A short story to
accompany the novel Roses.
Onaii had been told to ignore the silver
girl, but she could not help but stare. She had never seen anything like it.
Hair as white as bone, eyes violet like the bruised underbelly of a storm and
skin that shone like pewter in the fading light. The girl did not wear Hilland
clothes but a homemade, uneven dress and her head was unadorned. She sat apart
from everyone else and appeared not to care. The other villagers treated her
with equal indifference, laughing and cheering for the celebration, but never
looking her way.
Onaii knew that the silver girl was
called Beauty. She had been told so by her new mother-in-law after the wedding
ceremony that morning in the temple on the hill. Duna had said, “new child of
mine I am happy to welcome yur to our village. Come now and see yur cottage. I
made it so fine!”
Then Onaii had caught a glimpse of
silver at the back of the temple through the milling crowds of villagers and
the departing huddle of her family and she had gasped.
Duna had followed the direction of
her daughter-in-law’s gaze and her eyes had narrowed. “That be Beauty,” she had
said through clenched teeth. “Keep away from her.”
“So the rumours are true?”
But Duna had not been listening and
Onaii’s question went unanswered; lost in the bustle of the wedding celebration.
Before she knew it, Onaii was being led around the village and introduced to
her new home. She was wife to the Head Man’s youngest son and many had come out
to wave and cheer at her wedding procession. “I invite yur to dance with me
tonight and eat around my table,” she had said to their smiling faces, as her
mama had taught her. “Please come and drink to our health.”
The rest of the afternoon had been
filled with meeting her new family and unpacking her things. Onaii had all but
forgotten the silver girl until she was sorting through gifts from the
villagers with her father-in-law, Hally, and she had come across an unusual
present.
“What’s this?” she had asked,
holding up a small pot with a scrubby plant in it.
“It be a budding flower,” Hally had
replied, after inspecting it. “A plant I never seen before. The gift be from my
cousin and his daughter, Beauty.”
Hally must have seen the expression
that passed across Oanii’s face because he had quickly added, “she meant no
disrespect by it, child. Beauty . . . ain’t like other Hill girls, but she’s
friends with my son and she gave this sincerely.”
Onaii had nodded and carefully put
the pot down again.
“Why do yur call her Beauty?” she
had asked.
Hally had looked as though he had
never asked himself that question.
“Because that’s her name,” he had
replied simply.
Now Onaii found herself sitting at a
long trestle table with her husband, Dezgyn, beside her and at the opposite end
furthest from everyone, the silver girl called Beauty.
Outside the undulating green of the
Hillands was fading to darkness and already the valley in which the village was
cupped had waned to lilac twilight. The doors of the barn were thrown open
since the day had been unusually sunny, and through them Onaii could see thatched
cottages and animals roaming freely across the grassy banks.
With the oncoming of evening, Onaii
suddenly felt homesick. Her own village was not so dissimilar to this, but she
felt that it was a world away. She had grown up a day’s travelling from here, closer
to the border of the Forest Villages, and her own cottage that she shared with
her family could have been any of the identical thatched houses before her, but
she felt that it was markedly different. In her village the women wore shorter
anths and a tasselled shawl across their shoulders. The population was much
larger and a waterfall stood nearby so that wherever you were you could always
hear its humming crash. She longed to hear such a rumble now and feel the cool
kiss of foamy spray on her cheeks. Instead she looked out of the barn doors and
saw the dark forest. She quickly looked away.
“A toast to my son and his wife!”
cried Hally, pushing back his chair.
Onaii turned to her father-in-law
seated beside her and a hush fell about the villagers as they waited to hear
what their Head Man would say.
“I thank yur all for being here and
welcoming our new daughter, Onaii,” said Hally, inclining his mug of cider in
her direction.
All eyes turned to Onaii and she
blushed.
“I hope my son makes yur happy.
Thanks be to the gods.”
“Thanks be to the gods,” the rest of
the village chorused.
Onaii looked down the table at
Beauty. The silver girl raised her hand like everyone else and pressed her
thumb and index finger together in the sign of the gods. Then she turned away
again and looked out of the doors.
She
can’t be much younger than me, thought Onaii, staring at her once
more. She did not understand how all of the other villagers were not fascinated
with the creature in their midst. She did not understand how they all went
about as normal when the silver girl sat before them staring into the forbidden
forest.
Onaii’s older sister had told her
stories of the silver being that lived in Imwane. The women from her village
often whispered about it and scared each other with rumours. They said that the
silver girl was the reason Imwane had prospered of late after seasons and
seasons of barely scrapping by. They said that it bewitched you with its eyes
and rode a warhorse across the hills at night, searching for Magic. Upon
hearing that she had been chosen to wed Dezgyn and move to Imwane, Oanii’s older
sister had told her that the silver girl came from the forbidden forest and
communed with the monsters that lived in its depths. But Onaii had only ever
thought these silly, spooky tales intended to frighten children. Hillanders did
not travel and so she had never met anyone who had actually seen the silver
girl. Now she saw her with her own eyes.
Onaii raised a trembling hand that
fluttered about her head, fiddling with her anth. The starched pleats of lace
were as stiff as they had been this morning when she put the headdress on for
the first time, but she could not help but feel that it was slipping. It was
taller and heavier than she was used to. The anth that she had worn all her
girlhood had sat flat on her head and she could not get used to the new weight
that pinched her temple. “Soon it’ll not feel so strange, child,” her mama had
said that morning. The thought of her mama brought a lump to Onaii’s throat.
She had said a brief goodbye to her family at the temple earlier and her papa
had looked proud that she had not made a fuss, but now she wished that she had.
She would not see them all until after the long winter and since she had never
spent a single night away from her family all her life, she knew that her days
ahead would be difficult.
She glanced at Dezgyn, but he was
looking the other way and chattering with Hally. When he turned back it was not
to speak to her but to announce to the room, “it is time for the dancing!”
A cheer vibrated off the rafters of
the barn and the women began clearing away the tables while the men congregated
outside, collecting the instruments together. Since it was her wedding
celebration Onaii was not required to help, but she noticed that Beauty did not
join the Hill women either. She watched as the silver girl slid out of the barn
unheeded and disappeared into the twilight. She shivered.
“It’ll be us starting,” said Dezgyn,
appearing beside her. “And I’ve not forgot what yur told me,” he added, seeing
her bit her lip.
“About my dancing?” she asked,
taking his offered hand.
“I’m sure it ain’t bad.”
“Then yur in for a shock.”
He laughed and gently squeezed her
fingers.
“All right, we’ll just humour them
with the first one and then yur can escape.”
He led her out of the barn and onto
a grassy bank where the men and children were waiting.
“I’m glad yur remember I told yur
that,” she said quietly.
“Course I remember. We met just
three times before today and I remembers every word yur said perfectly.”
Onaii grinned but before she could
reply, the pipes began to play and the villagers started clapping in time to
the beat. Praying to the gods that she would not embarrass herself, Oanii stood
beside Dezgyn and linked her little finger with his. Mercifully it was a simple
country step and Oanii wondered if Dezgyn had requested it especially for her.
She hoped so.
The two stepped, shuffled and turned
in time to the beat which gradually grew faster and faster. All of the
villagers stood in a circle around them clapping and shouting and singing in
harmony. Onaii tapped her heels and bent her knees in the same manner that she
had always watched her mama and sisters dance at harvest time or at
celebrations. She found her feet cooperating and she was almost enjoying
herself until, as she twirled across Dezgyn, Oanii caught sight of a silver
figure in the crowd. Her ankle gave way under her and she lost her footing. The
villagers shouted in alarm as she fell and Dezgyn tried to catch her, but
missed her arm by an inch.
“Are yur all right?” he asked as she
hastily dragged herself upright again.
“Yes,” she said, but winced as her
ankle throbbed. “I told yur I was bad at dancing,” she added.
Dezgyn smiled and led her to his
mother who clucked and fussed over her until her cheeks were very red.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Please go
back to dancing. I’d like to watch.”
Dezgyn nodded to the band and the
pipes began again as droves of villagers young and old gravitated towards the
middle of the circle to form row after winding row. Oanii limped back into the
shadows, keen to hide her humiliation and luckily, Duna also rushed into the
middle of the circle to take part, so she could stand alone.
It was not until they were halfway
through the third dance that Onaii realised the silver girl was standing right
behind her. She turned with a jump to see Beauty staring off in the direction
of the forest.
“The sight of yur tripped me!” she
blurted.
The silver girl turned her head in
Onaii’s direction as if just realising that she was there and then a deep frown
creased her brow. All at once she did not look so ethereal, but like Oanii’s
younger sister when their brother tried to steal all the puddings.
“If you cannot dance then you should
stand and watch,” she said.
Her accent was hard and straight
with none of the lilting vowels of the Hillanders. Oanii had never heard
anything like it.
“Yur voice is strange,” was all she
could think to say.
The frown deepened.
“No, your voice is strange.”
“Where do yur come from?”
A pair of amethyst eyes swept across
Oanii’s face, needling her with their intensity.
“I was born in Sago,” Beauty replied
at last with a sigh. “That is why I sound different to you.”
“The capital?”
Onaii could not even fathom the
distance between the Hillands and the Forest Villages let alone the capital,
which was on the other side of the country.
There was a soft thudding sound and
out of the shadows loomed a huge creature. Oanii gasped and stepped back onto
her twisted ankle, barely registering the pain that shot up her leg.
“The warhorse!” she hissed.
Beauty shook her head and rubbed the
bay stallion behind his ears.
“He is just an overgrown lapdog. He
is not a warhorse.”
Oanii stared at the tallest beast
she had ever seen. Instinctively her thumb and index finger pressed together
and she glanced at the rest of the villagers who were still dancing and
clapping in a circle, oblivious to all else.
“Oh, congratulations on your
marriage,” said Beauty, as if suddenly remembering her manners. “I hope you
like the buds I sent. They are pretty blue flowers and I found them far from
here.”
Onaii watched open-mouthed as the
silver girl clambered onto the warhorse’s back, using the stump of a tree to
help her. She sat astride like a man with no reins and no saddle, her skin
almost luminous in the darkness.
“Are yur going to the forbidden
forest?” squeaked Oanii, her hands flying to her mouth.
Beauty slowly turned her head and
looked at the tangled mass of dense blackness that plagued her night and day.
It bled down one side of the valley, its fringes reaching as close as twenty
metres to the nearest cottage, and then soared upwards, covering the next
mountain in a blanket of dark green. Nobody knew how far it stretched. Nobody
knew why it was forbidden to enter it. In Imwane it was never spoken of despite
its proximity. The villagers lived and died averting their eyes from its wild
darkness. It was an unspoken law that you did not mention the forest and both
girls were surprised that Oanii had brought it up.
“What do you know of it?” asked
Beauty.
Her warhorse snorted and tossed his
head.
“I . . .” began Onaii, her throat
suddenly dry. “Are yur going to the forest?” she repeated instead.
Beauty pulled her eyes away from it
with obvious difficulty.
“Not yet,” she whispered to herself.
Oanii gasped.
“Oanii! Oanii come over here, child!”
yelled Duna.
Oanii looked over her shoulder to
see her mother-in-law approaching at a trot, her face set into a frown. There
was the dull thud of hooves and Beauty disappeared into the night; a silver
shadow visible only by the reflected light of the pale moon.
“She went off,” whispered Oanii,
staring at the empty patch of dark grass where Beauty and her horse had stood.
“It were that thing,” muttered Duna,
shaking her head. “I might’ve known. I told yur not to take notice of it,
child. Come back to the celebration now and yur’ll soon forget.”
“But the forest—”
Duna froze and there was a long,
tense pause.
“The preacher accepts that thing and
so does my husband,” Duna said at last, the yellow light from the torches
throwing flickering shadows across her face. “But I know there’s something evil
in that silver being.”
Oanii thought of Beauty’s indigent
frown that had so reminded her of her younger sister.
“Child, yur shaking,” said Duna,
grabbing her arm. “Come back over to the fire. Hill girls should be having fun
at their wedding celebrations not hiding.”
Oanii limped after her
mother-in-law, Duna’s fingers digging into her arm. She peered through the
darkness at the tops of the hills, looking for a silver shadow, but she saw
nothing.
“Where’s she gone?” she asked,
though she knew that she should stay silent.
Duna sucked at her teeth.
“Child, I said not to think no more
of her. She’s gone off to do whatever she does. She is a cursed creature, yur
hear?”
Oanii thought of Beauty’s large
violet eyes looking into the depths of the forest, fearful.
“Cursed!” Duna repeated. “Cursed, do
yur hear?”
Oanii nodded.
“Yes,” she replied. “She’s cursed.”
But she did not believe it and for
the rest of that night as the villagers danced and sung and celebrated, Onaii
found herself searching the crests of the hills for a silver shadow and longing
for its return. Perhaps she could see the good beneath Beauty’s freakish
appearance or perhaps she had fallen under the silver girl’s spell.
