Marie's Journey (Ginecean Chronicles)

by La Porta, Monica

  “You had to ask permission to use the bathroom?”

  “Of course.” Marie shrugged at the recent memories. Idra had saved her from the ire of an elder more than once. “When I’m an elder, I’ll never be like them.” A promise she had worded every time Idra had to rescue her. Idra. What are you doing now? Dinnertime at the Institute had already come and gone. Are you singing by the fire with Joanna and Marcia? They had sung every time one of their friends had left the Institute to work or to learn a profession somewhere else. Are you singing for me? Do you miss me already? Marie had been so excited to leave the Institute she hadn’t realized she was indeed leaving it for good.

  “I never thought bathrooms could get people so emotional.” Verena laughed.

  Marie got a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw her eyes were liquid and a tear hung to her eyelashes. “The separate stalls undid me.”

  “Do you want to refresh a bit? We still have time to eat.”

  Marie nodded, already longing for the big shower at the end of the room. A low growl coming from her stomach forced her to reassess her priorities. “It sounds great, but I’m too hungry. I need to eat something or I’ll faint.”

  “Washing is overrated, anyway.” Verena led the way down to the kitchens.

  Marie noticed the big windows opening onto the stairs and illuminating the whitewashed walls with the calming tones of the early evening colors. She risked a look outside without daring to lean closer. Samara’s dark rooftops filled the frames. The urge of looking down at the backyard was strong, but one sideways glance from Verena and she steered away from the windows.

  “Samara is a nice city. I’ll show you around as soon as we’ve the first day free.”

  “Looking forward to that.” Roaming without adult supervision was one of the reasons she had wanted this job, but now the thought was bittersweet. They had reached the first floor when a sudden commotion commanded her attention to the world outside the immaculate panes of the windows. A whirl of colors went from one corner to the other of the glass frame. The sound of an angry whistle reached inside along with the sharp crack of a whip hitting the concrete floor. Marie was startled when a moment later, several women passed them and went outside through a door at the end of the stairs. One of them pushed Marie out of the way without as much as a “pardon me.”

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t mind those Elders. They’re training to impress Captain Callista and get a shot at entering the Priestess’s Army.”

  “Oh, they are? But they aren’t pure breeds, are they?” As far as she remembered, only the captain would be a pure breed.

  “No, of course not. They wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “So how does it work?”

  “The Army is only served by women.”

  “So they aspire to be the soldiers’ maids?”

  “Yes, but between you and me, none of them are good enough. Most likely, they’ll end up serving farm guards as their maids. But they like to pose as if they’re big shots.”

  “Where’re they going?” Marie flattened against the wall as two latecomers ran down the stairs to reach the other army wannabes.

  “To help outside with the men. But everything is already under control.” Verena went to the window and pointed out.

  Marie came close and tried to look uninterested.

  “See? As I told you, no need for those idiots to make such a fuss.” Verena turned and descended the last three steps, leaving Marie behind.

  Marie lingered a moment and felt slightly disappointed there wasn’t anything to see—just an empty courtyard and a lovely gazebo where several girls were now hanging delicate flower garlands. She followed Verena to the kitchen and remembered she was ravenous only when the smell of roasted meat wafted into the hallway and her stomach ached.

  Later that night, she went to sleep with the unsettling feeling she didn’t want to spend any time in a room with only one other person. It was wrong. She fell asleep and woke in the first hours of the morning, the sun slowly rising over Samara, its rays glinting off the sleek dark tiles covering the roofs in symmetric rows. It had rained again during the night and the city looked cleaner from her vantage point. She tiptoed to the bathroom, had the shower she hadn’t taken earlier, then headed downstairs to eat breakfast. She was surprised to see nobody around. At the Institute, Madame Carla had taught the girls that sleeping late denoted lack of morals. Evidently, as stern as Madame Lana looked, her vision of what made a young girl a better human being didn’t encompass her sleeping habits. Maybe I’ll like it here after all.

  Alone, she took the luxury of looking outside the windows on the stairs as long as she wanted. The men were cleaning the courtyard. The dinner must have ended late because the decorative lanterns hanging from the gazebo’s posts were still burning. She stood, unable to move. She was both repulsed and attracted by the sight of so many men gathered in such a close space. One of them turned and looked in her direction. Theirs eyes met and she had the unsettling feeling he was the same man she had seen the day before. Marie was shocked she might have looked at a man long enough to recognize him, and even more shocked he didn’t attempt to lower his head. Even though she was inside the building and he outside, the worker should’ve shown more respect and averted his green eyes as soon as she had looked at him. She raised her chin and stared down at him, but the man didn’t seem affected by her display of power. Steps echoed in the deserted staircase, and she looked away for a moment, her heart beating loudly against her ribcage. When the person stopped at the second floor instead of descending toward her, Marie dared to look outside one more time, only to find the man staring back at her with a grin on his face. She ran away, reaching the kitchen in no time.

  She knew a day of menial tasks awaited her, but when Carnia entered the kitchen a full two hours later to give her the chores list, Marie almost smiled. She was craving human contact.

  “Did you sleep well?” Carnia asked, waving the list like a flag.

  “Never better.” She took the already crumpled piece of paper from Carnia’s outstretched hand and gave a look at the items written in neat handwriting. “More potatoes in my future. Great.”

  “And don’t forget to replenish the pantry when you’re done peeling the ones inside the barrel.”

  At least I get to walk a bit, Marie thought after Carnia explained where the fresh vegetables where kept. Not that going back and forth from the cellars was worth celebrating, but it sure beat sitting the whole day on a three-legged stool. She gave the list another look and sighed. This is not what I thought it would be. She busied herself with her second meal of the day. She had woken so early she was hungry again, but it was a nervous hunger, an ache that didn’t start from her stomach, but from her chest and left her lightheaded. She wolfed down two pancakes, then went to take her place by the corner where the potatoes were waiting for her.

  When a pile of potato peelings reached as high as the now-empty bucket, she was grateful for the opportunity to leave the kitchen if only to run an errand. “Where are the cellars?” she asked the first person she saw. The room had populated while she was going through the whole barrel. She had noticed the hustle, but the helpers were so quiet it was unnatural. Not a laugh, not a word of gossip to be heard, just the clicking of the copper potteries and the stirring of spoons against ceramic surfaces. And the pleasant smell of fresh-baked bread and pastries.

  “First door on the right, two floors down, follow the corridor.” A small girl, no older than Marie, answered her question, barely raising her head from the stove where she was preparing what looked like egg cream custard. “Remember, two floors down, not one or you’ll risk interrupting Captain Callista’s training sessions. And you don’t want that.”

  “I don’t want that,” Marie repeated, bringing her index and middle finger together to her forehead to give the girl a mock salute. “Thanks.” She left the kitchen in a breeze and descended the flight of stairs, taking longer than necessary, anything to delay
going back to that room. She reached the corridor with a heavy heart, thinking she felt less alone down there, where there was nobody, than in that kitchen full of silent, busy people. The cellar door was an imposing, scary piece of dark wood carved with a décor that must have at one time been nice, but was now faded and mutilated. She pushed the wood and it creaked on its hinges. Darkness engulfed her, and a slight sense of panic pressed on her chest. “I am not afraid of dark.” Following the usual mantra, she breathed in and out while her right hand probed the wall by the door, looking for a switch. Muffled voices filtered through the walls and echoed inside the place. Her heart jumped.

  “Who’s there?” The voices—male voices, she realized—didn’t stop talking. Her fingers touched the switch and the cellar was illuminated in a crude, too-bright, white light. She shielded her eyes for a moment, then looked around. The place was empty. The workers were in the adjacent room.

  She should’ve run away anyway. Instead, she followed the sound and walked toward the farthest wall at the end of the cellar, but lost them somewhere in the middle of the walk. The opulent sight of the cellar’s bounty stole her attention. Shelves full of fruits and vegetables, cheeses, meat in various stages of being cured, and bottles of wine lined the walls. The place was stocked with food, more than she’d ever seen in one place. At the Institute, girls never went hungry, but portions were rationed and desserts were reserved for special occasions. Madame Carla ate the same diet as her pupils, which had probably contributed to her slender figure. For a moment, Marie was tempted to hide a piece of marzipan under her shirt and feast on it later. She reached out to the closer shelf where she had spotted the treat, thrilled by her daring, when a sudden noise startled her. Her outstretched fingers froze in midair.

  “Don’t do it!” a deep, male voice commanded.

  “I bet your dinner you won’t do it,” a second voice said. A younger man.

  “And what if I do?” Another male voice, as young as the first.

  Marie’s head snapped to the right where the voices sounded clearer and closer. The men were on the other side of the cellar’s wall. She thought she should’ve run back to the safety of the silent kitchen and yet again, she didn’t move.

  “I’ll do it.” A soft, scratching noise accompanied the statement.

  Marie looked at the spot in the wall, and a breath caught in her chest. A few moments later, a brick was removed and it disappeared on the other side. Before a second brick could follow the first, she lunged toward one of the shelves standing in the middle of the room and crouched behind two big sacks packed with flour. Several bricks were dislodged until a rectangle opened on the darkness of the other side.

  “Told you. You owe me your meal tonight.” A head covered in dark-blond hair pushed through the opening, but didn’t make it far. “Still too small.” The head moved back and other bricks were removed. Not a minute later, a young man entered the room by lifting his body up and away from the freshly made window. He reached the floor with a small jump, both feet firmly on the ground, knees slightly bent.

  It’s him! Marie couldn’t believe her eyes. The green-eyed man who had been staring at her had just trespassed into the cellar.

  “Don’t waste time. Take what you can and come back here.” An older man appeared at the window, his face and shoulders leaning inside the cellar while he took a good look at the place. “Take this and move.”

  “God above! This place is stocked.” The blond took the bag the man offered him and went to the shelf by the opening. “We starve to death and here there’s enough food to feed the whole Priestess’s Army.” He grabbed fruits and vegetables and stuffed the bag with them. “Another one,” he said to the man, passing him the bag.

  “I think we got enough—”

  “Another one. Hurry.” The young man snatched a second bag from the man’s hands and went to steal some more food. “What do you want to eat for dinner tonight?”

  “I haven’t had meat in three months,” the man said with a grimace.

  Someone from the other side, the third voice Marie had heard, spoke. “Please, Grant, let me have a steak tonight.”

  “Sure thing.” The young man, Grant, looked purposefully around.

  Marie saw him coming closer. She raised her eyes to look at the same thing he was looking at and saw the quartered chunks of what had been a big cow hanging from hooks over her hiding spot. He had already taken hold of the biggest piece when steps resonated from far away and Marie’s name was called several times. He started running, but one of the loose sandals he was wearing slipped away and he stumbled. He reached the floor, but to break the fall and save his face from being smashed, he had to use both hands and he let the meat fall. It landed with a big thud only an inch shy of hitting Marie. He followed his prized, stolen possession and found her as well.

  “Where are you, girl?” Verena called from the corridor.

  Marie heard her friend, but she wouldn’t answer. The man brought one finger to his mouth, silently asking her to keep quiet. His familiar green eyes were staring at her and he was slowly shaking his head.

  “You didn’t see me,” he whispered and, piece of butchered animal on his shoulders, left, retracing the same route he had come from.

  “Marie? Are you there?” Verena entered the cellar.

  Without thinking, Marie stood and ran to meet the girl before Verena could see the hole in the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Verena eyed her suspiciously.

  Marie shrugged and walked out of the cellars. “I couldn’t find the potatoes.”

  2

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Marie knew she had to confess what she had seen. She thought about it and even came close to telling everything to Verena, but she didn’t. At lunch, when everybody sat at the big communal table for the midday break, she stood silent. For dinner, she acted from the same script. She felt guilty for not talking to an adult and was terrified somebody could read it on her face, so she kept to herself.

  He’s called Grant. Somehow, the fact she knew the man’s name made her feel even guiltier. Grant. Thinking about his name felt too intimate. She tried to divert her thoughts to safer topics. What are they doing at the Institute? Are they already asleep?

  “Are you all right?” Verena asked once they were back in their room later that night.

  Marie looked at her, once again debating if it was a good idea to spill her secret, then shook her head and answered, “Peeling potatoes all the day long isn’t conducive to extreme euphoria.”

  “Humph…”

  “Take my place tomorrow and see if you look better at the end of the day.”

  Verena didn’t press the subject and went to take a shower. Marie followed her a few minutes later, but when she saw the long line of girls waiting for their turn to wash after a long day of working, she retraced her steps before Verena saw her. At the end of the long hallway, pale-blue moonlight illuminated the floor and the walls in a floral pattern cast by the light coming through the intricate latticework decorating the window. She walked toward it, attracted to the cold glass like a moth to the flame. She stopped before the window and leaned against it, her nose and forehead resting lightly on the dewy surface to cool her thoughts. Four floors below in the walled backyard, the men were still at work. She automatically searched the crowd for one blond head.

  “Don’t tell me you’re the sleepwalker kind.”

  Marie spun around at Verena’s words, her heart beating at double speed. “What…? No—”

  “You’re awake, good. Let’s go down for the fire pit stories.”

  “I’m tired and I need to wash.” Marie yawned and made to go back to their room.

  “Nonsense. Sleeping can wait. We only have fire pit stories once per season. You don’t want to miss them.” Verena’s expression didn’t allow any other answer than yes.

  “Maybe… I’ll stay for a little while.”

  “Oh, you’ll see. Once the elders start telling the stories, you won’
t leave until the last word is said.” Verena took Marie by the elbow and redirected her toward their room. “Wear something warmer. It gets chillier later at night.”

  “Later? How late are we talking about?” Marie went to grab her only sweater.

  “Don’t you have anything, let’s say, heavier, like made of wool or something?” Verena took one of the dangling sleeves from the sweater Marie was donning. She tested it between her fingers. “What’s this made of, anyway?”

  Marie freed her head from the sweater’s neck—it had belonged to Idra and was two sizes too large for her. “Bamboo.”

  “You got to be kidding. Bamboo? Really?”

  “Yep, bamboo. In the Maritime region, temperatures reach smoldering levels. Bamboo keeps your body cool. We also make sheets and duvets with bamboo fibers.”

  “But does it keep you warm?” Verena arched one eyebrow.

  “Well, I don’t have anything else to wear, so I guess I’ll find out tonight.” Marie was actually looking forward to being cold to have an excuse to bail out of socializing.

  A few minutes later in the hallway, they joined a river of girls happily walking down the stairs. Laughs and sensible conversations all around her, Marie felt like a fish out of water. Idra, I miss you. Verena introduced her to several apprentices, but Marie didn’t make an effort to memorize all their names. They looked nice, but she wasn’t interested in getting to know anyone new that night. Despite her long face, two girls decided to hang around: Laila, a small blonde, and Cina, a tall and lanky brunette. Marie answered the ordinary questions about how she liked it so far and if she thought working in the kitchen sucked with monosyllabic grunts. Laila and Cina didn’t seem to be put off by her reaction and so she let them do all the talking until something the blonde said made her pay attention.