Dragonfly Song

by Wendy Orr

  Milli-Cat kneads and shreds it even more, making a nest – much cosier than the hard rock floor.

  Did you think it was my offering to you? Aissa wonders, as the cat headbutts her in thanks. Maybe it was.

  No one has ever thanked her before.

  But she wants to make a rock-hurling sling, not a cat nest. She works at it every day, her fingers toughening as they get faster, until finally she has a rope. She splices the middle into a flat pouch to hold a stone, and knots one end into a handle.

  Aissa’s seen herder children practising in the fields. The loop of rope whirls over their heads; the end flies free and the rock shoots out with it. She places a stone carefully into the pouch.

  She whirls . . . the rope snaps; the rock lands on her toe.

  Thank the goddess I chose a small rock! But even as she rubs the sore toe, she’s studying the broken rope. I see what I did wrong!

  Three days later, Milli-Cat’s bark nest is big enough for a whole family of cats, and Aissa has a strong rope sling.

  It’s too big for her pouch, and servants don’t have slings. She doesn’t know what happens to outcast servants who break the Hall folk’s rules, but it won’t be good.

  So she wears it wrapped three times around her waist, under her tunic. Now, when she goes out to the hills, she doesn’t mind being out of sight of other gatherers. As soon as she’s on her own, she unwraps the sling from under her tunic, grabs a rock, and starts practising. Sometimes she even hits the tree she’s aiming at.

  This hot summer night

  Milli-Cat is restless,

  meowing complaints

  Aissa can’t understand,

  rumpling and rustling

  her nest of bark

  as if it’s nearly

  but not quite

  right,

  till she flops on her side

  with a yowl of pain.

  Aissa’s heart clenches

  in its own pain and fear.

  There is something wrong

  with her only friend

  and she can do

  nothing to help.

  She has nothing even

  to offer the goddess

  in a plea for mercy

  for this small being,

  alone like Aissa,

  the only one of her kind.

  All she has

  are the chips of stone

  swept to the side

  of her hard floor bed,

  three empty snails,

  a shining mussel shell

  and a raven’s feather.

  She makes a circle,

  a pattern to please the goddess

  and with her sharp flint knife

  slices her thumb,

  hard and fast.

  Her gift of blood

  splashes the design,

  red drops on the rock.

  Then Milli-Cat yowls

  a different call,

  pain and surprise mixed into one,

  and Aissa turns

  to see the cat

  licking a tiny wet bundle

  of new life.

  Licking hard,

  as if she will shape

  this squirming form

  into a kitten.

  And soon, it is.

  Hand on heart,

  Aissa thanks the goddess,

  promising a gift

  better than shells and feather,

  because Milli-Cat can’t do it herself –

  she is busy again

  birthing a second kitten.

  Small as dormice

  with blind, shut eyes,

  but Milli-Cat knows them

  as her own;

  curls around them

  till they nose to her side

  for their first drink.

  Too dark to see now

  and though Aissa tries

  to keep awake,

  her eyes close

  and she sleeps to the sound

  of Milli-Cat’s strong mother tongue

  licking her babies into life.

  Wakes for a yowling –

  once, twice,

  three, four more times –

  each one a heart pang

  for her small friend’s pain

  but the yowl always followed

  by that busy licking

  that says all is well

  in this dark cave this night.

  Till the dim light of morning

  shows Milli-Cat curled

  around six nuzzling kittens.

  Two white like Milli,

  two black

  like the bull ship cat,

  one patched both black and white

  and the biggest

  a strange soft gold.

  Milli-Cat lifts her head

  for Aissa’s hand,

  the touch that says,

  ‘How clever you are,

  and how beautiful

  are your children!’

  in the dark of the cave

  where no one sees

  the mute girl touching

  the Lady’s deaf pet.

  And Aissa’s heart swells again

  with a different pain,

  the strong, sharp ache

  of love.

  Aissa’s home under the sanctuary rock is cold, hard and cramped. She’s grateful for its shelter but never slides into it without a slight shiver of dread, of wondering whether tonight it will fall and crush her. Now, on these long summer days, she can hardly wait for the secrecy of darkness so she can return to Milli-Cat’s kittens.

  Her only worry is that she has promised the goddess a gift, and she doesn’t yet know what it could be. She doesn’t have the first fruits of harvest, or the firstborn kid from a flock, or any of the usual offerings. She just hopes that she’ll know when she finds it, and that the goddess will be patient till then.

  Milli-Cat’s babies

  have blind, shut eyes,

  are squirmy and helpless,

  but Milli-Cat cares for them

  as if they were jewels,

  licking and cleaning,

  nuzzling them to her side

  so they all get her milk,

  though the smallest, white like Milli –

  is always the last to drink.

  Milli-Cat goes out to hunt

  early in the night

  when Aissa is settling into sleep

  and watching the kittens.

  Not touching

  in case Milli doesn’t want it,

  but watching,

  learning them

  and watching Milli-Cat love them

  she learns to love too.

  The runty white one

  is not Milli’s favourite

  she saves her nuzzling for the strong

  who drink hard

  and grow fast.

  But Aissa wonders

  if the unloved kitten

  would be just as strong

  if it were loved.

  She wants to see it grow

  and is afraid

  when a new guest comes.

  Every home

  needs a house snake to bless it,

  the goddess’s pet,

  accepting bowls of milk

  and family prayers.

  Aissa’s home is not a house,

  just a rock she slithers under

  as if she were a snake herself

  so she is glad for the blessing

  but afraid

  because she has no milk to offer.

  The snake is thin,

  twice as long as the Lady’s vipers

  but not so deadly.

  Aissa brings him

  crickets and lizards,

  hoping he doesn’t

  want something bigger.

  She wishes that Milli-Cat

  would offer a mouse

  but the cat doesn’t know

  they must pay

  for the snake’s blessing.

  The kittens grow, da
y by day

  so every night,

  Aissa sees them stronger,

  eyes opening,

  trying to walk

  till her heart beats

  with strong proud joy.

  Late on a hot, full-moon night

  townfolk and Hall are in the square

  singing sad farewell to dying flowers

  and welcoming

  the fruits to come.

  Aissa watching from the shadows;

  there is food to steal

  as the night grows dark

  so it’s late when she slithers

  under her rock

  up and across

  and down to her cave

  like every other night.

  But this night

  Milli-Cat is gone.

  No purring headbutt greets her

  though she can hear

  the soft breathing of kitten sleep

  and can feel in the darkness

  furry bodies snuggled

  in their nest of bark –

  but only five,

  no matter how she counts them.

  The runty kitten

  that Aissa loves

  is gone.

  Her heart tightens with pain,

  as if a hugging boa

  is squeezing her chest;

  she searches the cave

  hoping the runt has tumbled

  on staggery legs

  away from the others

  because every day

  the kittens walk a bit more.

  Patting dark corners,

  searching warm fur,

  until she touches

  in the furthest gap

  where the rock slopes to the ground,

  the solid smooth flesh,

  cool in the night,

  of a sleeping

  well-fed snake.

  Lifting its head

  in a shaft of moonlight

  the snake’s eyes

  look into Aissa’s,

  straight from the goddess

  down to her soul.

  The moonlight moves;

  the spell is broken.

  There’s only the pain

  that the kitten is gone

  and rage

  because it never had a chance

  at life

  simply because

  it wasn’t loved.

  Wanting to choke the snake

  make it cough up its kitten dinner –

  the snake may be the goddess’s pet

  but Milli-Cat’s runt was hers

  and she screams inside,

  I hate you, hate you, hate you!

  till rage is swallowed by fear

  because Milli-Cat is missing too

  and what if

  she’s not out hunting

  but inside the snake with her baby?

  Heart twisting,

  stomach churning,

  tears dripping –

  not for her,

  not like the day she wailed on the mountain

  but for the runty kitten

  and her Milli-Cat friend

  and the other babies

  who will die

  without their mother’s care

  because Aissa can love them

  but they need milk.

  ‘There’s milk in the kitchens,’

  says the voice in her head.

  ‘The Lady can order it –

  the kittens are hers.’

  Heart clenching tighter –

  maybe some of

  the tears were for her –

  Aissa makes the picture in her mind:

  taking kittens

  from cave to Hall

  while the Lady is at table

  because if soft-hearted Fila

  sees the kittens

  they will be cared for.

  And that’s more important

  than Aissa being alone

  again.

  The picture doesn’t stop her sobs

  but it unwinds her heart

  soothing her to sleep,

  until she feels

  a warm nose against her face,

  a head rubbing under her chin –

  Milli-Cat home from the hunt,

  not eaten up by the snake

  just leaving the kittens alone

  because Aissa was late.

  Milli-Cat doesn’t care

  that the runt is gone

  but cares that Aissa is crying;

  she grabs her strong favourite

  by his orange scruff,

  carries him swinging

  from her mouth

  and drops him onto

  Aissa’s neck.

  In the morning

  Aissa remembers the goddess

  staring through the snake’s slit eyes,

  thinks that Milli made her offering

  and now the runt’s been taken

  the others will be safe.

  But just in case,

  she leaves her gifts

  of lizards and frogs

  at the front of the rock

  near the sanctuary door,

  far from the kittens.

  And when the market traders

  see the snake there

  they leave offerings too.

  It’s the hottest morning of summer when Milli-Cat leads her five kittens proudly out from under the sanctuary rock. Her tail waves like a flag and the kittens march in a trail behind it. The Lady has barely finished singing the sun up when the crowd sees the parade of cats.

  The Lady hears the gasps and waits for the chorus of, ‘Thank you, Mother!’

  ‘Cats!’ she hears.

  ‘Little ones!’

  ‘The Lady’s pet’s had babies!’

  Fila forgets the ritual and runs to scoop up the black-and-white kitten. ‘So sweet!’

  The kitten squawks in surprise, but Fila is gentle; after a moment he starts to purr. Milli-Cat meows sharply and marches on to the kitchen, the other kittens following. Fila puts the black-and-white one down and picks up the black one with a white snip on his chest. ‘Are you the cutest?’ she asks, and then changes her mind and cuddles the pure white one.

  It doesn’t hurt as much as Aissa had thought – not until Fila picks up the orange kitten.

  Ever since his mother dropped him onto Aissa’s neck, Gold-Cat has claimed her for his own. He yowls when she comes back to the cave, twining around her ankles till she squats to hold him. He sleeps tucked between her chin and shoulder – Aissa doesn’t know how she’ll sleep again without that soft warmth.

  ‘Ow!’ Fila squeaks. The orange kitten scampers away with an indignant meow.

  Milli-Cat glances at him, and goes on eating the fish Squint-Eye’s offered her. Fila picks up the other black kitten. Gold-Cat hisses every time she comes near.

  That evening, Milli-Cat leads her babies back to the cave for the night, and the orange kitten finds his place under Aissa’s chin.

  But the kittens don’t know that this should only be for night-time. They haven’t heard of outcasts and they don’t know that No-Name doesn’t exist. They don’t know how hard it is to be invisible with a parade of tail-waving cats behind you.

  It’s confusing for the servants, too. They can’t throw rocks at No-Name anymore, in case they hit one of the Lady’s cats. They’d have to chase her out in the fields – only the golden kitten tries to follow her through the gate, and she always makes sure he stays inside. Half-Two even sees her pick up the little cat and put him back when he slips out after her.

  The twin forgets the figs she’s been sent to pick and races back to Squint-Eye. ‘No-Name touched the Lady’s cat!’

  Squint-Eye’s stick whacks her across the legs. ‘Stupid girl! Are you going to tell the Lady that the beast prefers No-Name to her own daughter?’

  Half-Two would like to, but another whack tells her that’s the wrong answer.

  12

  THE GOATS AND THE WOLF

  Ai
ssa looks for more paths to the sea

  for oyster rocks,

  mussels and seaweed

  but sometimes

  on a cliff

  far from the fishers’ cove,

  she still feels the chill

  of Nasta’s mother,

  waiting to throw her off.

  The mountain is not so lonely

  with sling in hand –

  only hungry.

  Slinging a rock at a rabbit

  but never hitting it;

  she doesn’t know if

  she could eat one,

  raw and bloody,

  anyway.

  She’s never tasted meat

  except the shreds

  at the bottom of soup

  and maybe that’s enough

  for a girl like her.

  In a high meadow

  at the edge of the forest,

  a goat grazes with her half-grown kid.

  Aissa can’t see a goatherd –

  maybe they’re wild,

  belonging to no one.

  If they belong to no one

  they could be hers.

  Remembering Spot Goat,

  Mama milking,

  the smell of whey,

  of curds and cheese

  though she can’t quite

  remember the taste.

  But she does remember –

  more than she wants –

  Spot Goat guarding

  on the night of terror

  and Aissa drinking

  like the goat’s lost kid;

  remembers warm milk,

  and the feel of her mouth

  against the belly;

  the sad bleat

  when Fox Lady took

  Aissa away.

  Her heart fills with thanks

  and hope that Spot Goat

  is still grazing a meadow

  with a kid at her feet.

  Then the goat, not Spot Goat,

  but the same ble-aah call,

  trot-trots towards Aissa,

  forgetting her kid,

  and never seeing

  the wolf crouched behind.

  The wolf doesn’t trot,

  stays low in the grass,

  creeping up on the kid,

  closer and closer.

  Aissa watching in a dream,

  not breathing,

  still as stone,

  but her hand moves,

  all by itself,

  knowing just how

  to reach for a rock

  and fit it into the sling

  while her eyes watch the wolf –

  its tail twitching

  mouth grinning

  sharp teeth waiting,

  ready to spring.

  Aissa’s arm whirling over her head,

  once, twice,

  no time for more,

  clutching tight to the knot,