by Wendy Orr
with her priestess friends –
though the best in this Hall –
and it makes her think
that maybe the Lady
is just a woman
doing the best she can.
The wise-women enter,
Kelya leaning on Roula,
Lyra and Lena behind –
and at their gasps,
Kelya reaches to touch her face.
‘Child!’ she cries,
delighted tears
leaking from blind eyes
and Aissa wants
to kiss her hands
but is not sure
what she can do or say
with the Lady here.
And the Lady, her mother,
still doesn’t understand.
‘The oracle is clear,’
she says,
‘the dolphins’ joy for the dancer’s return;
the young eagle marking
this Lady for us –
can it be
that the greatness foretold
is not one of our own
but this priestess
of the bulls?’
‘Not one of our own?’ says Kelya.
‘But Lady,
can you not see?’
The Lady looks, but she still can’t see. Does Kelya mean that the Lady of the bulls is the baby she’d sent to die at birth? The scrawny, fear-haunted child who chose her lottery shard with such care? She can feel that long triangular – dragonfly-shaped! – shard under her fingers now. But it was impossible that the cringing No-Name could ever be the great one the oracle had predicted – she’d rejected it and chosen another shard: Nasta, who seemed destined for greatness.
And when the gods had laughed and twisted the pattern again, killing Nasta and moving Aissa, the wise-women’s server, to take her place, she’d been so sure that Aissa couldn’t succeed that she refused to think about her. She’d grieved enough sending her to die the first time. Learning that the baby had not only survived but was living right under her nose, in the most squalid, degrading life possible, was too much to bear. All she could do was try to wipe Kelya’s admission from her mind and forget those few short moments of knowing her own daughter before sending her to an almost certain death. The daughter that she doesn’t know well enough to recognise face to face.
She’s always tried to obey the gods, but they’ve hidden their plans well.
Goddess! she thinks, if this is my daughter, send me a sign!
Aissa wondering –
under the Lady’s stare –
if it’s safe to speak;
to ask in her new-found voice
if she can return
to live and work
with the wise-women –
and how much
of her gifts of gold
she needs to offer her mother
for that permission.
The Lady stares on
till Aissa looks down,
and spies a small snake,
a viper,
coiling under Fila’s stool –
Fila sees it too,
screams in fear,
jumps onto her stool
waving her arms
and nearly falling.
The Lady pales
but her voice is stopped –
she’s asked for a sign
and cannot prevent
what the goddess wills.
Aissa has not asked for a sign
and she has seen
too much death –
she sings the snake,
her voice high and clear
till the viper slides
under a crack in the wall.
The wise-women and the Lady
freeze with shock,
and Fila
falls off her stool.
‘Aissa!’ says Kelya.
‘You found your voice!’
‘Aissa?’ says the Lady.
‘My imperfect,
firstborn child?’
She takes Aissa’s hands,
studying the small white scars
till Aissa’s rage burns bright
and her voice comes loud.
‘My hands were strong enough
to win with the bulls
and free the island
from the pain of tribute.
The gods of the bull land
cared for what I did
and not my scars.’
‘The gods of this land too,’
says the Lady,
‘but I didn’t understand.’
‘If I’m not firstborn,’ says Fila,
‘no wonder I
could never sing.’
‘The snakes always knew,’
the Lady says sadly,
‘as I knew that you
were too gentle to rule;
it’s clear that your gifts
are with herbs and healing.’
Anger flares in Aissa again
because Fila
has had everything:
beauty and kindness,
all the love she could want –
now she’s going to be
a wise-woman too
and there will be
no room for Aissa.
‘I’ll return with the ship,’
says Aissa,
‘find my place
as a priestess in the palace
or a dancer with the bulls.’
‘Your place is here,’ says Kelya –
and how can Aissa say no
to old Kelya who loves her –
but she cannot stay
where she isn’t needed.
The Lady lifts
Aissa’s hands again
and kisses the scars.
‘The goddess’s plan
has been harsh but clear –
you are the one
who will sing the snakes
and the sun to rise,
when I am old
and it’s time for the firstborn
to rule in her turn.’
But in this land
Aissa is No-Name,
the cursed child,
the bad-luck girl
and her fear is greater
than facing the bull –
she doesn’t want
to be a slave,
spat at or stoned –
but to be the Lady
is too giant a leap.
Then she remembers her anger
for all the No-Names,
the not-perfect,
unwanted,
those denied a voice;
the boys who can never own land,
no matter how they care for it.
Only a ruler
can sing those changes.
She looks into
the Lady’s face
as if she is
just a woman she knows
like Mama
or Kelya
or Mia –
and sees her own tears
reflected in
her mother’s eyes.
‘I will stay,’
says Aissa,
bowing her head
for her mother’s kiss.
The Lady leads her
out to the Hall,
and Luki calls:
‘Aissa the dragonfly,
bull dancer,
snake singer,
home at last,
where she belongs.’
No words
to say what she feels,
so Aissa sings –
sings of the girl
who lost her fear
and found her voice
when she faced death
on the horns of a bull,
and now is ready
to face her life.
Her voice floats clear
through the square and town,
singing the people
who stop what they’re doing
to stand before her
with hands on heart.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wendy Orr was born in Edmonton, Canada, but grew up in various places across Canada, France and the USA. She studied occupational therapy in the UK, married an Australian farmer, and moved to Australia. She’s the author of many award-winning books, including Nim’s Island, Nim at Sea, Rescue on Nim’s,Island, Raven’s Mountain and Peeling the Onion.
Wendy has always been fascinated by the Aegean Bronze Age. Doodling on a finger-paint app in 2010, she sketched a dark, curly-haired girl with a twisted mouth, and knew that she had to find this unhappy girl’s story. The plot and Aissa’s fictitious island formed as Wendy researched and read, but the story was sparked to life by serendipitous, seemingly unrelated events, such as finding a piece of chipped flint on a Danish beach, and taking a wrong turn and ending up at the extraordinary deep blue Source de la Sorgue in France. Most mysteriously, every time that she made a significant decision or discovery about the story, Wendy saw a dragonfly the following day . . .
