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.
