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Non-HP related Fanfics >> Gypsy Magic by miss-black

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
The village of Oakshere,
14 th April 1604

I would be lying if I said I had never stayed in one place for more than five days because I have. Six years ago when the pestilence was going round, when I almost died………

It was spring 1597, my 13 Th Birthday. I picked up my skirts and ran to catch up with the lead caravan. My Father, Tralen, was driving. When he saw me he smiled. A smile full of love and kindness one he only used for my mother and me. “ So you decided to become a real Tralen Gypsy then.” I nodded (when you turn 13 you get to perform instead of help out back stage) before he added, “ Your Mothers in the back getting ready so should you.” He smiled again, “ I believe she has some thing for you.” I smiled back and said thank you before jumping up and going through the flap we used as a door. Inside it was dark so it took a couple of moments for my eyes to adjust. When they did I saw Mother looking in the mirror and trying to pin her hair up as the caravan bumped and rumbled up the road. Even in the dark she was beautiful. She wore a royal blue dress covered in frills and bells. Silver bracelets, necklaces and anklets sparkled. I sighed wishing I could be that beautiful. “ You should be happy darling,” Mother said spotting me, “ its your 13th birthday, first time you get to perform as a real Tralen Gypsy.”
I mumbled, “I forgot” Before noting a new box in the corner. “ Speaking of which I have a present for you.” She walked over to the new box and beckoned. I followed. “ Open it.” I obeyed, inside was a beautiful scarlet dress. The three-quarter sleeves ending with a large frill, just as the full skirt was layered with them. Underneath it was an assortment of bracelets and anklets adorned with bells. “ Here let me help you put it on,” my mother said.

As the wagon rolled closer to the village I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. But just then a voice broke into my thoughts, “Nell, hey Nell,” Jink’s voice.“ Looks like someone wants you Nell,” said Mother, “ and don’t ruin that dress.” I jumped down from the wagon and ran to Jink.
“ What is it,” I asked.
“I wanted to give you something,” He said stuffing his hand into his jacket and pulling out a parcel. “ Here. It’s for your birthday.”
I unwrapped the parcel carefully and (much to the annoyances of Jink.) slowly.
When I did open it I found a small book around the size of my hand, it was covered in bright green suede though it didn’t have a title. I open the book and found out why it lacked a title. It was a diary.
“ Thank you!” I cried.
“ That’s alright,” he mumbled slightly embarrassed. Before changing the subject by saying it was time for lunch.

As we neared the town I got more and more uneasy. For however hard I tried I couldn’t hear anything. No laughter or talk. No squealing animals (or children). The wagons stopped and an argument broke out among the people about what to do. My mothers friend Maria suggested skipping the town completely, but the argument which most people sided with was Jinks fathers who said that one person should go into the town and see wear everyone was, but even so none of them went. And though it was his idea Jink’s father didn’t move. In truth I don’t like him very much, and flatly I think his just a boastful idiot. I’d never say that to Jink though he always tries to see something good in his father and wouldn’t like it if I said that. After a few more minuets I sighed, “I’ll go.” My mother and father both protested at the same time with warnings. I left.

I made my way through the quiet streets always wary of the many dark alleyways, which split off the mane street. Suddenly a low moaning noise came from one of those very alleyways I was so wary of. Slightly curious despite my fear I crept closer. A shape formed in the shadows, a man. His cheeks were hollowed and his clothes hung limply off his body. A starved man. Then I noticed something else, dark purple blotches covered his face and neck. He had the pestilence. His breath came in shallow gasps now. Closer. Closer he came. “Help, help me. Please,” he gasped. He was barely two feet from me now, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t make my legs run no matter how hard I tried. He grabbed me pulling close. Then he said his face inches from my, “death will get you too.” Before slumping to the ground. Dead. I started to turn but something caught my eye, turning back I saw a cloaked figure leaning over the dead man. A strange shining mist rose out of the man and coiled into the figure’s hand. I turned. And ran.

The next hour went in a daze. People crowded around me asking questions,
I told them everything. With the exception of the shadow man whom I thought was a God (my Grandmamma had told me of Gypsy Gods).
When they had no questions left to I went inside our wagon and slept.

The first day was the worst. I was so weak I could hardly move and the pain was unbearable. After the first recollection of pain the rest of the day seemed to blur into it’s self. Lots of people then no people and the smell of honey.

Afterwards I managed to learn that I’d been unconscious for three days and that no one thought I’d wake up. But no one knew what happened on the third day (apart from Jink of course for he is my best friend.). Now I’m writing it down in this book that Jink gave me.
I lay in my bed unmoving. I had lost the will to live; I no longer cared about what happened to me. In truth I didn’t care if I died or lived I just didn’t want to feel the pain.
I let myself drift through unconsciousness but even that didn’t help the pain like it did before. Then the image appeared. It was of the wagon where I lay, I saw it from above. Like always it was dim, only one candle lay glimmering on an over turned box. I swept my eyes over everything feeling uneasy yet again. Nothing. I looked around again. There! On the other sleeping platform a lifeless body covered in a white sheet from it chin to its toes. In my spirit form I tried to look closer, a pale face underneath the scars of the pestilence, dark hair tangled round the lifeless face. Then I saw whose face it was, I felt my heart lurch, grief tearing at me. Ma! No I won’t believe it! I won’t! I’d have stayed there if I hadn’t heard the sound behind me. My spirit turned. Slowly. Leaning over my body was the shadow man. He opened his hand the mist started to pull out of my body I felt my spirit dragged down. “Stop!” the voice that spoke was beautiful and horrible, caring and threatening all at the same time. The owner of the voice was equally imposing. She seemed to tall to be real, her hair that fell below her waist was blonde white. But it was her eyes that scared me most they were green the deepest eyes I’d ever seen they were everything and nothing all at once.
“ Let the girl go Zinryn . It’s not her time”
The shadow man looked at her. “ Fine,”
As they faded though he added, “ it’s a pity though. She has the Gypsy magic in her.”
I rose back into consciousness.

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