Dragonfly Song

by Wendy Orr

  ‘The firstborn daughter,’ says Luki.

  ‘Seems the gods thought you were perfect enough,’ says Kenzo.

  ‘You saved me twice over,’ says Sunya. ‘Once from the bull, and once from slavery when you called us for that catch.’

  ‘I didn’t plan the catch,’ Aissa says honestly. ‘But when I thought I would die, my heart trusted you, and called your names.’

  Mama comes in the morning.

  Aissa’s heart dances

  with knowing that Mama’s true and real

  and they’re together again.

  A guard follows

  because Aissa is free

  but precious,

  and Mama and Aissa

  walk hand in hand

  in fresh spring air

  an hour down the road

  to Mama’s new home,

  her new family.

  The whole world rejoices

  with bright spring flowers,

  the scent of thyme,

  swallows darting,

  and the firstborn lambs

  suckling in the fields –

  as if the goddess herself

  is singing for Aissa,

  reunited

  with her own dear mama.

  She thinks the pain

  of No-Name’s life

  will be washed away

  as they patch lost years

  with threads of love.

  Aissa will care

  for the baby sister

  sleeping now on Mama’s back.

  She’ll pick spring greens,

  harvest autumn olives,

  dig the soil

  or tend the sheep;

  do whatever

  there is to be done –

  asking only

  to be a child again,

  safe and loved.

  So happy she can hardly hear

  the words Mama says,

  only the music

  of her voice.

  Over the years, when Mama’s thought of Aissa, she’s pictured her still as a four year old, her image frozen in time. It was easier than wondering if the child had died on that terrible night; if wolves had found her before searchers came. It was easier than imagining how her aunt might have cared for her – though she’d never imagined even that evil-tongued woman dumping her at the town gates.

  And now, here she is. The baby with the bandaged hands, brought to the farm by a wise-woman in the middle of the night. ‘A gift from the goddess,’ Kelya had told them. ‘You will never tell a soul that she is not the child you bore.’

  They hadn’t. Even in the family, they’d never discussed it. They turned their minds away from the story of the Lady’s firstborn daughter who died – Aissa was their own, the child of their hearts. In the years of grieving, Mama has almost forgotten that her little girl hadn’t come to her in the normal way.

  She remembers it now. There’s a thrill of pride that this glowing bull dancer is her own dear Aissa, and a deeper, sadder knowledge. The gods’ destiny for this child is much greater than helping to run a small farm in a foreign country.

  Mama shows Aissa their land,

  their sheep

  and what they’ve made.

  Her life is here

  and she doesn’t want to remember

  her life on the island

  before the raiders came.

  They have a dog already

  and she doesn’t want a goat

  to run with the sheep.

  And although she strokes

  Aissa’s hair,

  feeds her the best,

  and calls her ‘Child,’

  a sadness lingers

  in her eyes.

  Aissa feels the emptiness –

  it seems that now

  she’s found her voice

  she can’t understand

  Mama’s words;

  she cannot believe

  Mama is saying

  that her heart will always

  have room for Aissa –

  but her home

  does not.

  The world rocks

  as if the earthshaker god

  has ripped out

  the one solid

  truth of her life.

  ‘But I’ve found you!’ she wails.

  ‘Stayed silent through the years

  just as you told me –

  how can you

  turn me away now?’

  Mama weeps too,

  says that the childhood time

  of their lives together

  is a story of long ago,

  wished for and cherished –

  but like an outgrown tunic,

  it won’t fit again.

  In this land

  the farm belongs to her man,

  and though not a slave

  Mama is not truly free.

  She wants Aissa

  to be happy

  but her husband’s happiness

  matters more –

  and he can’t see

  a place for Aissa here.

  And Aissa’s heart breaks to know

  that a bull dancer

  can ask for anything

  except what she

  most wants.

  A long hug at sunset –

  Aissa still weeping

  bittersweet tears

  as she leaves Mama’s home

  for the palace.

  But people are waiting

  outside, on the road;

  the story’s been whispered

  that a bull dancer’s there.

  Thronging around her,

  they wave and shout,

  touch her shoulders,

  and give her babies to kiss.

  Their fickle love

  is for the bull dancer

  not the girl who used to be No-Name

  and now doesn’t know

  who she is –

  but it fills some

  of the emptiness inside her.

  She wonders if

  like Sunya and Kenzo

  she should choose to stay

  and dare the bulls

  for gold.

  Though it’s not the life she wants,

  flying over a bull

  is the greatest thrill

  she’s ever lived –

  she doesn’t know

  what she’ll decide

  when the Bull King asks.

  The carved bull is still leaping through the wall above the palace gate, just as he was the day Aissa and her shipmates walked up this road. It’s hard to imagine that she was ever afraid of him. I’m a bull dancer now, she reminds herself. I don’t need to be afraid of anything.

  It doesn’t help. She’d happily take back her fear if she could have her hope and dreams again too. Now she’s simply too empty to feel.

  ‘The Mother’s waiting to see you,’ says the guard at the gate.

  Her stomach tightens – and the nasty voice in her head laughs. You wanted fear? it asks. The Mother knows that you called your friends. Remember what she said would happen if you used your gift in the ring?

  I don’t care! Aissa snarls back. What have I got to live for?

  But she’s shaking as she washes the dust from her hands and feet at the font beside the guardhouse, and winds her way through the pillared halls.

  The Mother’s room is shadowy in the early evening. She’s sitting on a low padded chair, the white cat on her lap. The cat ignores Aissa as if it had never slept under her chin, but the Mother studies her quizzically, and laughs.

  ‘You thought you were being called here to be killed – after the gods smiled on you as they did yesterday? I know you used your gift to call your friends, but no more than you could have with a voice.’

  Aissa’s knees go loose with relief. She sinks onto the stool the Mother points at.

  ‘Tell me your story,’ the Mother says, ‘now that the goddess has given you back your voice.’

  Aissa tells it


  as best she can:

  the imperfect first-born

  saved from death

  to be given away,

  rescued from raiders

  by a goat,

  only to be

  abandoned again.

  The spitting and the hate

  of being No-Name,

  the privy-cleaner;

  the outcast living

  under the Sanctuary rock;

  and then

  the goatherds

  who’d given her help,

  and the wise-women

  who treated her as their own

  till the earthshaker god killed Nasta

  and Aissa

  came in her place –

  to leap bulls

  and find Mama.

  The Mother listens,

  and hears the bitterness

  of what Aissa

  doesn’t say.

  ‘Finding your foster mama

  gave you back your voice

  but her home

  is no place for you.

  If you were any other

  I would command,

  but you are the Bull Dancer

  and the choice is yours:

  not only to stay with the bulls

  for gold and glory,

  or return to the island

  where you were despised –

  but to serve the goddess here

  as the priestess

  you were born to be.’

  Aissa breathes in

  the scent of lilies

  in this pretty, painted room;

  sees the fields and mountain

  from the window

  and knows she might

  be happy here.

  But telling her story

  has told her too

  how much she longs

  for Kelya and Roula,

  Lanni the goatherd

  and her own wild land.

  ‘I’m going home –

  and hope the wise-women

  will let me serve them

  as before.’

  28

  THE LADY OF THE BULLS

  The ship leaping

  under its red sail

  is not at all like

  a butterfly on the waves –

  more like a dolphin,

  like the ones playing

  all around them.

  The sailors say

  dolphins are good luck,

  they’ve never seen so many,

  they say it’s Aissa’s singing –

  even though

  she sings so quietly,

  still practising

  what her voice can do.

  Luki and Aissa see their island

  rising from the sea,

  bringing tears to Luki’s eyes

  and Aissa’s too

  though she didn’t know

  she loved it:

  from cliffs and cove

  to snow-capped mountain,

  and green hills between.

  As if she can sing it

  closer, faster

  her voice flies free

  and from the sky

  three eagles come

  to circle the ship,

  swooping and diving

  above the dolphins.

  Luki wears his bull-dancing shorts,

  for climbing

  up and down from the ship;

  Aissa too, on the days of voyage,

  but now the island

  is in sight

  she puts on her skirt

  flounced in bright colours,

  her jacket of embroidered linen,

  sandals of the softest leather –

  and they both wear

  their gifts of gold and jewels

  bright on their chests,

  their wrists and hair.

  As a parting gift,

  Aissa’s priestess friends

  gave her pots

  of kohl and rouge;

  and the Mother gave her

  a small bronze mirror

  and a comb of bone.

  So now she paints her eyes and mouth –

  offering the paints to Luki

  though he says no –

  and replaits her hair,

  blowing in the salt wind

  as the young eagle dives low

  and a feather drifts down

  to hold firm in the plait.

  Luki, impatient

  to touch the island,

  leaps from the deck

  as the sailors splash in

  to drag the ship to the shore.

  He clutches a handful of sand,

  bringing it to

  his heart in praise.

  The waiting people

  already starting to wail their loss,

  explode into joy

  as they see that it’s Luki,

  a year older,

  taller

  and dressed like a stranger –

  but safely home.

  They can barely believe

  that the island is free;

  that this year’s dancers,

  running home from the Hall

  for their last precious day,

  won’t be leaving

  to dance and die.

  No one even thinks of Aissa,

  No-Name,

  the bad-luck child,

  taking the place of chosen Nasta –

  no hope of surviving

  and nothing to mourn.

  Though they are curious

  to see the young woman

  leap from the ship

  to the sand

  in her fine coloured skirt,

  and a whisper races

  from fishers to Hall

  that the Lady of the bulls

  has come with the ship

  to honour victorious Luki.

  Part of Aissa longs

  to be adored like Luki

  with people flocking to touch him,

  weeping with joy –

  but at least

  no one spits.

  She remembers when

  that was her greatest wish:

  now that it’s happened,

  it’s not enough.

  ‘And Aissa,’ Luki shouts,

  but the people have never

  heard Aissa’s name

  and don’t understand.

  The crowd drifts them up

  towards the Hall,

  dancing, singing,

  all around Luki,

  keeping their distance

  from the captain and crew

  and the elegant priestess.

  The Lady and the chief

  stand in the courtyard to greet them

  kissing Luki

  on the top of his head

  before saluting

  the captain and Aissa;

  the captain wonders

  why she’s not welcomed like the boy,

  but gives his greetings

  from the Bull King,

  saying the gods have honoured him

  with the return of their dancers

  and that from now on

  the island will be free of raiders

  and of tribute.

  The Lady is confused:

  the tall guard translates

  ‘dancers’

  as if there were two.

  But she’s more surprised

  that the Lady of the bulls

  leaves the captain to speak.

  Calling servants

  for food and drink

  the Lady leads them to the Hall,

  the people still crowding,

  cheering and laughing,

  only the potter wailing –

  the island’s freedom

  comes too late for her daughter.

  The guards hustle her away

  but Aissa crosses,

  touches her shoulder:

  ‘Your daughter serves

  the bull land’s
Lady,

  alive and well.’

  The potter drops to her knees

  kissing the hem

  of Aissa’s skirt,

  never knowing

  it’s the child she cursed.

  And now

  the cats come:

  Milli-Cat and her grown-up kittens,

  with tails like flags

  weaving their way

  through to Aissa –

  the only ones to see

  or welcome her home.

  Gold-Cat leaps to her shoulder

  and purrs into her ear

  while the rest twine around her legs,

  and the surprised Lady says,

  ‘Our beasts welcome you, too,’

  showing her to a seat

  between her own

  and Fila’s.

  Fila pale and ill,

  a bruise swelling

  across her cheek –

  angry red marks

  from the bite of a snake.

  Then Aissa’s belly clenches,

  because Half-Two

  stands before her

  offering a platter

  of sweet cakes and fig,

  eyes downcast,

  not looking like

  Half-Two at all.

  Aissa takes a fig

  just so she’ll leave

  but the girl stands

  as if she’s forgotten

  what she’s doing

  till Squint-Eye shouts,

  ‘Half-Dead! Get out

  of the Lady’s way.’

  Fila seeing

  Aissa watching

  says, ‘She’s called Half-Dead

  because she and her sister

  were one and the same

  but her sister died

  so now this one’s half dead.’

  Anger like lightning

  flashes through Aissa –

  though she never knew

  her heart had room for the twins.

  If I were the Lady

  no one would ever

  be called No-Name

  or Half-Dead.

  Even a slave deserves a name!

  But it will never matter

  what she thinks.

  Luki is talking to the guards and the chief;

  he points at Aissa,

  but the Lady doesn’t notice.

  ‘I have never,’ she says,

  ‘met a priestess from another land.

  I would be honoured

  if you would speak in private

  with me and my wise-women

  and my daughter,

  since it seems

  you can speak our tongue.’

  Aissa, wondering

  how to tell the Lady

  that she’s not a foreign priestess

  but the Lady’s own

  discarded daughter,

  follows to the private chambers

  that she’s never seen,

  beyond the private bathroom

  where she shouldn’t have been.

  The chamber

  is just a room

  not as grand or bright

  as the one she’d shared