15th of Red Stone, 498 AV.
“What isss thisss?”
There was a moment of terror before a firm hand gripped her shoulder. A short jerk, and Haasha blinked at the floor, suddenly being on her feet. Her father’s angry hiss made her come to her senses, and she tried to stagger away from him. The grip with which he held her shoulder started to hurt.
“What is thisss? Do you hear what I’m asssking you?!”
“I-…”
She glanced at the clay cup in the fireplace. It was all cracked up, white lacquered shards glistening with the flame. In the bottom of the former cup, there seemed to be something moving, as if a lichen, writhing in pain. It was a big writhing cave lichen, unevenly split in halves, tangled in wet boiled sea weeds, a few tops of nice dried flowers that mother had in lots in the store room, and a little salt. Now that the water dried out, the mass emitted a terrible stench – in addition, the lichen kept writhing. Haasha thought that it was easier to look at its convulsions than at her father. She never would look at her father when he was angry.
She knew she was wrong, and she knew that she didn’t want it to turn out like that. Naruya made a thing she rubbed into father's back. She said that he was angry half the time because he had to go to cold lands in winter, and winter bit him on the shoulder. Haasha never saw any bitemarks, but she knew that when her mother was finished rubbing that light-yellow ointment into father's back, father became all relaxed and good-spirited for awhile.
“I tried to make a potion.” the girl whispered, biting her lips and trying to hold off the sobbing. Crying was for weaklings, even Naruya told her that, especially often.
The grip loosened, he pushed her away and she heard his heavy steps on the floor.
“Your mother will hear about this, and you’d better clean out thisss ssslugsss dung before she returns.”
Her mother worked as a potion master in Zinrah. She often said that it was a temporary job, and that she didn’t even like it that much, but Haasha was a keen child in that regard. She could tell that flowers, slugs and potions have been at least a part of her mother’s life.
Naruya often sat by her before she’d fall asleep and told her stories. She told her a story once, about a land far away, where people don’t turn into snakes. It about a princess who was loved by a man, a Djed-shaper. She was an ignorant, spoiled person, but he loved her nevertheless, with all his heart. He turned to travel to sooth the pain in his heart, but as he crossed lands and seas, he could never forget her. The princess loved flowers, and he kept sending her flowers from all the lands he passed through, alive flowers and dried flowers, and flowers made of glass and stone.
One day the man, by that time a master in his craft and a powerful, though very unhappy person, returned to where his ladylove lived, only to know that she drowned in the lake a prior season. The man left, and nothing was heard from him for weeks. His servants settled in the city with fat purses and good recommendations, his house was turned into a free entrance museum, where artifacts, paintings and sculptures all over the world were displayed, and his works were passed for study to his apprentice. In surprise, the latter saw his master leave deep in the night, and decided to follow him.
The road led to the lake, and there was no sign of a man other than steps on the sand and a fading ripple on the water. Half-submerged into the lake, with its leaves protruded, as if arms stretched out, stood a beautiful amber flower, the color matching that of his master’s eyes. As the apprentice stood by the lake in shock and wonder, the strong wind blew, and the flower’s bell separated from the stem, going high into the sky until it touched the stars. The wind carried the poor fool’s heart over the lands and waters, mountains and forests, until it reached the lake, where its sorrows drowned.
From the seeds of that sorrow that the flower carried, new ones grew, but, as they stood throat-deep in the water, they wondered, and shrugged in confusion, for they did not know their purpose, and knew no troubles. The memory of that man faded slowly over the years, but the Fool’s Heart could still be found growing in pure waters, unable to tell the tale of an unrequited love. Haasha didn't quite understand why it was so sad, but her mother had a talent for storytelling, listening to the harsh, shuffling voice always brought the girl into a deep, calm sleep.
That night Haasha lay quietly, curled in the blanket, and listened to her father snarl and her mother’s calm, shuffling voice that was devoid of any warmth. She could distinguish the words, but her mind refused to remember them or make them out as they went louder, to shouting, and then... there was racket, rattle of the wooden furniture. She lay there and though she could make it out by the creak and crack. The cupboard. The table. The stool banged against the door to her small nest, and then her father groaned, and her mother hissed something in a language that wasn’t hissing at all, and the sound of that language sent shivers down the girls spine. When all went quiet, she pulled herself from under the blanket and waited. Sleep left her for sure, but not worry. Or hunger. She refused to come out of her room to see her father, was punished, and now her stomach made the nastiest sounds, and her guts twisted like snakes.
She could sneak into the main room, and get some lichens from the cupboard… they weren’t tasty at all if raw, but if she bit them like her mother did, they’d become a tasteless jelly soon – and her guts would stop twisting. Maybe, her mother was working by the fire late in the night, she could then explain everything properly. Naruya was understanding, not at all like her father. But what if her father was there? Some nights he could be found towering over the table where they usually ate, over some maps, moving his heavy square-tipped finger over the black lines. He always shooed her off… and today she made him angry.
Haasha’s hand stilled on the door. Was it worth the risk?
Her stomach grumbled, suggesting that she shouldn’t spend too much time thinking.
It would still be better to know if someone was there… Through the slit between the door and the doorframe she could see their main room. The fire was burning bright, warm light dancing on the grey wooden furniture and dim yellow walls. Before it was an empty chair, on which she could see some things. However she twisted, she couldn’t see the dining table – it was too far away. She listened carefully, then, in hopes of catching a shuffle of a sigh, but there was nothing to be heard except for the fire cracking.
The path was probably clear.
The girl narrowed her eyes at the things on the chair. There was a wooden tray, a high cup made of clay, painted white, and some bowl with something. And grapes. Haasha felt her mouth get watery. Has her mother left dinner for her in secret, knowing that she’d crawl out of her hole for food when everyone’d be asleep?
She new that the door was creaky half-way, and Haasha made a gap wide enough only to squeeze through without a sound. She was light-footed, and the floor was firm, but both her parents had a very good hearing, so to truly come unnoticed, she’d have to move really quiet.
Making a first soft, cautious step towards the chair, she imagined herself being a real jungle hunter, crawling through the forest, full of dangerous beasts and poisonous insects. She had to watch her feet, measure her breath, and be very, very careful…
She almost stepped on some dark shards, which were very close to the floor in color, and stilled her step before her foot would land. She could balance on one foot for a while, and made a sloppy sidestep, to sneak around the ‘trap’, wondering how did it even get there. Out of curiosity, she crouched by the pieces, and took an angled one in her hand. She could swear these were dirt-covered shards of her broken clay cup. She sniffed the angle, and almost sneezed. Definitely, a familiar stench. But she got rid of them, who could…
It didn’t matter. She was by the tray now, and pulled it to herself. She’d rather sit on the floor, and by the side of the fireplace, in the shadow.
“Were you trying to make a muscle salve?”
Haasha, who’d just settled with her food, almost choked on a grape she reflectively tried to gulp without chewing.
Naruya was standing in the room, leaning to the wall with her arms crossed. The look on her face, though, didn't promise anything bad.
She looked at her mother with widened eyes, and finished the gigantic gulp. Her throat ached dully, and then she stared, without answering. Naruya chuckled, moving away from the shadow and closer to the fire. Following her, Haasha noticed the glass on the dining table – so, her mother was going to work at night.
“Don’t worry, your father’s gone to work and won’t return any time soon. So?”
Haasha nodded, and leaned in her mother’s embrace, calming down.
“Just listen how your heart races. Little cowardly chick.” the half-blood felt thin hands brush over her hair. She didn’t mind the title she was given. Her mother was warm and it was cozy in her thin, but strong arms. “Don’t be afraid, I’ll teach you things. Your father doesn’t have to know.”
“What isss thisss?”
There was a moment of terror before a firm hand gripped her shoulder. A short jerk, and Haasha blinked at the floor, suddenly being on her feet. Her father’s angry hiss made her come to her senses, and she tried to stagger away from him. The grip with which he held her shoulder started to hurt.
“What is thisss? Do you hear what I’m asssking you?!”
“I-…”
She glanced at the clay cup in the fireplace. It was all cracked up, white lacquered shards glistening with the flame. In the bottom of the former cup, there seemed to be something moving, as if a lichen, writhing in pain. It was a big writhing cave lichen, unevenly split in halves, tangled in wet boiled sea weeds, a few tops of nice dried flowers that mother had in lots in the store room, and a little salt. Now that the water dried out, the mass emitted a terrible stench – in addition, the lichen kept writhing. Haasha thought that it was easier to look at its convulsions than at her father. She never would look at her father when he was angry.
She knew she was wrong, and she knew that she didn’t want it to turn out like that. Naruya made a thing she rubbed into father's back. She said that he was angry half the time because he had to go to cold lands in winter, and winter bit him on the shoulder. Haasha never saw any bitemarks, but she knew that when her mother was finished rubbing that light-yellow ointment into father's back, father became all relaxed and good-spirited for awhile.
“I tried to make a potion.” the girl whispered, biting her lips and trying to hold off the sobbing. Crying was for weaklings, even Naruya told her that, especially often.
The grip loosened, he pushed her away and she heard his heavy steps on the floor.
“Your mother will hear about this, and you’d better clean out thisss ssslugsss dung before she returns.”
Her mother worked as a potion master in Zinrah. She often said that it was a temporary job, and that she didn’t even like it that much, but Haasha was a keen child in that regard. She could tell that flowers, slugs and potions have been at least a part of her mother’s life.
Naruya often sat by her before she’d fall asleep and told her stories. She told her a story once, about a land far away, where people don’t turn into snakes. It about a princess who was loved by a man, a Djed-shaper. She was an ignorant, spoiled person, but he loved her nevertheless, with all his heart. He turned to travel to sooth the pain in his heart, but as he crossed lands and seas, he could never forget her. The princess loved flowers, and he kept sending her flowers from all the lands he passed through, alive flowers and dried flowers, and flowers made of glass and stone.
One day the man, by that time a master in his craft and a powerful, though very unhappy person, returned to where his ladylove lived, only to know that she drowned in the lake a prior season. The man left, and nothing was heard from him for weeks. His servants settled in the city with fat purses and good recommendations, his house was turned into a free entrance museum, where artifacts, paintings and sculptures all over the world were displayed, and his works were passed for study to his apprentice. In surprise, the latter saw his master leave deep in the night, and decided to follow him.
The road led to the lake, and there was no sign of a man other than steps on the sand and a fading ripple on the water. Half-submerged into the lake, with its leaves protruded, as if arms stretched out, stood a beautiful amber flower, the color matching that of his master’s eyes. As the apprentice stood by the lake in shock and wonder, the strong wind blew, and the flower’s bell separated from the stem, going high into the sky until it touched the stars. The wind carried the poor fool’s heart over the lands and waters, mountains and forests, until it reached the lake, where its sorrows drowned.
From the seeds of that sorrow that the flower carried, new ones grew, but, as they stood throat-deep in the water, they wondered, and shrugged in confusion, for they did not know their purpose, and knew no troubles. The memory of that man faded slowly over the years, but the Fool’s Heart could still be found growing in pure waters, unable to tell the tale of an unrequited love. Haasha didn't quite understand why it was so sad, but her mother had a talent for storytelling, listening to the harsh, shuffling voice always brought the girl into a deep, calm sleep.
That night Haasha lay quietly, curled in the blanket, and listened to her father snarl and her mother’s calm, shuffling voice that was devoid of any warmth. She could distinguish the words, but her mind refused to remember them or make them out as they went louder, to shouting, and then... there was racket, rattle of the wooden furniture. She lay there and though she could make it out by the creak and crack. The cupboard. The table. The stool banged against the door to her small nest, and then her father groaned, and her mother hissed something in a language that wasn’t hissing at all, and the sound of that language sent shivers down the girls spine. When all went quiet, she pulled herself from under the blanket and waited. Sleep left her for sure, but not worry. Or hunger. She refused to come out of her room to see her father, was punished, and now her stomach made the nastiest sounds, and her guts twisted like snakes.
She could sneak into the main room, and get some lichens from the cupboard… they weren’t tasty at all if raw, but if she bit them like her mother did, they’d become a tasteless jelly soon – and her guts would stop twisting. Maybe, her mother was working by the fire late in the night, she could then explain everything properly. Naruya was understanding, not at all like her father. But what if her father was there? Some nights he could be found towering over the table where they usually ate, over some maps, moving his heavy square-tipped finger over the black lines. He always shooed her off… and today she made him angry.
Haasha’s hand stilled on the door. Was it worth the risk?
Her stomach grumbled, suggesting that she shouldn’t spend too much time thinking.
It would still be better to know if someone was there… Through the slit between the door and the doorframe she could see their main room. The fire was burning bright, warm light dancing on the grey wooden furniture and dim yellow walls. Before it was an empty chair, on which she could see some things. However she twisted, she couldn’t see the dining table – it was too far away. She listened carefully, then, in hopes of catching a shuffle of a sigh, but there was nothing to be heard except for the fire cracking.
The path was probably clear.
The girl narrowed her eyes at the things on the chair. There was a wooden tray, a high cup made of clay, painted white, and some bowl with something. And grapes. Haasha felt her mouth get watery. Has her mother left dinner for her in secret, knowing that she’d crawl out of her hole for food when everyone’d be asleep?
She new that the door was creaky half-way, and Haasha made a gap wide enough only to squeeze through without a sound. She was light-footed, and the floor was firm, but both her parents had a very good hearing, so to truly come unnoticed, she’d have to move really quiet.
Making a first soft, cautious step towards the chair, she imagined herself being a real jungle hunter, crawling through the forest, full of dangerous beasts and poisonous insects. She had to watch her feet, measure her breath, and be very, very careful…
She almost stepped on some dark shards, which were very close to the floor in color, and stilled her step before her foot would land. She could balance on one foot for a while, and made a sloppy sidestep, to sneak around the ‘trap’, wondering how did it even get there. Out of curiosity, she crouched by the pieces, and took an angled one in her hand. She could swear these were dirt-covered shards of her broken clay cup. She sniffed the angle, and almost sneezed. Definitely, a familiar stench. But she got rid of them, who could…
It didn’t matter. She was by the tray now, and pulled it to herself. She’d rather sit on the floor, and by the side of the fireplace, in the shadow.
“Were you trying to make a muscle salve?”
Haasha, who’d just settled with her food, almost choked on a grape she reflectively tried to gulp without chewing.
Naruya was standing in the room, leaning to the wall with her arms crossed. The look on her face, though, didn't promise anything bad.
She looked at her mother with widened eyes, and finished the gigantic gulp. Her throat ached dully, and then she stared, without answering. Naruya chuckled, moving away from the shadow and closer to the fire. Following her, Haasha noticed the glass on the dining table – so, her mother was going to work at night.
“Don’t worry, your father’s gone to work and won’t return any time soon. So?”
Haasha nodded, and leaned in her mother’s embrace, calming down.
“Just listen how your heart races. Little cowardly chick.” the half-blood felt thin hands brush over her hair. She didn’t mind the title she was given. Her mother was warm and it was cozy in her thin, but strong arms. “Don’t be afraid, I’ll teach you things. Your father doesn’t have to know.”
