Authors: Wendy Orr
The words hit Aissa like stones, numbing her brain; she can't understand what they mean.
She stares at the mass of hating faces.
âGo!' they shriek. âGet out of here! Go!'
âGo!' they say,
and Aissa goes
but her knees are weak,
her breath is gone
knocked from her chest
with the weight of words.
Creeping, broken, to the garden
to hide behind the heaps of waste,
because Aissa
is garbage too,
discarded like
a sucked-clean bone,
as if the gods hate her;
the earth rejects her.
Squint-Eye's not a god
or Mother Earth,
but she is the keeper
of food and warmth
for Aissa.
She always thought
there was nothing worse
than being No-Name
the bad-luck girl,
but she was wrong.
No-Name was small,
but she was something â
if only to be
beaten and spat at.
Now she has a name
but she is nothing.
Huddled alone
through the night,
hearing the cries
of creatures in the dark
that she's never heard
from the servants' kitchen;
no cloak or roof,
cold teeth chattering,
stomach rumbling
because there'll be no soup,
not for Aissa,
not tonight,
or ever again.
But worse than cold,
worse than hunger,
is being outside:
outside the kitchen,
outside the group,
outside life.
Because Squint-Eye's curse:
cast out,
not one of us,
banished,
are just other words
for death.
Aissa wakes up colder, hungrier, and more confused than she's ever been.
Squint-Eye will beat me if I don't do my chores.
She'll beat me if I'm found.
I'll die if I don't find something to eat.
I'll die if they see me.
So she's still hiding behind the furthest compost heaps when Half-One and Half-Two come to empty the slops onto the freshest pile. They're talking so hard they don't see her cowering there.
âIt can't be true.'
âBut remember how Kelya used to feed her treats?'
âShe never did that for us.'
âTried to get her to talk.'
âHa! That was a waste of time!'
âDid you see the Lady's face?'
âHorrified!'
âDisgusted.'
âNotâ'
âNo, not that.'
âCan you imagine?'
âThe gods wouldn't be so cruel. No-Name in the Hall?'
âThe bulls would have died of fright.'
âWe'd have had to serve her for a year first.'
Their faces twist into identical expressions of horror and they burst out laughing.
âBut I still don't understand. The firstborn daughter died.'
âSquint-Eye says she didn't.'
âSquint-Eye told you that?'
âShe told Wormbreath and Wormbreath told Yogo.'
âAnd Yogo told you. Of course he did: darling Yogo.'
Aissa hears a soft slap, and a giggle.
âSo if she didn't die, what happened?'
âSquint-Eye saw Kelya leave the Hall in the middle of the night with something under her cloak.'
âWhen the first chief died?'
âTwelve springs ago.'
âKelya took her to the farm that was raided?'
âWe always knew she was cursed.'
âBut still . . . how could No-Name be the Lady's daughter?'
They laugh again. Which is lucky, because they can't hear Aissa gasp.
The Lady's daughter? The Lady's firstborn, the one who died?
It can't be.
They know she's there. The twins would do anything to hurt her, that's one thing she knows for sure. The other thing she knows is that Mama is her mother, and Mama loves her, wherever she is. That's what mothers do. They don't let other people steal them away in the night. They don't look at them and not see them.
Her head is spinning so fast it might come right off her shoulders. The only thing to do is run.
Words like arrows
chasing her through the garden
out the gate and up the lane,
sobbing, panting,
on the path to the hills,
past the Source
with its dragonflies
mocking her name.
Beyond the path
to the wild hills,
far from town
with its spit and jeers
and the kitchen
no longer her home.
Running fleet as a hunted hare
she can't outrun
what's in her mind,
the hating eyes,
Squint-Eye's words,
the twins' story.
A story that can't be true,
a story against nature,
against the gods
because the Lady is everything
and Aissa is nothing.
âAissa called fireflies,'
says a whisper in her mind,
âand the dragonflies of her name
like the Lady calling snakes.'
But the Lady calls snakes
when she wants to,
singing in her big voice
borrowed from the gods.
Aissa doesn't know
why the fireflies came to her
or the crickets
or dragonflies either
when she didn't mean to call.
She doesn't know how they heard
the tiny voice of her dreams.
All she knows
is that the question is too big
and she is too small
to even ask.
But now she's heard it
she can't stop.
If the Lady is her mother
then Mama is not.
But Mama is love,
and the Lady is not.
To have a mother
who is not a mother,
a sister
who doesn't know her,
a father
dead like Papa â
both dead by her curse â
these are more fearful thoughts
than being cast out
from the life she knows.
Aissa runs
till she hears nothing
but the blood in her ears
her heart leaping
as if it would jump from her chest
and run on alone.
Foot hitting a stone,
the stone skidding,
ankle turning;
legs limp as dead octopus,
crumple and fold.
Aissa crashing down
face-first through
a sharp-scented grey-green bush.
The world is black,
quiet and still,
a moment with no seeing,
no hearing or feeling
thinking or knowing.
Then her breath returns,
gasping, rasping
through her scratchy throat.
Salt blood in her mouth,
bitten tongue tender,
pain jolting from her ankle,
smarting hands and knees,
skinned and bloody.
Dust in her nose â
ribs hurt with the sneeze,
hurt more when she cries.
Aissa never cries,
not for eight years.
Has sniffled with loneliness,
had pain tears on her cheeks,
but not like this,
gulping and choking,
chest heaving,
throat raw,
curled like a hedgehog
under the bush,
rocking, thumping
forehead to ground,
back on her heels,
thumping again,
till the pain in her head
blots the pain in her mind.
But now she hears
an unearthly cry,
a terrible howling,
and Aissa's alone
and undefended â
the grey-green needles
are not sharp enough
to stop a wolf.
Aissa is empty,
a hollow nothing;
no one will care
if the wolf eats her.
Not even Aissa.
But her body cares
about crunching and tearing,
blood and pain.
It does not want to die.
Sliding out from the bush,
grabbing a rock,
then a bigger one,
another and another:
a heap of stones,
because Aissa can throw
rocks that find their mark
and the wolf won't like it
any more than bullying boys.
She is still alone
but not undefended.
Listening again:
to birds singing,
crickets chirping,
no wolf crying.
No grey shape crouches
in the grass
or stands vigil
on the high rock.
The howling was Aissa,
making noise
all by herself,
even though Mama said,
âStay quiet,
still as stone till I come back.'
But Mama's not coming back,
and maybe Mama's not Mama.
Aissa's alone
and making noise
doesn't betray Mama.
Making noise
could be strength.
Next time the wolf might be real. She doesn't want to go back but she doesn't want to die and there aren't any other choices. Squint-Eye said the Lady allows her to live. She is banned from the Hall but not the town. She will find a place to hide and be safe.
Aissa picks a grey-green twig and salutes the bush in thanks. Its scent stirs a memory that she can't find.
The rain comes out of nowhere. The gods pour rivers over her, washing her clean. When it stops she feels dazed and even emptier than she did before. The old Aissa has been hollowed out and thrown away.
She's run so far she's not sure where she is. Her ankle is aching and she has to get a stick to lean on. Even when she finds the trail she goes slowly, and it's dark when she reaches the garden gate.
The guards pass; her teeth are chattering so hard that she has to bite her tongue to stop the noise. Luckily the guards never worry about the back gate; they stroll through the garden more to keep themselves awake than to check who might be on the other side. The instant they turn their backs she's through.
From there it's a quick hobble across the square to the sanctuary boulder. She doesn't have to think about it â she's never spending another night behind the compost heaps.
Now it doesn't matter that it's dark: her feet and hands, knees and elbows all know the way. She slithers under, wriggles up, and slides into her hollow by the window.
The dark in the sanctuary is a deeper black than the air around her. There's nothing to see: the Lady and Fila are in their own chambers, in beds with soft fleeces and warm woven covers.
Aissa slides down further to get her face out of a puddle, and sleeps in her cold rock bed.
Aissa wakes to the sound of mewing.
Milli-Cat never comes into the kitchens when everyone's sleeping!
But Aissa's not on the kitchen floor with the other servants. It's still dark on the second morning of her outcast life; she's tucked into the hollow by the sanctuary window â and a pink cat nose is rubbing against her cheek.
How did you get here?
As if in answer, Milli-Cat jumps to the top of the boulder, looking back over her shoulder to check that Aissa's following.
Aissa does what she's told â Milli-Cat is so sure and bossy with her Mrrp! meow that she has to trust her.
The cat trots down the slope towards the cliff face. Aissa skids down it on her bottom.
The cat disappears into the darkness. Aissa slides after her, right over the edge.
Aissa making noise again:
mouse-squeak of surprise
as she hits the ground;
sigh of relief
because it wasn't far
and she didn't land
on Milli-Cat.
Though she doesn't know
how she'll get out again
and thinks maybe
she'll soon be a real ghost
not just the half-ghost
Squint-Eye ordered.
She's in a cave
half-filled with rocks
tumbled down in the boulder's crash;
a space safe from wind
or burning sun
and almost from rain â
the puddles at the front
are small.
And it's tall enough,
once she ducks inside,
that Aissa can stand
without bowing her head.
Milli-Cat purrs,
twining round her legs
till Aissa touches
smooth white fur,
soft and sleek,
sinewy strong underneath.
Because Milli-Cat
might belong to the Lady
but she has chosen Aissa
for her own â
and no one can see them here.
So Aissa strokes
and Milli-Cat purrs
till Aissa jumps awake
because there's not much time
till the day begins
and for so many years
that's meant
sweeping the square
clean of dog dirt and leaves,
scrubbing out privies,
throwing fresh earth down the holes.
Knowing that she doesn't exist
takes a lot of remembering
but yesterday's rain
and tears
have washed away
the confusion:
if she doesn't exist
she can't do chores.
No one can punish
someone they can't see.
But the square has to be swept
and privies have to be cleaned.
Wormbreath's son Pigeon-Toe
can use a broom
but is still too small
to haul water or earth.
A worm of joy
wriggles through Aissa
because sharp-faced twins
can share cleaning privies
but they will hate it
twice as much.
Aissa will need
to stay hidden from them
because if they have the chance to hurt
they'll forget she doesn't exist.
The cave is night-time safe
but she hasn't eaten
for two long days;
she needs to get out
to find water, food,
a place to spy,
and to use the privy â
the privy that she
won't have to clean.
The gap between boulder and cliff
is easier to fall down
than pull up.
Aissa grabs the edge,
swings from her hands,
but her head misses the gap,
bumps hard,
and her knees slam the cliff.
The cliff wall
is too smooth to climb
and so is the sanctuary.
There's no gap at all
on the town wall side.
But her cave floor
is littered with rocks.
Aissa finds a big one, flat on top,
too heavy to lift,
so she sits with her back
against the pile,
shoves with her feet
and hurting ankle
to roll the rock against the cliff;
shoves a smaller one tight beside
to stop its wobble â
and Aissa has built a step.
Now her head is as high as the gap.
She pulls up,
slides onto the boulder
creeping up the steep slope
to the window hollow.
Too early still
for the Lady and Fila
though the sky is grey
instead of black
and it's time
to slide like a snake
down the gap
and into the square.