Scavenger Girl: Season of Toridia

by Jennifer Arntson

  “Reinick is not going to be happy.”

  She slapped the tops of her thighs. “That’s reason enough for me.” She stood. As she passed, she tugged on my fingertips. “Try not to worry.”

  Right.

  Sterle entered as Trisk walked out, pushing the wheeled sewing machine in front of her. She cleared the sweat from her brow and moved around the object to tug it further into the room.

  I offered to help, but she politely declined. There were many reasons she could offer: our roles as lady and servant, my pregnancy, the dress. The mark. Mother once told me not to ask questions I already had the answers for. “You either make yourself appear foolish or condescending. Neither one is flattering.”

  Besides, she’d lie anyway.

  Satisfied with where she put it, Sterle positioned herself on the other side of the machine, leaving the unit to stand between us. Never before did a piece of equipment make such a bold statement. She fiddled with the gears, making the needle rise and fall, trying to busy herself. When that bored her, she traced the margin of where the metal plate met the wooden table. She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and tried to make herself appear small. Her eyes hopped on and off the Woodman’s mark, and her shoulders folded in each time they did.

  “I am the same person. I’m no different.”

  “I’m sorry, my Lady, I mean, Miss Una. I just, I didn’t know,” she stammered.

  “I’d like to keep it a secret.”

  Her eyes widened, her hand brought up to her chest as if in prayer. “Of course! I won’t tell a soul, I promise.”

  Qarla burst into the tent, holding an armful of dark clothing. “I went through everything,” she said, dropping them at her feet. “These are all the black things we have. Come here, Miss Una.” She waved for me to come. She held up several items and cast them aside before settling on a maid’s dress. “All right, take that one off.”

  I did as she asked and handed it to her. Sterle draped the blanket from Marsh’s bed around my shoulders as Qarla rummaged through the drawers of the sewing table for a pair of scissors. She acted quickly, cutting the skirt from the uniform then the overlay from the dress Reinick brought. She sized up the different fabrics she’d collected and went to work at the machine.

  I’d never seen one used before. The stitching was so perfect, the needle so graceful as it lifted and plunged back into the fabric. If I wasn’t so distracted by Reinick’s orders outside, I would have studied it closer to see how it functioned.

  “When did you learn to sew?” I asked Qarla.

  She chuckled. “In my younger years, I worked alongside a tailor. He made women uncomfortable, which you would understand if you ever saw him, so he hired me to act as his apprentice. I guess I picked up a few tricks.”

  “I thought you spent your whole life in service.”

  “I took a break for a while before I married.” She slid the modified dress from the machine’s needle, cutting it free from the connected threads.

  “Why did you return?” Sterle asked.

  “It is easier to cook for people than to let out their clothing.” She turned the dress side to side, critiquing her work. “People love to eat what you make them but don’t appreciate being told they’ve gotten fat because of it.” She set it aside and removed the buttons from the maid’s uniform. A moment later, she grabbed the black lace panels she’d cut from the original dress and went back to work at the machine. “While I’m doing this, try on that dress again.”

  I complied, careful not to disturb her progress. Would the machine’s stitches hold as well as handstitched ones? I didn’t want to find out.

  Though Qarla wasn’t finished, I already felt more comfortable with the way it looked in the mirror’s reflection. She sewed an additional layer to the bottom of the gown. The long layers reminded me of some of the more modest dresses I’d seen at the Atchem Festival.

  “Here.” She sprung from the sewing machine. “Try this.” From the outer layer of the dress, she created a shawl that draped over my shoulders and buttoned below my neck. “I know it doesn’t cover all of you”—she glanced at my cleavage—“but I think it does a decent job of covering the mark at the top of your arm.”

  Before I could answer, she took a piece of black thread and looped it through the lace and under my arm. “This should hold it down in a breeze.” She used her teeth to cut the thread and brushed down the fabric. Standing behind me with her hands on her hips, she smiled at my reflection. “What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t know what I’d do without you!” I turned, wrapping my arms around her. “Thank you so much, Qarla!”

  “Very well, my dear.” She patted my back. “You better get going. That man did not look happy when Sterle rolled in the machine.”

  I stepped out from the tent as Trisk and Marsh were helping the last of the children into the wagon. Excitement and wonder erupted when they saw me in the gown. Reinick followed their gaze. His upper lip pulled in disapproval—a characteristic I’d brought to his face before.

  He circled me, clicking his tongue as he did so. “You ruined it.”

  I stood proud, following him only with my eyes.

  “Come.” He lifted his elbow, expecting me to thread my arm through his.

  I should have taken it. I should have read his past as Nik asked me to do, but I hesitated too long. With his waiting wing, Reinick elbowed my scarred arm. My breathing hitched, and my eyes instantly watered up as pain like fire ravaged my wounds.

  “Now.”

  “No thank you,” I moaned, not hiding my injury well. “I’ll be taking the wagon with Marsh.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Una. I have a carriage here waiting!”

  “I don’t care for carriages.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They tend to take me places I don’t want to go.”

  He readied his hand to strike me but didn’t. He pretended to pluck a hair from his sleeve.

  “You plan to ride that rickety piece of crap.” It was not a question.

  I passed him and headed for my brother. Marsh assisted me up before taking his place next to me.

  “You cannot arrive at a formal event with a herd of wayward children. They’re completely unpresentable!”

  Reinick’s throwing a fit.

  I suppressed a smile, a trait Marsh recognized.

  “Well, this is as good as it’s going to get,” Marsh called.

  “Unbelievable!” Reinick threw his arms in the air. Curse words flew from his mouth as he marched across the bridge to his carriage. “Get me away from this godforsaken place.”

  The Governor didn’t wait for the chauffeur to close the door. He slammed it himself.

  Marsh picked up the reins. “The women did a good job with that dress.”

  “I think so too.”

  “Do we have everybody?” he shouted over his shoulder.

  I counted the children. “Yes, we do.”

  Marsh released the wagon’s brake. “You can do this, little sister.”

  I hope he’s right.

  Chapter 30

  We followed behind Reinick’s carriage through a mass of people headed in the same direction. News of the coronation spread, and the Citizens, still captivated by the promise of a celebration, crowded the road leading there. At the rate we traveled, I feared the event would be over before we arrived. I wouldn’t mind, except the dark dress I wore didn’t breathe, and the only shade available hung around my shoulders. Perspiration collected in the folds of my arms and rolled off my skin. Fanning myself with my fingers didn’t move the dry air nor did the wagon pushing through it.

  Dust rose from the footfalls of the walking travelers, most of whom made better progress than we did. Dressed in rags and torn clothing, all of which were a varying shade of Ashlund’s iron-rich soil, shuffled along. Their coughing was contagious. They either suffered illness, the curse of the road, or some combination of both. In an attempt to protect their lungs, many
had pulled their tunic collars over their nose or held scraps of cloth across their face. There was no bowing this time, except for the few whose eyes rose to mine after passing us by.

  My Seer’s mark heated between my shoulder blades, and I wondered if it was the sun at my back or a warning of something worse. I turned to count the children.

  One, two…thirteen, fourteen.

  I stared into the wood’s edge, looking for spies. If they were there, I couldn’t find them. Most likely, they’d be here on the road, blending in with the others.

  The horses leading the wagon prevented more people from filling the space between us and the carriage. Marsh, trying harder and harder to temper his frustration, repeated the same phrase countless times.

  “Pardon us.”

  “Excuse us.”

  “Horses behind you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Reinick also grew impatient but didn’t feel like being polite. He opened the door, smacking the man walking outside it. In true Reinick style, he hung out of the carriage and cursed his driver for not going any faster. By the size of the perspiration stains radiating from the armpit area of his custom formal attire, his method of travel was worse than ours. Apparently, he wanted his driver, in a black suit and hat, to know about it.

  “I hate that guy,” Marsh commented as he wiped sweat from his brow.

  Our slow progress came to a full stop at the crest of the hill. A solid mass of people clogged the road all the way into the valley. The bottleneck of downed trees seemed to be the limiting factor.

  “We’re never getting through there,” Marsh said. “You might have to walk.”

  “It’s not important to me,” I confessed.

  After we sat so long, Reinick got out of his carriage, pushing Citizens out of his way to sit next to his driver. Grabbing the whistle still around the chauffeur’s neck, he blew an ear-piercing shrill. Although seeing the almost-Governor behave this way was embarrassing, I understood the importance of him attending his own event. When the Citizens realized he traveled among them, they parted to let him pass. They grumbled and threw things at his carriage, but in the end, Reinick got his way.

  “That’s right!” he shouted. “Move away!” The whistle shrilled a few more times before he climbed back inside.

  The coachman continued to do as instructed, his horses picking up speed. He caused such a commotion that people much farther ahead turned to see who blew the whistle biting their ears. Because the driver pinned the instrument between his teeth while he spoke, the proclamation of who he transported got lost in muffled words and weakened whistle sounds like those of a songbird. Waving his arms like he was swimming on dry land, the chauffeur appeared to have gone mad. The chirping, babbling, and wild flailing turned out to be quite entertaining.

  “It seems to be working.” My brother chuckled, flicking the reins to increase our speed.

  For some reason, a woman ahead of Reinick took it upon herself to clear the way. She pushed her way through the people, shoving them and shouting something. I couldn’t make out her words over the wagon wheels, the irate coachman, and the children chatting behind me, but when a man with a bellowing voice joined her efforts, people really started to move. More added to their numbers, and finally, Reinick’s man stopped assaulting us with the whistle.

  Marsh rubbed his aching ear, mumbling his thanks to the Great One for making him stop.

  The small group of volunteers continued to cut through the travelers, their instructions melding into a singular voice for all to hear. “Make way!” they shouted. “Make way for the Mother Una!”

  Marsh jerked his head to me. “What’s happening right now?”

  I tugged at the hem of my shawl to keep Kash’s mark covered. The road lined with kneeling Citizens on each side.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, knowing it was a lie. Graken told me before, but I didn’t believe them.

  “Make way for the Mother Una!”

  I glanced back to the children, who were no longer chatting but giggling or greeting the strangers as we passed. Several of them waved as if on a celebratory float in the Parade of the Gods.

  “Please don’t encourage them, it’s not proper,” I instructed the children. As much as I appreciated moving faster, I’d prefer if it happened for some other reason.

  By the time we came to the crest of the hill, a Citizen using a ram’s horn had joined the charge to lead us to the event. I doubt he asked for permission when he swung up to the spot next to Reinick’s driver. The shirtless, unshaven man in torn trousers stood proud, calling his monotone warning down into the valley.

  When his lungs emptied of air, he held the instrument to his chest proudly. Clear and commanding, he announced, “Make way for the Mother Una!”

  Reinick is going to be pissed.

  I did not deserve such attention, nor did I want it. Men like Reinick would never understand why. If only there was a way to make them stop saying my name. I had every belief their Governor would find a way to exploit their devotion, and it wouldn’t be good for any of us.

  Marsh flicked the reins again, able to pick up considerable speed. The low call of the horn and rounds of repeating instruction forced Citizens out of our way. Still, a sizable crowd remained ahead.

  “How did they all know this was happening today?” I asked Marsh while nodding to the people paying respect on their knees.

  “I was wondering that myself,” he said, acknowledging the people on his side of the road. “I thought this was not supposed to be announced yet.”

  “It seems like someone wanted it known,” I thought aloud.

  By the time we arrived, the festivities had already gotten underway. As our little caravan got closer to the stage, people were unable to clear a path, no matter how strong the horn blew to announce us. Reinick opened the carriage door and waved to the people crowding the way. The Citizens who greeted us so warmly before rose in volume. They hurled insults with unprecedented vulgarity against the Authority, yet Reinick basked in their attention.

  I feared for our safety and warned the children to get low in the wagon.

  Rushing in from all sides, the Authority guardsmen commissioned to protect the dignitaries pushed the mob back using both the length and sharpened tips of already bloodied spears. Handheld weapons, while good for hand-to-hand combat, provided little help against stones. One after the other, rocks and pebbles lobbed at the carriage. The volunteer caller ducked and scrambled down, running for his own safety. Reinick shut himself inside and stayed out of sight.

  The Authority men led us through the crowd with unspoken threats against the Citizens in our way. Words of the uniformed men would not be heard anyway. The anger of the men and women surrounding us was deafening. Aria and the others covered their ears, several of them crying.

  Ahead lay the Temple site. The foundation walls stood waist-high around the perimeter of the building, but most of the recent energy had been focused on the facade. Straight-cut stone stacked in grand parallel columns framed the Temple’s entrance. Arching pathways like the ribs of an exposed skeleton spanned the unfinished floors with the promise of exquisite intentions.

  In the distance, partnered slaves struggled to carry carved stones to the masons who laid mortar to receive them. The tink-tink-tink of the carvers cut through the air, a tickle to my ear over the monstrous crowd and their fury.

  We rolled toward a great platform constructed in front of the Temple. A massive trellis intricately carved with religious symbols canopied the area. Draped with long, flowing fabrics of deep violet and plum, the stage provided shade for those standing on it. Everyone else in attendance stood directly in the sun’s unforgiving light.

  As we approached, the fabric danced, parting like ribbons to reveal Calish seated next to Noran. The two of them waited, Noran sitting back with one leg thrown over the other and Calish fanning himself with his wide-brimmed hat. Deep in conversation, neither noticed our arrival until the chanting of my honorary name caugh
t the right wind. Calish found my eyes quickly, and when he did, his shoulders released as joy grew across his weary face. I knew that look well, and when he put his hat onto his head, my heart jumped.

  He’s coming for me.

  He hadn’t made it to our end of the stage when the High Priest caught his arm, and Calish’s smile vanished. The argument lasted but a few words. Noran cast me a look, more like a smirk, before signaling the band at the edge of the stage to play louder. Calish worked his jaw with his hand placed firmly on his hips. Something Noran said made him stay put, but if he’d been charmed, Calish wouldn’t be stewing long over it.

  The Authority guards led us into a secured area set aside for the carriages of dignitaries, or so the sign read. For such a large space, I expected there to be more than one carriage in it. Someone ran to Reinick’s carriage to assist him, while Marsh helped me down from the wagon. We paid little attention to the clamoring Citizens the Authority officers held back. One by one, Marsh lifted the small children over the side, while the more capable ones spilled over the edge on their own.

  Aria clutched the ruffle of my skirt and hid herself behind me. As much as I feared she’d tear Qarla’s alteration, something about the child’s fear caught my breath. “What is it?” I asked, hoping she’d be able to tell me without words.

  She let go of my hem, and my eyes followed where her finger pointed. A few yards away, a man lay prone in the dirt, his hand clutching his chest and an officer hunched over him. The people around them dispersed, and the situation became clearer. The guard wrenched a rugged spear from the man’s torso, and a cascade of blood followed. Taking advantage of their relative positions, the guard plunged it again, this time into the center of his victim’s chest.

  My hand covered Aria’s eyes in the same moment I tried to turn her away from the scene. “Come on! Come on!” I rushed the children as the guard stabbed him a third time.

  Marsh saw it too and cursed. “Sorry. Don’t repeat that, kids. Stay close no matter what.” He made sure to keep us all moving, especially the boys lagging behind.