My mother married a demon.
That isn't what they said in the village, but I knew it to be true. The villagers all spoke well of my stepfather ("Such an educated and virtuous man!") and the good fortune of my mother in marrying him ("How good and kind he is for forgiving her past!").
They also spoke of my good fortune but in a different way. ("The poor, corrupted child will have a future now, thanks to Smitta Farlin.")
I continued to attend the Smitta's daily lectures, and I continued to have the bitter green pellets administered for various reasons. I complained that they hurt my stomach, but no one paid any mind.
I also gave up hope that Budding would be able to convince my mother to resume lessons. Perhaps Mother would've come around eventually, but Smitta Farlin never would. I sadly concluded that I would never see Budding or Min again.
Mother was told that she didn't need to work anymore. Instead, she spent all of her time assisting Smitta Farlin with his tasks. Anything that was deemed a 'distraction' was banned from the home. Auntie's loom was thrown out, all of the books were set on a high shelf (they could only be read if Smitta Farlin was present to make corrections on the text), and Auntie's portraits were placed in a trunk in the cellar.
After the first year, we left Auntie's home to move into a new house that had been built as a gift from the local lord. It was small and elegant, using all of the finest materials available. We were neighbors with the Westerly family, which made my mother ecstatic.
An official school was also built, where Smitta Farlin had his own office to do his important work. It was large enough to accommodate children coming from the other two villages. After all, as Smitta Farlin said, proper education should be shared with all young minds.
During the second year, I was moved to a room in the attic, and my former bedroom was turned into a nursery. Mother looked so happy that it made it easier for me to accept everything else.
I didn't like Smitta Farlin anymore than I had in the beginning—in fact, my dislike intensified. However, the glow on my mother's face made me willing to swallow the (sometimes literal) bitter pills of day-to-day cohabitation.
That is, until the autumn of my fourteenth year.
***
"Can I go in?" I asked Aunt Ellie after I heard the first cry of the new baby.
Ellie had just come out to announce the arrival of my little brother. "Of course," she smiled, opening the door for me.
I slipped into the room, letting my eyes adjust to the bright lights of a half-dozen lanterns. Mother was settling into the bed after her time on the birthing chair and the midwife was washing the baby clean.
He stretched his tiny lungs, wailing in protest. It was the most adorable thing I'd ever heard!
Eventually, he was wrapped in a blanket and placed in Mother's arms. The midwife continued to stand over them like some sort of guard dog. I sidled over to my mother so I could get a proper look at the baby.
He had light brown hair and brown eyes, with a wrinkled face that still looked angry. I reached over to touch his pink cheeks, marveling at how small a person could be. "He looks like you," I commented.
"Really?" Mother asked with a tired smile. "I think he looks like his papa."
I was tempted to make a face, but I didn't. Her words seemed like an insult to me. How could she compare my sweet little brother to that man?
"Mistress Dean," the midwife said, "Perhaps the…child…should leave the room. We don't want the baby catching anything."
(Mistress Dean was my mother.)
"Don't be silly," Mother replied. She gave a small laugh, but I scowled. We all knew it wasn't an actual illness that the midwife meant. Did she think I'd turn his skin yellow just by touching him?
"What will his name be?" I inquired, changing the subject.
"Your father decided to call him Devotion," she replied.
I blanched.
First of all, I hated when anyone referred to Smitta Farlin as my father. However, I'd received enough green pellets from arguing the matter that I'd learned to keep quiet about it. Second, I remembered hearing my mother say that she liked family names (particularly my great-grandparents'), which did not include the one Farlin had chosen. Third, I thought the name was terrible.
"Devotion?" I repeated, trying to keep my tone neutral.
Mother nodded. "Isn't it nice? So dignified."
Hardly, I thought to myself.
"I thought you favored Matthias," I said aloud.
Mother shrugged. "Your father didn't like that one. We both agree that Devotion is better."
My nose wrinkled, but I didn't press the matter. I tried to steer my comments to something more pleasant. "He's so tiny," I enthused. "I didn't know babies were so small."
"You were even smaller," she told me.
"They hardly bear comparison," came a deep voice from the doorway.
We all looked to see Smitta Farlin standing on the threshold. He had a stiff expression on his face as he surveyed the scene before him. "You may leave the room, Theophana," he stated. "Your mother is tired and needs rest."
"But-" I started.
"Do as you're told," the midwife asserted, shooing me from my mother's side.
"Goodnight, Mother," I said glumly.
No one answered as the door closed.
"Isn't he the sweetest thing?" said Aunt Ellie. She placed her hands on her protruding belly. "I can't wait to see what sort of cousin he'll have."
Aunt Ellie had married a wealthy merchant, but she lived with her parents when he was away traveling.
"Which do you want?" I asked, trying to shake off the hurt that was pricking at my heart.
She tilted her head to the side. "I'd like a daughter, but it's always good to have a son first. Everyone is more at ease when there's an heir. Also, your little brother would have a playmate!"
I frowned. "He couldn't play with a girl?" I muttered.
Aunt Ellie didn't seem to hear me over the knock that sounded at the front door. She hurried across the living room to answer it.
"Mother!" she exclaimed.
Mistress Westerly (my grandmother) swept into the room, bringing with her a flurry of fine fabrics that were gathered up in the ruffles of her skirt. She wore an animal fur stole over her shoulders and a matching hat perched on her head.
My grandmother had never visited us before, so I was equally shocked to see her.
"I have come to see my new grandchild," she announced impressively.
I frowned in confusion. "Really?"
Mistress Westerly barely spared me a glance as Ellie hurried her into my mother's bedroom. The door was closed behind them and I was left alone.
I stood frozen for a few moments before turning to walk up the stairs at the end of the hall. The steps were steep, but it was the only climbing I was able to do since being forbidden from going to the mountain forest.
The attic stored a few trunks—mostly with Mother's things that hadn't been thrown away but were still deemed superfluous—but the rest of the space had been given to me.
Great-Aunt Theophana's rocking chair sat by the wall closest to the chimney, where the radiating heat was most noticeable. My bed was next to the slit window that faced away from the rest of the village. A small table held all of the portraits that Auntie had drawn, which I'd pulled out of storage. There was also a narrow screen where I could have privacy when changing my clothes.
That was all that made up my little space in the house. I spent a good deal of time there, which suited both me and Smitta Farlin best.
There was very little natural light, even during the day. I lit one of the cheap tallow candles that I was allowed to use. There wasn't much of it left, so I knew I wouldn't be able to stay up very late that night.
One of the corners held a water basin and a bucket of clay. I'd started teaching myself how to sculpt, just to have something to pass the time. At first, I'd tried drawing, but it was difficult to keep myself supplied with paper and pencils. Clay, on the other hand, could be found for free and reused multiple times.
Tsuki had whittled me some useful tools to further my artistic endeavors, and my skills were slowly developing.
I sat down on the floor with a sigh, removing the damp cheesecloth that covered my current work-in-progress. It was supposed to be a bear, but it looked more like a fat dog.
"I wonder if Smitta Farlin would let me give this to the baby," I muttered to myself. "If I just reshape the face a bit…"
He hadn't let my mother keep any of my offerings so far, but maybe he'd make an exception for a child's toy.
I was still fiddling with the figurine when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I recognized them as Farlin's steps, so I immediately put everything away and washed my hands. Smitta Farlin didn't care about my creative aspirations, but he was very particular about cleanliness.
He entered the attic before I was finished, but he didn't seem to mind waiting while I dried my hands. I scampered to my feet and hurried to stand before him with my eyes fixed on the ground.
"You have done your duty as a daughter in greeting your mother after she gave birth," he approved. "It is also good for you to pay your respects to my son."
My eyes darted from side to side. His words seemed to be chosen with precision, but I wasn't sure what I'd done wrong.
"In the future," Farlin went on, "it will not be necessary for you to burden them with your presence. Your mother will be busy caring for Devotion, so she doesn't need any additional concerns."
The crease in my brow deepened. "You want me to stay away from my mother and brother?"
The Smitta raised a finger. The sudden movement caused me to flinch. "Devotion is not your brother. He is the young master of this house, where you are merely a guest. You and I have always been clear that there is no true relation between us, therefore there is no relation between you and my son."
A sense of loneliness began to press on my heart. I'd thought that the arrival of the baby would mean more people to love, not fewer. A thousand words of protest crowded in my thoughts, but I pushed them all away. Arguing with Smitta Farlin had never ended well, and I didn't have the strength to deal with the stomach cramps that came from the green pellets.
"Yes, sir," I whispered.
I could feel the smug satisfaction radiating from him. I clenched my hands into fists, keeping my eyes on the floorboards.
"Now, one more matter," he said. "Tomorrow there will be an important visitor arriving at the village. He is my superior in the Followers of Purity. It is a great honor to have him here, and we don't want anything about his stay to be unpleasant."
I knew where this was going and I took a deep breath to steady my emotions.
"You are to stay in this room as much as possible," he instructed. "If you must leave the house, wear your coverings."
It was the same thing every time we knew there would be outsiders coming to the village. Stay inside, cover my skin. I was a stain on the respectability of the community, best kept out of sight. I was to be pitied, of course, but definitely kept hidden.
"Yes, sir."
"You may be called upon to answer some questions," Farlin continued. "If that happens, you had best remember to keep your answers respectful and brief. If you embarrass me, there will be more than bitter herbs waiting for you."
He said it so calmly as if it was perfectly normal to threaten teenage girls. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before I dropped my gaze once more.
"Yes, sir."
Smitta Farlin nodded. "You have made much improvement over the past two years, Theophana. I think you are almost ready to begin the next phase of your training."
A cold tingle shot down my spine. I suppressed a shudder thinking about what new ways he would come up with to torment me.
I waited for him to leave the room before making a face at the door.
I hate you!
Screaming the words in my mind was not enough to vent the torrent of emotion that burst from my chest. I spent so much time keeping my true feelings hidden, and they built up like a dam.
I stormed over to my sculpting corner and squashed the 'bear' between my hands. The clay surged between my fingers as I tightened my fists. It didn't matter anymore. I wasn't allowed to go near the baby, let alone give him a present.
I slammed the formless clumps into the bucket of clay. Each breath became more ragged until they turned into sobs. Tears overflowed from my eyes, leaving a trail down my cheeks.
I didn't dare make any sound—Smitta Farlin would punish me if he heard. I raised my arm to my mouth and bit down hard. It stopped up my cries as well as distracted my emotional pain with the lesser physical pain.
Maybe if my life had always been like this it would be easier to accept. However, I still had vivid memories of the times before the Smitta came. I could still see the dappled forest with the birdsong echoing everywhere. I could still feel Mother's hand in mine as we crossed the river with bare feet. I could hear her sweet voice telling me stories and singing songs.
Those things were still fresh in my mind, even though it had been years since they'd last happened. They were at the root of my very being, never to be forgotten. The memories were patches of sunlight that were still visible, even though my life moved further into the bleak future.
I reached into the bucket of clay to pull out a fresh chunk. I molded it in my hands, not knowing what it would become in the end. I allowed my tears to flow, only wiping them when it became difficult to see. They became the water to soften the clay as I worked.
I shaped and reshaped.
I cried and I cried.
Eventually, the candle guttered and I was left in the darkness.