by Ruby Duvall
The village leader’s wife had been suffering stiff, achy joints ever since the onset of the winter now nearly spent and her condition was especially bad on days like today. She was taking a daily dose of White Willow, anti-inflammatory herbs closely related in the family tree to Cooling Butterbur. Though Shumei was begrudgingly grateful that the leader and his wife always paid for the medicine on time and in full, it was the same paltry fee that everyone paid. The same medicines, she had heard, cost ten times as much in a bigger village.
Of course, some villages had no black-haired members to tend their medicine fields, so the Divine One’s priests would assign the task to the lowest-ranking, brown-haired members of the village. Paying a brown-haired villager more was somehow equal to paying a pittance to a black-haired villager who did the same chore. Had her family known of this inequality before her father had passed, they would’ve attempted to request more money for her father’s sake.
She hated delivering medicine to the leader and his wife. While other villagers openly displayed their contempt of her with sneers and rude remarks, the two blondies preferred to be condescending and threw sugarcoated insults at her from behind fake smiles. They always tried to make her stay and have tea so that they could continue to poke at her with their sharp tongues, but she wouldn’t let them do it today. She had a valid excuse to escape them, one that even they couldn’t brush aside.
She took a path to the other side of the village that gave her the best chance of not running into anyone, walking quickly, quietly and with her head down. For once, luck was with her and except for passing an elderly woman who simply turned her face away at Shumei’s passing, she made it to the other side of the village in only five minutes with hardly anyone’s knowledge.
Emerging from the tiny path on the east side of the leaders’ home, she cautiously approached the front gate, made of intricately carved Whispering Ash, and pushed the left gate ajar since its hinges didn’t squeak. Slipping through the slight opening she had made, she shut the gate just as quietly before reluctantly mounting the worn stone steps leading to the front door of the leaders’ relatively extravagant home.
While her own small, dirt-and-wood hut had a reed door, a partial wooden floor made of the cheapest and poorest cut wood, and a leaky thatched roof, the leaders’ home was entirely constructed of Crimson Cedar, a somewhat expensive type of wood. It was originally cut and bundled in the famed city of Houfu in the plains to the west of the mountains. The leaders’ home also had three glass windows, a finished wooden floor also made of Whispering Ash and a solid front door made of Stone Oak.
They never wanted for anything while Shumei and her family barely survived.
Sighing as she solidified her backbone, she quickly rapped on the door, which stung her knuckles since the wood was of such an unforgiving hardness. She wasn’t allowed to use the knocker since she had black hair and she sucked on her abused knuckles while she waited. It was several minutes until she heard the shuffle of feet as someone approached the door. She took a calming breath, schooled her face to look as blank as possible and let her head hang down enough to show the one answering the door that she was being respectful.
Secretly, she curled the middle and ring fingers of her right hand beneath the folds of her delivery pouch, a vulgar sign in her village to show another person as much disrespect as possible.
“Ah Shumei. Come in, child,” the village leader beckoned as he opened the door, which swung open smoothly on its well-oiled hinges. She stiffened, wondering where the leader’s wife was.
“Thank you, Leader Kimen,” she clearly but softly uttered, hoping to hear the voice of Kimen’s wife Akki. She hated the woman, but Akki was the only woman that Kimen feared, and Shumei greatly loathed being alone with the man.
“Please wipe those dirty feet on the towel here. Goodness, Shumei, will you never improve your appearance with a simple pair of shoes?” he said with a smile. She briefly looked up at him, hoping that the sting of his jibe didn’t show on her face. Her shoulders curled inward, as if that would make the insults bounce off her. She would gladly garb herself better and therefore be less dirty if she were paid properly for her and her mother’s hard work, but the village would never pay them any better than they did now. She would never be able to improve her “poor appearance”.
As it was, her feet were now covered with thick calluses, caked with mud that only temporarily came off when she scrubbed them with handfuls of sand from the riverbed when bathing. Her wavy hair, without the luxury of any kind of soap but the harshest, was rough and impossible to de-tangle when all she had was a wooden comb missing half of its teeth.
Kimen was nearing fifty, if he hadn’t reached it already. He wasn’t fat, nor was he thin. He was lanky in his limbs and sported a heavy gut from his drinking. His skin looked a bit yellowish, especially when contrasted with his bright blond hair that was now streaked with gray. His deep eyes were wide-set, and his equally wide mouth sat under a long nose that was too big for his face. He looked quite like a lizard to Shumei, and she often wondered if a forked tongue were hiding inside his mouth.
Kimen knew very well that she was too underpaid to afford shoes, and yet he still insulted her. Lowering her face again, she obediently wiped her mud-encrusted feet on a damp towel pulled taut over a block of wood to the right of the door.
“Where is the mistress?” she softly queried, hoping not to rouse his suspicions. “I’ve brought her medicine.”
“Ah, then you should know that today’s weather is particularly harsh on my dear wife. She’s yet in bed but will join us soon, child. Let us have some tea while we wait on her,” he offered, gesturing for her to come farther into the house. She looked down at the floor upon which Kimen stood. It was a small step up into their home from the entryway.
The wooden floor looked so smooth and warm, and even now, she could smell the sweet fragrance from their garden in the back. They had such a lovely house, with small but lovely paintings and modest but comfortable furnishings.
“As you have heard, Leader Kimen, my younger brother is sick with the Burning. I beg that you take the medicines now, and let me leave with the fee so that I can purchase some meat for him and help him survive this critical stage.”
“Oh a few minutes won’t hurt, dear child. Come in, have some tea and I’ll let you go…unscathed,” he said, his choice of words not lost on her. She shuddered, an irrepressible flush of anger rising to her face. He would try it again today. She prayed that his wife was hurrying her morning routine to interfere. Unfortunately, though, she might not even know that Shumei had arrived.
She very reluctantly stepped up onto the smooth floor of the leaders’ home and followed Kimen to the warmly lit parlor not far from the entrance. A small ceramic pot steaming with hot tea already sat waiting next to three small cups on a low table in the middle of the room.
The thick carpet felt wonderful beneath her calloused feet. Kimen bade her to sit, and she somewhat gratefully lowered herself to sit on her shins and heels. The leader sat diagonally across from her around the corner of the table.
“And your mother, Shumei? How is she?” he asked, a bit of hope lighting his eyes. She knew that it was not hope for her mother’s recovery.
“Unfortunately, the disease has progressed with her. I shall try my utmost to keep her alive today, once I have finished delivering the medicines,” she explained slowly, hoping that her urgent need to return home would penetrate his thick skull.
“I would say that her chances are slim, my dear. I am sorry for the loss you are about to experience, and I would like you to consider your next step for after she has passed. Akki and I know of a small handful of…well, somewhat reluctant men who are willing to take you to wife. You should consider their offers,” he began. She made the sign with her right hand again, clenching her jaw.
When her mother first became sick, she had estimated her chances for survival to be about one in six. She was nothing if not realistic. While her mo
ther was battling the disease, she had been preparing herself for the worst, if only to be brave in front of her fellow villagers, who were undoubtedly cackling with delight that a black-haired woman was sick too. She believed herself ready to accept exactly what the leader rightly predicted, but his casual attitude about her mother’s looming death was beyond rude, even when directed at someone like her.
“My mother is not yet dead, and even if she were to pass this day, I still need to do many things before I would be prepared for a marriage to anyone,” she tried to explain, her tone quite biting. Realizing the level of her anger, she ducked her head in surprise to hide her face and calm herself. She briefly closed her eyes, chiding herself.
Even if Kimen had been rude, as he always was, she couldn’t let herself take his bait. She wondered where her control had gone this morning. If he weren’t delighted by her angry reaction, then surely her tone had infuriated him.
She surmised that it was worry over her family that made her so disrespectful but when he didn’t respond for a small pause, she couldn’t help the worried expression that came over her face. She didn’t want to look up at him, for that would make matters worse, and hoped that he didn’t begin a lecture on her lack of humility.
“I was hoping you would say that, Shumei,” he purred, surprising her and immediately putting her on her guard. Her head came up just a bit, and her entire body stiffened. Kimen sidled around the corner of the small table, coming very close to her side.
“You must know by now that…that I greatly desire to taste your sweet, young body,” he greedily whispered, leaning close to place his lips near her ear. His wrinkly, soft hand came to rest on her thigh, and she clutched her medicine bag closer to her chest.
“If I am to be fit for a marriage someday, Leader Kimen, I cannot accept your…advances. Besides, you are married, sir,” she tried to remind him.
He pressed much closer, pushing his pelvis against her hip. She suppressed a gasp, wondering fearfully what the hardness against her backside was. His tongue flicked out to leave a glob of his disgusting saliva in her ear, and her head jerked away from his touch.
“I shall tell no one, Shumei. I’ll even compensate you for your time…you would rather like to eat more meat, wouldn’t you?” he offered, and she attempted to lean away from him. His other hand came around her back to cup her opposite hip, pulling her body closer between his spindly thighs. Her hopes for his wife to appear snowballed until all she desired to hear was Akki’s heavy footfalls stomping down the hall.
“You’re such a sweet bit of pussy. Imagine me, your village leader, a high-ranking blond elder, splashing my purifying seed into your evil little cunt, my cock baptizing you from the inside. You could save your soul if you let me fuck you, Shumei,” he said, greatly confusing her. She knew of some sort of physical act between married people, but he was using words she had never heard before, even when he had tried the same stunt with her in the past. She had no clue what acts he implied.
“Please stop, Leader Kimen. I don’t understand what you’re saying, nor do I care to find out,” she said, feeling that being more forceful was now necessary.
“Oh I don’t believe that. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you, Shumei?” he purred again, now pushing his pelvis against the right side of her rear in slow thrusts. “Like this, right? I pump my hips like this, and you moan like the wanton little witch you are?”
“Stop it!” she whispered vehemently, now putting much more effort in putting space between him and her. She tried to pull away, keeping her pouch close to her chest.
Heavy footfalls sounded from the opposite side of the house, and her sigh of relief was loud. Kimen was very quick to put himself on the other side of the table, straightening his robes and looking as innocent as possible.
“This discussion is not over yet,” he softly promised, catching her gaze for a fleeting second before Akki rounded the corner of the hall and walked into the room.
“Kimen! Why didn’t you tell me it was here?!” she half-shrieked. Shumei’s mouth fell open slightly, and she wondered how low the woman could go by referring to her as it. “I’ve been waiting for this medicine all night!!” She silently sighed, happier to know that Akki had been talking about the medicine.
“My dear, I wanted to let you rest a bit longer,” he cajoled, coming to a hasty stand that looked all the more damning. Though she didn’t turn her head to confirm it, she knew that Akki was throwing her a deathly glare. She could feel little pricks of suspicion and hate on the back of her neck.
“I’ll rest better when I’ve had my medicine!” she scathingly replied. Stomping forward, her darker blonde hair in a loose knot at the back of her head, she reached down and gave Shumei’s shoulder a jab with two fingers. It was her cue to bring out the medicine, and she quickly dug through the pouch to retrieve a larger cloth bag with seven small packets inside.
“Pour some tea, you lazy bag of lard!” Akki shrieked, hissing and cursing as she sat down cross-legged in the same spot Kimen had occupied during his earlier attempt to woo Shumei. Kimen was quick to comply, setting a small cup before his shrewish wife and carefully pouring the hot liquid.
“Would you like me to put the medicine into your tea, Madam Akki?” she asked quietly, only loud enough for the huffing woman to hear her.
“With my hands the way they are, you stupid child, of course I want you to put the medicine in!” she spat. Shumei quickly opened a daily dose, taking a clean stirring stick and mixing in the anti-inflammatory powder, which quickly dissolved. Setting down the stirring stick and quickly bringing her hands back to her lap, she watched as Akki grasped painfully at the cup and attempted to down the steaming tea in only a few gulps.
This was one of the rare times when Akki’s contempt for the young black-haired girl was not shrouded with her usual mean smile, and despite being the lowest-ranking member of the village, she was oddly privileged to see this side of the leader’s wife, who always acted the smiling saint in front of everyone else.
In private, her mouth was constantly pursed around her overly large front teeth, as if something was constantly displeasing. Her watery blue eyes were not attractive in the slightest and worst of all were her very large eyebrows, which almost met in the middle of her forehead.
If Kimen was a snake, then Akki was a rat, but supposedly, when she was younger, she was actually a beautiful woman, or so Shumei had heard from her mother. Though Akki truthfully looked to be about forty-five, she swore that she looked only a few days over thirty (and therefore everyone in the village agreed).
Shumei couldn’t fathom the reason why, but Akki was greatly dissatisfied with her life. The lines of stress that bracketed her mouth and crinkled her forehead were a testament to something incredibly oppressive in her life. Whatever it was, it made her bitter to the point of madness.
Kimen and Shumei were both silent as, a bit unsteadily, Akki returned the cup to the table. Her eyes were closed, so Shumei didn’t worry about being caught staring as she studied the older woman’s complexion, noticing how pale her skin had become. It was as if all of the blood was gone from the woman’s face. Akki rarely went outside anyway, preferring not to work, even if work was simply visiting and speaking with the other villagers, but even for a woman who preferred to avoid sunlight, her skin was much too thin and gray. Something else was wrong…
It would seem that Akki’s symptoms, though not consistent with the Burning, had worsened, and Shumei looked down at her hands as she searched her mind for what could make someone so bloodless.
“Dearest?” Kimen softly called, once again seated. He was leaning toward his wife, and Shumei put aside her thoughts for the moment.
“Pay her the fee,” Akki dryly responded. Though Shumei couldn’t gauge directly since Akki greatly detested it when she looked at her, it seemed that her body was looser, judging from Akki’s posture out of the corner of her eye. Kimen reached into a pocket of his thick shirt, pulling out a heavy coin
purse and drawing out a ten-kol piece.
In their village, ten kols was merely enough to buy meals for about three days for one person. The small, rectangular currency came in several denominations, but the largest she had ever seen was a hundred-kol piece, though it hadn’t been her own. She had seen it in the hand of another villager who was gushing about how he had found it on the road leading to the west. Eight or nine kols was enough to buy the cheapest pair of shoes, but in the last year when she had had the money to purchase a pair, a total of four merchants had come through their village. Two of them had come without any shoes to sell, and the other two sold out of any affordable shoes before Shumei could buy a pair since the merchants were required by custom to sell to black-haired people only after the rest of the village was done.
A run of bad luck…but when had she ever been lucky?
The ten-kol piece was tossed to her from across the table, and it landed with an un-ceremonial plop on the medicine pouch in her lap.
“Have you seen my symptoms, little Shumei?” Akki asked in monotone, though she put a bit of spiteful emphasis on “little”.
“Yes, madam.” She closed her fist over the money in her lap.
“As observant as ever,” the leader’s wife droned.
Shumei didn’t respond.
“Find a cure for it then.” She saw Kimen straighten, perhaps stiffen, and nodded, hoping her mother would have some advice.
“Now then, I suppose you should be going, child,” Kimen said, making to rise.
“Not yet, you idiot. We’ve yet to discuss her future husband,” Akki pointed out, swiping her hand through the air as if cutting off someone’s head. Kimen relaxed again, nodding uncertainly.
“Though it is pitiable that someone like you cannot marry by virtue of her own qualities since you are so lacking, it is the job of any village leader to assign a mate to you on your twentieth birthday. Kimen and I have searched for or received offers for your…hand in marriage,” Akki finished with a gulp, as if the last few words made her choke.
