Dragonfly Song

by Wendy Orr

  running across the field,

  searching

  and calling her twin.

  So Aissa disappears

  into the woods,

  spying from a tree

  to watch Half-Two

  run to her sister,

  screaming for help

  till more searchers come

  to carry the girl home.

  And Aissa knows

  that Squint-Eye and the twins

  will never forgive her

  or believe

  that Half-One would have died

  if Aissa hadn’t found her.

  No matter what she does now

  she will never be safe.

  Maybe running away

  will be better than staying.

  16

  THE WISE-WOMEN

  The Hall Folk are not as stupid as the servants think. However, it’s not a good idea to bother the Lady with petty problems about people who barely count as people – as long as things are running smoothly, it’s best to let servants sort things out for themselves.

  But No-Name is becoming a problem. Kelya has known that something was wrong since the lottery, but she’s still not sure what. Goddess, she begs, what can I do?

  The goddess doesn’t answer. The other wise-women don’t answer either, because Kelya’s never told them her secret. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them, it’s just that she’s kept quiet for so long it’s hard to even hint at it now.

  Lyra and Lena are the other two wise-women; Lyra is the youngest, not much older than Lena’s fifteen-year-old daughter, the apprentice Roula. Like the other trades, being a healer is usually passed from mother to daughter, but Kelya never had children, and Lena’s other children are all boys. Often a Lady’s younger daughters become healers, but this Lady hasn’t got any younger daughters. And no matter how much the others remind Lyra it’s time for her to choose a husband and have a daughter, she hasn’t found a man she wants yet.

  ‘We’re fine as we are,’ she says.

  But when the half-dead twin is brought in after the storm, the ruckus is felt all the way up to the Hall.

  There’s no separate place for sick servants – you couldn’t have them sleeping in the sick-room off the wise-women’s chamber – so Lyra and Roula check the girl in the kitchen and give Squint-Eye herbs to bring the fever down and her strength up. They can’t help but be involved.

  ‘The servants say it’s No-Name’s fault.’

  ‘It could be. Those twins have hounded her often enough.’

  ‘The girl’s got a sprained ankle and a fever from lying out in the rain – how could No-Name have done that?’

  ‘Squint-Eye set the twin to chase her.’

  ‘So Squint-Eye’s blaming No-Name to keep her own authority.’

  ‘The truth is, that child has been nothing but trouble since she arrived. If the twin dies, sending No-Name to the cliffs might solve—’

  ‘The truth is,’ Kelya interrupts, ‘that only the Lady can send someone to the cliffs. And I’m telling you that you do not want the Lady to decide on this one.’

  There’s a short, stunned silence.

  ‘Are you saying that the servants’ rumour about the firstborn is true?’

  ‘How did you keep the secret for so long? You could have trusted us!’

  ‘Trust you to giggle and gossip like kitchen maids!’ Kelya retorts. She doesn’t need eyes to know they’re all staring at her. ‘I’m just saying we need to find a better solution before everything gets out of control. We can start by making sure that twin survives.’

  Fear now,

  all the time,

  everywhere,

  belly-churning, mind-whirling

  terror,

  even in her cave

  because

  the autumn rains are leaking in

  puddling on the floor –

  she can’t stay there much longer.

  But if she runs away

  she must leave Gold-Cat behind –

  he belongs to the Lady.

  So does Aissa –

  but the Lady might want Gold-Cat.

  Fear because

  Half-One is still sick,

  even with hot soup

  spooned into her mouth,

  drop by warm drop

  by her sister;

  even though wise-women visit

  with healing herbs

  and advice for Squint-Eye,

  Half-One shivers,

  sleeps and talks nonsense;

  doesn’t know where she is

  or who wrapped her in goat fleece

  to keep her warm.

  Anger too,

  bubbling through fear.

  Aissa tried so hard

  to save Half-One –

  her side still aches

  from the twin’s weight –

  it’s not fair if it doesn’t work;

  and worse

  that she gets the blame.

  And in case she hasn’t heard it,

  Half-Two stands outside

  the sanctuary rock

  to tell the air

  that her sister is dying,

  that No-Name killed her,

  and of how she hopes

  to push the murderer

  off the cliff herself.

  Half-Two

  never goes early enough

  to see Aissa coming out

  or late enough

  to catch her going in,

  and she’s not brave enough

  to try sliding

  under the rock,

  even though she’s sure

  it’s where Aissa goes,

  because once when she looked in,

  Aissa’s house snake looked out.

  But even so,

  Aissa’s cave home

  isn’t safe anymore.

  Luki hears the whispers too,

  the talk of the cliffs;

  he catches Aissa once,

  meeting her at the gate

  when he should be eating,

  saying, ‘How can I help?’

  and sliding a half-eaten

  barley cake

  into her hand.

  ‘No one can help,’

  Aissa would say if she could

  though she eats the cake.

  Running away

  is dangerous enough,

  it’s even worse

  if someone knows.

  But she stores his words

  as if they were jewels

  or honeycomb,

  arranging them with

  his family’s kindness,

  and the goatherds’,

  tasting their sweetness in the night

  when Half-Two’s threats

  invade her dreams.

  So she plans

  and hesitates.

  She knows that the goat cave

  is not a good choice

  but it seems the only one.

  She gathers acorns to dry,

  drags wood for a fire

  finds flint to start it,

  yet somehow each night

  finds herself turning

  back to the town

  where she’s never been safe –

  but safer than on the mountain

  alone.

  Days aren’t quite

  as bad as nights;

  fear is still strong

  and more real

  but her mind can’t whirl so fast

  when she’s running in the hills.

  There are mushrooms growing

  on the way to the cave

  she has seen the wise-women

  picking,

  carrying them home

  in wide willow baskets.

  They’re not so wise!

  thinks Aissa,

  they’ve missed some,

  all along the way.

  She pulls them carefully

  at the stalk,

  not losing any

  of the pa
le brown flesh,

  brushing off dirt,

  laying them on her outspread cloak

  to carry and store

  in the goatherds’ cave.

  Kneeling to reach one more

  growing up from under

  the root of a tree,

  so excited at this sign

  that she might survive the winter

  she forgets to watch

  or listen for danger –

  just for a moment,

  but that’s all it takes.

  The thump across her back

  knocks her face to the ground,

  gasping

  as the stick strikes again

  and a voice shouts,

  ‘Wicked girl!

  Picking the mushrooms

  left for the goddess –

  how will she grow them

  again next year?’

  A final thump:

  ‘Get up, girl,

  and answer me!’

  Aissa wants to run

  but the voice is Lyra’s,

  a wise-woman,

  though younger than the rest.

  Aissa’s not sure what powers

  the wise-women have,

  but she thinks she’d better

  do what she’s told.

  ‘No-Name!’ says Lyra.

  ‘Now, there’s a surprise.

  I thought you were a hunter’s child

  by that cloak.

  But I guess I’ll never know

  how you came by it.’

  Aissa’s heart thumping,

  faster still when Lyra says,

  ‘You know there are many

  who want you thrown from the cliff –

  stealing mushrooms from the goddess

  takes you another step

  closer to the edge.’

  Lyra studies the mushrooms

  so carefully laid

  across the cloak,

  and the rope sling

  at Aissa’s waist.

  ‘Is this how you’ve lived,

  foraging the hills,

  since you were cast out

  from the servants’ kitchen?’

  Aissa despairing

  at being so wrong,

  knows she will never,

  ever,

  be right.

  She nods yes,

  though her knees tremble.

  ‘I think there might be

  a better plan,’

  says Lyra.

  ‘Break up your mushrooms,

  throw them back

  and thank the goddess

  for her bounty –

  and for your second chance.’

  Aissa can’t imagine

  what a second chance could be,

  but scatters pink-frilled pieces

  of broken mushrooms

  up and down the path

  and is happy to thank the goddess

  that she’s still alive

  and not being beaten again.

  ‘Follow me,’ says Lyra,

  setting off down the hill,

  never looking back to see

  if Aissa is there

  because she knows

  Aissa has no choice.

  At the walls of the town

  Lyra passes

  the gate to the garden,

  taking the road around

  to the great front gate,

  Aissa so close behind her

  she bumps when Lyra stops,

  because she’s afraid of the wise-woman

  but more afraid of the crowd,

  as she hears:

  ‘Lyra’s bringing in No-Name!’

  ‘Has Half-One died?’

  ‘Is the cursed child finally

  going to be thrown from the cliffs?’

  Lyra ignores them as if she can’t hear;

  marches through the crowd,

  the busy market,

  up to the Hall.

  ‘Stay with me!’

  she says,

  and leads Aissa through

  to the wise-women’s chamber.

  Kelya is alone, sitting on a stool to sort seeds by feel, when Lyra brings Aissa in. ‘I’ve brought you No-Name,’ she says. ‘I have an idea.’

  Aissa hears a tremor in the young woman’s voice. Kelya’s the boss! she thinks. Just like Squint-Eye with the servants.

  If a wise-woman is nervous, an outcast servant should be terrified. But as Aissa approaches the old woman, something in her relaxes.

  ‘Little one!’ says Kelya. ‘Come here; sit.’ She points at the floor in front of her, and Aissa obediently squats at her feet. The wise-woman reaches down, sighing as she runs her hands over Aissa’s face.

  ‘Call Lena and Roula,’ she says to Lyra.

  She doesn’t speak while Lyra’s gone, except to sigh, ‘Little one!’ again, but she goes on stroking Aissa’s hair.

  The others return, staring in surprise at No-Name squatting by Kelya’s feet. Roula shuts the door behind them.

  Aissa tries to be invisible, but it’s impossible when they’re all studying her. All she can do is sit still as stone, forcing her legs not to get up and run away.

  ‘I found her picking the mushrooms left for the goddess,’ says Lyra.

  Lena hisses in shock.

  ‘I beat her!’ Lyra assures them.

  Roula and her mother nod in approval.

  ‘But she scattered them in appeasement when I told her,’ Lyra continues. ‘She did it well – and she’d gathered the mushrooms with respect. For someone raised in the servants’ kitchen, she seems to understand the hills and their plants.’

  Kelya doesn’t mention that she used to take Aissa up into the hills for herbs herself, when the girl was tiny. It never hurts to keep a few secrets for when you need them. ‘She always used to gather the kitchen greens for the twins,’ she says.

  I thought nobody knew that! Aissa thinks. What else does she know?

  Watching from beneath her lashes, she sees that Lena and Roula are shocked, but Lyra looks a bit more sure of herself.

  ‘So my idea is: what if she became a gatherer for us?’

  ‘But she’s a servant!’ says Lena.

  ‘She can’t be an apprentice!’ splutters Roula.

  ‘Not an apprentice,’ Lyra says quickly, ‘a servant-gatherer – just for us. To help Roula.’

  Kelya hides a smile.

  ‘Show them your sling,’ Lyra orders.

  Aissa stands up. She hands Kelya her rope sling, and her cloak as well. Kelya starts in surprise as her fingers sink into the thick wolf fur, and finally she smiles, as if she’s made up her mind.

  ‘Just for a moment, let’s think of this child as a girl, not a servant. A girl with skills at hunting as well as gathering – she’s known what to pick to survive since she was thrown out of the kitchen.’

  I’m glad they don’t know about the figs and the diarrhoea! Aissa thinks.

  ‘A girl who will never speak of our secrets,’ Kelya concludes.

  ‘A girl to keep out of the Lady’s way,’ Lena reminds her.

  ‘We don’t need to bother the Lady with servant affairs. We’re simply taking one that the kitchen doesn’t want.’

  Aissa squats

  at the wise-woman’s feet

  while the others pull their stools

  in a circle around her,

  listening

  with ears and heart,

  mind whirling

  but not with fear –

  or not so much –

  wondering if she can believe

  what she hears:

  she’s going to be safe.

  Maybe even

  better than safe.

  ‘Stand, child,’ says Kelya at last,

  ‘this is my decision:

  from this time on

  you will serve only us,

  learning the herbs

  and plants we gather

  for healing and wisdom.

  You wil
l sleep in this chamber

  on a fleece by my bed.

  Roula will bring you

  food when she’s eaten,

  for you don’t belong in the Hall

  and aren’t safe in the kitchen –

  though I shall make it known

  that you belong to us

  and are not to be harmed.

  No-Name is the label of a slave.

  A server to wise-women

  can’t bear a slave’s name.

  From now on you’ll be known

  as the wise-women’s server.

  And in this room,

  or alone with us,

  you’ll be called by your name:

  Aissa.

  Aissa’s never known

  there could be tears for joy.

  She cries so hard

  she has to hide her hot face

  on the cold stone floor

  and kisses

  Kelya’s feet.

  Because safety is good

  but having a name is better.

  It’s not till dark,

  lying by Kelya’s bed

  on a clean thick fleece

  with her wolf fur on top,

  her belly full

  of hot thick soup,

  that other thoughts hit,

  hard as Lena’s stick:

  she will never sleep

  with the cats again;

  feel Gold-Cat’s warmth

  under her chin;

  hear the murmuring purr

  of dozing kittens.

  She’s happy to leave

  her treasures of rock and shell,

  goddess-thanks patterned in the dust,

  but losing the cats

  tears at her heart.

  And so does knowing

  she will never again lie

  in her secret place

  to spy on the Lady’s magic,

  or hear the snake song

  as if it were for her.

  She chooses safety

  but the price is high.

  And with that thought,

  there’s a sound at the door.

  Aissa jumps in fear

  that Squint-Eye’s coming –

  the goddess punishing her

  for mourning the loss

  of her outcast freedom.

  But the sound is Gold-Cat,

  mewing impatiently

  because he’s left his mother

  and siblings behind

  and is waiting to scamper

  onto Aissa’s mat

  to sleep under her chin.

  17

  THE HERB GATHERER

  The wise-women are much more than healers and midwives.

  They collect health-giving herbs from all over the island, from beach to mountain top. Each plant tells its own story, as do the spiders spinning their webs, the birds in the trees and the crabs on the beach. The wise-women listen to them all, so they know better than anyone whether the coming season is going to be hard, hotter or drier or wetter than usual. They keep track of the moon’s phases and the sun’s warmth, and know if the figs will ripen early and the best day to plant beans.