The Girl In The Dim, by Carole McDonnell
Oh, she was a dainty thing, and Joongi’s heart joined to hers the instant he saw her.
He had walked to a boulder directly beside the lake. He climbed it and sat high, watching tired humans like himself eating their bread or roasted sweet potatoes and occasionally turning to glance at the merfolk and water faes who knew little —and cared even less— of human cares.
The water folk — fae and mer, old and young, male and female— routinely swam in the brackish water which connected the northern river with the Khilei Ocean. Like all the other villagers, Joongi had regularly ignored them. But then one day he saw her…a tiny, solitary mixed-caste fae girl lying on her back lightly sculling and peering up through the water that flowed over her face.
The little fae seemed even more carefree than her fellows as she widened her gills, breathed a long underwater breath, then outbreathed a stream of bubbles that rose around her blue-scaled shoulders.
Joongi watched as she turned this way and that, her gaze on the blue sky. Once, she glanced toward the top of the boulder, smiled at him, then returned to her sculling. It saddened the human boy that she had looked away so quickly. And, when darkness fell, as she swam toward the upper river, he ran along the muddy banks watching her. Then, transfixed, he stood in awe as she disappeared into the sluice gate.
That night, under the pale moon, he wandered the lakeshore slowly coming to the conclusion that he had fallen in love with a lake fae.
The next day, he looked for her again but could not find her. And for many days after, he saw neither scale nor fin of her. But then some fourteen days later, she reappeared, the daintiest, prettiest girl in the whole universe. Joongi watched, silent, emboldening himself to speak, and as the lunch-hour ended, when the other village men returned to their work, Joongi did not retreat to his father’s carpenter’s shop. He stood near that water’s edge and his heart leaped into his throat, as once again he thought that she was the most beautiful, the purest, the most radiant being he had ever seen. If only she were human, he murmured as he followed her along the shore. And yet. . .were she human, would I love her as much as I do? Perhaps I love her for the very difference's sake.
He began to sorrow greatly that such a love had overtaken him. Because there was no way to hold such a girl in human hands. And because —even if he managed to hold her— his family disdained such loves. Whether fae, northerner, sojourner, descendants of former slaves, water-folk, or human folk — his parents always vowed that one should mate with and love one’s own kind. He returned home almost beside himself with grief. And day by day his sorrow grew.
Now his brother was kind enough, open-hearted, and astute. He could not help but sense Joongi’s discomfort. So one day, he called to their little maidservant, a girl named Onada, a descendant of the slaves formerly brought to that region in ages past, a girl who lived in the dim of their attic.
“Prepare victuals for my brother and me,” he said, “and let us picnic with him by the lake. Prepare food to enlighten his heart, for lately he seems to have lost himself.”
Now Onada loved Joongi. More than heart or mouth could say. On her dark days, Joongi had been her only light. His kindness toward her had eased the sorrow of her loneliness. And so deep was the love she had for Joongi that her heart rejoiced to do even the littlest thing for him. So she set out to prepare such delicacies that her skill could make. She spent the first part of the morning picking the best berries from the briar patch. At mid-morning she picked and sliced peaches and apples from the orchard. After that, she milked Tevvy the family goat, urging it to give the creamiest of milk.
At lunchtime, her arms tired from making butter, her fingers pricked from berry-picking in the briar patch, she brought all her labor of love — pies, bread, and the smoothest of butters— to the carpenter’s shop. Then, together with Joongi and his brother, she journeyed to the lake skipping and dancing along the woods as she went.
They laid the bounty on a blanket and ate. All the while, Joongi praised the little cook for all she had done. Nevertheless a frown never left his face and his gaze repeatedly lingered on the fae swimming in the lake.
When they had finished eating, the brother said to Joongi, “Why so dark lately? You’ve not been yourself. What ails you?”
“Is it so obvious?” the smitten boy answered. “Alas, I have an impossible love and am enthralled to one who cannot love me.”
Joongi’s brother smiled because Joongi had at last found the joys of love. But Onada’s heart almost burned itself with fiery joy. Who else could it be but me? it told itself. Of course, it is me he loves.
“Ah! Who is the one you love?” the brother asked. “Is it that girl who has now come to sojourn in our village?”
“Not her,” Joongi answered. “Although she’s pretty enough. But I don’t want her.”
For a moment, Joongi’s brother did not speak. Then he turned to the little maid beside them. “Return home now, for Mother might require help from you.”
So the girl stood up and took the blankets, bowls, and utensils. Bidding them farewell, she walked away. But she did not immediately return home. Instead, she returned by a longer way and hid herself behind several thorn-bushes.
She heard the brother ask, “Is it this morose one who lives in the dim of our parents' attic? True, she is a descendant of slaves. But perhaps if you do not aim to marry her, Mother will allow you to have some fun with her.”
“No, it’s not this girl from the dim either.”
“Too bad. That one likes you. Have you not seen it? Then who is it?”
Joongi pointed to the water girl playing in the waves. “It is she! This dainty girl who plays here and lives in the upper lake.”
Now Onada was quite often a good and delightsome person, but as Joongi spoke of his love for the water girl, a bitter jealousy took root in her heart. Hitherto, she said to herself, I have loved Joongi with all my heart. And although he has not been unkind to me, he has not returned my love. But he loves this…this water girl! She returned to the cottage, grieving and with a bitter heart.
Meanwhile, Joongi’s brother reminded him, “Water faes are not like sky fae who are creatures of feathers and air. Nor are they like woodland sprites whose features are made of wood, grass, and moss. The water folk — whether mortal merfolk or spirit fae— have deadly scales. Even sharper fins. And this one you love. . .she is not like the merfolk who are mortal like us landfolk. She seems a mix of the two clans: both merfolk and fae. What if she has magical powers we mortals do not understand? Wouldn’t being with such a girl cause you and your body great harm? Why bring such a girl into your heart or hearth? Truth to tell, I do not know how one could manage such a thing. Even if our parents accept a water girl, surely they would want you to love someone less potentially deadly?”
“Knowing all that should have put some sense into me but it has not,” Joongi admitted. “Alas I am horribly enthralled. With a girl I should never have begun loving.”
Now, his brother was not as rigid as his parents or like some others in the town. He had lived in other villages, and two of the large coastal cities, and he had spent much of his time traveling across many regions. He’d read books on the different cultures of the islands and had heard the histories of all the inhabitants of their land. He had also studied much about love. So he understood his brother’s plight. And while he was not lovesick, he understood the girl’s appeal.
“And yet, impossible though the love might be,” he agreed, “it has captured you wholly. And I am not one who likes to judge others’ loves. Who knows? Water faes are easy-going enough. . .full of joy and free from care. This water lass might be merciful to this love of yours. Give it a try. Call out to her and woo her. Even if she does not love you, she would not mock you. And, perhaps you will become true friends, talking to each other of life and of this and that.”
So they returned home and determined that the next day, some overtur
e of love could be made toward the girl. Meanwhile, Onada resolved to follow Joongi to the lake and to acquaint herself with her rival.
The next day, when Joongi saw the water lass, he took a deep breath that seemed to swell his heart to twice its size and called out to her. “Yes! You there under the waves...I’ve loved you all these days. Would you give your heart to me?”
Several water fae boys and mermen leaping and swimming about nearby heard him. Some called out to her. “Beware these human boys who only aim to steal you. You know you are not well. Such a one could easily overpower you.” But others merely gave her warning looks.
The water girl, however, was a curious daydreamy sort — more daydreamy than the average water fae— and somewhat naive. Moreover, in all her daydreaming, she had never dreamed of being loved by a human. She told herself, she could not be so impolite as to leave a human boy without an answer. She swam toward Joongi who stood knee deep in the mud.
“Is there a chance for me?” he asked her, peering down and admiring her green-tinged face and the shiny scales that shimmered brighter than any human strand of hair. “You’re a water fae, are you not? And what is your name? And how old are you? And could you love a mortal boy?”
The girl studied the tan-colored human boy in front of her. From what she could see, he was a handsome, kind-hearted boy, although his slanted human eyes had a sad lovelorn look. She did not fear him as she feared other human men who had called out to her in order to steal her scales or beg her to find gold in long-forgotten shipwrecks.
“My name is Yerin and I am no fae,” she answered. “My father is of the fae-people but my mother is of the merfolk. Thus, I belong to both clans.”
Hearing this, the girl in the dim felt a knee-jerk disgust that the girl should be born of two different clans. And yet, as she considered it, it occurred to her that it was silly indeed to dislike the mixed-caste fae. If I marry Joongi, the girl in the dim said, would not our children be of mixed human caste? No, I shall not dislike her for that.
She listened to —and made a feeble attempt to like— her rival. But the water girl was so dainty, so beautiful, so delicate, and so full of joy...while she herself was plain, and so born and bred for woe that she could not bring herself to like the girl. Why should she continue in happiness? Onada told herself. While I have known so little of happiness all my life?
“I have lived some fifteen years. And I am not immortal,” the water girl continued, giggling and chattering away. Her laughter was like the rippling of tiny waves over many round water pebbles. “Indeed, I am perhaps too mortal.” She lifted her lower body: a glistening tail, covered in radiant red, blue, and gold scales. “As you can see, I am quite sickly. Have you not seen how over-protective they are of me?”
She said all this not in a sad tone but with the typical lightness and cheeriness of the carefree fae.
Joongi further edged into the water and examined the girl’s scales and fins carefully. “I see nothing sickly about you,” he said.
But taking care that her sharp side and arm fins did not hurt the boy who stood so near to her, Yerin pointed to her fishy half. “See, there! See how the waters are full of my shedding scales. It is a loathsome disease I contracted when in the Wider Sea. A dangerous place for all merfolk. But even more so for me. For not only do the humans there throw pollutants into the Wider Sea but the friendship from time past that was among our peoples has been fractured for some time.”
“Yes, I have heard,” Joongi said, “that in the southern lands, those of the different castes avoid each other.”
“It is best,” she said, as sadly as a chatty fae could. “And yet when I was young I often ventured into the Wider Sea and explored the mountains under it as other healthier merfolk do.”
Joongi could hardly contain his admiration. “Oh!” he said. “You were so very brave!”
“Oh, I was!” she said and shook her tail flirtatiously. “I thought I could travel there as all the pure-blooded water fae and pure-blooded merfolk do. But, alas, I could not. My fae-blood did not protect me. Do you see the patches there, where my scales have fallen off? My mother wept to see it. And my father was very angry.” She giggled again, and waters rippled around her gills as she whispered, conspiratorially, “He didn’t punish me, though.”
“Because he is a good and kind father?” Joongi asked, smiling down at her.
“Well, he is that!” the girl answered, laughing. “But he saw no cause for it because the sea had already punished me. The disease will always be with me. So, Father wept, and warned me angrily and sorrowfully not to venture into the Wider Sea.”
When Onada heard how Yerin spoke, like one who had been coddled and petted all her life, as if love and patience were her due, she could barely contain her jealousy. The water girl was harmless and without wounded pride and her soul seemed to delight in everything her eyes looked on. But Onada, orphaned and abandoned, had lived bereft of joy and love. She hated the little fish-maid’s unchallenged joy. It did not help that the mermaid was of mixed caste and had a loathsome and unsightly skin disease. Onada well knew that Joongi would love the girl’s imperfections as if they were precious perfections.
Meanwhile the love between Yerin and Joongi grew. As for Joongi’s companions and the other villagers —they did not disclose his forbidden love to his parents. They understood the harsh beliefs of his parents. They also told themselves that it was a love between young folk; surely the boy would grow out of it. In the future, would he not have a story to tell his descendants about the mixed clan water girl he had loved in his youth?
As for the merfolk and the water fae, at first they were wary of the human boy and would not allow the lovers to meet alone. But at last, they allowed the flirtation because it was clear enough that Joongi had a good heart. They only desired that he not keep their little sister out too late and that he be on guard against those who might hurt her. This Joongi promised to do.
So the young lovers would chatter and play every day while the boy lunched. They would talk and laugh and joke about this and that, calling each other Yoongi-ya (the water girl’s pronunciation was somewhat limited) and Yerin-ah. At night, they would linger by the sluice gate, hating to part. (And when they parted, how sad those partings were!) And sometimes, when the moon was especially bright, they would leave her companions behind and travel southward —he on land and she in the water— toward the water gate near the Wider Sea. There, they would look out at the vast sea and imagine great adventures together.
All this Onada endured, and her heart could not let go of its love for Joongi.
Early one morning, as Onada stood in the dim of the woodlands near the lake watching Joongi and Yerin playing together by the shore, she resolved to rid herself of her rival.
She began, without quite knowing why, to collect the scales that fell from Yerin’s body. Such was the extent of Yerin’s illness that her scales fell in great profusion, causing the water around her to glint gold, yellow, red, and blue. Often, the scales would trail along behind her, resting lightly on the waves until a larger wave dispersed or pulled them under the lake.
So it became Onada’s habit to wade into the water after dark and gather the glistening scales in her apron. Then she would return home and grind the scales to powder. This she did because she imagined the scales were Yerin herself. But also because in those days it was believed that the scales of the merfolk could strengthen even the weakest man. Thus they were highly prized.
After grinding the scales, she would keep an eighth of their powder but sell the rest to the apothecary’s shop. In this way, she began to gain some wealth. All this horde she kept in a little tin box under her bed.
After some while, the thought began to blossom in Onada’s heart that Yerin herself would be a valuable prize. For in those days there were scoundrels, certain immoral men of the baser sort, who traveled the seven seas in search of wealth of any kind. Often they frequented the dens and lairs of that region.
; So Onada sought them out and finding them she asked, “Tell me. What would you do if you caught a mer-girl? How would you use and keep her?”
“Well, that,” one of them replied, slowly drawing out his words. “I suppose we would cut out her throat first.” He was a gruff one, and had cut many a human throat in the area’s gambling dens. “For if she cannot speak, she cannot call other merfolk to help her. Then we would prepare a water-cage for her where she would live until we had need or use of her. For such folk know the language of the whales and dolphins and all the languages of the deep and she would hear their stories and detail their journeys to us.”
“How would she tell you?” the girl in the dim asked, “If you have cut her throat?”
“There are such things as fingers,” another answered. “Webbed though they may be, they can point and draw and write.”
At first, Onada balked at trapping and enslaving one of her fellow creatures. The Creator has made us all, she reminded herself. And though she be of the mer and fae folk, she is capable of feeling pain. Should I forget that my very own ancestors were also sold and enslaved? she thought.
But the more she saw of Joongi’s happiness, she more she hated Yerin. By the time these fishermen returned to the village again, she had forgotten all her misgivings. Because she understood all the habits of the lovers, she met with the fishermen and plotted how she could entrap and steal Yerin from the safety of the lake.
On a night when the moon was full, Joongi and Yerin journeyed together southward to the gate near the Wider Sea as was their habit. Long, long, they dreamed and imagined. Then, through the trees in the quiet solitude of night, the enslavers approached. How stealthily they crept! On that wooded shore, there was no clatter of sandal or booted feet, no human voice except for the sound of Joongi telling his love about her loveliness. Then suddenly, the muddy tramp of human feet and the rustling of leaves as the kidnappers rushed toward the wading lovers.
In an instant, the enslavers were everywhere — before and behind Joongi, to his left and to his right, below the waves and above them. Move he could not. Wherever he made to swim or tread, he could not. For his captors held him tight, their rough hands grasping his arms, their knives at his throat. Cry out he could not. One of the men struck him deep with a rough-hewn blade, piercing his side. Then they loosened their hold. Joongi fell at the water’s edge, his blood flowing into the muddy ground.
Meanwhile, other attackers swam toward the girl, a large metal net trailing between them. At first, Yerin was like a leaf trapped in eddying waves, she turned this way and that, leaped upward, sank down. But to no avail. One of the men, whose skin was scarred with the marks of many battles, swam toward her. With a large harpoon, he aimed at her gills, lunged, and pierced her. Not deeply, but deep enough. Blood trickled, not much. And yet, the wound had been so expertly made that Yerin could not breathe or cry out and the net closed over her. A sudden sleep descended on her. Fins, sharp though they were, availed not. She gasped for air and for wakefulness, then collapsed into the iron-strong net that had magic in its weave.
The little mermaid was lifted aloft; her scales falling from her body and lightly tumbling through the air and the river water. When she awoke, she found herself in a wooden tub inside a ship sailing on the Wider Sea. She attempted to lift herself above the sides of her little prison but her body was numb and heavy.
The man who had wounded her stood above her. “It needs to be done,” he said. And his voice was so gentle and so musical that if she had not felt the cruelty of his harpoon earlier, she might have trusted him. Then, with the same precision he had used before, he pressed his knife into her throat and dug deep. She felt no pain, only a pushing and a pressure. Then the pressure stopped and there on the edge of the man’s knife was a little shiny thing and she knew it was her stolen voice.
Tears fell as she looked about the cabin that would be her new home. Soon, footsteps approached outside her cabin. The door opened and other men entered. Some looked at her with awe, some with pity, some as if she was some strange unnatural thing. And the warrior who had cut her voice away kept his gaze on his handiwork, stopping frequently to put some foul-smelling medicine on her wound.
“You’re ours now,” he told her. “And I am your owner. Do you understand me?”
She nodded. She did understand, for the language he spoke was one her fae father had taught her.
“Can you smell gold hidden under the sea?” he asked. “Or the decay of human bones in ships five fathoms deep?”
She nodded. But she wanted to tell him that she was young yet, and that he had found himself a useless mermaid who would soon die in the waters of the Wider Sea, that she was not particularly wise, that she had always been a weak and a sickly girl and would die within months of her captivity.
And die she did, and her body was cut up into twelve pieces and cast into the sea and the fish of the sea ate her. The ship’s crew became wealthy from her help nevertheless. Perhaps not as rich as they had desired but rich enough to buy land, build farms, and become men of good charitable renown throughout the region.
As for Joongi, when he did not return home, a search was made and at last Onada declared that he was wont to travel along the southernmost shore of the village. When he was found face-down in the mud, clinging to life, Onada grieved greatly.
“It is well,” Joongi’s brother said, putting his arm about her shoulder. “He is alive. I know how much you love and care for him. He will live.”
But she grieved because she knew he lay at the point of death because of her and because the foreign fishermen had promised not to hurt him and they had betrayed her.
He must not die, she told herself. How can I live if the one I love dies? Only the water damsel must die.
For several days, Joongi lay a-dying. But one day, Onada’s gaze fell upon the balm she had made from the powder of mermaid scales. This she took and brought to his mother and Joongi was restored. But, though returned to health, he wept continually, crying for the water girl he loved. Only then did his parents discover their son had loved one he should not have.
The water fae and merfolk, likewise, searched for their lost one. Because it was known among them that a human boy had loved her, the elders of both those clans sent Hark, a water fae prince, to the human council of elders to ask permission to question Joongi.
On the day the fae were to meet Joongi, all the villagers came to the Meeting House. For while land fae and sky fae were plentiful enough, it was not at all usual to see the water fae on land, their webbed feet walking into the village like so many sandaled human feet. Moreover, it was even more unusual for common folk to see princes of any sort.
When Joongi appeared before the fae prince, how he wrung his hands and wept! But what helpful answer could the boy give? The night had been dark and he had been wounded. He only knew this: that those who spoke with him spoke with dialects from the southern lands and they had cast his love into a net woven of iron and magic.
“It has been three thousand years,” Hark told the elders, “since a truce was signed among our people. And here, unlike the lands in the regions of the north, peace has reigned between all our peoples. Unlike in the southern lands, here there is daily converse and communion between fae folk and merfolk, between human and merfolk, between human and fae. We all remember the years when we all hid from each other, and the years when we ignored and avoided and despised each other. Why, then, have you conspired together with evil-doers of the southern lands to steal one of our people? My friend’s daughter was stolen from a local lake! Are you out of your minds? Do you want war?”
“But we have not conspired to break the truce,” the Chief Elder shouted and how his voice shook and how his slender, frail dark-brown old body rattled. “If some southerner or foreigner has stolen her, why should we be blamed? Listen to us. Only listen. We will help you find the perpetrators.”
Prince Hark retorted, “Is it not clear that one of your own conspired
with the kidnappers? We will give you three weeks to find our lost sister. Or the truce will be broken. And although we believe the boy Joongi is innocent of guile and did not deceive her, surely he is at some fault in this, for he could have met her nearer the upper river or in a region inhabited by our people. Therefore if our lost sister is not found, we will require his life as forfeit and as a means of keeping the truce intact. Were these not the conditions your ancestors agreed upon when I wrote the treaty three thousand years ago?”
The elders had to agree that that was indeed so. “But why should the boy be killed?” the Chief Elder asked.
“Then let him be sent away,” Hark answered. For by nature the fae are generally not blood-thirsty and neither did that good prince have a desire to see the boy killed. “For if he remains here, one of the merpeople will no doubt remember him. Do you not think they will murder him for their sister’s sake?”
“We humans are not like you fae,” the Chief Elder replied. “To be parted from each other. . .and at such great distance— you fae cannot understand such separation!”
Those words caused anger to rise in the fae prince’s heart. “As usual, you consider us heartless! Beware or I shall show you what heartlessness is. Accept my mercy and send the boy away!” The fae prince turned to leave. “Into the far northern mountains he should go. And do not speak to me of separations or of what we fae do and do not understand. For we have lost one of our people today.” Then he threw the Chief Elder’s own words back at him. “What do you short-lived mortal humans know of separations?”
Now when all the people heard this, they began to weep and wail that Joongi would be separated from them and would have to travel to the mountains alone. They remembered again why they often considered the fae coldblooded. And yet, what could they do? To challenge the decision of a fae prince was folly. The truce might be endangered. It was easy enough to war with merfolk, but faes were a completely different matter.
They remembered the war. Magical wars. For the faes are not to be lightly treated, and the sea-folk and the faes of many lands had destroyed the human armies and people of the northern region. When the elders taught about that war, they would say, “This war changed the geography and the features of our region.” And they spoke the truth, because that western land remained desolate and bereft of people until neighboring countries began to inhabit it.
So word was sent to all the fae castes and to the sea peoples beyond the region to look for Yerin. But she was never found, although years later a man with a body scarred from the sea said on his deathbed that he had killed a little fae in the northern region. A charming, and silly little thing, he had called her. And with his dying breath, he asked the Creator to forgive him for wounding one who was the daintiest and most radiant of all creatures.
So the villagers agreed to send Joongi away. And yet their hearts went out to him, for he would now be a wanderer and far from his home village.
Since the village girls would not leave their home village— not that he wanted any of them, for he still loved Yerin— the girl in the dim sought to comfort him, and vowed to accompany him. Relieved that one from his home village would be with him, his parents allowed him to marry her although she was not of his clan, people, or caste. Together, Joongi and Onada left their village and moved across the land-bridge to the north.
They traveled far. Far into regions where no water fae dwelled, and only the faes of the land and sky knew their paths. They traveled farther, to lands where even faes are loathe to dwell. And farther yet until at last no eye of man or mer or fae would recognize them. And even so, they traveled farther still, farther than they needed to go. Because the girl in the dim was fearful of being found out and continually urged Joongi onward by filling his heart with fear of pursuing faes.
At last they reached a refuge village set in an icy glade, a wintry woodland where outcasts, refugees, and hermits could live without punishment. It is a good place, Onada told herself. True, other cities of refuge abound, but it is safe here. Far from all fae and far from the water. Nearer our home village, the fae would harm us and Joongi might meet fishermen who know I was his betrayer.
She need not have worried. Those who knew the truth died rich with the story closed inside their mouths, and the fae are not generally relentless.
The inhabitants in their new dwelling place had sins and sorrows of their own and understood their common plight, welcoming them as all outcasts welcome each other. Soon the villagers grew to love them, for Joongi and his wife were humble and hard-working. It is said that Joongi and Onada lived happily together, and that he loved her because she had left the village to journey faithfully with him.
Onada lived a long life, longer than Joongi who died young. (It is said by one of the elders that a prince of the sky fae killed him. But some doubt this.) When their children were grown and old enough to tire of the solitariness of the village, Onada showed them the traitor’s gold she had sewn into her blanket and carried on her long journey.
She told them how she had stolen Joongi’s first and best love and sold the girl to slavers, and how painfully the heart grieves when all its truths are covered up and hidden in the dim. “After we built our little house,” she said, “I hid the gold and the blanket inside a wall. For where could I spend it? And how could I use it and Joongi not suspect me? Here, take it! It is yours. There are three things that defend us in this life. Love is a defense, wisdom is a defense, and money is a defense. Your father and I have loved you. Love I did not have. You have lived long in this refugee village and you have heard some of the villager’s speak of their lives in the southernlands. And now I have told you about my own life. When I was younger no one lovingly took me on her knee and told me of her life. No, I had no such wisdom. And here, here is gold. Money I did not have. Now, my children, you have had all three. Venture into the world…with your three defenses.”
So they took the gold and left the village. Although it grieved them to forsake their mother. Although it grieved them to learn she had conspired to be a murderer. But they knew now how hard and cold the world could be without money and without love and without wisdom. And they took her story with them.
About Carole McDonnell
Carole McDonnell holds a BA in Literature from SUNY Purchase and is a writer of Christian, supernatural, and ethnic stories. Her writings appear in various anthologies, including So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonialism in Science Fiction, edited by Nalo Hopkinson and published by Arsenal Pulp Press; Jigsaw Nation, published by Spyre Books; and Life Spices from Seasoned Sistahs: Writings by Mature Women of Color and the Griots series by MVMedia, among others. Her reviews appear in print and at various online sites. She is a columnist for several Christian and African-American magazines. Her novels are the Christian speculative fiction, Wind Follower, the alternative world novel, The Constant Tower, and the Christian chicklit novel, My Life as an Onion. Her Bible studies include: Seeds of Bible Study, Blogging the Psalms, and Great Sufferers of the Bible. She lives in New York’s Hudson Valley with her husband, two sons, and their pets.
Carole's Blog: carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/
Carole's Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG
Children of Scale, by Rachel Savage
There was something behind the crisp early harvest chill that made it impossible to concentrate. For a scholar such as Kohau, it was more than just a minor irritation. When the solace he normally found in books was gone, he could usually turn to a moment of silent meditation in the gardens to seek his focus again. Today even that had failed him. No amount of pleading to the great serpent Kurdal or his warrior mate Aliashe brought comfort.
It had been seven years now since he had found his way to the temple. Though the grand library had drawn him more than the great serpent, he had been welcomed with open arms amongst the other children of scale. While Leistros was not as large as her neighbors, she could still boast a decent community of farmers and orchards that s
tretched from the foothills below the temple proper north to just past Gallane. The southern outpost was stationed in the Sogoth Pass and helped guard the trade route through the mountains for those descending to the plains below or climbing further to the Roof of the World.
His breath left him in an explosive sigh. It had been a long time since he had felt so anxious. Things had settled into a rather comfortable routine once he took his place with the other scholars. The people of Leistros had given him the first place that had truly felt like home. So he had no idea why this morning he felt like he needed to leave.
“I see I’m not the only one unsettled this morning.”
Kohau jumped as he spun towards the soft voice. “High Lady I – ”
“Sorry, scholar, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The faint glint of amusement in her green eyes didn’t reassure him much. “There is more than just a change of seasons before us.”
“Perhaps. Though I’m not sure what exactly.”
She nodded, taking a step to bring her beside him. “I must admit that the reports coming in from the north leave me troubled. Have you discovered anything new?”
“Not yet my lady. At least, nothing that is of any use.”
Silence fell between them as the sky began to lighten. He studied the head of the temple from the corner of his eye. How so petite a woman could have such a commanding presence was a mystery he might never solve. It was perhaps why she had been elected to the position of High Lady at such a young age. There was also a bit of intrigue surrounding the hasty election that had seen High Lady Asheeni to her current seat of power. A situation that the temple elders were rather tight lipped about whenever anyone asked.
Kohau put the mystery of twenty years ago behind him. It wasn’t as if the High Lady was suddenly going to confide in him about what happened that day. As far as anyone in Leistros was concerned it was a bit of dust brushed under a rug. Their current troubles were a more pressing matter anyway.
“I do wish to thank you for your recent assistance, Scholar Tanlar. It’s not always easy to leave behind what you wish to do to please someone else.”
“Are we not here to serve as we can my lady?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any easier when we are called upon. There are some mornings where I wake and wish I was but a simple temple maid again.” Her pale hand came to rest atop his arm. “So I understand if you feel frustrated at having to set aside your own research right now.”
He brought his other hand up to cover hers, noting how the pale fawn and dark umber seemed to complement each other right then. “The trade routes of Ancient Kalta will still be there when this is over High Lady.”
“Oh Kohau, were I a young girl again.”
“The great High Lady cannot be past her first few seasons. Smooth of face and dark of hair she is still.”
She let out a rather unladylike snort of laughter. “You have a remarkably honeyed tongue for a scholar. Do not waste your efforts on me, young man.”
They were dressed in the colors of the southern temple, though their fur lined cloaks hung open as they fluttered behind them. Kohau supposed they were used to colder temperatures in the mountain pass. The shorter, and somewhat rounder, of the two wore a gold trimmed tunic he had seen a few times on visiting council members. He took a guess that the other rider was a guard of some sort, though it was a given considering the blade he could see resting at the rider's side. A quiet grumble from the lady beside him pulled him away from his admiration of the guard’s figure as they dismounted.
“What is she doing here?”
“High Lady?”
She sighed, her gaze still on the two newcomers. “There’s only one council member that rotund from the southern outpost. Elder Tara seldom leaves her lofty perch between council meetings. And I rather doubt she has come bearing what I would consider good news.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led the way down the garden path. The two of them were still a few yards away when the guard who had accompanied the elder spotted them.
“Manyol!”
The guard crossed the distance between them in long loping strides. Kohau was pleased to see that some of the light had returned to the High Lady’s face. He certainly wasn’t expecting what happened next. It wasn’t every day that someone picked up the petite head of their order and spun her around much like one would greet an excited child.
“Yelve, you put me down this instant.”
“But I have such fun seeing people’s faces when I do this, manyol. And I have not seen you in so long. I hope we’re in time for food. Hard tack and dried meat isn’t very appetizing.”
“The kitchens are always open; you know that, you foolish girl.”
Kohau felt like someone had knocked the wind from him. This tall, broad shouldered figure was a woman? There was little about Yelve that one could consider soft and womanly. Not that he could see right then at least. What was more interesting was the discovery didn’t ease the fluttering of attraction he’d felt earlier. It had been a long while since he’d been interested in a woman.
The guard leaned in to whisper something in the High Lady’s ear as she set her back on her feet.
“Why don’t you go with Scholar Tanlar here while I see what brings Elder Tara to the temple. I will see you both later.”
“Don’t let that cranky –”
“Yelve!” The High Lady turned towards him with a slight grimace. “Please don’t mind her. Sometimes her mouth doesn’t know when to stop itself.”
The two of them watched until the High Lady and the Elder had disappeared within the temple. Kohau glanced at the woman standing next to him and suffered another shock. Her expression was carefully blank, the happy fool from earlier having vanished. She turned towards him, revealing a long pale scar that twisted the left corner of her lips into a grimacing grin and disappeared somewhere beyond her hairline.
“I’m off to the kitchens. If you have something else to be doing this morning. I’m sure she’ll gather us up when she’s ready.”
“I’ll join you if that’s alright. I haven’t eaten yet.”
Yelve shrugged and turned towards the dining hall. “Suit yourself.”