((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YACQ8OKszI))

“Now get outta here, you poxy little luggers! And don’t you ever come back!”

Eight-year-old Merry Fitzborough sobbed shakily as she stumbled out of the Kingsway Market with several of her playmates trailing after also in tears.

All three of the children were completely traumatized, and with good reason – the masses of red welts that covered their backs burned furiously, and their shirts stuck against the marks, adding to the pain and discomfort. The galdor shopkeeper had taken a stout switch to them, and he had not been merciful.

I di’n’t do nothin’ wrong, Merry thought over and over as she ran. I di’n’t steal nothin’! None of us did! Her mind was still reeling at the entire incident as she finally made it to the farther side of the market where her parents had set up a temporary stall.

Merry’s father, Jaecobi, glanced up from the basket he was weaving. “Back so soon, nanabo? I thought ye were…” He trailed off sharply as his daughter staggered towards him, bawling uncharacteristically. The blue-haired wick grew instantly serious. “Merry, what’s wrong?”

“Da…da, my back…I di’n’t steal nuffin’…” Merry collapsed at her father’s feet, her voice squeaky with pain.

The moment Jaecobi saw the terrible marks on his child’s back, his eyes grew saucer-sized. Vrunta! “ELITZABETÉ!!” he roared, carefully scooping Merry into his lithe, tattooed arms. A short, stocky woman, her raven hair shot with red dye pulled back with a scarf, appeared in the doorway of the kint parked behind the stall. Her tanned hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear gods,” she gasped, and held out her arms.

Jaecobi handed off his daughter to his wife and then stomped back towards the stall, his expression now livid. He didn’t have to guess at what had happened; the injustice of it all seemed to cling to the atmosphere like a plague.

Inside the family kint, Elitzabeté was gently daubing the marks on her daughter's back with a cool cloth; the girl’s face was pressed into the quilt covering the main bed, muffling her weeping. It was hard enough for Elitzabeté to try and be calm for her daughter; she was ready to break out in sobs or curses, whichever came first. “I’m here, nanabo, yer safe. Shh…” She smoothed the weeping child’s ruddy hair gently and asked, “Tell me what happened…”

****

It was an ironically clear day when the Fitzborough family headed out of Vienda in their cart, accompanied by a troop of other wicks just as eager to leave. Merry sat on the back fender, swinging her legs absently as she watched a few scant clouds scudding across the sky above the city. She was reminded of the stories she’d heard over the years about heroes going through trials on over-cast days and wretched, stormy nights, and her young mind came to grips with the fact of just how unrealistic that notion was.

The weather ent that dramatic…

She hadn’t spoken since telling her parents what had happened the day before – what else was there to say?

The elder Fitzboroughs had been distraught and enraged, if not unsurprised upon learning that their daughter had been subject to racial abuse; Jaecobi had marched over to the nearest member of the Seventen and demanded justice for the children, despite knowing what the out-come would be. And, true to any assumptions, the Seventen had completely ignored him – “Who’d bother with a wick’s plight anyway?” Jaecobi commented bitterly upon his return.

So the families had tended to their children’s hurts as best as they could, and then left Vienda the following morning. They’d had enough of the city’s “hospitality.”

Merry sighed and hopped down from the moving kint, the movement jolting her bandaged back and causing her to grimace in pain. She then trotted around the side to the front of the kint, where her father sat whittling a flute with the reigns draped over his lap (Marilla, the family kenser, would follow the rest of the caravan without any other guidance.)

The child gingerly hopped up beside her father and sat back slowly against the faded seat cushions. She stared out at the passing scenery for a moment, and then spoke. “Da?”

Jaecobi Fitzborough immediately set his carving aside and gently put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Ya speak at last, nanabo,” he said with a soft tone and laugh. “Ya had yer daoa an’ I worried for a time. Now, what’s the trouble?”

“Why do the galdori hate us so much?”

There was a long silence. The man was caught off guard by his daughter’s remark, and it took him a moment to consider a confident answer. “Hama, we’re different, an’ that’s the reason why the galdori don’t like us. We’re like the wind – ever-changin’ and’ free – an’ the galdori can’t tame us. They think they’re better than everyone else, though I will admit they are in some aspects, but that ent ever a reason ta beat a balach. That’s why we gotta be strong an’ fight back – yer a good example of that, nanabo.”

Merry smiled gratefully, burrowing against her father’s strong body and feeling comforted by it and his words. Yet everything was still unclear. “But da, why must we fight? Ye an’ daoa are always tellin’ me that fightin’ only makes things worse.”

Jaecobi nodded slowly, considering what to say next while feeling some pride at his daughter’s inquisitive mind. “Fightin’ for what’s right don’t always mean hittin’ or cottin’, Merry; ye can fight for what’s right with yer words, with yer lifestyle! Even if they take away our physical freedom someday, the’ll never take the freedom we have here.” He jabbed the place over his heart with one finger. “Them galdori wanna wear us down an’ keep our spirits low; I’ve seen so many bitter folks who’ve given up ‘cause of the wrong done to ‘em. But bein’ bitter won’t do a bit o’ good in the long run – it’ll only make ya lose interest in life itself. ‘S what happened to yer gitgka, ye chen, an’ I don’t want it ta happen ta ye.”

The girl shook her head quickly. “Don’t worry, da,” she replied, “I’m not gonna let it bother me none. Sure, I’m still a bit mad, but I wanna be strong for all the others who’ve had this happen to them, too. I ent gonna let the galdori get me down with this. I wanna help out someday, and make the galdori stop makin’ everyone else’s lives mis'rable. An’ if I’m gonna help, I’m gonna help everybody – all the jents that have had to suffer like me. An’ I’m not gonna cott nobody.”

“Good girl – sounds like ye’ve got it all worked out,” Jaecobi stated proudly, and, forgetting momentarily, squeezed Merry in a hug. The child winced, though kept quiet – her da needed some comfort, too.

She glanced up at the sky once again and smiled. No dismal morning, no stormy night, like in the stories – there was only a crisp, cobalt expanse yawning over a crimson horizon. It was like a silent promise of hope against fear, the proof that the dawn always follows the night.

That alone convinced Merry that for just this once, the gods must’ve made an exception.