I usually enjoy these journeys alone. I spend enough time taking care of my sisters, cramped in our tiny cottage, that being alone and being free of that responsibility is always a welcome reprieve.
But my departure disturbs me. I worry about my sisters in the care of Mother, who seems more and more unhinged by the hour. I am used to her superstitions at this point. She's worried the Fae will return and takes every precaution for an attack from them. She makes all of us wear iron, and she even hired an "expert in all things Fae" to come to our cottage and secure it. All he did was carve a stupid spiral on our door and burn some sage.
Mother's fear often causes her to fall victim to the schemes of people like that. We barely have enough money to keep ourselves fed, but she spends any she can get on "protection". When I was fourteen, she traded my father's sword for half a pound of salt. I was furious. It was the only thing we had of his and she traded it so she could dump the salt on the ground in a circle around our house. It rained the next day and washed all the salt away.
The next month, I began going to the market instead.
I don't believe in Fae. Or magic. It's just something people use to explain why they are so miserable. When a baby is stillborn, it's the Fae. When harvest is bad, it's a curse.
I have never met anyone who has seen Fae or magic. Either they are extinct or they never existed at all.
The crown of twigs my sister gave me scratches at my head, and I think about tossing it into the woods, but for some reason I can't part with it. She worked so hard on it, and I think of her smile as she gave it to me.
Jozlynn is the most normal of us all. People seem to gravitate towards her. Her smile and sunny disposition are infectious. She is rarely anything but ecstatic to be alive, but when she does get upset, we all feel that too. She always has a new friend, or is arriving home with a gift someone was happy to give her. When she runs into people on the street, she is showered with compliments, hugs, and attention.
I don't mind this, but Desaevia, I can tell, feels jealous. She has a much harder time making friends. She is always disregarded quickly, and it infuriates me. She is the kindest person I have ever met, and so incredibly patient. Something about her sparks an unparalleled feeling of warmth and love in my chest that blossoms through my whole body. I think about this feeling frequently and I again find myself wondering if this feeling is what people mean when they speak of "motherly love". But it feels like even more than that to me. She is my favorite, as much as I hate to admit I have one. Something about her ignites an almost feral instinct in me to nurture and protect.
Which is why I never understood why she always seems to be left out and excluded. The girls in our village never let her play with them, and Jozlynn, who has always reveled in the attention of others, seems to prefer her own company to Desaevia's. Even Mother, who is never especially kind to any of us, seems to hold an even greater contempt for her. All Desaevia ever wants is love, and no one but me gives it to her.
Ava doesn't fit in either, but she appears to prefer it that way. She doesn't like being touched. She rarely speaks, and when she does it is usually because she wants something. She spends much of her time outdoors, walking like she's deep in thought. Ava shows little interest in toys or stories, but she does love music. Mother sometimes sings to her, and it is the only time Ava will let anyone hold her.
She also loves animals and bugs. She is always finding some creature and taking them into the house. If I can, I try to release them outside before Mother finds them. But once, last spring when Avalynn was only two, Ava found a baby blue bird that had fallen out of its next too early. She cried and brought it to me, and when she thrust it into my hands, I saw that it was dead. Or at least I thought it was. She yelled, "Fix it!" at me over and over again, and it was the first time she had ever strung two words together.
I held the broken, lifeless chick in my hands and choked on my words as I tried to tell Ava that I couldn't. "I- I'm sorry, Ava. It's..." dead. But I didn't know how to tell her that. I didn't think she knew what 'dead' would mean. "I can't fix it. I'm sorry."
She gave me her signature scowl, and I felt the flutter of fear in my heart before she snatched it out of my hands and ran to her corner. Tears streaming down her face, she nuzzled it'd body against her cheek before she kissed it head.
The baby bird chirped a frightened chirp and I gasped. I was so sure it was dead, but it must have been unconscious. The chick shook of it sleep before nestling into Ava's warmth. Ava scowled at me again, before turning her attention back to the bird. She cooed at the creature, who now seemed perfectly fine.
As I think of my sisters, a sense of uneasy love settles in me. I would do anything for them. I only fear the day when that means taking a stand against Mother.
She was never much of a mom to any of us. Other than the occasional tender moments she spends with Ava when she sings to her, she rarely shows us affection. She has been left bitter and cold, especially without our father. But she just keeps getting worse. She spends her days now shut in her room, blinds closed, and quiet. She emerges for meal times and bathroom breaks, but never for much else. Which leaves me to care for my sisters, cook, clean, and manage the household. She's been increasingly more withdrawn within the last year. And when she does interact with us, it's never pleasant.
She rambles about curses and hexes, and she scold us for not being more careful. If she could, I think she would lock us all in an iron room for the rest of our lives. I worry again about my sisters while I'm away, hoping Jozlynn with follow the instructions I gave her before I left.
I am so lost in my thought and worry that I almost miss the path that breaks away from the main road, heading west towards the mountains. Braken, the town with the market, sits in the foothills. I never understood why an entire town would be in that spot, since the mountain casts a shadow over it for much of the afternoon and the entire evening, creating significantly shorter, colder days.
I stop at a stream and look at the sun still high in the sky. Even with my delayed departure this morning, I still managed to make good time. I drink from the cool stream, and debate taking a piece of bread from my pack, but I decide against it. I only took two pieces of bread with me, in an attempt to conserve the food we have at home. We are at the end of winter, and our food stores are dangerously low. If I am unsuccessful at the market...
I shake my head and sling my pack back over my shoulder. I decide that when I get back home, I'll convince one of the men in the village to teach me how to hunt. We have been relying on Mother for the things she embroiders, but as unstable as she's becoming, I know I need to have a back-up plan.
When the sun begins to set, I make camp. As I eat a piece of bread, I consider saving half of it, but I'm famished and I have another long day ahead of me tomorrow. It's bland and stale, and far too small. When it's gone, my belly still feels empty, and I sigh. Hungry and exhausted, I curl into a ball next to the fire and drift into sleep, hoping I dream of my sisters, happy and healthy.
The wind whips my hair into knots and I'm screaming. I'm falling, and the ground hurtles towards me. I shut my eyes tight, and the scream cuts off in my throat as my breath is stolen from me. My body jerks upwards, and I feel a pull from my shoulders. The wind still smacks my face, as the pull in my shoulders increases. Shouldn't I have hit the ground by now? I open my eyes, and see the entire world below me. But while I watch in awe, the edges of the world rise slowly, then move together, as if the ground is folding in on itself. I can hear the people below me screaming and I burst into hysterical, malicious laughter. All I feel is pride and satisfaction.
I jerk awake, disoriented for a moment. Then I feel my tender, sore muscles, the bitter cold and the dryness in my throat and I remember where I am. The sky is dark in its pre-dawn state, so I decide to resume my journey. If I leave now, I might even arrive at the market before noon. I gather my things and begin my walk.
By the time I arrive at Braken, the sun has chased away the cold, and I am starving. I scarf down the last bit of food I have, which again does little to satiate the empty pit in my stomach. I head towards the market and I am quickly swallowed whole by the crowd, and as I push through, I try not to get distracted by all the festivities and luxuries I could never afford. I smell something savory and rich, and my stomach screams with desire, but I walk past the small tavern full of people, ale, and -from the smell of it- delicious food, and head towards the back of the market.
I quickly find the man I was looking for. He has always been generous with his trades, saying his wife absolutely loves Mother's embroideries. He's either lying or his wife has poor taste because Mother's work no longer has the delicate, intricate, beauty it once did.
I nod my head with a greeting and I pull my mothers work out of my pack. This batch is low both in quality and quantity, and I expect him to renegotiate our usually rates.
But he just smiles at me and politely doesn't mention the shoddy workmanship as he hands me the usually fare. I tell him thank you, and I begin scanning the market for what I need. I hope to buy some seeds so I can start a vegetable garden this year. Mother stopped tending our garden when Avalynn was born, and we could really benefit from something other than stale bread and fish.
After I find everything I need, except the seeds, I take stock of the money I have left. If I'm lucky, I can get one or two types of seeds with what I have.
I find a vendor selling a variety of seeds and I eagerly enter the stall. But my face falls as I see her prices. It's more than I thought. She smiles at me and says, "What can I do for you, darling?"
"I want to start a vegetable garden but I don't have much," I say, fully prepared for her to turn me away.
But the wrinkles next to her eyes crease as she gives me a smile full of pity, and says, "That's okay, dear. I'm sure we can work something out. Have you ever gardened before?"
"No."
"That's alright. Maybe start with some of these." She starts collecting several varieties of seeds in her arms, and I start to protest, knowing there's no way I could afford any of them, but she continues on. "Oh! And some of these. These are very hard to kill, so perfect for your first garden. Now how much do you have?"
I open my palm containing my measly funds and say, "Not enough."
She glances at my hands and smile never wavering. "Oh, that's perfect!"
She takes the money out of my hands and gives me the varying seeds. I frown and say, "Oh. You don't have to do that. I know this isn't even close to enough money."
She winks at me and says, "Really it's okay. The gods will smile at us both today. Just promise to come back to me next year for more, alright?"
"I will. Thank you." I say with genuine gratitude. As I walk away, I look at what she gave me. There were eight different kind of seeds. In awe, I thought back to the strange woman. Most vendors were greedy, but she sold the seeds to me far below their value. And her comment about the gods confounded me. I had never heard someone talk about the gods as if they were anything but a children's myth.
As the sun begins to sink behind the mountain, I make my way through the crowd, back to where I had made camp the previous night. I'm excited to eat the bread and the bit of cheese I had just bought. But I grow frustrated as the crowd thickens around a stall and I fight to squeeze between bodies, careful to protect my pack full of my purchases.
But I quickly see why so many people are gathered here. A brilliant flash of green lures me to the front of stall selling knick-knacks, all of which are likely stolen. The piece that snares my attention is a ring with an emerald so large and expertly cut it must be worth at least 6 of my family's cottages. I admire it, and ponder what it would be doing there. No one at the market could ever even dream of owning something so magnificent. The ring could only ever belong to a queen, not any of us.
The vendor of the stall singles me out of the crowd and smiles at me and says, "You have excellent taste."
I smile, and try to keep from laughing. She's going to try to barter with me? "Thank you. It's breathtaking. But I could never afford it."
She frowns, disappointed. I'm baffled. I don't know how she expects to sell this here. Or why she seems surprised that I wouldn't be able to buy it, especially out of all the people here. None of us are wealthy enough to buy it, but there were certainly onlookers with more money than me. "Well, what can you afford to give me? Maybe we can work something out."
I laugh, and she scowls like I was being ridiculous and rude. I don't mean to offend her, but I assumed she was trying to make a joke. "The only thing I could give you for it is this crown my sister made. I need everything else I have. I'm sorry." I hear a snicker from someone behind me in the crowd.
I turn to leave but she calls after me. "Okay. The crown of twigs for the ring." She suddenly sounds like she's choking on her words and the smile she bares looks forced, not meeting her eyes.
Every person in the crowd, which appears to have doubled in size, is watching this obscene interaction. And when she proposes the trade, the crowd roars, both in anger and laughter.
"What? Is this a joke?"
"It's not a joke. The ring is yours. Here." She grabs the ring and extends her arm to me. There's nothing casual about the motion. Her arm is rigid and tense, yet perfectly still as she waits for me to take the ring. Her face hasn't changed either. The smile is wide and features her crooked, yellowing teeth, but her eyes scream at me with panic.
The crowd jeers. I frown at her and I could swear she didn't move at all. She wasn't breathing or blinking or flinching. She looks like a very lifelike statue, and I find it unnerving. I just stare at her and she seems completely frozen, her arm still extending towards me. I become genuinely concerned for her, and a little frightened for myself. "Are you alright?"
"Yes. Please take the ring."
"Why are you just giving it to me?"
Her smile, never wavering, plasters her face, but I can feel her contempt and anger as she says, "Because you want it. Please take the ring."
I furrow my brow and think What the hell was going on? I snap at her, "Of course I want it. It's beautiful. But you can't just give it to me for nothing."
"It is not for nothing. It's for your sister's twig crown. Please take the ring."
Now I'm angry. What kind of con is she trying to pull? I yell at her, loud enough that everyone in the still-growing crowd and the neighboring stalls falls silent. "No! This is ridiculous. What kind of trick is this?" Our audience doesn't make a sound as they stare. I turn my rage towards the crowd as I scream, "Stop looking at us!"
Instantly, the entire crowd disperses, resuming their negotiating and gossiping, and it was like they never gathered to begin with. I look back to the woman and she still hasn't moved at all. "It's not a trick. The ring is yours. Please take the ring."
I have had enough. I snatch the ring out of her hand and throw the crown of twigs at her feet. She drops to her knees, crushing the crown, and shudders. "Thank you," she whispers. She sounds shaken and close to tears.
"Are you happy now? I took the damn ring." I mean to yell again, but the sight of her on her knees and shaking steals my rage.
She continues to shake, her head bowed. She won't look at me. "Yes. Thank you. Now please leave." She speaks softly, almost as if she has given up.
"What?"
"Please just leave, alright? You got what you wanted."
I back away, slowly, until I collide with a large mass. I spin around and find myself facing a very large man. His skin is oddly pale, like he doesn't labor outdoors with all the other men here. His jaw is square and he seems well-groomed, with only a hint of stubble on his face and his hair cropped short. He smells of pine and… something else so pleasant that I feel a surge of both awareness and a peaceful calm. He beautiful and clean, a fact that sparks unease in my gut. Only royalty or a member of the King's court would look like this. Wealth and power seep from him, and I find myself asking the same questions about him as I did the emerald ring held tight in my fist. With both, it's painfully obvious that they don't belong here.
Even the fury and hate plastering his face don't negate his beauty, but they do startle me. I have never met this man, and I had not wronged him, but he looks like he's ready to enact vengeance upon me. His eyes, a lovely shade of green stare so intensely into mine that I drop my gaze. His clothes and boots reaffirm my well-groomed observation. And the theory of his wealth. His entire ensemble is brand new, expertly made and tailored to him.
He grabs my shoulders and his intoxicating smell is instantly overpowered by the reek of my iron necklace, coupled with the smell of burning flesh. Myburning flesh. It takes me a moment longer than it should to feel the burning chain around my neck, hanging just above my breasts. I'm overcome with nausea and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. The smell of pine creeps back to my sense and the pain and nausea ebb. I take another deep breath to steady myself. Fear. That's all this is. Only fear. The calm his musk brings settles back in until he shakes me. My eyes snap open and I look back up at him. Damn he's tall.
His voice is a smooth baritone, and my stomach tightens with anxiety and something else when he growls, "How the hell did you do that?"
I freeze, heart pounding. The ring. He wants to know how I got the ring.I swallow. I don't know what to say. Idon't even know what happened. Or what's happening now. I'm confused and scared and I need time to think. Frustrated with my silence, he tightens his grip like he's trying to squeeze an answer out of me. His hold on my arms hurts and I know I'll be decorated with bruises tomorrow. I can't stop looking into his eyes as they tear into me, searching for my secrets and lies. But I don't have any. I squirm to break away, cowering under his stare but he does not ease up. "I- I don't know. I don't know what happened," I stutter. I finally break eye contact again, uncomfortable, and my gaze falls on his belt. He's armed with a dagger and a sword, both with intricate, beautiful designs adorned with jewels on the handles.
He grabs my chin with his calloused hand -the only part of him that seems worn and worked- and angles my head up so I'm forced to look at him once more. I tremble with fear, and I want to pull my head away, but the predatory glint in his eyes warns me to still. My bottom lip starts to quiver as I fight the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I don't understand his anger, and I don't know what he wants. I especially don't understand why I am caught in the center of everything unusual at this damnmarket. He sneers at me for a moment longer, then his face softens just a bit, still firm, but laced with confusion and pity. I whimper, and he lets go of me with a scoff of disgust and takes a step back. I fall on my ass, not realizing that he had been holding me up, before I scramble back onto my feet, breaking into a sprint as I shove through the dwindling crowd. I knock people over, earning some glares and harsh words, as I battle my way to the woods.
When the crowd finally breaks, I run as fast and as far as I can, tears streaming down my face, away from Braken and that man. I don't stop until my feet betray me and I fall onto my hands and knees in the middle of the dark forest.