It took me nine more days to get into Medalia. Each day made me feel more confused than I was the day I left. My head throbbed with unanswerable questions with every hoof beat. But as I approached the city gates, I began to feel more confident each second. Maybe I had done something right for a change.
"What's your business here?" A guard asked, looking as if he were about to prod Jedni or me with the long stick he was holding.
"I am a nomad," I answered proudly, but untruthfully. "I wish to become part of your humble city." As my mind started to wander, I peered inside the gates. I was definitely right when I had said "humble."
"What is your name, nomad?" He asked me mockingly. But? what was my name? I couldn't give my real name. I had given that no thought whatsoever.
"Uh? Play." Play? I had just given myself a dumb name, although it was the first letter of "princess" and the first three letters of "Layla." Great. I would have to go though the rest of my life being called the pastime of bored children.
"Where did you get that?" The guard eyed my scabbard suspiciously. I should have hidden it!
"A gift from Br- Prince Brydon of Dreideth." I wasn't going to lie to him again.
I held my breath as the guard lifted an eyebrow at me. He probably thought I had stolen it, but because no theft had been reported, he couldn't accuse me. But let him think whatever he wanted to.
I let out my nervous breath as he slowly opened the gate the rest of the way for me. As I entered, I saw people hustling in every way possible. There were elderly woman selling homemade goods, others buying homemade goods, lonely old men shopping, and mothers with babies on their hips. They all spoke Barranadigen faster than I could translate! I should have brushed up a bit.
I bounced off so I could walk beside Jedni to keep her from being spooked. People were jostling her carelessly. When I tried to calm her down, using my own language, Alieghn, a frightful-looking old lady gave me a hard, cold stare. She seemed to be talking with her eyes, saying, "You don't belong here, especially if you speak Alieghn." I tried to ignore her while I headed to the only tree around, a shady oak with arms that reached to the ground.
I pulled out my pen, paper and ink. As I reached into my bag, I noticed how dreadfully rough, yellow and calloused my hands were. They really needed more moisture. But, I had no balm with me, not here. So I just spat on them, and rubbed them together. Hopefully it would moisturize them, although it was likely to make them worse.
Not being able to go to the cabinet for hand balm made me a little homesick. But why?how could I be homesick for a place I hated? A placed I never enjoyed? I had obviously taken all my luxuries for granted. But I could get use to this lifestyle, these customs. I hoped.
"You're homeless?" I looked up, and an older lady was hovering above me with a scowl lingering on her swarthy face. Her skin and her facial expression both seemed tough as leather.
"No- well, yes. I guess I am." The truth hit me hard. I was homeless. I had come here without thinking about where I was to live. Her question was hard to answer. The lady studied me a second, then said, "I'm Mrs. Pelgre. You can stay with us, I guess. But you ain't gettin' room and board for free, mind you, no sir. You'll have to work, just like the rest of my children. If they can do it, so can you."
I accepted her offer. When I got to her old shanty, I discovered that all children were grown, eighteen and up, and were working in the fields. I asked her to start me out easy, confessing that I wasn't accustomed to hard work.
"Bah!!" she snorted. But after she saw my first candle dipping, slinging the strings from the pot of melted wax to the pail of cold water and getting it all over her loose floorboards, she began to believe me. And those were the candles I had to use at night. It was really a tough situation I had gotten myself into.
I had to do the dishes every night, except for Mondays, when I worked in the fields with her two oldest sons, Heeny and Tolup, twenty-one and thirty-two. I was not good at carrying sheaths of hay, as one might imagine.
"Want me to get the whip?" Heeny hooted one day when I collapsed in the middle of the field. I knew he was joking, but I filled up with fear.
"And I'll get the nails so we can keep her from sliding down the wall of the barn while she's flogged!" Tolup whooped back at his brother.
I gulped hard and forced myself to continue my work.
At night I collapsed on my straw mat, completely exhausted. I had no time to think of my dreams that I had come out here to fulfill, and it was a good thing, because it would have made me sink even further in the pits of despair.
One day I danced with myself. I was longing for real companionship, someone to have fun with. No sooner than I had started, I felt a hand tugging at my faded, torn, dirty shift. I looked down and saw a little lass, about three or four. Her other grimy hand was in her mouth, up to her knuckles.
"We don't play, we work," she said, her hand muffling her speech.
Being my old self, I wanted to say "But Play is my name!" Which it was, in Medalia anyway.
After that, I never got another chance to dance. I was kept busy, so busy that sometimes I thought that my arms and legs would fall off.
Layla Page 4