by TARA GALLINA
“Were you expecting a palace?” A smirk sounds in his tone. “You are a slave, Messenger to the Washer Woman. From this day forth, you will only get what you deserve.”
“Deserve? What does that mean?”
“You will suffer greatly unless you learn to comply. I cannot make this clearer than I have already.”
Complying goes against my nature. In the village, when I’m taunted or shunned, I’ve trained myself to refrain from acting out, but at home, I was raised to be free. Mother was the same way. Had she obeyed the ruling of my grandmother she would have married a pompous young man from an Elite family.
Instead, she chose my father and his sheep farm, away from the judgment and expectations of the village folk. At the manor, we were free to do as we wished. I was allowed to wear boots under my skirts and my hair down. I could straddle a horse rather than ride side-saddle. I could read under the shade of a tree on soft grass instead of in a stuffy room like the Council enforced.
Mother adored my spirit. She encouraged it, and now, I must comply to save my life. Part of me still hasn’t accepted I’m here, like I’m dreaming and soon I’ll wake.
“Go on,” the Keeper says, and the cottage door creaks open. “See your new home and let more of this reality sink in. Perhaps that will help you learn to keep quiet by the time you see her.”
I swallow the lump of fear in my throat and calm my racing pulse. If ever there were a time to use my training to appear indifferent and strong, it’s now.
I enter the bungalow. Sconces on the four walls cast dim light on the small space. The inside appears to be as decrepit as the outside. Grit chafes under my slippers as I cross the wood floors to stand in the center of the cottage. A crumbling stone fireplace with dried logs adorns one wall with a torn chair and footstool nearby. A gold-embossed book similar to the fables Father has in his den rests on the side table. For a moment, it appears to glimmer, but when I blink, it’s gone.
On the opposite wall, a shabby buffet stands beside a table with two chairs. Is he to dine with me?
“Where do I cook? Sleep?” I turn to the Keeper who stands by the open doorway but has yet to come inside.
“Save your questions. I will tell you everything you need to know.” The mist around him seems thinner, like it’s fading.
“Will I get to see you now?” Do I want to see his true form? What if he is frightening like his mother?
“Silence,” he bellows, his voice booming in the small space.
I flinch. “You don’t have to be rude.”
“With you it seems I must be many things, a babysitter above all.”
I gasp. How dare he? “I do not need a babysitter.”
The pain hits me at once. I arch, like my back is broken and collapse onto the floor. I land hard with a smack, but it is nothing compared to the burn slicing through my spine. Tears leak from my eyes with each whimper and moan.
“Make it stop. Please, make it stop.” I don’t know if I’m saying or thinking the words.
A cold hand touches my forehead. The pain moves up my body toward my head like it’s being drawn there. Stars dance behind my eyes as throbbing fills my brain. Then it’s gone.
Depleted, I lie on the floor and wait to regain my strength. I can’t do more than blink my eyes half open.
Each time I do, it looks like the boy and the mist are vibrating. Did he just moan in pain?
A few moments later, a hand slides behind my shoulders, helping me to sit up, and then to stand.
“Thank you,” I mumble and sway with a dizzy spell.
He steadies me. “Weakening yourself before meeting my mother will not help you. You need to be strong to face her, and, above all things, remember the rules.”
My lips twitch with the need to ask questions, to know more. But how am I to get answers when I can’t speak? Frustration rushes me. I stomp.
He glances at my foot. “It appears making no sound is impossible for you.”
I cross my arms and mash my teeth together.
“Most Messengers are too afraid to react at all,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But you are not the average Messenger, are you?” Bending, he brings his face closer to mine. “The girl with two different colored eyes will ultimately be her demise.”
It’s as if he’s murmuring the words to himself.
With his face so close, I strain to see his features through the mist. Everything is a blur, except for his eyes that flash with silver light.
I shrink away, frightened. Those aren’t the eyes of a human.
“Finally, she’s afraid.” He straightens slowly, his posture stiff. The mist stops swirling.
“Why are you angry?” It’s out before I can stop it. “I would think you’d be happy I’m finally afraid.”
His shoulders, chest, and entire upper body puff out with a loud breath. “The time for learning is over. Now the real work begins. Pay attention to the rules, I will not say them again. Do not speak unless I ask you a direct question. Do not try to run away or leave this home unless I am with you. Do not dare look at my mother tomorrow when you meet her at dusk. Do not ask her questions, ever. Do not speak to anyone when you deliver the clothing of those Fated to Die. Do not try to contact your family or friends in any way. And when my mist fades, do not dare look at my face.”
So, he is a monster under that mist. My heart hammers. I don’t know I’m backing away until I bump into the small table with chairs. Furniture clangs and scrapes the wood floor. I straighten the pieces back to the way they were, the word sorry on the tip of my tongue.
“That’s enough for today. For now, you must rest.” He waves toward the back wall of the cottage. “You will find all you need in there.” A door appears.
I gasp and stumble into the table again. The same clanging and scraping sounds. I don’t straighten the furniture, my gaze stuck on the new door in the room. “Where did that come from?”
Instead of answering, he turns to leave.
“Wait!” I stumble after him.
He stops at the front door and gestures to a strange plant on a shelf I hadn’t noticed when we came in. Fat, yellowish-green leaves are streaked with red veins, liquid flowing through the channels like blood. I’m not sure if it’s beautiful or creepy.
“Anything you do will get back to me.” He pets the top leaves of the plant like you would a beloved animal. To me, he says, “Obey the rules, and you will be rewarded.”
“Like being set free?” It just comes out. I slap a hand over my mouth and tense, praying pain doesn’t slice through me.
The boy makes a disapproving sound and turns away from me. “Sleep.”
CHAPTER 4
I watch the door close behind the misty Keeper, and listen for the click of a key locking me in.
Nothing sounds.
Does that mean there is no lock, or does he trust me not to leave? Maybe he doesn’t have to trust me because pain will be my punishment should I try any escape.
Curious, I step to the door and reach for the handle. The leaves of the plant straighten toward the ceiling.
I freeze. How does it know what I’m doing? It doesn’t have eyes. It could have heard the floor creak when I took a step. But plants don’t have ears.
“Hello?” I ask in a timid voice.
It doesn’t respond.
Because it’s a plant. Silly girl.
Exhaustion hits me with a deep yawn. I touch my forehead and close my eyes for a moment. The events of the day are catching up to me. Sleep would be good.
I shuffle to the door at the back of the cottage. Grit and gravel scrape the floor as I push it open. It leads to another small room with a cot and lantern. A coarse blanket covers a thin mattress. When I fluff it, dust puffs around my face, making me cough and sneeze. I hustle into the other room and breathe in cleaner air. The high-backed chair beside the fireplace seems like a better place to sleep.
I hope there are no rules against spending the night in the chair versus the be
droom. The plant doesn’t seem to mind. Its leaves hang in a natural way, like it’s content or sleeping. Maybe it is.
Another yawn claims me. My shoulders sag and every part of me begs for sleep. Muscles aching, I lower onto the chair. The cushion is lumpy, but at least I’m not choking on dust. It feels good to be off my feet. I prop them on the footstool and let my head rest against the high back of the chair. Only then, do I let my thoughts drift to my family.
The look of hurt and betrayal in Father’s eyes, I’ll never forget. I should have told him I couldn’t be with Espen. I owed him the truth, to prepare him in case I was chosen. At the time, I didn’t think it was a possibility. I still can’t believe this is my fate.
Sadness engulfs me at the thought of my sisters. I can only imagine how they reacted when Father returned home without me. They must be so confused, so scared, and hurt that I led them to believe everything would be fine. I didn’t even tell them goodbye. They were somewhere in the house or out in the gardens when Father and I left.
Tears burn my eyes. I bury my head in the corner of the chair, hating myself. I have to fix this. I have to get back to Father and the twins if only to apologize and promise them I will survive. I will not be like the other maidens. I’m nothing like them now. The Keeper said so. The situation will be different for me. I have to believe that.
***
I wake with a stretch and sigh. A soft mattress bends under my weight, and warm blankets twist with my body. I can’t remember the last time I slept this well. Since the twins are not jumping on my bed, they must still be sleeping.
Morning light shines behind my closed eyelids. Time to greet the day. I blink my eyes open. A sheer white canopy with light purple flowers hangs above me. The scent of lavender fills the air.
This isn’t my bed. Thin, smooth tree branches twisted together act as the posters holding the canopy. A white, lush blanket covers the bed and white linen sheets.
The room is smaller than mine, with white wood panels on the walls. To the right, sunlight filters through a window draped in sheer fabric. The dresser and nightstand are made of the same smooth wood as the bed.
Whose room is this, and why am I here?
I sit up. In the corner, a small dingy lantern snatches my gaze.
Memories bombard me. The boy surrounded in mist. The ceremony. The look in Father’s eyes when I was chosen as Messenger.
My chest tightens, and my heart thunders. I spring from the bed, vaguely noting the white nightgown covering my body. Last night, I was in that battered cottage. I fell asleep in the old chair by the fireplace.
I stumble from the bedroom and freeze. The area is the same but different. Like in the bedroom, white wood panels line the walls. Sheer drapes that weren’t here last night cover the windows. They flank either side of the stone fireplace, which looks restored.
Light green fabric with white flowers covers plush cushions on the chair I fell asleep in last night. The small wooden table glistens like it’s newly polished. The same book sits on top. I trace a finger over the gold etchings and feel a tingling sensation.
It’s like a spell is cast over the cottage. The only spells I know of are dark, like the one in our village. How else could all of this have changed? How else could I have fallen asleep in the chair and ended up in the other room, in a beautiful bed, dressed in the softest nightgown I’ve ever worn?
I draw in a breath and inhale a sweet warm scent. The dining table is set for one with a bowl of creamed oats, a side of mixed berries, and a glass of milk. The food wasn’t here when I came out of the room.
“Who did this?” I search the small space. My gaze lands on the plant. “Did you?”
The leaves hang in the same relaxed way as they did last night.
It doesn’t even twitch a leaf in response.
My stomach rumbles. I pluck a blackberry from the top of the creamed oats. The fruit looks fresh, the texture good, the scent normal. My mouth waters. One blackberry can’t hurt. I eat it. Mmm. It tastes perfect.
The front door opens. I whip around, expecting to see the mist-covered boy, but no one enters.
“Hello?” I step in that direction.
“Turn around.” The Keeper’s voice sounds from outside.
“Why?”
“Do it,” he commands.
Humph. I twist away and cross my arms.
Footsteps creak over the wood floors. I don’t remember him making noises yesterday.
“Close your eyes and straighten your head,” he orders from close behind me. Should I be afraid? A cool, soft material covers my eyes.
“What are you doing?” I reach up to feel a satin sash.
“It’s for your own good, considering you’ve already forgotten the rules.” He ties it snuggly at the back of my head. “I presume you’d prefer a verbal reminder not to speak instead of a painful reminder.”
I open my mouth to thank him but nod instead. This no talking thing will be a challenge.
Something he said last night pierces my thoughts. “Do not speak unless I ask you a direct question.” Perhaps a few more words won’t result in pain.
“Will you do me the favor of asking me questions? There is so much I want to know.”
When he doesn’t respond, I face him and point at my mask.
He sighs as if annoyed, but I detect a note of humor. “Very well. The mask is to train you to remember you are not to look at me or my mother when in our presence. You will keep your head and eyes down, so you can see where you’re walking, but only where you’re walking.”
Why? I shrug and shake my head to convey my confusion. Is she as hideous as the rumors say? Is he? His eyes are silver, I know that, but everything else about him seems normal from what I could see through the mist. Maybe he has scars or burns or is disfigured in some way. I want to tell him it wouldn’t bother me if he is. I’ve been considered flawed my whole life because of my eyes. Again, I shrug and shake my head like I’m confused.
“Sit.” He guides me to sit on a chair and pushes me in. “Eat. You’ll need your strength tonight.”
Tonight? When I meet her? Chills seep into my bones.
When I don’t move, he orders again, “Eat.”
I don’t want to, even though my stomach is grumbling like a hungry animal in the woods.
He takes my hand and places it on a thin, cold, metal piece. The spoon? I move it around until I find the bowl and lean close to the table. Then I attempt to scoop the oats and feed myself.
I aim for my parted lips. The spoon hits the corner of my mouth. Half of the warm oats makes it onto my tongue, while the other half drips down my chin. I pat the table for a napkin. My thumb ends up in the bowl. I let out a frustrated squeal and almost rip off the sash.
A napkin lands on my hand. After wiping my chin and thumb clean, I sit back and fold my hands on my lap. I will not be trying that again.
“You need to eat,” he presses.
I can’t. I gesture to the blindfold.
“Am I to feed you, then?” he asks as if the task is beneath him.
Frustrated, I push away from the table and cross my arms. I can’t see. I can’t speak. How am I supposed to do anything?
He exhales with the same annoyance as before. “I will leave you to eat and dress for the day. You will find everything you need in the cottage. Do not uncover your eyes until you know I am gone. When I return, I will knock. You are to put the blindfold back on before I enter. Understand?”
I nod.
A moment later, the door opens and closes. I tear off the sash and blink until my vision clears.
“This is stupid,” I hiss and slam my hand on the table, before realizing I spoke aloud.
The cottage darkens and turns into the same dirty, decrepit space from last night.
Did I imagine the beautiful transformation, or did he do something when he left?
At least the food is still here, smelling as delicious as it did before.
I devour the oatmeal, hungrier than
I thought, and head to the bedroom to get dressed. The canopy bed is replaced with the ragged cot. Gray torn fabric blocks most of the sunlight from the window. My white dress hangs from a hook on the adjacent wall. Dirt no longer coats the hem. I sniff the fabric. Freshly laundered. My slippers are clean, too. How?
Fear quickens my heartbeat. I dig into the pocket for Mother’s butterfly brooch. Thank the Blessed Ones it’s there. I don’t know what I would do if I lost it. It also appears to have been polished. I kiss the stones and pat the cottage wall, grateful for the kind deed. After placing the brooch back into the pocket, I turn to find a claw-foot tub filled with water.
Amazing.
I test the temperature. Warm water dampens my finger. Perfect. I smile in thanks.
The bath is exactly what I need. Feeling a thousand times better, I drain the tub and dress. Then I shake out the dusty bed cover and fold it neatly on the lumpy cot.
Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean I have to live in a mess. I have a tub with water, soap, and a towel. I can tidy up the cottage and make it better.
As soon as I grab the towel, the place changes back to the white cozy cottage, canopy bed, and all. The tub has vanished, and white sheers cover the window.
I race to the other room. It’s restored, as well.
In awe, I spin in a circle, taking it in.
Two knocks rap on the door.
I stiffen and scramble to the table to get the sash. Quickly, I tie it around my head.
The door creaks open. “I’m entering.”
I nod. It’s all I can do.
“I see you are relaxed again,” he says.
How would he know? I lift my palm in question.
“The cottage rewards kindness and good behavior.” Shoes shuffle in my direction. “But only to the pure of heart. It’s one of the reasons why the Messenger must be a virgin.”
I swallow. Talking about my virginity with my father was bad enough. Talking about it with a stranger who’s holding me captive is even worse.
