FIRE AND BLOOD

1.

She was a rare gem, as rare as she could be, even for the Romanies. A red-haired child born to this auspicious clan, the likes having never occurred before, could have been taken as a token from the gods, but not to those in the here and now, not this time. The tribe members mourned the death of the patriarch's wife, taken as she was while giving birth. Gathered inside the birthing tent, those allowed in, comforted the man, who moaned and cried bitterly cradling in arms the newborn.

'There's evilness in that baby Django ...' The man glared over at the fortune teller as she broke into the tent open to just a few, clinking a bag of seashells and already speaking. 'She has taken her mother's life and soul to make her own way into this world. And so many lives she'll snatch to suffix her hunger, to quench her thirst for blood.'

'Stop mad woman! A wicked witch you are Ágata!' Django stood up onto his feet, still carrying the weeping creature in arms.

'Wicked you say? Witch you call me? Wicked is that little demon you hold in arms, no scattered star, so she'll grow to be a dark witch!'

'How dare you! Take her out! Strip her robes off and whip her in bare backs! Drag her out into the woods and never let her come back!'

'You have heard my warning ... do not close your ears to it ...'

As ordered by the Voivode, three men haul at the woman, throwing her out the tent. There, they did as instructed, having the entire Kumpania witnessing the brutal reprimand.

'She's doomed! Mark my words! That baby is doomed!' was Ágata's last sentence before she'd be dragged, half dressed, covered in blood out the camp.

By himself, the loving father raised little Calista, always beneath his protective wing. The patriarch's daughter was different to the rest of the kids. Unlike the bronzed skin of those in her kin, hers was as white as lily petals and her hair was a flaming summer sunset. Sapphire eyes pierced everyone she looked at, alone with the silence of her tiny rosebud lips, as the girl hardly ever spoke a word in company ...

Quiet Calista only hummed when dancing by herself inside her tent, her speech often limited to nodding and short phrases. She was never interested in playing games with other children in the tribe, as they were not fond of her either, often calling her strange. Never truly alone either, and she knew this to be true whether or she knew the ins and outs of the why or how.

Calista was seven years old when the day came for Django to have cause in marking the witch's words. While brushing his mare, he watched the girl playing in the water, when he noticed fish floating dead around her. Fearing an animal in the river had killed the fish, he hurried to take Calista out the shallow creek. His eyes ... they are open and clear.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he saw the moment when his daughter reached downwards to a meandering golden fish, only to touch it with her index finger. The creature stopped moving and then emerged to the surface to float away with the rest, dead as dead can be.

Heart plundering in his chest, he lifted Calista in arms and placed her on a rock. 'Did you kill the fish?' Looking straight into her eyes, his tone both suggesting the question to be rhetorically certain and hopefully untrue.

A tear rolled down the lass' small rosy cheek while nodding in affirmation.

'Since when can you do this? Tell me please, Calista!'

Perhaps unaware of what exactly she had done, with a glowing and genuine innocence on her face, she shrugged shoulders and just wept. She is what she is and if this be true then he must find her another path.

'Don't you cry my girl. See, we Domari respect life ... nature is for us to borrow, to bond to. We don't take lives of others, even with creatures of the waters, because that's not in our hands and never is it our will to choose. Promise me Calista, no matter how deeply you wish to, you'll never do this again. Do you promise me?' Fatherly, Django held his only child's shoulders, reassuring the plea with a tender smile.

'Yes daddy', the affirmation came in a whimper.

'Good. Let's go home. Let's keep this our little secret', and holding hands, the man helped the girl climb down the rock, then both walked towards the horse.

'I killed mommy, did I?' Calista pulled her father's hand as they walked, urging him to look down at her.

'What? Wait! No! Little one, who told you that?' He knelt in front of her, cupping her chin with tenderness.

'Mommy told me ... she comes to me in my dreams.'

Perhaps that other path cannot be found.

Years passed by and Calista grew to become a gorgeous young lady. With age, she developed other abilities, while learning to control the power within her. Other than killing by accident or boredom, nothing more sentient than a few spiders and butterflies, the teenager kept loyal to the promise made to her father ten years since, to respect life and to follow her kin's costumes and traditions, despite not being considered by the rest as one of them. The ability to sense the presence of another, that only grew to a certain point.

It took some time to earn respect as a fortune teller and healer, as her life unfolded with relative normalcy. Being more feared than admired, the redhead never gained a friend or suitor, though she was passed the age of marrying, and the fairest of them all in her clan. It could as much be the effect of that ever-invisible presence as it could be her herself that gave way for things to be as they are.

But they say nothing lasts forever and promises, promises are meant to be broken. One morning, the sun peeped through the foliage to kiss Calista's bared and wet skin while bathing in the river. Summer had never been that hot as long as she remembered in Catalonia. She'd had known better, but witches never see the future through their own eyes. Calista was not alone.

While emerging to the surface, three men, all of them Romanies from her tribe, watched her, eyes filled with lust and evilness, from the shore. While the girl never saw them coming, she knew well their intentions. In no time they had dived into the water, swiftly swimming towards the redhead, who struggled to get out of the river.

Taller and stronger, the trio reached her on the other side of the stream. Laughter boomed. It was so easy for them, having no other obstacle than her fine cotton underskirt, already impregnated to her nakedness. While two of them held her arms, the third one opened her legs apart and forced his into hers.

Cries were muzzled by the man's hand. She realized there was just one way to stop them ... it was their life, or hers. Grabbing the fellow to her right by the wrist, the redhead sent a pulse that jerked him back. His breath turns on him and his lungs struggle to open. The water takes him, and he is done.

With her free hand, Calista reached the one on top of her, and placing her index finger to his chest a pulse is sent that paralyzed him, making him tumble to his side. The third, his demise comes across the water top. Her palm flat atop and level, sending death's signal across the surface tension.

Crawling backwards, her eyes glowed as red as burning coals, watching the third with delight how after two or three violent seizures, his eyes went blank, and his breathing abated. Two more would be discovered, finished not by her hands or by anything she may have done.

'But it was in self-defense! Don't you see the bruises on her body, the dry blood on her thighs! He raped her! The all would have raped her' Calista's father begged to the tribe's council.

'You know the law Django. An eye for an eye ... and the boy is not here to defend himself as you're for your daughter.'

'I know the law. They took my daughter's honor! He was not boy neither, none of them were' The patriarch's voice cracked filled with rage and impotence, staring at his girl.

'And she has taken life!' An elder reposted. 'You're even.'

'With dark magic!' another member of the clan's council added. 'You knew she cast dark spells and omitted it to the tribe. It wasn't only in her to foresee the future; she's gifted with an evil power, a forgiven art to the Romanies. You know it Django. You always knew it ... and now is not in your hands to decide.'

'Exile' pronounced the oldest of the men.

'Exile', the rest repeated in unison.

The words echoed in Calista's head while staring blankly to the horizon, a curved line swallowed by steep hills below, dying on the placid lake's surface that began to frost. Standing at the top of a craggy peak, a tear rolled down her face while watching a gypsy caravan meandering through the forest. They were once her kin, but she never was one of them. She now knew well. Her destiny was never to be a Romani, or any sort of a human being. She was born only to die and be reborn as a vampire.

Another tear escaped her blue eyes, just to be taken away, carried by the cold winter breeze.