Spindle

by E. K. Johnston

  “Wait,” I said. “Zahrah, please.”

  She stilled.

  “I will try,” I told her. “I will try to understand. I will think about what I say before I say it, and make sure that I say what I mean.”

  “You have always said what you meant, Yashaa,” she told me. “I only misunderstood you.”

  “But I know that now,” I said. A thousand things that she had said and done in the past few days suddenly burned in my memory, lit by new light. “I know it. Please, let me try.”

  “Yashaa,” she said. “I don’t want you to do this because you think it is your duty.”

  “You told me you don’t want my service, even though I thought that was all I had to offer you,” I told her. “Let me do that anyway, and if something else grows beside it, so much the better.”

  She breathed a great sigh, and I saw Zahrah for the first time. The Little Rose wasn’t gone, but she was centered in new ground, and it was a ground I could see clearly and understand. It was the start of something new, but something that would be the better for what had come before. It was something that would be strong, even if we stumbled through the beginning of it.

  “Do you want me to kiss you again?” I asked. My heart raced at the thought of it, though I couldn’t have given good words as to the reason why. “I think it’s the only way we’re going to get better at it.”

  She turned her face toward mine, and I learned that kissing is much easier when you are closer in height, and when you have the advantage of warning, and when neither of you is knocking the other off their feet. It was still very strange, but it was no stranger than climbing down a tower with a princess above you, and no stranger than searching the wide world for one specific piskey. This time when we parted, I felt the loss of her closeness and a surge of the want for it. That was something even I could recognize from stories.

  “That was better,” she said, laughter in her eyes.

  “Indeed,” I said, nearly breathless.

  In the face of my attempt at solemnity, she cracked, and her laughter joined the buzzing of the bees in the air around us. I could have watched her forever, but I was trying to remember that she wanted me to do more than watch.

  “Come on,” I said, and pulled her to her feet. “I didn’t even ask if you caught anything.”

  “Rabbits,” she said. “Three of them.”

  “Saoud will have them all dressed and half cooked by the time we get back,” I told her. “And we’ll be stuck with the washing up.”

  “I think it was worth it,” she said. She looked down at the well cover. “You did good work. I didn’t realize it could be made so quickly.”

  “It won’t last forever,” I told her. “But it will last long enough. And it is a good gift for the piskeys here.”

  “Do you think they will give us something?” she asked.

  “I am nearly certain they have heard every word we’ve spoken since we got here,” I told her. “In which case, they know about the piskey we seek. Maybe they have a way of communicating.”

  “That would be wonderful,” she said. She looked around and raised her voice. “And very much appreciated.”

  There were four stones on the well cover, one holding down each corner. I had picked them because they had flat tops, and because they were broader than they were deep; I hoped that this would make them the best at securing the screen. On the top of one of them, next to the bucket I had filled, was a large green leaf laid out like a table linen. On top of that, there was a honeycomb.

  “Everything is appreciated,” I said, stooping to pick it up. It was awkward to carry, because I also had the bucket, but I managed.

  Zahrah had not let go of my hand.

  THE LOOK THAT SAOUD GAVE ME when we reached the campfire spoke volumes. I watched as he struggled to appear annoyed with us, before giving up and all but collapsing under the weight of his laughter. Tariq and Arwa stared at him, but Zahrah laughed too, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “You are no help at all,” I told him, and he laughed even harder.

  Zahrah had to explain the joke to the others, because I couldn’t, and when she was done, Tariq only raised his eyebrows at me, while Arwa sighed and said that she had known all along.

  “Well, at least somebody knew,” Saoud managed to croak, regaining some measure of control over himself.

  “Be nice to him, Saoud,” Zahrah said. “He has a honeycomb from the bees.”

  I cut it into pieces and passed them out while we waited for the rabbits to finish roasting. They were not particularly well fed, I noticed, but they were a welcome change, and the honeycomb was even more welcome. It was a meager feast, but I was happy for it, and happy for other things besides.

  Arwa went to get more water from the well, and Zahrah went with her. Tariq made himself busy at, as far as I could tell, nothing. Saoud stared into the fire, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I couldn’t read his face.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For figuring everything out and fixing it for me. I don’t think I ever would have.”

  “You would have,” he said. “Someday. But it would have been too late.”

  “Your confidence is stirring,” I told him. Then I sighed. “I wonder how many things my mother tried to tell me and I didn’t hear them, because I turned her words to my own understanding of them.”

  “I don’t think it matters,” Saoud said. “You had other teachers, and you’re not closed-minded. You still learn, and you’re willing to learn from anyone. If Arwa had been the one to hit you over the head with this, you would have listened to her.”

  “Arwa is very clever,” I reminded him. “And she knows all sorts of things that I don’t. I would be foolish not to listen to her.”

  “Arwa is barely twelve,” Saoud said. “Do you think that there are many who would take her seriously?”

  I counted the days in my head and realized that we had missed Arwa’s birthday. She hadn’t said anything. I couldn’t even count the honeycomb as a gift for her, because I had given it to everyone.

  “And now you’re upset that you missed her birthday,” Saoud said. “Which we all did.”

  “I remembered,” Tariq said. “But too late.”

  “That’s not my point, Yashaa,” Saoud said. “My father worried about us, all of us, because we lived in that camp and never left it. We learned about Kharuf and we tried to learn about Qamih, but we never went out and tried to do anything. My father left me behind because it was safe, and because he needed to travel more quickly than I could go when I was a child. When I grew older, he left me behind because of you, all three of you. But he hoped that we wouldn’t stagnate at the crossroads.”

  “We weren’t sick, like our parents were,” Tariq said. “But we would have stayed at least until Yashaa’s mother died.”

  “And look at the mess I’ve made,” I said.

  “It’s a good mess, I think,” Saoud said. “It’s a mess that might lead somewhere good, somewhere better. We’re willing to chance it with you.”

  “Still?” Now it was my turn to stare at the fire.

  “Of course, idiot,” Saoud said. “Do you think a person can only be one thing?”

  “My mother is,” I told him. “She loved my father, and he loved her, but they had their tasks, and they did them.”

  “You are luckier than she was, then,” Tariq said. “Your task and heart are in the same place.”

  “And you share your heart,” Saoud said. “You always have. You can share it now.”

  I looked away from the fire. My eyes were dazzled by the light, but they cleared soon enough, and I saw the truth in Saoud’s face. We were brothers still. Tariq passed me a knife and the smallest cooking pot, and I set to stripping the rabbit bones so we could boil them for broth.

  “What did she say to you, anyway?” Saoud asked. “To get your attention?”

  I smiled at him in a manner I hoped was truly infuriating. “She didn’t say anything at all.”r />
  Saoud groaned and then laughed again, and then Arwa and Zahrah came back and we turned to more serious discussion.

  In the morning, while the rabbit stock was warming, Saoud went to bury the skins. I took my staff and Arwa’s, and led Zahrah through the practice patterns again. She remembered them perfectly, and I only needed to make minor adjustments to her form. I found it was difficult to pay attention to what Zahrah was doing when she was trying to hit me, so I gave her Tariq’s staff, which was heavier, and called Arwa over to take my place.

  The girls faced one another and then began the easiest of the staff patterns they knew. I watched them circle, and for a moment I saw them as they might be one day—not moving through the patterns of a staff exercise, but the patterns of a dance. They would wear long dresses, like the ones my mother and Tariq’s father used to make, instead of the tunics they had now. Their skirts would swirl around them like the lightest spindle whorls, and instead of drawing wool into yarn, they would draw the eyes of everyone in the room.

  Everyone. Like the king and queen of Kharuf. Like the Maker King’s son, or whoever replaced him if that betrothal was broken along with the curse.

  “Yashaa?” Zahrah held up a hand to call a halt, and looked at me with worry on her face. “You look so sad.”

  “I was dreaming,” I told her. “It was a foolish dream.”

  “I thought we had agreed to dream of foolish things,” she said.

  “We did,” I said. “Perhaps this one was too real, too close to what might come to pass someday.”

  “What did you see?” Arwa said. I looked at her. Saoud had said I listened well. Maybe it was time to talk.

  “I saw you and Zahrah, dancing in the Great Hall in the king’s castle in Kharuf,” I told her. “I don’t remember it perfectly, the hall, but I remember the light, and the way sound echoes through it, getting quieter but never fading entirely. It’s a good place for dancing. Proper dancing, not the staff patterns you’re practicing.”

  “That’s not sad,” Arwa said. “That’s wonderful. Were you dancing with us?”

  When she spoke, I saw understanding bloom in Zahrah’s eyes. She knew that I had seen the princess again, that I still could not see myself beside her, only behind her.

  “He will need to practice,” Zahrah said. “But so will I! Imagine if my parents threw a ball, and the only dances we knew were staff patterns? We will all learn together.”

  “Or we can learn desert dances,” Arwa said. “If we have to stay there instead.”

  “Someday,” said Zahrah, “I will learn whatever I want, and I won’t be afraid of it.”

  “You should eat breakfast first, then,” Saoud called. He had returned and Tariq was ladling out the bowls.

  We ate and then struck the tents. We were nearly out of ways to put off leaving when I realized the buzz of the bees had been slowly increasing. It was an odd sound, that buzzing. Even though we had only been in the ruined village for a short time, I still had learned to ignore the sound. It was almost like I only heard it when the bees wanted my attention. Or perhaps when something else did.

  “Wait,” I said. “Saoud, we have to wait a few more minutes.”

  He nodded, clearly able to hear it himself, and we all sat down in the grass. There had been no dancing in the sky last night, nor any sign that the piskeys had heard what I’d said when I’d laid down the well cover beyond a feeling that they had. Now, in the daylight, we wouldn’t be able to see the golden light of their wings so clearly, but perhaps we might see something else.

  “There!” said Tariq, his voice reverent, and I saw.

  There were four of them, flying in a stately way that looked like a royal procession. I knew that if they wanted to, they could flit through the air so quickly we wouldn’t be able to count them. They wanted us to see them—to know that they were approaching. Arwa took off her veil and spread it out on the grass before Zahrah’s feet. The piskeys alighted on it, though they did not sit. Instead they leaned on the golden staves they carried, like tiny shepherds—or bee-herds, I supposed.

  “Good morning,” said Zahrah. No, it was the Little Rose who spoke to them now. Regal bearing shone in every inch of her. “Thank you for the honeycomb. Our travel fare is rough, and can be tedious after many days on the road.”

  “You are quite welcome,” said the piskey who stood the closest to her. “We are likewise grateful for your repair of the well cover. It will be easier for us to manage than the stone one was.”

  “You have Yashaa to thank for that,” the Little Rose said. “And Arwa and Tariq. They are wonderful crafters.”

  “And you are not, princess?” said the piskey.

  “I cannot,” she told them. “If I do, my mind becomes a stronger place for the demon who wants to steal it for its own use.”

  “You could spin,” said the piskey. “That would end it for you.”

  “It would end it for me,” said the Little Rose. “But my curse would go on, and my people would suffer.”

  “The trouble with magic,” said the piskey, “is that even those creatures who make it are bound by it, and the binding becomes so muddled by life and living that it is difficult to unravel.”

  “We have noticed as much,” I said. I was surprised that I had the courage to speak at all.

  “What happens when you make things, child?” the piskey said.

  “I haven’t made very many,” the Little Rose admitted, and she was Zahrah again: unsure and vulnerable, but no less determined. “It hurts to hold back. I want to learn and make and do, but I have not let myself, and others have helped by not letting me either.”

  “But you have slipped up,” said the piskey shrewdly. “You have fallen through the cracks of your own prison.”

  “Yes,” said Zahrah. “I helped fix a fence.”

  She looked at me, and then back at the piskeys.

  “It hurt even more,” she said. “My head ached for hours, so much that I could barely think straight.”

  This was not the time for it, but later I was going to have words with her about this. I had known she was in some pain, but not that much. I never would have let her risk the staff patterns.

  “But there was an exultation afterwards,” she said, and I saw the mirror of it in her face. “It felt like a part of me was finally completed. But it didn’t bring me closer to breaking the curse. We need you to tell us how.”

  The piskeys looked at one another, and then their leader sighed.

  “The thread tangled as soon as my gift to you was spun into it,” it said. We all straightened. This was the very piskey we sought. “I saw it, and I did not know how to set it right. We have spent these years trying to untangle the knot ourselves, but all we have for you are guesses and suggestions, not answers.”

  “We will accept those,” Zahrah said. “And I, at least, will accept them gladly.”

  “I will too,” Tariq said. “I am not afraid to do some of the thinking for myself and to try to put the pieces together for my princess.”

  The smallest piskey fluttered around his head, showering his dark hair with gold dust.

  “The demon is coming, child,” the leader of the piskeys said to Zahrah, and it was as though our fate was sealed with its words. “But there is hope. You must be completed or you will never have the chance to know peace. Never rule. Never see your kingdom safe.”

  “How can I?” she asked.

  “You must learn,” it said. “You must make, and you must do. I’m not sure which of them will plague you more, and I am sorry, for you will suffer the cost of it. It is the faerie’s curse. But remember my gift, too. You may find the right time to use it, once your own mind has begun to open up.”

  There was pain in the piskey’s face. Regret and longing to make something right, where it could offer no help. It had already tried, as it had told us, the day the Little Rose turned five, and the knot had only tied itself all the tighter.

  The Little Rose bowed to the piskey, and then the f
our creatures took wing, leaving a golden trail of dust on Arwa’s veil.

  WE DIDN’T SPEAK VERY MUCH that day. I could have said it was because we were making up for our late start, but we all knew the truth. The piskey had all but said that the only way to break the curse was to play right into the demon’s hands. Yet we still marched away from our pursuers, away from the castle where Zahrah, at least, would have been home with her parents while the horrors swooped down on her. I supposed that couldn’t be much in the way of comfort.

  When we finally stopped, it was two hours before dark. We set up the tents and lit a small fire, once Tariq had dug a pit for it. I noticed that the heather here was scrubbier, and flowers were few and far between. We must have been getting closer to the desert, though I could hardly see the point of reaching it now.

  “I will go back,” said Zahrah, as though she had read my thoughts. “They will put me back in the tower, and I will go insane there, but I will do it.”

  She looked straight at me for the last part, and I knew that while she would miss the others, she would miss me the most. It wasn’t a particularly happy realization.

  “You still have to marry the Maker King’s son,” Saoud said. “That hasn’t changed either.”

  She considered her options—home, with its myriad prisons, or the dangerous freedom that was life with us—and then something hardened in her.

  “If the demon is going to have me,” Zahrah said, “I want to be me first, all of me. As I was meant to.”

  She looked at all of us, the children who had grown up on stories of her, and who had come to love her when the stories were made into a real person who could stand before us. Even Arwa was fearless, or perhaps she was the most fearless of us all, for I couldn’t deny that I felt cold doubt in my bones, though I wouldn’t give in to it.

  “Help me,” she said.

  It wasn’t the princess who ordered. It wasn’t the Little Rose who manipulated. It was Zahrah, and she was asking. Anything I might have said stuck in my throat.