Dragonfly Song (16 page)

Down the mountain,

sling in hand –

if Aissa had a voice she would sing

against the wind.

Through the woods out to the meadow,

she stops for wild grapes

smashed and fallen in the storm

and hears a sound like moaning

further down the hill.

Aissa creeps forward

with a rock in her sling

for whatever threatens,

and finds a body in a puddle

below a rock,

as if it had skidded and fallen

in the pouring rain.

The body is Half-One

and she looks dead

though if she's moaning

she must be alive.

She doesn't hear Aissa

clapping her hands

and when Aissa touches her arm,

the twin's skin is as cold

as the sharp north wind
.

Aissa has never touched

Half-One before

though she's felt the slap of the hand

often enough.

Half-One doesn't know

it's Aissa touching –

she turns in trust

as if to her sister.

So Aissa grabs her shoulders,

hauls her out of the puddle,

and rolls her in

the goatherd's fleece,

because Half-One

didn't have time

for a cloak either

when she ran after Aissa.

She is heavy and floppy,

bigger than Aissa,

but Aissa sits her up,

and slides a smashed grape

into her mouth.

The girl's eyes open,

blank and confused;

they don't look

like Half-One's eyes

and when Aissa tries

to pull her to her feet,

Half-One flops down

and starts to cry.

So Aissa pushes

another grape in her mouth,

then runs to the forest

to find a branch for a crutch –

and with that

gets Half-One to her feet.

Stumbling down the mountain

together,

Half-One with a stick in one hand

and Aissa on the other.

Once she looks at Aissa

with a moment's hatred

as if she knows her,

then the light

goes out of her eyes

and she sleepwalks again.

Past the ancient oak,

onto the singing path,

but still a long way to go

and the twin is weakening

step by step,

too weak to use her crutch,

so Aissa is carrying her weight,

pushing, dragging,

with pain in her side

and her own knees trembling –

when Half-One falls again,

sliding off Aissa's shoulder,

face flat to the ground,

Aissa can't lift her.

Pushing, pulling,

shoving, rolling;

she doesn't know why

she doesn't want Half-One to die,

and the twin is so still,

her head and arms so floppy

when Aissa pulls her

that maybe it's too late.

If Aissa is found

with dead Half-One

they'll say it's her fault

and she'll be thrown off the cliff.

Maybe it is her fault,

but she only meant to run away.

Then Half-One groans

and Aissa tries once more

to lift her

and can't.

She rolls her to her side

so Half-One doesn't drown

in the mud of the path,

tucks the goat skin around her

and runs –

she doesn't know how

or who she can tell –

but she must find help

or Half-One will die,

for real this time.

Luki!
thinks Aissa.
He will trust

enough to follow
–

but now she sees Half-Two

running across the field,

searching

and calling her twin.

So Aissa disappears

into the woods,

spying from a tree

to watch Half-Two

run to her sister,

screaming for help

till more searchers come

to carry the girl home.

And Aissa knows

that Squint-Eye and the twins

will never forgive her

or believe

that Half-One would have died

if Aissa hadn't found her.

No matter what she does now

she will never be safe.

Maybe running away

will be better than staying.

Fear now,

all the time,

everywhere,

belly-churning, mind-whirling

terror,

even in her cave

because

the autumn rains are leaking in

puddling on the floor –

she can't stay there much longer.

But if she runs away

she must leave Gold-Cat behind –

he belongs to the Lady.

So does Aissa –

but the Lady might want Gold-Cat.

Fear because

Half-One is still sick,

even with hot soup

spooned into her mouth,

drop by warm drop

by her sister;

even though wise-women visit

with healing herbs

and advice for Squint-Eye,

Half-One shivers,

sleeps and talks nonsense;

doesn't know where she is

or who wrapped her in goat fleece

to keep her warm.

Anger too,

bubbling through fear.

Aissa tried so hard

to save Half-One –

her side still aches

from the twin's weight –

it's not fair if it doesn't work;

and worse

that she gets the blame.

And in case she hasn't heard it,

Half-Two stands outside

the sanctuary rock

to tell the air

that her sister is dying,

that No-Name killed her,

and of how she hopes

to push the murderer

off the cliff herself.

Half-Two

never goes early enough

to see Aissa coming out

or late enough

to catch her going in,

and she's not brave enough

to try sliding

under the rock,

even though she's sure

it's where Aissa goes,

because once when she looked in,

Aissa's house snake looked out.

But even so,

Aissa's cave home

isn't safe anymore.

Luki hears the whispers too,

the talk of the cliffs;

he catches Aissa once,

meeting her at the gate

when he should be eating,

saying, ‘How can I help?'

and sliding a half-eaten

barley cake

into her hand.

‘No one can help,'

Aissa would say if she could

though she eats the cake.

Running away

is dangerous enough,

it's even worse

if someone knows.

But she stores his words

as if they were jewels

or honeycomb,

arranging them with

his family's kindness,

and the goatherds',

tasting their sweetness in the night

when Half-Two's threats

invade her dreams.

So she plans

and hesitates.

She knows that the goat cave

is not a good choice

but it seems the only one.

She gathers acorns to dry,

drags wood for a fire

finds flint to start it,

yet somehow each night

finds herself turning

back to the town

where she's never been safe –

but safer than on the mountain

alone.

Days aren't quite

as bad as nights;

fear is still strong

and more real

but her mind can't whirl so fast

when she's running in the hills.

There are mushrooms growing

on the way to the cave

she has seen the wise-women

picking,

carrying them home

in wide willow baskets.

They're not so wise!

thinks Aissa,

they've missed some,

all along the way
.

She pulls them carefully

at the stalk,

not losing any

of the pale brown flesh,

brushing off dirt,

laying them on her outspread cloak

to carry and store

in the goatherds' cave.

Kneeling to reach one more

growing up from under

the root of a tree,

so excited at this sign

that she might survive the winter

she forgets to watch

or listen for danger –

just for a moment,

but that's all it takes.

The thump across her back

knocks her face to the ground,

gasping

as the stick strikes again

and a voice shouts,

‘Wicked girl!

Picking the mushrooms

left for the goddess –

how will she grow them

again next year?'

A final thump:

‘Get up, girl,

and answer me!'

Aissa wants to run

but the voice is Lyra's,

a wise-woman,

though younger than the rest.

Aissa's not sure what powers

the wise-women have,

but she thinks she'd better

do what she's told.

‘No-Name!' says Lyra.

‘Now, there's a surprise.

I thought you were a hunter's child

by that cloak.

But I guess I'll never know

how you came by it.'

Aissa's heart thumping,

faster still when Lyra says,

‘You know there are many

who want you thrown from the cliff –

stealing mushrooms from the goddess

takes you another step

closer to the edge.'

Lyra studies the mushrooms

so carefully laid

across the cloak,

and the rope sling

at Aissa's waist.

‘Is this how you've lived,

foraging the hills,

since you were cast out

from the servants' kitchen?'

Aissa despairing

at being so wrong,

knows she will never,

ever,

be right.

She nods yes,

though her knees tremble.

‘I think there might be

a better plan,'

says Lyra.

‘Break up your mushrooms,

throw them back

and thank the goddess

for her bounty –

and for your second chance.'

Aissa can't imagine

what a second chance could be,

but scatters pink-frilled pieces

of broken mushrooms

up and down the path

and is happy to thank the goddess

that she's still alive

and not being beaten again.

‘Follow me,' says Lyra,

setting off down the hill,

never looking back to see

if Aissa is there

because she knows

Aissa has no choice.

At the walls of the town

Lyra passes

the gate to the garden,

taking the road around

to the great front gate,

Aissa so close behind her

she bumps when Lyra stops,

because she's afraid of the wise-woman

but more afraid of the crowd,

as she hears:

‘Lyra's bringing in No-Name!'

‘Has Half-One died?'

‘Is the cursed child finally

going to be thrown from the cliffs?'

Lyra ignores them as if she can't hear;

marches through the crowd,

the busy market,

up to the Hall.

‘Stay with me!'

she says,

and leads Aissa through

to the wise-women's chamber.