Authors: Wendy Orr
Aissa takes the wolf pelt to the sea, and washes and scrapes it more times than she can count. In some places she rubs so hard she makes holes, but the fur is thick, and Gold-Cat has stopped attacking it now that it doesn't stink. He likes sleeping on it with Aissa. Aissa does too. She likes having something soft to lie on, and that she's done it herself.
There are other things in her cave home that she's done herself. Some she's made and some she's found: the shells, stones and feathers that she arranges into patterns, her flint knife, the bone pin, and the dragonfly that she's carving.
The cave is cool even now in the middle of summer. When the noon sun empties the square, and the town and Hall doze in their afternoon siestas, Aissa can slide back into her home to escape the heat. She races over the baking top of the rock, hands and feet burning, but underneath is dark and shady. The cooling northerly
breezes whisper in through cracks and gaps. She doesn't want to think what that will mean for winter.
Purple figs are ripening in the Hall garden and on wild trees around the island. Birds love them as much as people do â little Pigeon-Toe gets beaten nearly every day for falling asleep under the tree when he's supposed to be scaring birds. Townfolk and servants come back from the hills with baskets of the ripe fruit. Some are eaten but most are strung on cords to dry in the sun.
Aissa finds a tree far out from the town. The figs are fat and dark, splitting with juice; the sticky sap clings to her fingers as she eats them hot from the sun. One after another . . . she eats so many that she spends the rest of the day squatting behind a rock with painful diarrhoea.
After that, she eats only a few at a time, and crams the rest in her pouch to take home and dry on the top of the sanctuary boulder. Birds swoop to steal them.
âLook how the goddess is favouring us, calling the birds from the tree to her roof,' she hears Yogo say.
âPigeon-Toe's finally learned from his beatings,' says Squint-Eye.
Watching out for figs
and other fig-pickers,
Aissa still has time
to spy on bull dancers.
She knows
what she doesn't want to â
that Nasta is quick,
light on her feet,
her handsprings sure and free
a joy to watch
if only she wasn't Nasta.
Luki is strong
can pull himself to a branch,
can spring from hands to feet
and back again,
cartwheel along a wall â
but not lightly or surely.
Aissa imagines the feeling
of whirling hands and feet
and would hold her breath
in fear of his falling â
if she cared.
She sees too
that sometimes,
when the world sleeps
in hot siesta lull,
she is not the only one
to steal through the back gate
out to the hills.
Bull dancers don't belong to the Hall
the way servants do,
but they belong to the gods â
their lives are not
theirs to waste.
So even though
they don't have servant rules
or beatings for straying,
everyone knows
they must never go out
without a guard.
But Luki is leaving
sly as a thief
slipping into the garden
keeping in shade
looking left, looking right,
and sidling out to the lane â
not seeing Aissa
waiting behind the fig tree
while Pigeon-Toe sleeps
for her moment to snatch
a ripe, bursting fig
ready to be eaten.
Aissa doesn't let it
wait any longer
but she barely tastes
that sweet red juice
because her hunger now
is to know where Luki goes.
Racing through
the bare barley field
he turns to the mountain,
his route home:
his feet know their way
up the slopes and through the trees.
Aissa rushes not to lose him
but Luki,
sure he's alone,
sings as he goes,
laying a trail with his voice.
The song stops
and Aissa creeps
quietly, closer:
Luki is watchful
but not for her.
The ground is rough,
plants grubbed up;
the stink of pig
rises high.
Across the hill
a swineherd sleeps in front of his hut,
his dog beside him.
Luki reaches a clearing
where a big boar dozes
under an oak;
and forgetting that his life is sacred,
tempts the boar
away from the trees.
The day is hot
the boar is sleepy,
wanting to nap
like everyone else.
But Luki dances
until the beast charges.
Aissa's mind screams,
but Luki stands
until the boar is nearly there,
then leaps
as if he'll somersault
down the boar's back â
but instead crashes
hard to the ground
and lies still.
The boar turns in shock â
the swineherd has never
begged him to charge
or jumped over his back â
and starts to rush
the boy on the ground.
There's no time for Aissa
to get out her sling
or find a rock
or do anything except scream
a silent
No!
till the boar stops
and wanders back
for his afternoon nap.
But Luki doesn't move.
Aissa doesn't know what to do
or how to help
.
Doesn't know if Luki
is alive or dead;
doesn't want to curse him
with her touch.
The fear in her belly
says that her curse
has already followed him here.
Even if he's only stunned
when the boar wakes again
to see a body in its field
it will nose,
and trample,
and eat
until Luki is gone.
But if she goes closer
to see if he breathes
and he wakes in fright
with a spit for No-Name
it will seem
too much to bear.
Fear tells her to run;
if anyone sees her
or Luki wakes and tells,
she will die too,
thrown off the cliffs
for cursing the dancer.
She stays frozen
and in that long moment
sees
an adder
sliding towards the boy on the ground â
fast in the midday heat,
messenger of the gods,
such a small snake
for such a deadly bite â
up to Luki's face.
Aissa sure she can see
the tongue flickering
tasting his scent,
nothing she can do,
no way to run
fast enough to save him,
but she calls to the snake
with her mind,
âTurn away, turn back!'
And from somewhere near
comes the Lady's song,
the song that sings the sun to rise
and sings the snakes
up from their baskets;
the snake lifts its head
and turns.
Luki sits,
wobbly, blinky-eyed.
Aissa stands,
shaky too.
The voice disappears
and so does the snake.
âThank you, Mother!' says Luki,
hand on heart.
âPraise the snake singer!'
Then stares around, lost,
because there is no Lady,
or even Fila,
but only Aissa.
Aissa searches too
because how could the Lady sing
if she isn't here?
âIt was you!' says Luki,
with wonder,
almost with fear.
Aissa waves away
his blasphemous words
but the Lady
is still not there.
Luki stands,
shakes his head,
rubs his back,
âThat was stupid,' he says,
âbut I wanted to know
what it would be like
to leap an animal
instead of a wall.
The boar was the biggest
one I could think of,
and I've known this one
since he was a porker.
You won't tell?'
Then he remembers
that Aissa can't.
âBut you sang!
You're the snake singer,
the one to follow the Lady.
People say it's Fila,
but I've heard her voice â
it must be you.
How can you sing
when you can't talk?'
Aissa doesn't know,
though she would like to understand.
Doesn't quite believe
that she was the singer
except that her throat
feels raw and open,
as if something great
has passed through it.
And no one else was there to sing.
There's a lot she doesn't know
and a lot Luki wants to.
âI won't call you No-Name â
you must have a name,
you marked it at the ballot.'
Aissa holds out
the mama stone around her neck
to let him read the dragonfly mark.
âAissa,' says Luki,
the first person since Mama
to call her by name,
and she never knew
how perfect it could sound.
âAissa the snake singer,
who lives under the sanctuary rock â
you're not the only one who watches.'
Luki's head hurts, but he is walking straight and tall; it's Aissa who's trembling as they turn into the shelter of the oaks. The world has shaken and changed â and yet leaves flutter, birds hop from branch to branch, and a pair of eagles soar overhead, just like any other day. When they pass the swineherd's hut, the herder and his dog are still asleep. The sun has barely moved in the sky.
âIt feels like days since I left,' says Luki. âI can't believe we'll be back before the end of siesta.'
Aissa shakes her head violently,
No!
The servants will be up and bustling soon. She can't go back to town till dark.
âWhere do you go?'
Wherever's safest!
Aissa thinks, gesturing widely out to the hills.
âI'm going to tell the Lady what happened, and how you saved me. The worst that can happen to me is a lecture â but she'll have to treat you better!'
A chill runs through Aissa's body.
Tell the Lady that No-Name has sung a snake!
It's like asking for the end of the world.
She feels Luki's eyes on her, and forces herself to meet them. Finally he seems to hear her silent scream.
âI won't tell if it scares you,' he says more quietly.
They walk on quickly.
At the stone bridge. Luki makes the thank-you sign again and runs the rest of the way back to town. He's hoping to be back on his bed before anyone knows he's gone.
Aissa huddles under the bridge all afternoon. If it weren't for the cats waiting in the cave, she'd stay there all night.
The fear
is bigger than Aissa
and her mind flees.
She looks down
at her hollow self,
her body as sheer
as a black dragonfly wing
and where her belly
and heart should be,
there is nothing.
âSnake singer, snake singer,'
she hears in her head,
more terrifying
than any other chant
she's heard.
It was easy to lock
the story of the Lady's dead daughter
in a secret box in her mind,
because it was impossible
that it could be her.
Only the Lady can sing snakes,
and only the Lady's daughter,
the Lady-to-come,
can learn.
Yet Aissa has done it â
without learning,
without voice.
And though she could never
be the Lady-to-come
could it be
that she's the daughter
who should have died
and didn't?
Death might have been easier
than bearing the gods' anger
for living.
Only the gods' rage can explain
why the Lady's daughter
is hiding alone in a cave
cast out even
by the servants.
If she is the Lady's daughter
then who is Mama?
And Papa
and all who loved her â
she knows they did
though she remembers
not much else
and now she's not even sure
of that.
Her thoughts spin
in jagged circles,
till she feels
sick and dizzy.
It's impossible
that the Lady could have borne Aissa â
Aissa is nothing
and the Lady is everything.
If she is the Lady's daughter
why did the Lady want her dead
and not love her as she loves Fila
and the little boys
and as Milli-Cat
loves her kittens?
But if she is not
the Lady's daughter
then how
did she sing the snake?
She knows in her heart
that it was her,
that wild strange music,
high as a flute,
a song with no words
and powerful magic.
She just doesn't know how â
and that's a very big thing
not to know.
âAnd what about
the fireflies above your bed
when you dreamed them,
the dragonflies
when you learned your name,
and the crickets
the goddess told you not to eat?'
asks the voice in her head
that isn't silent at all.
âOr Parsley the goat
that came to you
when you held Spot Goat
in your mind?'
Hands over ears
can't block the thoughts
till another voice â
a new, small voice â
says, âMaybe I could try.'
She doesn't know
what she could try,
but knows that if it's true
the gods will send a sign.
And they do.
The very next day,
foraging wild grapes â
leathery sweetness to pop in her mouth â
she watches a bee
hunting its own sweetness
in fading flowers;
sees it leave the plant,
bumbling no longer,
to fly a straight line
back to its home.
So Aissa follows.
In her spying,
she's watched beekeepers
rob a hive
with smoke and masks.
Further back,
there's a memory of Kelya,
the old woman holding
tiny Aissa on her knee,
coaxing her tongue
with honey dripping from a spoon,
though failing to make the mute child talk.
âThat was kindness!'
Aissa thinks in surprise,
and knows there are more
questions of Kelya,
but now she must think
only of the bee.
It's hard to see as it crosses a rock
and she doesn't want
to lose it now.
Flying to a rocky cliff,
a small outcrop on the mountain's face,
the bee disappears
into a hole â
a buzzing, humming hive.
Aissa stops,
watches
and thinks.
If she can sing out the bees
and rob their hive,
it could mean
that what Luki says is true â
but if she fails,
is covered with stings
from an angry swarm
she'll never have to
think of this again.
And of course she'll fail,
because when she opens her mouth
she hears Mama say,
âDon't make a sound,
stay quiet,
still as stone, till I come back,'
and no song comes out.
But she can't help
a silent song within her mind
of flowers and nectar,
bees in flight,
and one by one
then in a cloud,
the bees fly past her
till the buzzing hive
is silent.
No choice now but to climb the rock
to the sweet-scented hole
and dip her arm into the darkness,
waiting for the sting
that never comes.
The hive is full
of waxy cells
dripping with honey,
a gift from the gods â
and even though she'd wanted to fail
Aissa is grateful.
She throws the first comb
to the goddess.
And then she tastes
and knows that even the Lady
could never have anything
better than this;
crams her mouth
and the pouch on her belt
with honeycomb to store in her cave
for the hungry winter.
But even sliding to the ground,
chewing the last sweetness
from her ball of wax,
thanking the bees with her mind
as she'd thanked the goddess with the comb,
she wishes she was running
from angry bees.
Easier to be No-Name
and have no mother at all
than be a maybe daughter
to both Mama and the Lady.