to speak. She also has a feeling she wouldn’t be able to if she tried.
“Finally, you’re awake.” The woman says. Alina nearly flinches at her sour tone and gravelly voice. She moves to offer the child a wooden cup of something. Alina sits up slightly to take it, but winces. The strange woman scoffs and sets the cup back down. What she does next surprises Alina. The woman moves the blankets off the little girl and practically picks her up off the bed and turns her, placing her back against the wall. Alina only stares back at the woman, wide eyed. She is offered the cup again and takes it, sipping greedily.
“Slow down.” The woman demands with a scowl. Alina listens. Something told her she would never want to cross this woman. Maybe she’d bit Alina before, it seemed like something the woman might do- bite a misbehaving child. Still, Alina doubted that was it. Something told her that she’d never met the cranky old lady before. “You’ve been asleep for four days,” the old woman started, leaning back in a chair next to Alina’s bed. “I found you outside, under a tree.” Alina shifted uncertainly. She didn’t remember that. The last thing she remembered was- well, nothing. A spark of panic passed through her at that thought. Surely she should be able to remember something. “I would guess that your village was attacked based on the state I found you in.” The woman took a moment to eye the bandage wrapped around Alina’s arm. The girl found that when she moved it, a dull pain resulted. The same with her one leg. Alina only frowned. “It is a shame how many villages fall victim to the raids,” she continued, almost as if discussing the weather. “Where are you from, girl?” Alina stared at her, wide eyed. The woman’s eyes by contrast narrowed. “Do you know the name of your village?” this time, Alina shifted her head slightly. An answer. The woman did not seem happy. “Figures. You can’t be five yet considering how small you are. What is your name? I’ll see that one of the merchants asks around.” Alina stared at her still, ever so silent. The woman’s scowl deepened. “Do you not know your own name?” Alina didn’t and shook her head softly again, dropping her eyes to the quilt that covered her legs. Shame . That’s what Alina felt. The woman sighed and asked brokenly. “You don’t talk, do you?” Alina didn’t respond. A few minutes of silence later, Alina heard the woman get up. The cup was yanked from her hands, refilled, and given back. She was also handed a bowl filled partway with some watered down gourd soup. She accepted it graciously. The only sound that filled the small house after that was the steady click of the old woman’s knitting needles from the other side of the room. Alina fell back into a deep sleep.
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By the end of the week, Alina’s bruises had faded and her burns had begun to heal over. The local healers who’d come to see them all agreed that they’d leave rather large scars, but that the young girl would be fine ultimately. “The only people who will ever see them are healers and any family you may be fortunate enough to have in the future anyway.” The old woman- Old Ivanna , their visitors called her, had told Alina after the healers had left. The young girl nodded. Nightmares plagued her most nights, but she never cried out and never remembered them. The old woman had woken her once or twice from them, calming her down harshly, and muttering about how “It’s likely the fault of those grisha ,” She’d spat the word grisha , and Alina wondered what the word meant. “Without them, none of the border raids would ever happen. And little girls like you wouldn’t be waking up gasping in the middle of the night because of a past too painful to remember.” Old Ivanna would talk angrily about the raids frequently, though the word grisha was not usually included.
By the end of the second week, Old Ivanna had forced Alina to participate in all the chores the woman could think of, including venturing out into the village with her. Alina stuck by the old woman’s side the whole time. She felt like clinging to the woman’s skirt, but didn’t want to be hit by her cane again. She didn’t like the curious or hostile looks the other children gave her, nor the various ones the adults gave too. Alina didn’t want their pity. Luckily for her, the old woman warred most people off. Alina got the distinct impression not many in the village actually liked Old Ivanna, even if they respected her. “The most important thing you can do here is listen to and respect your elders. Especially the village elders.” Old Ivanna had told her on her second day. “We decide what and who is accepted in this village.” The woman had given her a fierce glare, which Alina was now beginning to get used to, as it was one of Old Ivanna’s most frequent expressions when paired with a scowl. “And the Saints know we have no use in this village for way-ward girls.” Old Ivanna had often made comments like this, telling Alina (who she had just called Girl ) that she had no use for a troublesome or disobedient child and that if the young girl misbehaved she would be sent to a distant orphanage and never seen again. Although she’d never heard the word orphanage before then, Alina instantly knew the place must be one nightmares are made of. And she quickly knew she would do anything to stay in Old Ivanna’s good graces to avoid ever having to set foot in such a place.
Over the next few weeks, Alina had quickly become the greatest help Old Ivanna had ever gotten, although the old woman would never admit it or offer the child such praise. She did not believe in praise regardless. A lack of hitting from her willow cane would be the most praise Alina would ever get from the woman. The woman never hit her hard, but Alina did what she could to avoid the sting of the wood on her shins regardless. It was the disappointed or angry look she didn’t want.
The other villagers soon adjusted to the small girl’s presence in their midst, even if she rarely was seen without the old crow. They’d begun to expect the child’s silent presence when they heard the thump of Old Ivanna’s cane and the woman’s grunts. Most people stopped giving her any odd notice at all. Alina was viewed as just another village child. No one even seemed to care that the girl did not speak at all after Old Ivanna had snapped at someone for making a comment about the lack of “Yes ma’ams,” the girl gave her caretaker.
The first time Alina was sent into the village by herself for her daily chores, no one had bat an eye at her, giving her what Old Ivanna expected wrapped in small pieces of cloth. It was on this day that Alina found out most of the names the village had been calling her.
“Here, Girl,” one had said, “Old Ivanna’s girl is here for the meat,” another had told their wife. She’d even once been called “Old Ivanna’s New Shadow.” by someone, but usually the villagers called her either Girl or Old Ivanna’s Girl . Not that Alina minded. She didn’t have any memory of another name or anything, so even if she could have said anything, she wouldn’t have.
As the fall turned into winter, Alina adjusted to life in Azhinovat . Old Ivanna had become a bit kinder to her after the first couple of months of living together. She’d even allowed Alina out to play with the other village children after the girl’s chores were done, now that they did not take all day. The local kids let her join in their games soon after she showed up to play and she quickly earned a nickname for herself from one of the oldest boys. “ Hey, Shadows !” he’d called one day. Soon all the kids called her that. Few of the adults switched from her ‘proper names’, though she’d seen a couple chuckle when they heard her nickname. The boy had told her it was because she was always so quiet and hidden that it often seemed like she was made of shadows herself. Alina was glad none of the other children seemed to mind her lack of voice. They understood her well enough, she gathered, and they were always figuring out different ways to understand her better too. By the time the village had their spring festival, the children had all come up with a system of hand gestures that Alina could use to talk with. She’d learnt many things from the other children, including what the word grisha- still said bitterly by her caretaker, meant. She always listened closely to what the other children said, soaking up every word and secret whispered to her.
It was seven weeks after the first snow when Alina discovered something both terrifying and comforting on her walk back from playing in the village. She’d drifted off path when she’d spotted something bright red in the woods. She followed the frosty stream for about five minutes until she’d finally caught up to what she’d seen. There, nestled in the lowest branches of an oak, was a fiery red bird with orange feathers seemingly thrown into its coat. And it was staring at her. Alina stared back in wonder. Slowly, the girl stuck her hand out in an offering. She was surprised when the bird hopped off the branch and landed with sharp feet on her open palm. As soon as the bird’s feet connected with her hand, Alina felt something warm and hopeful stir deep within her. She looked at the bird and saw her gloved hand underneath it was glowing faintly in the bright wintery sun. Holding her breath, Alina lifted her other hand and pulled off her glove with her teeth. Sure enough, her hand seemed to be glowing softly, like she was a candle.
A grin cracked across the child’s face at the sight and she exchanged a wondrous glance with the bird still sitting in her other palm. Alina felt the warmth underneath her swirl and followed it as she wiggled her fingers, imagining the light she felt inside coming from her fingertips and forming a tiny sun. She was amazed when she watched as a small orb of light came from her fingers and swirled around in the air above her palm. She could feel the warmth of the light too and grinned even wider. She stared at the orb for another minute before her concentration was broken by the bird squawking. Alina watched as the bird took off, flying back into the tree where it hid. Sweeping down, Alina pulled her dropped glove back onto her hand and set back up the snowy embankment, calmed and assured by the warm light she still felt weaving through every part of her, even if she no longer glowed.
Alina did not show anyone her light, even if she did sneak off most days to play with it under the watchful eyes of the red bird.