of home,
not just baby and grandparents,
but dogs and goat,
and the fruiting trees.
The family answer
stiff words that say little
as if to a stranger
who doesn’t care how
the black dog barks at the wind
or the fig tree leans
over the spring.
Though sometimes
Aissa sees
tears in his mother’s eyes,
and in Luki’s.
Nasta’s family
shed no tears;
her mother glows as bright as Nasta,
so proud, so sure
her daughter will be the one
to save the island.
She comes each day from the fishers’ cove
with fish to trade
or pay the Lady,
but mostly so she can say,
‘My Nasta, the dancer,’
and touch hands for luck,
as if it were her.
Like her daughter,
she watches for the bad-luck girl,
as if Nasta’s glory
has been besmirched
by No-Name’s hopes.
She corners Aissa
against the town wall,
with spit on her lips,
hate in her eyes,
says, ‘No-Name,
bad-luck child,
twice abandoned,
I know that you
passed by our shrine,
cursing our holiest place
with your stink.
‘The goddess that watches
the fishers at sea
will toss you off the cliff
if she finds you there.
And if she doesn’t,
I will.’
Ever since he came to the Hall, Luki has been curious about the girl called No-Name. She’s short for her age, as thin and wary as a stray dog and fast as a hunted hare. Her hair is black, like most people’s, but curlier than most, a tangled frizz instead of plaits. She’s never with the other servants – in fact, he’s never seen her do any chores.
He’s almost sure she’s the girl he walked with on Firefly Night, except that girl looked free and happy. This girl is freer than he is, but she’s the only person in the Hall who’s more unhappy.
Maybe that’s why he wants to laugh when he sees her spit onto Nasta’s head. It’s certainly why he doesn’t give her away.
Because Luki knows that his fate is tied to Nasta’s. Luki’s worked with animals all his life, and he knows that surviving the bull dances will need teamwork. All Nasta cares about is beating everyone else – including him.
So that night at the solstice feast, he takes an extra honey cake from the platter. The party is nearly over before he spots the no-name girl skulking around the edges. Luki sidles into the shadows, and leaves the cake behind.
A honey cake
all for Aissa
as if she’s won
the race after all.
As sweet in her mouth,
moist in her throat,
warm in her belly
as she’s dreamed.
And as she licks
the last sweet crumbs
from every finger,
Aissa wonders how Luki
could leave it there
on a clean rock ledge
and walk away.
If she didn’t know
that no one would ever
do something kind for her,
she’d almost think
it was a gift.
11
MILLI-CAT AND THE SNAKE
Foraging further from town means worrying about wolves again. Aissa goes back to work on her rock-sling, but making rope isn’t as easy as the goatherd girl made it look. All she’s got from the bark she collected is fingers full of splinters.
The morning after the solstice festival she goes to the cedar trees and strips another bundle. Sitting on a rock till the day warms, sheltering in the forest shade when the sun is so hot that only the cicadas can sing, it takes nearly till sunset to tease out the bark and roll the prickly threads into strands. She tries to splice them in the dark of her cave that night, and ends up with a tangled mess.
Milli-Cat kneads and shreds it even more, making a nest – much cosier than the hard rock floor.
Did you think it was my offering to you? Aissa wonders, as the cat headbutts her in thanks. Maybe it was.
No one has ever thanked her before.
But she wants to make a rock-hurling sling, not a cat nest. She works at it every day, her fingers toughening as they get faster, until finally she has a rope. She splices the middle into a flat pouch to hold a stone, and knots one end into a handle.
Aissa’s seen herder children practising in the fields. The loop of rope whirls over their heads; the end
not just baby and grandparents,
but dogs and goat,
and the fruiting trees.
The family answer
stiff words that say little
as if to a stranger
who doesn’t care how
the black dog barks at the wind
or the fig tree leans
over the spring.
Though sometimes
Aissa sees
tears in his mother’s eyes,
and in Luki’s.
Nasta’s family
shed no tears;
her mother glows as bright as Nasta,
so proud, so sure
her daughter will be the one
to save the island.
She comes each day from the fishers’ cove
with fish to trade
or pay the Lady,
but mostly so she can say,
‘My Nasta, the dancer,’
and touch hands for luck,
as if it were her.
Like her daughter,
she watches for the bad-luck girl,
as if Nasta’s glory
has been besmirched
by No-Name’s hopes.
She corners Aissa
against the town wall,
with spit on her lips,
hate in her eyes,
says, ‘No-Name,
bad-luck child,
twice abandoned,
I know that you
passed by our shrine,
cursing our holiest place
with your stink.
‘The goddess that watches
the fishers at sea
will toss you off the cliff
if she finds you there.
And if she doesn’t,
I will.’
Ever since he came to the Hall, Luki has been curious about the girl called No-Name. She’s short for her age, as thin and wary as a stray dog and fast as a hunted hare. Her hair is black, like most people’s, but curlier than most, a tangled frizz instead of plaits. She’s never with the other servants – in fact, he’s never seen her do any chores.
He’s almost sure she’s the girl he walked with on Firefly Night, except that girl looked free and happy. This girl is freer than he is, but she’s the only person in the Hall who’s more unhappy.
Maybe that’s why he wants to laugh when he sees her spit onto Nasta’s head. It’s certainly why he doesn’t give her away.
Because Luki knows that his fate is tied to Nasta’s. Luki’s worked with animals all his life, and he knows that surviving the bull dances will need teamwork. All Nasta cares about is beating everyone else – including him.
So that night at the solstice feast, he takes an extra honey cake from the platter. The party is nearly over before he spots the no-name girl skulking around the edges. Luki sidles into the shadows, and leaves the cake behind.
A honey cake
all for Aissa
as if she’s won
the race after all.
As sweet in her mouth,
moist in her throat,
warm in her belly
as she’s dreamed.
And as she licks
the last sweet crumbs
from every finger,
Aissa wonders how Luki
could leave it there
on a clean rock ledge
and walk away.
If she didn’t know
that no one would ever
do something kind for her,
she’d almost think
it was a gift.
11
MILLI-CAT AND THE SNAKE
Foraging further from town means worrying about wolves again. Aissa goes back to work on her rock-sling, but making rope isn’t as easy as the goatherd girl made it look. All she’s got from the bark she collected is fingers full of splinters.
The morning after the solstice festival she goes to the cedar trees and strips another bundle. Sitting on a rock till the day warms, sheltering in the forest shade when the sun is so hot that only the cicadas can sing, it takes nearly till sunset to tease out the bark and roll the prickly threads into strands. She tries to splice them in the dark of her cave that night, and ends up with a tangled mess.
Milli-Cat kneads and shreds it even more, making a nest – much cosier than the hard rock floor.
Did you think it was my offering to you? Aissa wonders, as the cat headbutts her in thanks. Maybe it was.
No one has ever thanked her before.
But she wants to make a rock-hurling sling, not a cat nest. She works at it every day, her fingers toughening as they get faster, until finally she has a rope. She splices the middle into a flat pouch to hold a stone, and knots one end into a handle.
Aissa’s seen herder children practising in the fields. The loop of rope whirls over their heads; the end
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