When people heard the word gypsy, words like commotion, witchcraft, gambling, thieves, and a host of other pejorative terms they preferred not to say aloud came to mind.
Melody, a seventeen-year-old gypsy, lived with her parents in a small village hidden deep in the forest of Celestia, on the outskirts of Aldremir, the capital of the kingdom of Alkarya.
That trip to Aldremir would be her debut. Her parents had finally allowed her to go down with her brother and the rest of the gypsies to the Silver Moon Festival. It had taken some convincing to get them to agree, and Bastian had helped her a little. Well, actually, if it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have been able to go at all.
"All right, Mel, today is your day," he said as he tied the ribbon, releasing her hair, which fell in graceful cascades just below her hips. She looked in the mirror and quickly dabbed a touch of blush on her lips. Perfect, she thought. She grabbed her ocarina and tried to slip out before her parents could change their minds.
"Where are you going, little one? At least say goodbye to your parents properly. Let us give you our blessing, Melody."
"Mother, of course I was going to say goodbye. Give me your blessing." Surprised by her mother's sudden appearance, she quickly hid the bag behind her back. If she found out what was inside, there would be trouble. "I was just in a bit of a hurry. I wanted to see Melibeth before I left. Remember, she's the reason I'm doing all this."
Melibeth was her younger sister… well, younger by a few minutes—her twin. She had been ill for three years and couldn't even get out of bed. Melody couldn't look at her without feeling helpless and deeply sad. Her sister's emerald eyes, once full of joy and mischief, were now dull and distant.
She was terrified that Melibeth's life would fade away. Melibeth was serenity, sweetness, and grace personified—a dancing nymph with silk ribbons and a voice like a songbird. Everything changed when she fell ill. Their parents, Gaston and Lluvia, had grown serious and wary. Since her sister's illness—and because of the people of Aldremir's intolerance toward gypsies—they refused to let Melody go down to the city. The entire burden had fallen on Bastian, who was a year younger than his sisters, though he hardly looked it.
Their parents ran a small goldsmith's workshop, but lately, it wasn't enough to support the household. Times were hard, and with a sick child, everything became an uphill struggle.
Her father did everything to keep her from going out, but she couldn't leave all the weight on Bastian and their parents while she did nothing. She had two goals in going to the city: to bring money home and to find a doctor for Melibeth. And if she stayed, neither would happen. Her parents and Bastian were deeply traditional—they would never allow a civilian, a non-gypsy, to treat her sister. But in their village, there were no doctors. Gypsies didn't receive that kind of training.
There were only healers and elders with knowledge of herbs and remedies, but no one with formal medical skills. Melody would do anything for Melibeth. She swore by the gods she would.
"Mother, Father, we must go now. My sister will be fine—I'll protect her from everything and everyone," said Bastian, a boy with brown hair and black eyes.
"Hey! I'm not a little girl, Bastian. Stop treating me like one!" said Melody, puffing her cheeks in frustration.
"All right, all right, children, enough! You'll be late. May the gods protect you—and take care of each other. Remember, you only have three days. That's how long the festival lasts. Not a day more, you hear?" Gaston warned in a serious tone.
Bastian and Melody gathered their things and headed toward the wagons, joining the rest of the gypsies who were also going to earn their living in the city.
⋯ ❈ ⋯
Many gypsies were sought after in the city for entertainment. Their people excelled in that area, and ironically, they were summoned by the very aldermen who looked down on them.
They treated them like scum, yet for their own amusement, they called them in advance.
Melody and her brother climbed onto one of the carts. As it began to move, she became distracted by the passing landscape—until Bastian broke the silence.
"Mel, I need to explain how you should behave when we get to Aldremir. There are all kinds of people there, and I don't want your innocence and lack of malice to put you in danger…"
"Go on, Mr. Know-It-All, enlighten me," Melody said, clicking her tongue to annoy him—something she knew always worked.
"You're unbearable, Melody! Seriously, there are all kinds of people there, and if you're not careful, you could end up in real danger. You could be taken, sold into slavery, and dragged off to who knows where. Seeing Melibeth in that bed is enough for me to not want anything bad to happen to you. I'd never forgive myself—and neither would our parents."
By now, Melody knew Bastian was no longer the same boy he used to be. This situation had forced him to grow up, though she wasn't sure how much. She still saw him as her little brother.
"Okay, Bastian, don't be mad, little brother. I'm sorry—it was just a joke," she said, feeling a bit silly and regretful. "Go on, tell me what you wanted to say. I won't interrupt again."
She noticed Bastian take a deep breath and look at her with a serious expression.
"All right, Mel, that's better. You'll see—the city at nightfall can be dangerous, especially for women, and even more so for gypsies. Alkarya is no exception when it comes to slave hunters. That's business now. Every time we go down to Aldremir, those cowards are watching for our women. They sell them to other nations for domestic labor, and in the worst cases, to brothels. I need you to be sharp, sister—smart, alert, and ready to run if something feels off. Stay close to us or stick to crowded places. You'll be safer there."
"Okay. I'll take your advice to heart. Thank you for worrying about me. Everything will be fine—you'll see."
Melody dozed off for a while, and when she woke, her village was far behind her. In its place stretched a beautiful meadow, green and vast as the sea. In the distance, that green gave way to a dazzling white: a field of sunflowers.
Sunflowers—the flowers that, according to her mother's stories, represented the kingdom of Alkarya.
Beautiful, she thought. Sunflowers were by far her favorite flowers.
Beyond the golden field, shining in the sunlight, stood the walls of Aldremir, the capital of Alkarya. They were enormous, gray, and adorned with carvings of foxes. In Alkarya, the fox was revered—it was considered the guiding spirit of the Alkaryo people.
"Pretty field of sunflowers, isn't it, little one?" said a voice that pulled her out of her thoughts, prompting her to turn around.
"You're the one they call Azalea in the village, right?" Her mother occasionally saw that woman, and her sister Melibeth was friends with Azalea's granddaughter.
"Yes, child, that's me. And you're the goldsmith's daughter—well, one of them. I understand there are two, right? My beloved Clara keeps me informed," said the fortune teller, winking at the girl in front of her.
Melody nodded.
"Would you like a glimpse into your future, child, before you reach the city?" invited the enigmatic woman with peculiar eyes.
Melody was about to say she had no money, much less interest, but the woman moved faster and gently covered her lips with a finger.
"Don't worry, girl. You're one of my kind. I won't charge you—it's just for fun. Give me your hand." Between disbelief and mistrust, Melody obeyed. It seemed absurd, but it was free, and she was curious about what Azalea might say.
Azalea took Melody's hand and began tracing each line with care, her face thoughtful and, at times, surprised. Then she began to speak.
"Girl, you've surprised me. I see a bright future for you, young lady. I see a man in your life. This man will be the bridge to your truth, little butterfly. I see power in your gaze. I see you as a sovereign. A family member is suffering, but don't worry—Holy Death will grant that person more time on this plane. But the pain of your reflection will be inevitable."
Melody frowned, unconvinced by those words.
"I'm truly amazed! Girl, I've never seen so much power in any reading!" exclaimed the woman, delighted by her revelation.
Melody, surprised by Azalea's strange words, didn't know whether to laugh or call her a charlatan. Despite being a gypsy, she believed more in logic and was somewhat skeptical.
"Me, a sovereign? Oh, by the goddesses, to be sovereign of any place, one must be born with a crown and scepter. I was born with neither." She thanked the woman and urged her brother to get ready—they were already in front of Aldremir's walls.
As they approached the enormous gates, she saw soldiers in indigo-blue uniforms inspecting the three carts from her village.
Once everything was cleared, they were allowed through—but not without a few insults and slurs thrown at her people.
Damn pigs. They think they're so great just because they wear a uniform, Melody thought, just as Bastian placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered for her to keep her thoughts to herself. Damn, Bastian knows me very, very well.
After a few minutes, she was able to take in the city of Aldremir: cobbled streets, picturesque houses with large wooden doorways and flower-filled windows, vendor stalls everywhere. Children played, and elegant women strolled from stall to stall, chatting and dressed in beautiful gowns.
Everything and everyone was so different from her little village hidden in the forest. She had never been to the city before, and frankly, what she saw excited her. The smells—what a delight, the aroma of fresh bread!
The carts had stopped. Melody assumed they had reached their destination. As she got out, she saw the other two carts unloading trunks filled with her people's work clothes. She reached into her bag for her violin and ocarina, ready to help the others alongside her brother.
Once they were done, they retired to some storage rooms behind the tavern where they had stopped. The tavern keeper told them they could use the space as a dressing room.
Ready to start emptying her pockets, it didn't take Melody long to get ready. She lined her eyes and added color to her lips.
That was all. She tied a ribbon into her silky white hair, slipped into a white corset and a pink skirt that opened at mid-calf. Flat sandals laced around her ankles completed the look. She grabbed her violin and went to find her brother.
She found him outside, tuning his own violin, sitting at the back of one of the carts.
"Wow, Mel, you're ready. Here—this is Melibeth's medallion. She asked me to give it to you, but remember, it's on loan, so take good care of it. Let's go to the square. I don't want you in the tavern; there are too many drunks with wandering hands. I'd rather you stay in the town square. Later, whether you like it or not, I'll come find you. I don't want you alone."
"Bastian, I'm not a little girl. Stop treating me like one," she replied irritably.
"Melody, you're not a child, but you are a woman. And because of that, you're in danger," said the brown-haired man, stating the obvious. "There are plenty of drunk perverts and opportunists at this festival. You're my sister—it's impossible not to worry about you or Melibeth. Is that clear?"
"Yes," she said, dragging out the word.
"I didn't hear you. Say it again!"
"Yes, brother, I understand you!" she shouted, exasperated by his tricks.
"Good girl," he said with a knowing smile. "Now come on, follow me," said the playful brown-haired man.
"I'm not Azafrán, you idiot."
"Okay, don't get mad. Besides, Azafrán is more obedient than you. And you love to annoy me, don't play innocent."
"Fine, I'll follow you, brother." Even though Bastian could be immature, Melody was amazed by his level of responsibility, his good disposition, always present for her and their parents. Carrying the weight of the family had already made her brother a man. That made her feel proud—and at the same time, a little self-conscious. She felt silly compared to him.
But this situation would end. She would prove to her parents that, just like him, she too could bring something home. Something real.