Clara thought of her father, even though it made her sad, her memories of her girlhood in the oyster fields alongside her father were dear to her. She ruminated upon them more frequently than she cared to admit… even to herself.
*
Clara looked at the oyster King Raymond held in the palm of his hand, its wavy and hammered surface belying the succulent sea meat held inside, the pretty gem nestled in its dove gray folds. How the oysters fascinated young Clara! Each one a surprise. The pearl their reward for diligently and studiously care taking them until their maturation reached an end.
“Clara-girl,” King Raymond began, prying open a too small shell, one even she knew was not yet ready for harvest, “this young is not yet ready for yield.”
“No father! Do not, I wish no harm to befall the oyster.”
Her father gave her a look of soft compassion, “You must learn just the correct moment in an oyster’s life span for harvest. One day, I will not be here, and who will make certain that our way of life continues?”
“You will always be here, Father!” Clara cried, smoothing her yellow skirt over her knees anxiously, the hem grazing the floorboards of the pungy.
The king gazed across the water, looking at the small spheres scattered about the Great Lake, as it had been called in his father’s father’s time, “One day, even I will be no more. It will be your job to steward over these creatures.”
He pried the shell apart, not a smooth practice, and inside the creature was undersized and the gem was but a sparkling speck, the color not yet true.
“Pay attention Clara,” she leaned forward, her father poking the flesh of the creature with his prying tool so she could see the interior of its home encased in shell. After they had examined it together, he placed the oyster in a wooden bucket with rope for a handle.
He gathered another oyster, this one of proper girth and length, stretching past his palm, almost to the tips of his fingers, “This is ready.”
Prying… it sprung open, splashing muck about the pungy, splatter falling on Clara,(she had the disquieting thought that mother would be cross). She was often cross with Clara, especially when she rode the pungy with father.
The creature was full to bursting its house (as Clara thought of the shell) a glimmering gem cloistered inside the folds, its luster in stark relief against the dull-colored creature within. It was beautiful, the pearl was beautiful.
Father plucked the pearl out, the juices of the creature still covering it, and gave it to Clara. She immediately dunked it in the fresh water bucket, getting some of the grime off. It seemed to wink and glimmer at her from her palm… her first pearl.
She looked up at her father, delight on her face and he smiled back, “I also loved the fields and what they held when I was a lad.”
“Princess?” Olive held the brush in her hand, staring at Clara in the looking glass’ reflection. Clara had been ten spheres away, in the depths of her memory.
“Yes, Olive?”
“I asked, ‘what disturbs you’?”
So much to speak of, but she did not wish to go through it all again. Once in her mind was enough for tonight, “My thoughts lay heavy on me. Tomorrow, I will escape some of the Prince’s attention by checking the fields.”
“Queen Ada will not be pleased.”
“I know.” Her mother wished to have others fulfill the oyster supervision duties, but Clara felt compelled to oversee much of what had been cultivated for over one hundred years within her family. After all, Ada was not from this Sphere originally, but the Kingdom of West Virginia, where there were no fields. What did she really care what happened to any of it, with her precious grapes in sight? Clara was her vehicle for their continuation.
“I tire, Olive. I would sleep now.”
Olive put the hairbrush down without a word, folding the bedding back, Clara slid underneath her coverlet, her eyes like great weights dragging her under. Struggling to stay awake, her eyes followed Olive as she dimmed the sconces and the chandelier from a central switch located just inside the chamber door. With one last look at Clara, she retreated to a smaller door which led to her much smaller chamber.
The last thing Clara heard was the lock clicking into place as she fell into a dreamless sleep of exhaustion.
CHAPTER 7
Charles lay in bed within his small chamber thinking of Clara… again. That was usually where his thoughts lay. Aside from her being the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld she was a most excellent friend. He rolled over on his stomach, his chin resting on his fist instead of a pillow. A heavy sigh escaped him, what to do? That strumpet of a man lay in wait for Clara, whoring himself with aplomb for the wine-pearl treaty. While Clara was held like a fragile tether between the two factions. If only King Raymond were still alive, he thought for the thousandth time, good Guardian, life was a wreck at present.
Sleep evading Charles entirely, he ripped the bedding away from himself and sat up, his naked form pale against the darkness of the bed linen. He padded over to the wall of the sphere, its clarity allowing the blackness of the Outside to permeate his chamber. His eyes roamed the Outside, the Great Forest an outline of staggered black against a deep sky filled with stars, the moon on the wane.
Clara had seen one of them today… a savage.
A new thing to worry over.
Although, curiously, she had said she sensed no menace in the brief snippet of time they had to regard each other.
Their history warned clearly in that regard, they needed to be ever vigilant with the savages. The Time Keeper had made it known that they were a people apart, possibly not even the same species. Charles doubted that. Early sketches showed them looking very human…if not larger, fiercer. As a boy, Charles had looked at many hand-written accounts and sketches of the savages, and they were markedly similar; large men (a female had never been witnessed), with unkempt hair and clothing (and from what Clara had conveyed, a shocking lack thereof). Weaponry had been noted as well: spears, knives and most prominently, bows and arrows. Charles thought of his own sword practice. It was not something that was required in his occupation, but was of keen interest to him. However, there was also the matter of the airways on the throat Clara claimed to have seen… gills, as a sea creature has. Charles could only surmise that this was in some way an environmental response to the air quality of the Outside. He longed to explore Outside, but it also filled him with a nervous dread. Would he survive? Because breathe he must! Charles understood Clara had been safe behind the security of the sphere but he had a disquieting portent of the proximity of the savage. What could have been the reason for his close approach? Were they being watched?
He did not like it.
And what if they possessed salt? What if they knew the weakness of the sphere’s defenses he thought as he paced the room.
Charles went over the events of the night and how unable he was to protect Clara. The abhorrent Queen wielded her tyranny over Clara with a singular focus that drove him mad. Where was her compassion for her own offspring? Charles dreamed of dispatching her… permanently. The idea swelled in his head, especially acute after witnessing Clara’s stiff posture. Seeing Olive’s expression, Charles knew what had occurred. Clara dismissed his concern, accepting the rages as part of her duties. However, what if Queen Ada lost total control, deep in the cup as was often? Clara was a small female, her mother was not. Charles shuddered, Clara said that it was better that Charles had some contact with her, rather than none. “Do nothing,” she had said, “so that we may have a friendship. Do not defend me, or she will never let us consort.” That was all well and good in theory, but Charles brooded, remembering the bruise that blossomed on the whiteness of her throat, his fists unconsciously flexing. He had never wished to harm a female; but the Queen made him rethink himself.
Further, Prince Frederic was of a similar ilk, a male with the same disposition as the Queen, a terrible reality for Clara.
Putting a forearm against the sphere wall, he le
aned his head on it, gaze fixed on the Outside, his flesh sinking into its permeability. How he wondered what it would be like to breathe fresh air of the Outside; to have answers to the questions that ricocheted around his skull! To not be surrounded by heat and steam? He and Clara often spoke in hushed tones of escape and exploration; she as interested as he. With a curse, Charles swung around, heading back toward bed. He must get rest, tomorrow was a full day in the fields with Trading Day one day hence. And…a plan must be devised to save Clara, his Clara (before he could stop the interior sentiment from forming).
He sat back on the bed, rubbing his eyes, grainy from the lateness of the hour, his eyes locked onto the small photograph of Clara that sat on his night table. A stiff pose could not counteract the vulnerable eyes that filled her face, the black and white colors emphasizing the lightness of them, showing as the palest gray. Her personality could not be denied in that face, he could see it.
He loved her.
Charles flopped back against his pillow, hoping sleep would come. He thought of the long days in the field, wishing a portion might be spent with Clara. Afterward, a small joy would take place as he sparred with Clarence, his steadfast opponent in sword fighting, how he dreamed of being a guard at the sphere intersects!
As sleep claimed Charles, his mind filled with the dangers of saltwater, and what it would mean to the sphere, to all of them, if that safety was breached.
CHAPTER 8
Clara’s eyes came open and she stared at the apex of the sphere, there to greet her as it had each day she could remember. She listened for Olive stirring in the adjacent chamber of their huge, interior house. Modeled after row houses similar to the ones she had heard tales of from Before, every house was connected to conserve space. The sphere was a sound-absorber and noises from one dwelling to the next were not easily heard.
She shifted to her side, automatically looking at the drapes, which Olive had closed last night, her side aching dully. The corset had not buffered all, she noted. Of their own volition, her feet swung free of the bed linen and she hopped off the bed, the blood rushing to her extremities. She used a hand on the bedpost to steady herself then began slowly walking toward the drapes. Interesting… now that the savage had been spotted, the drapes were closed. After all, who concerned themselves over privacy when no soul left the sphere? However, with a savage coming inches away from the sphere’s barrier, there was new concern over… whatever it was they were seeking. Aside from the beating and rough handling of the prior evening, Clara felt robust. A new day awakened with the promise of the fields and work ahead of her.
Working the fields made Clara feel accomplished… centered. Most importantly, she felt closer to her father. While she stood, legs anchored, her pole drivers guided the boat with smooth wooden poles used until they whittled away into nothing.
Clara stretched her arms above her, inhaling deeply, the rich humidity of her environment a salve on her throat. Smiling, she thought how convenient it would be that the queen would be feeling ill until mid-day, the consequence of her over-consumption. That suited Clara perfectly. She would be dressed, breakfast eaten and in the pungy before the Queen alighted from her bed.
First order of the day would be to open the accursed drapes. She detested the light from the Outside dimmed. Prince Frederic would be similarly disposed, the sloth. He thought nothing of getting up at the noon hour as routine, also perfect.
The drapes felt damp, Clara turned her body, using the strength of her legs for momentum, and with both hands, strode the left side of the drapes to the right, sweeping them behind the large, brass holder, which resembled a semi-circle. Head down, Clara walked quickly to the other side, using the same manner, putting some energy into the opening of that side. Swinging the heavy cloth behind the holder, the heavy material barely captured behind the brass, she turned to survey the Great Forest Outside.
A face loomed in her view, and her breath caught in her throat. By sheer habit, only a small sound escaped her. She realized she was half-naked before a man she did not know and was gazing at her with curious abandon. Her arms, ankles and half her back was showing…and Clara was frightened. This was clearly a different savage from the first. There had been a deep intensity with the former, but this one looked angry.
So this is the female that Bracus will take. He looked down at her obvious surprise and took pleasure in it. Bracus was weak, wanting this one, no female should have a hold over a male. No matter how much their captain thought he kept his feelings to himself, it was obvious to this guard what he felt. He looked at the fragile-looking female before him, trying to fathom what she could possibly offer the Band. She was interesting with her strange eyes, and deep red hair and the pale skin like the full moon. Women were not easy to claim in his clan or anywhere outside, fights would break out. The women had great power of choice over whom they would mate with, be with. This strange sphere held many, from the captain’s reports. Reporting was all well and good but he wished to see up close. He watched as she backed away, wrapping the strange garment around herself tightly in an effort to hide her body. Why did she do that? He thought that strange. She seemed frightened of him, and he touched the wall which separated them.
He touched the sphere’s wall from Outside and Clara leaped back, yelping. She hated the sound but couldn’t help herself, he had startled her. She could not hear him, but he felt differently to her than the other savage. This one… she felt menace from him.
She jumped again as Olive came up behind her, “Is that he? Is that the savage?” she said excitedly.
“No. It is another.”
“Look at how he stares.” Olive had never in all her years, seen a male with so great expanse of skin showing. There was no kindness in his face, no softness. He was all hard angles and planes, all male. Then she saw it… the gills, “Your majesty…”
“Yes, he has them too. I see them.” The gills opened only slightly with his breath.
Both women were well away from the window when Olive asked, “Does he threaten you, my lady?”
“I do not know. But he feels differently than the savage who charged the sphere one day past.”
The savage stared at the two women. The one who had come through a door, entering the room of this woman… the Princess.(He scoffed at such leadership.) She was taller and wider of hip. A good breeder, he thought absently, his gaze roving back over the small form in front of him, her eyes blazing with heat. Yes, he would have her; dismissing the other female; she of the dull brown hair, and eyes which matched. He would have the red-haired one, the Princess. He noticed that she had marks on her throat. Someone had handled her roughly. A female abused…who could have done it? Mayhap females were not prized inside the oddness of this structure? Possibly she liked this interaction…he was puzzled anew. Looking around, the guard resisted his longing to gaze unabated, to plan with her figure before him. Instead, he would take his leave and when the time was right, he would capture her for himself. No one would be the wiser. He looked at her a final time, yes, he supposed he could see what Captain Bracus liked. He would never have it and it pleased him, it would be his secret.
Clara watched him look at her again… a considering look which made her heart speed, and then he ran off. No, that was not entirely accurate, he sprinted to the Great Forest’s edge. He turned to look again, as the savage from the prior day had, then melted into the woods as if he had never been.
“I do not think it wise to close the drapes from this point forward, Princess,” Olive said as they stared after the savage.
“Yes, I think the whole group of savages could make an appearance and I, for one, would like to see them advance. This one gave me quite a start. I opened the drapes and there he stood.” Clara felt disconcerted. This did not have any of the excitement or curiosity of the other meeting. It made her anxious.
Olive turned to her, “Did you take in the sheer size? The breadth of chest, the height? He is a huge male!” Olive said in a tone of reverence. Cla
ra would put a damper on that.
“And what of it, Olive? Let us put it in the proper context; would you be this enthralled had there been no barrier?” Olive shook her head, looking chastised.
“Princess, I do apologize, but for the love of the Guardian, he does impress one!” Clara understood that he was different enough from the men inside the sphere to be a novelty, but she could not slip the feeling of foreboding.
“I say that we exercise caution, Olive… and tell no one as yet.”
“But, my lady, the Queen should be told. Or what of Charles?”
Clara deliberated, rolling her bottom lip under her teeth, biting down, nibbling to ease her tension.
“I know not, but I do not wish to have more of the Queen’s speculations upon me. With another savage seen at my bedside window,” Clara gestured with her hand to the Outside, “she could imprison me further. Speaking of which…I dare say it is time I dress and get to the fields.”
Olive sighed, her lady was stubborn beyond measure. Dare she go behind her back and at the very least, alert Charles that the savages have marked the Princess in some way?
The Princess’s finger was suddenly under Olive’s nose, “Do not think of it. Tell no one. Your face shows your feelings, Olive, you must learn to school them, especially around the Queen.”
Olive curtsied and thought that may be the end of it.
“I wish to see Sarah before the fields.”
Olive turned, “My lady?” That was an unusual turn. The princess did not typically linger in the morning, preferring to escape the Queen’s notice as early as was possible.
The Pearl Savage Page 5