by Wendy Wang
“I’d like to see you try old woman—”
“You know, you wouldn’t be the first man to walk out my door and never be seen again.”
Sorrel blinked. What did that mean?
“Don’t threaten me. I could rain down guardsmen on your head.” He balled his fists at his side and moved a few steps closer to Tahlulah. He was not very tall, but still he towered over the tiny woman.
Tahlulah did not back away though as she threw her words into his face, “I'd like to see you try.”
“That's enough,” Cilla said, stepping between them. She pointed to Sorrel. “She's awake.”
“Good,” he said. “Take care of it. I have to get back to Tamarik tonight in time for roll call.”
“He’s never going to win,” Tahlulah said. “In the end? Your so-called emperor will never win.”
“I could put you to death just for saying that old woman,” Egan warned.
“There are worse things than death Egan,” she said, chuckling. “And neither you nor Peter Declan frighten me.”
“You should watch your mouth,” Egan said. Tahlulah laughed. “What's so funny?”
“What's funny is you honestly believe ruling by fire and an iron fist will help him do anything more than take captives, like this poor girl. But the tighter his grip the more the realms will slip through his fingers because he doesn't understand the truth.”
Egan rolled his eyes, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “Nobody cares about your truth old woman. Not me and certainly not the emperor. Now heal her.” He stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him before anyone could make a remark to the contrary.
“I'm sorry mama,” Cilla said, putting her arm around the older woman’s waist. “I know how much you hate him.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry he brought her here.”
“No need to be sorry.” Tahlulah gave her daughter a weary smile. “Egan Crane will get what he deserves one of these days.”
“I'm s-s-sorry,” Sorrel whimpered. “I d-d-didn't w-w-whuh—” She slapped at her mouth. Why couldn't it work just for once?
“Oh honey, please stop that,” Cilla said grabbing hold of Sorrel’s arm. “This is not your fault. Please don't hurt yourself.”
Hot tears bled from her eyes, pooling into her hair. She sniffled and swiped her arm across her face.
“They attacked my village,” she whispered. “I don't know how many they k-k-killed.” She hid her eyes in the crook of her elbow and wept. Sorrel felt them both place a hand on either side of her head, stroking her hair.
“Shhhh now,” Tahlulah said quietly. “You’re safe here.”
Safe. For how long though? Sorrel shook her head, wanting to believe the woman’s words. “N-not t-t-true.”
Tahlulah sighed and sat on the bed next to her. “Have you always stuttered?” Something in the old woman’s voice soothed her. Sorrel shook her head but didn't take her arm away from shielding her eyes.
“When did it start?” Cilla asked. She cupped her hand gently against Sorrel’s head.
“After m-my p-parents died,” Sorrel whispered. When she was upset her stutter crept into her whispers.
“How did they die honey?” Tahlulah’s voice softened and she patted Sorrel’s arm.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Sorrel said.
Tahlulah pulled her arm away and stared deeply into her eyes. “I know sweetheart,” she said. “But if we are to heal you we have to understand where the wound begins. Wouldn't you like to speak without a stutter?”
Of course she'd like to not stutter. But what difference did it make now? If he was going to hand her over to this Peter Declan—the self-proclaimed emperor—wouldn't he just kill her? Would it really matter if she could speak clearly?
“Can you stop him? From taking me?” she whispered. Tahlulah and Cilla exchanged glances, telling her everything she needed to know. Sorrel threw her arm across her eyes again.
“I don't think he means to kill you, if that's what you're worried about,” Cilla said. “If he really wanted to kill you, he would have when he put his baton to your throat earlier. That was for me I'm afraid. He was manipulating me and I'm sorry you got caught in the bad blood between us.”
“Maybe it w-w-would have been b-b-better if he did kill me,” she said. Cilla glanced away. How could she argue?
“No,” Tahlulah said firmly. “It wouldn’t be. You deserve to live just like the rest of us.”
“Can you keep me here? P-p-please? I don’t eat m-m-much. I can help with the ch-chores. I c-can—” Sorrel hated herself for resorting to begging but what choice did she have?
“Mama?” Cilla asked.
“No, I’m sorry.” Tahlulah shook her head. “For all my tough talk, he could bring his guardsmen here. I can’t risk the farm. Do you understand?”
Sorrel choked back a sob and nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. “J-just do it then. Get it over w-with.”
“It’s not quite that simple,” Tahlulah said. “Come on now, sit up for me.”
The woman tugged at her arms until she complied. Sorrel scrubbed her fist across her cheek, rubbing away the tears. “You know I don’t even know your name. I am Tahlulah Beckett and this is my daughter Cilla.”
“I’m Sorrel Qinsa,” she whispered.
“You barely stutter when you whisper,” Tahlulah said. Sorrel nodded in agreement. “That’s very interesting. Is that the only way you stop stuttering?”
“No ma’am,” Sorrel whispered. “I don’t s-s-stutter when I sing.”
Tahlulah’s mouth broke into a wide grin. “How wonderful.”
Sorrel frowned. How was any of this wonderful?
Tahlulah must’ve known her words didn’t make sense to Sorrel. “It’s wonderful you can speak so clearly in whispering reverence and glorious song. The two most cherished ways we can communicate with the goddess.”
Sorrel sighed and nodded. Yes, perhaps it was appropriate she could at least say her prayers by either whispering or singing. “Can you tell me what happened with your parents?”
“They died,” Sorrel said.
“And you saw this?” Tahlulah gently prodded.
Sorrel opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. All she could do was nod. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes and she swiped at them with the back of her hand.
“How old were you honey?” Tahlulah asked.
“S-seven,” Sorrel whispered.
“What happened that day?” Tahlulah asked. When Sorrel began to speak, her voice was so soft the two women had to lean in close to hear.
“My father trained ravens and he wanted to show me and my mother his latest bird so we followed him out to the side of the mountain. We climbed down quite a ways. My mother was worried because there was still much snow on the side of the mountain but my father told her not to worry, scolded her even. He showed us the new raven, and the bird flew so high it made me giddy. I remember clapping and laughing, and then there was this booming sound like thunder and the mountain broke. My mother picked me up and ran, but it wasn't fast enough and the snow caught us. She died and I lived.”
“Oh honey,” Cilla said softly her beautiful face marred with sadness and pity.
“Your mother loved you very much,” Tahlulah said. Her face remained neutral, but her eyes watched Sorrel's face with keen interest.
“Yes,” Sorrel said, casting her eyes to her hands in her lap.
“And it saved you that day,” Tahlulah said. “My guess is it will continue to save you, if you let it.”
Sorrel raised her eyes and gazed steadily on the old woman. Tahlulah's lips curved into a slight smile and she nodded once. “I can heal you. But it will only remain permanent if you embrace your new voice. If you allow your emotions to overwhelm you, the stuttering will return. Do you understand me child?”
Sorrel swallowed hard and tried to imagine a life where her tongue never tied, and she was free of the horrified stares that kept her from speaking at all. Slowly she nodded her
head.
Tahlulah gave her a smile. “That's good. Wonderful actually.” Tahlulah glanced at her daughter. “Cilla, are you ready?”
“Yes mama,” Cilla said, reaching for Sorrel's arm. “Do you think you can get to your feet? We need to take you outside.”
“If you can't heal m-me. Can you m-make the earth swallow me?” Sorrel asked. It would surely be a better death than at the hands of the Emperor Peter Declan. Tahlulah laughed, her whole body shaking with the rich sound.
“Oh my dear, that torture is only for the likes of Egan Crane and we will heal you.” Tahlulah brushed her thumb across Sorrel's cheek gently. “I promise.”
Sorrel called up a smile.
“Then let's begin,” she whispered.
******
The two women led her outside to the wide front porch of the house. The warm sweet air intoxicated her for a moment and Sorrel closed her eyes breathing it in. When she opened them again, she wished she could run amongst the expansive green fields, dotted with cows and horses.
“Wait here,” Tahlulah said. She disappeared into the house again, letting the screen door slam behind her. A few moments later she emerged with a tall wooden stool. “Here, sit on this.” They led Sorrel to the stool and she climbed up perching her feet on the support bars between the legs. With Tahlulah on one side and Cilla on the other they wrapped their hands lightly around her throat, their fingers intertwining. It took everything Sorrel had not to squirm away.
“Sorrel,” Cilla said. “I want you to close your eyes. Think of the highest place you've ever been on the mountains. Imagine yourself surrounded by clouds. You are drifting among those clouds, safe. No one can harm you here. Nothing can hurt you.”
Cilla’s sweet voice lifted Sorrel and for a second she was drifting among the clouds.
“You’re going to feel some warmth in your neck and it may reach into the back of your head and spread across your scalp.” And as soon as Cilla said the words heat spread up from Sorrel’s chest, through her neck, passing the back of her head, and across her skull. Sorrel opened her mouth. Her tongue burned, as if she had bitten into one of the tiny red peppers that Jorgen grew in the summer, and her lips tingled. Her breaths came fast and heavy. The heat moved into her chest, wrapping around her heart, and for a moment it squeezed making it impossible to breathe in or out. Just when Sorrel thought she might pass out, Tahlulah began to chant softly in the old language.
“Your mother’s love surrounds you,” Cilla continued. “Protects you. Your mother’s love still supports you. You did not cause her death. The avalanche caused her death. She sacrificed everything so you could live. Let go of your fear.”
“Je’rules mamein morei. Mamein t’maen lu’tille,” Tahlulah recited the verse over and over, setting a beat to Cilla’s words. The two women carried on for what seemed like a long time and Sorrel rocked to the rhythm of it until finally Cilla pressed her cool lips to Sorrel’s forehead and said softly, “Honor your mother by speaking without fear.”
Cilla and Tahlulah removed their hands from Sorrel’s body and took a step backwards.
Sorrel opened her eyes slowly, the green of the hills and blue of the sky overwhelming her senses. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Fear prickled in her chest as she opened her mouth to speak. What if it didn’t work? What then? Would he kill her?
“How do you feel?” Tahlulah asked.
“I…I feel fine.” A tittering giggle escaped her lips and the giddiness replaced her fear. “Wonderful.”
Tahlulah clapped her hands together and laughed. “Praise Jerugia.”
Sorrel stood up and twirled around, laughing, drunk on the sound of her own voice. “Ask me anything. Anything at all.”
“Say this three times fast—how many thistles are in the tall, thick weeds?”
Sorrel took a deep breath and said the tongue twister without stumbling once. “Is this what it feels like? To always speak so easily?”
“Yes my dear it is.” Tahlulah grinned but it faded quickly and she turned to her daughter. “Do you think you could stall him? From taking her?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“Because I think like any wound this will take time to heal completely. She’ll need to stay here for several days at least. To convalesce.”
“Mama you’re not going to try and help her escape are you? I don’t know what he would do—”
“No, of course not.” Tahlulah shook her head and sighed. “As much as I want to free her, the risks are too great. But I think Miss Sorrel here could use some time to heal and some instruction on keeping her words flowing so easily. Being exposed to negative energy too quickly could result in a relapse.”
Relapse. Sorrel’s heart wilted a little at the thought. “Please Cilla? Please,” Sorrel pleaded.
Cilla nodded her head and smiled gently. “All right, I’ll try. I can’t make any promises though.”
“Thank you,” Sorrel said, praying he would not put up too much of a fight.
Ten
“Absolutely not!” Egan yelled loud enough for Sorrel to hear it through the second floor of the old farm house. “I need to take her today! Where is she?”
Cilla’s patient voice was muffled. How had they ever ended up together? If Sorrel got to stay, she would have to ask. The boy's blond curls caught her eye, and she could see him peeking into her room from the doorway.
“You can come in Tom,” she said. He stepped into the room his impish cheeks pink.
“My parents are fighting,” he said sounding much older than his six years. How often had he listened to this?
“I know,” Sorrel's said reaching her arm out and wiggling her fingers for him to come closer. “I'm sorry. They're arguing about me.”
“Why?” Tom asked his hazel eyes wide. He shuffled across the floor and sat next to her on the edge of the bed.
“Your father wants to take me away,” she said. “And, I don't want to go. Your mother's asking him if I can stay here a little while longer.”
Tom glanced at the floor then leveled his gaze on her. He spoke with no apology in his voice, “It's usually better to do what he wants.”
“What happens if you don't?” She asked.
Tom’s sweet full lips pressed together and he whispered when he answered. “Bad things. It's better to do what he wants.”
A cold shard of truth stabbed through her heart as she looked into his innocent face. Bad things had been happening to this boy his entire life and stopped happening when he complied with his father's wishes. Sorrel called up a smile and brushed her hand across the back of his soft, curly hair. Downstairs they heard a crash and they both jumped to their feet. Tom shot out the door first, racing down the steps to his mother, and Sorrel followed close behind. He stopped at the bottom landing, frozen.
His father held his mother against a wall, his leather clad hand wrapped tightly around her throat. Cilla’s feet dangled, and she clawed at Egan's wrist. Tom screamed at his father to stop and rushed to his mother's side. The boy’s small fists pounded against his father's body, but Egan swiped him away as if he were nothing more than a fly. The boy landed hard on his bottom. He sat there blinking for a moment, blood trickling from his lip before he burst into tears.
Sorrel reached into her pocket, but came up empty. Her coins were upstairs on the table next to her bed. Quickly she glanced around, her eyes finally settling on a small metal figurine on one of the fussy carved tables in Tahlulah's parlor. She picked it up, closed her fist around it, and transformed it into a metal star. Her heart thundered in her ears as she took aim. If she missed she could hit Cilla in the throat. For a brief second, the queen’s voice filled her head. Never throw unless you mean it and when you do throw, make your aim true and it will never fail you. Breathing in she cocked her arm back. Never had she meant anything more. She let the star go as she blew out her breath in a long steady stream and the blade sailed from her fingers.
A high piercing scream escaped him an
d he dropped Cilla to the floor. The star had pierced through the thick leather gloves he wore.
Tom threw his arms around his mother's neck and she clutched him to her, smoothing his hair, muttering, “It's all right, I'm all right,” to him.
A thrill went through Sorrel but it was short lived. Egan turned on her.
“You stupid little bitch,” he growled, yanking the bloody star from his hand and dropping it to the floor. He lunged towards her. Sorrel scrambled backwards, tripping on the bottom step. She landed hard on her backside banging her tailbone. A yelp of pain escaped her lips, and she could not take her eyes away from Egan, crossing the room in long, deliberate steps. Using his left hand, he drew his baton, aiming for her heart. This time he wouldn't hesitate to kill her.
“Stop!” Tahlulah's voice rang out clear and true from behind them. “Egan Crane you touch one hair on her head and I swear by Jerugia's crown's I will make you disappear.”
Egan's jaw clenched and his eyes bore into Sorrel, but he stopped in his tracks. Egan rounded on the woman, baton in hand.
“I don't know who you think you are,” he pitched his voice low, full of vitriol and arrogance.
Tahlulah stepped forward, with a long, very old wooden spoon clutched in one hand. She raised it and the floorboards beneath him trembled. “I don't know who you think you are,” she said. “But this is my home and you are here by invitation. I will not stand for your treatment of my daughter or this poor girl any longer.”
His shoulders spread wider as he took a step towards his mother-in-law. Tahlulah was all of five foot three, but she straightened her spine and didn't back down. With one wave of her wooden spoon the floorboards beneath him parted and his foot crashed through, spilling him to the floor. The fist holding his baton knocked hard against the wood and the shiny, metal magnifier skittered across the floor. Egan slammed his fist down on the floorboard holding him up, and a guttural noise erupted from deep inside him. He began climbing his way out of the hole, and was almost out when a delicate tendril emerged—a root from a tree or bush, Sorrel wasn't sure which. It wrapped tightly around his ankle and yanked him backwards.