My Zodiac Guardian

By every stretch of the imagination, I was a normal girl. My lifestyle was modest for Caldarsien planesmen; a one-story house, my father a carpenter and my mother a tailor, and though I longed to train in the magickal arts, my mother had taken me under her wing. I had just turned 18 a week prior, and already suitors were trying their luck at my hand. Most were of a similar or worse stature than my family, and though my parents were thrilled, I had politely declined any and all advances. If only so my unintentional rival Danicka would leave me alone in peace. Yes, my blonde-haired counterpart of a higher quality of life never found it beneath her to remind me of my humble beginnings, mocking me of my ‘weaver’s hands’ so calloused and scarred from gripping tight threads and pricks of sharp needles. I still remember the day so clearly when she had first made that remark. My feet carried me home on a current so swift that my cheeks were red from the breeze alone. Mother caught me in her arms, softly cooing and coaxing out what exactly had happened. It all came tumbling out, and she wiped my tears and lifted my chin so I could stare into her honey brown gaze, just the same as mine, and smiled. “These hands, when you are older, will tell a story. Danicka will have no such privilege, my dear.” Though the words were few, they helped me greatly in times of strife. So I made myself listen to them. Waiting at the bakery, I stretched out my hand and sighed, brow furrowing at the lines already criss-crossing across my skin. Though they no longer bothered me, I would rather they were littered with paper cuts after a day in the Arcanima. Yet that was not to be this life’s path. Perhaps in the next one, then, I will learn to listen to the call of magick in my blood, and let it lead me to the grand doors of that mystical traveling academy. The smell of fresh bread wended its way through the long lineup, sourdough tickling my nostrils in heady welcome. It made me smile. Perhaps baking could be a side-hobby of mine, once I moved from my parent’s home and made my way in the world. One could dream. Like most days, the village bakery was abuzz with lively chatter, each and every soul knowing the other, and falling into easy conversation. Today, however, my ears picked up a different conversation. One that made my chest tighten with unease. A week! That’s all that bars us from the Guardian Night! I hear the Devlon’s are going to host a massive festival in their honour. It seems to be that their Aquarius daughter Danicka is favoured to be chosen by her Sign. Indeed. It would be a blessing, truly, to have one of our own young ones be picked by the Guardians. A true honour! If only I were in my youth again… Perhaps I shall be luckier in my next life. Agreed… I tried not to let my anxiety show. I myself was only just barely old enough to be picked, yet I knew better than to hope. There were simply millions in Caldarsia like me. Those between eighteen and twenty-five were picked; six females, six males. Every century, if their current chosen partner wasn’t yet dead, the Twelve Zodiacs would then descend upon us mortals and choose another to bond with. Just last month, the woman bonded with Aquarius had died of old age. I met her once, when I was very young. All I could recollect was that she was an incredibly kind person, and that she deserved to have her Guardian. But her name was lost to my memory, as was the face of that ethereal being. Sometimes, when I heard stories of the Twelve Guardians, I would always cringe at the thought. How did we - planesmen, weak and inconstant - manage to essentially employ all-powerful celestial beings? Do they have any choice? Why are they bound to us? It makes no sense: why did only a few people get to have what seemed to be a luxurious lifestyle? My heart raced at the thought. So much history, and I felt all of it could be right at my fingertips, if I just ran for it. Ran and never looked back. “Oh my, Rimona Velcroft, what a lovely surprise to see you, sweetheart,” the bakery lady hummed, closing her eyes with a smile. “Pickin’ up your family's regular order? Believe it’s two silver, for you.” The sudden interaction snapped me free from my day-dream. “U-Uh, yes, right, of course. Two silver, is… yeah yes okay, hmm…” After humming and hawing for a good thirty seconds, and only counting a single silver and thirty-eight coppers… “... Ms. Velcroft?” “Y-Yeah? Uhh, right, sorry I don’t think I have what you need,” I laughed a little nervously, scratching behind my neck. “But my family has had a sterling reputation, right? Surely next week I can bring what’s owed and more,” I tried to bargain, but the store-owner looked unsure of me, biting her lip. “A week into adulthood and already so short on change that you’d swindle our shopkeepers? Not a good first impression, Velcroft.” I had to stifle a long-winded groan as Danicka’s mocking tone cut through the lively atmosphere. Silver and gold glinted in her hand, and she stared her periwinkle orbs down her nose at me before turning to the owner. “Unlike my… competition, here, I’ll pay for her order, and mine.” Two silver and three gold slammed on to the table, the lady gleefully accepting the payment and bringing out both orders. Our single white bread was painful to look at compared to the variety of baked goods in Danicka’s basket. Crackers and sourdoughs, a collection of savoury and sweet croissants and danishes, a blueberry pie, and… by the gods, herb and cheese focaccia. My tongue watered. She saw the desire clear as day on my face and scoffed. “Not even a ‘thank you?’ Hmph. You should be groveling on your knees, I but I’ll settle for your voiced gratitude instead.” Her smile was as slimy as a serpent’s. I stared at her sternly, hand clenched as I bit out, “Thanks.” She raised a manicured brow, still smirking. “For?” My chest was hurting. “For paying for my bread.” She nodded her head, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Thank you so much for your service. Truly, you are the heart of this town, Ms. Solomon.” The baker blushed and waved off her praise. “Please, Lady Devlon. We all know that you’re the best candidate for Aquarius’ affections. Such charity will not go unrewarded, believe me.” “Oh, I do,” she said with a venom that made me wince. She twisted toward me and rested her hand on my shoulder, her sharp nails making me wince as they grazed against my skin. If she desired it, Danicka could sink her nails into my throat and rip it out with one swoop. I shuddered at the imagery. “I’m not trying to get in your way, Danicka. If you want him, you can have him.” “Oh, and I shall, not that I need your permission. I’ve lived my entire life for this moment, my every action- my every deed with the knowledge that one day, Aquarius will choose me. You never stood a chance,” she sneered, her basket bumping into mine calculatively. She paused on the way out the door. “By the way, Rimona, you should come to the festival. See me come into my birthright. It’ll be quite the show.” “I’m sure it will be,” I mumbled, staring at my scarred hands and frowning. These hands, when you are older, will tell a story. Was it a story about how a girl could try her very hardest, but there was no diverting fate's course? Because these days, that’s how it was feeling. If I couldn’t even pay for a loaf of bread, what made me think I could ever get into the Arcanima? I was a fool.