A/N - All right! One chapter down! Here's the next one! Again, footnotes may look weird. But we get to meet Erik in this one! Hope you don't mind really meeting him as a more expressive and recognizable personality in the NEXT chapter! Oh … and the French may be off, I apologize.
It wasn't every day she thanked God for making her part of a Romany tribe. She might only be a poshrat1, but it was enough. Her mother had eloped with the man Arabella called father, at a young age. Against all unspoken laws and traditions. A gorgio 2was never let into a community of Romany people, especially never men. But by the time Noleta's betrayal was discovered, Arabella had already been conceived. Her grandparents refused to disown their daughter, and thus Yaakov was let into the camp, but never was he accepted as a part of the inner circle of Romany family. That left Arabella open for his liking of young girls, especially once her mother began to age. But Yaakov did not dare to touch her core. Virgins could often make a good bride price from potential husbands in the tribe, and he was too greedy a man to forget such a possibility.
Unaware of how long she lay half conscious, Arabella sat up gingerly from the ground. Yaakov had left to see about his horses, and was not there to be angered by her movement. Glancing down at herself, she saw a tear in her costume that would be difficult to seamlessly repair.
"Monstru3! Motto4!" She hissed contemptuously. She despised how easily he made her fear him, and how easily it was to destroy any part of her, even such a thing as a costume. Pacing to her wardrobe, she quickly changed into a white blouse, and deep blue skirt. This outfit was much more severe than her costume had been, but would not be considered overly modest to the standards of city dwellers.
The sun was setting, casting a harsh orange glow over the meadow as she stepped outside. The crowds were thinning out with murmurs of the perils of being in a gypsy fair at nightfall. Few ever arrived, or stayed, after dark. Society was convinced that gypsies could robe them blind; so imagine how much easier that would be to do in the darkness and cover of night.
Arabella shook her head hearing such rumblings as she passed the customers. She alone had skill enough to rob them all blind right now, and leave them none the wiser. Yet she lacked the heart to do such a thing. She walked by a booth of supposedly enchanted charms on necklaces and the like which her mother ran, and into a tent advertising Tsifia: The All Seeing psychic.
As she stepped inside, it was immediately apparent that Tsifia was not serving a customer in that moment. The small tent space was occupied mostly by a large round table, on which sat several items that many supposed – or real – psychics used. A large crystal ball, surrounded by small burning, scented candles that made it appear to glow. Also, a deck of tarot cards sat wrapped in a sacred cloth towards the back of the table, directly in front of the – apparently – infamous Tsifia. She sat stooped over the table, staring intently at the intruder of the tent, over a vacant table left available to all customers.
Tsifia herself appeared to be around the same age as Noleta, but was in reality quite a few years older. They had the same dark hair and bone structure. Carefully arched eyebrows sat mysteriously over shockingly mint green eyes that stayed with you unblinkingly, silently. And the apparel of the fortune-teller was nothing less than mystical. She wore her hair up mostly covered in a scarf of deep purple, and a matching robe of the same purple, only bejeweled with cut-glass of different colors which reflected the light of the candles under the crystal ball.
"Good afternoon, Arabella."
"Bunica5." Arabella returned with a gentle, sincere smile as she moved around the table to kiss the old woman on the cheek before taking the seat opposite her. "How was your business today?"
The old woman smiled affectionately at her granddaughter and touched her hand briefly. The hands, now visible, seemed to be the only thing that showed off her age, as they were bent and gnarled with arthritis.
"Nothing too unusual for what I usually see these days." She stated softly, with a quiet sigh. "Ah, Bella, chav6, I wish that you would take up such things as this for me. My eyes are not as good as they once were. Lately my customers have been hearing nothing but false prophecies rather than the truth I used to see. I know you have the sight … you simply choose not to use it."
Arabella raised an eyebrow at her grandmother curiously, almost challengingly.
"How would you know what I see? The only thing I see are dreams of Yaakov dying."
"Hush, child!" Tsifia hissed at once, making a sign in the air to ward off evil spirits. "You wish to curse yourself by saying such things! Go on out of here now, before your words stain my business!"
Arabella laughed, refusing to move even though she knew her grandmother sincerely believed in curses and the impurity of both words and bodies. She leaned back in her chair casually, ignoring the pain in her back from being tossed onto the ground by her father earlier.
"I will not leave." She stated, affectionately mocking her grandmother. At once, the old woman's eyes softened, and she smiled a little in return. "You want it as much as I do. I intent to read the cards and see what fortune has in store for us."
"Don't you dare to read my fortune, child!" Tsifia warned, once again a little aggravated. It was almost completely unheard of for one gypsy to read the fortune of another. It was another thing that, apparently, was bad luck to do. "Read your own, but do not read mine!"
"No,
Bunica." Arabella promised softly, reaching across
the table and pulling the cloth wrapped Tarot cards towards her. "I
will not read your fortune. It is my future I'm interested in. I
think I may do something terribly evil if it does not tell me of good
news soon."
Tsifia shook her head with a heavy sigh, watching
as her granddaughter lay out several cards in formation, all face
down. Although she could not read other gypsies fortunes, she found
herself intensely curious as to what the future held in store for
Arabella. Her granddaughter was much beloved by her, and had been
the pride and joy of her late husband the whole of her life. It was
impossible not to love such a genuinely humane and compassionate soul
as the one existing in the form of the half-breed girl.
"Oh! Bunica! It is the Devil card!"
Tsifia leaned forward to peer at the card, seeing her granddaughters' mixed emotions of excitement and trepidation.
"Perhaps this represents your father." She muttered softly, trying to amuse the young woman. "Perhaps you'd get your wish after all.
"Perhaps …" Arabella agreed softly, staring at the single card as she absent-mindedly turned over two others at once. She was opening her mouth to speak again when a shrill scream nearly erupted from across the meadow. Automatically Arabella had leaped out of her seat, nearly knocking it over onto the ground, and was disappearing out of the tent.
Arabella would have known the scream that came from across the fairgrounds anywhere. It belonged to a younger friend of hers, who only ever squealed in such a manner when she was in or near the tent advertising Freaks!
"Samara!" She ran to the mouth of the tent, putting her arms about the younger auburn-haired girl just as she emerged from it. "What did those dinilo 7boys do to you this time? Was it Ingemar again?"
In the case of the "Freaks" on exhibition in this fair, many of them started their careers as little more than animals in cages. In some cases, though, the constant starvation and beatings of the masters they were held captive by broke their spirits. They became little more than puppets, who were allowed the freedom of being allowed tents of their own, food, and pitiful wages. They forgot what it was like to want to escape. In some cases, however, such a man or women did not break under the pressure, and was an escape risk; or they were dangerous to the other people around them. In the case of Ingemar, a mute dwarf who had been an exhibit in the fair for nearly as long as Arabella had lived, he had proven somewhat of a danger to pretty young girls. He was kept locked in a cage, but could sometimes grab hold of anyone that went too near him. Samara was a particular favorite of his. He never meant to hurt anyone, but for such a small man he didn't realize his own strength.
"No …" Samara was a trembling wreck as she lay her head onto Arabella's shoulder, her arms clutched tightly about her torso. "I can handle them. But I was giving a message to Sven. He has a new … a new attraction." The sound of a high sharp scream from inside made her jump. "He's the worst yet, Bella! The worst!"
Arabella moved away from Samara before the girl could continue her story of absolute horror and revulsion. Like many other people in the despicable race known as human beings, Samara was one of the herd who didn't realize just how human the people in the freaks tent truly were, or at least could be. All her life, Arabella had been at least somewhat an outcast of her Romany tribe, because she was a half-breed. It had given her a very keen insight into just how the people in the freaks tent surely had to feel. How alone and unhappy, just as she felt. Because of that, she had taken it upon herself years before to try and do all she could to keep the people relatively safe and healthy, if not happy.
"Samara, go help my grandmother close up her tent for the night!" She ordered over her shoulder.
Arabella could not stand to know another human was being brutalized. Sven, the master of the freaks, and Adnah's uncle, was a savage bastard who took intense pleasure out of beating the very people that brought in his profits every time they set up a fair. She, herself, suffered enough by the hands of her very own father. Wasn't that enough suffering for humanity out of the whole world?
She had shoved her way into the tent, the coolness of the inside, and the darker interior, enveloping her all at once. Standing around, or wallowing in cages, the eyes of the other freaks of the tent turned to watch her. They watched her with familiarity, some even offering soft hellos to her by name. In her long, labored attempts to help them over the years, they had started to call her their avenging angel, although she hardly felt anywhere near heroic most of the time. It was very rare that Adnah or his uncle Sven even bothered to listen to her protests on their behalf.
"He's got a real good one this time." A miniature woman stepped out of the small crowd of people, snickering slightly up at Arabella. This was one of the few "Human oddities" that managed to have a scorn for the very same group of people that she was a part of. "I hope that you aren't too faint-hearted. This isn't your normal freak."
"Hush, Gloria." Arabella hissed softly, striding past her. She wanted to reach down and slap the woman's cheek, but didn't have the time. What a horrible twist on words to use. A normal freak! She worked her way into the back of the tent, where a small separate room had been created purely for the exhibition of the newest of acquired attractions. The cry that had startled Samara while telling Arabella of this new addition had been echoed several times in the lapse of a few seconds, and when she entered the back room, she understood why.
Adnah and Sven both stood in a cage with the door wide open behind them, standing over a rather small, almost pathetic figure which knelt sprawled in the center of it. The older man held an old wooden board in both hands, while Adnah carried a horse whip in his right hand, drawn back over his shoulder as though ready to strike. Already the creature in the center of the cage was bloody and bruised. The knowledge of the blood was what made Arabella finally realize exactly what Gloria had meant by her scathing comment.
It took a moment, but she finally focused her eyes to clearly see the newest attraction. He was barely more than a boy her own age, but one would never be able to tell that if it weren't for the tone quality of his voice; one that suggested age without it yet belonging to an adult. Rags of what had once been white silk hung from a skeletal frame. Tight skin was pulled over his skeleton and muscle structure like a drum, and was terrible discolored to the shade of a deathly pale grayness. What few hairs were on its scalp appeared to be dead as well, a weak ruddy color like that of ancient rust. And in a face that much resembled that of a skull all by itself, with little to speak of for a nose, tears fell from deep-set eyes of the purest liquid gold one could ever imagine.
As she watched, Sven swung his wooden board hard into the back of the boys left shoulder, making him yelp and sink to the floor of the dirty straw-scattered cage. He whimpered feebly, and began to curl his body into a tight fetal position, head lowering until his chin touched his heaving chest. Even as little more than a skeleton, the boy seemed overly tall for such a boyish cry, with wide strong shoulders that trembled with each sob escaping his non-existent lips.
"Non! Svp! Svp arrêt! Ne me blessez pas! Sv 8!"
Arabella, who had been unable to help her initial shock of the sight before her, finally found the strength to remember her purpose her when she heard the boy yelp again as a swift kick from Adnah landed in the center of his back. Her eyes hardened immediately and she rushed forward, seizing the bars of the cage that separated her from the three men.
"Adnah! Sven!" She shouted, anger rising in her once more. "'Chavaia9! Chilky, 10 divio11 bastards! What do you think you're doing? You'll kill him!"
Adnah looked up from the form lying on the floor, the whip still drawn back to his shoulder. He had yet to try and hurt the boy with it since she'd entered. His eyes were filled with a bloodlust that might have made her blood turn icy cold had she not already been so angry. They looked just like his Uncle's eyes did as he glared down at the form on the cage floor.
"Oh, Bella!" He greeted with a vicious bite
to his voice. "Are we playing the angel again? The
bleeding heart?" Without looking down, his kicked out at the boy
again, his foot landing on the inside of its knee. The boy himself
continued to whimper and cry, although those gold eyes had turned up
in Arabella's direction. "This little mulla 12
needs to be broken. It's dangerous."
"They are all
dangerous to you when you don't feel in control!" Arabella spat
furiously. "He's in more than enough pain. Let him be!" her
eyes turned to Adnah's Uncle as he lifted the board high up over
his to deliver what would be a devastating blow. "Sven!
Enough!"
Her biting tone reached the haze of bloodlust that Sven was obviously swimming in. With a growl, he turned to glare at her. Like Adnah, his stare nearly made her back away. But she was convinced that at least these two wouldn't dare hurt her. At least distracting them left the boy in peace for a moment.
"We are busy!" Sven snapped at her. "Jai avree13!"
The boy had managed to roll over slowly in this moment release from his tormentors. His head rolled uneasily, as though his neck or head were in agonizing pain. Those bright golden eyes met hers, and Arabella drew in a sharp breath. They were so eloquent … perfectly intelligent. By his single look of abject misery, she could translate almost exactly what he might be thinking.
"Aidez-moi14 …"
Again, she found herself drawn in. Only this time, it was not the boys eyes that captured her attention. His voice, however weak and tear-strained it was, held a purity to it that befuddled her senses. It practically hypnotized her it was so perfect. And this boy had been screaming, crying. She could hardly imagine what he must sound like if he were calm and happy. And, although she spoke almost no French at all, she did recognize his words. His body language, his eyes, his voice, was all more than enough to translate his plea to her. Tearing from the trance he seemed to put her into, Arabella raised her eyes to Sven, who was waiting for her surrender.
"If you want him to live, to make you money at all, you have to stop." She said in a low, cold murmur. "Do you hear me, Sven? You will lose a profit if you do not stop beating him."
"If you want to help him so much, come back tonight and clean out his cage." Adnah offered, that sneer still on his face. Arabella did not even give him a glance. But she was listening. "If you're so compassionate, you won't mind crawling into a cage with a monster. Will you?"
Arabella continued glaring at Sven.
"Tonight." She told him in a low hiss. "Agreed? I will take care of his needs, his cage … everything. But you have to stop beating him."
"No." Sven spat. "Get out of here, now! Come back tonight. Do what you want with him. But stay out of this!"
Arabella watched as the men, which had rather been predicted by her based on past experiences, turned their backs on her and began to rain down fresh blows onto the poor boy who was still staring up at her. She lowered her eyes to meet his again, once more drawn in by the agony she saw within them. He was still pleading with her, although suddenly he made absolutely no noise of pain whatsoever. Not even an audible grunt of agony. But he was still hurting. She could see it. Tears filled her eyes and she turned to lumber away.
There was still tonight.
1 Poshrat: Romany for Half-gypsy or half-blooded/half-reed
2 gorgio: A non gypsy
3 Monstru: Romanian for Monster
4 Motto: Romany for Drunk
5 Bunica: Romany for Grandmother
6 Chav: Romany endearment of the world Child.
7 Dinilo: Romany: Silly, stupid, idiot, a fool
8 Non! Svp! Svp arrêt! Ne me blessez pas! Sv: French: Not! Please! Please stop! Do not wound me! Please!
9 'Chavaia: Romany for Stop
10 Chilky: Romany - Dirty
11 Divio: Romany - Crazy
12 Mulla: Romany - Corpse
13 Jai avree: Romany – Go away
14 Aidez-moi: Help me.