……
It was late that night when Verdeyan got the chance to catch her breath again. Since lunch, Jonalla had nagged her nonstop with every household duty one could imagine. When she’d spilled the tea, Jonalla had flung the bowl at her, swearing violently, which made Aspen cry. She had then accused Verdeyan of upsetting her son…. It never ended.
Verdeyan sat, gazing out into the night sky, fire burning in her heart
…
Seven: Seething and Sorrow
Jonalla lay in her bed, the warm body of her son pressed against her. His soft breathing created a serene hush in the house, starlight winking in from the window shutters. She lightly stroked his hair, saying
“Aspen, my Aspen, you won’t be so small for long. This place isn’t menat for you, nor is this the life that I want for me. It wouldn’t be so, but that your father made you inside me, then left. We would live elsewhere, eat eagle instead of crow, wear silk and be waited upon instead of this daily drudgery, if he hadn’t left me.
Might I find you a father, for myself, a good lover, and leave this wretched house, but Asabet will never have it, and Gattlin would be mad.”
At the thought of her brother downstairs snoring in his bed, she snorted.
“That brother of mine…”
Jonalla lay awake all night, thoughts flitting in her mind like vibrant insects, buzzing about with ideas and plans. Like a frog, she observed and consumed these insects, tasting each before choosing whether or not they were any good.
She rose before the sun, pinching her face to awaken her mind. She threw off her nightshirt, dropping her best shirt, an embroidered blue silk tunic, over her head, pulling on her silk and leather leggings, and a full knee-length skirt over this.
She wound her hair around her head, carefully tugging certain strands out, tucking others in, to create the look she desired, going by her reflection in the polished wooden panel on her wall. A necklace of painted wooden and bone beads looped about her neck three times and amber earrings were the finishing touches of her outfit.
She pulled the heavy fabric curtains shut, blocking out the sunlight, and kissed her son on the forehead before descending the stairway. At the foot, she paused, hearing the sound of footfalls.
Her face fell, a tired frown replacing a smirk.
“Where are you headed, this time of day, dressed up like that?” Gattlin hailed her.
“The market,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
“The market?” He grimaced, rubbing his forehead.
“Yes, I said the market.”
“Jonalla, the problem is, we haven’t any johls in the house,” he continued.
“I shall see you around midday. Make sure your slave-girl doesn’t kill Aspen while I’m gone, and for the love of life, try to do something slightly productive around here.”
“But what are you going to do all morning? We have no money, there is no reason to go to the market,” Gattlin persisted, his hazel eyes widening in confusion.
“Allow me to tell you something, brother. I am five years your senior, and it is not your concern what I do with my time!”
“What have I said to offend you? I only inquired what you were doing,” he replied, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
“If you must know, I am going to visit my dear friend Shakoba, whom is much more pleasant society than you,” she said sharply.
“Please tell her I meant her no ill when I declined her father’s proposal,” Gattlin murmured, his face flushing in embarrassment.
“Do you mean to taunt me? You never know when to shut your face!”
“By the forest, Jonalla, what have I said now to upset you! You’re inconsolable!” He turned to walk away, but she grabbed him by the arm.
“I think you do know. You’ve always hated the thought of another man joining the family. Well now, you can swallow your pride, because Shakoba knows a man who wants a wife. I don’t intend to let you tell me how to go about my life. I am going to see Shakoba, whether or not Asabet or you condone this!”
With that, Jonalla stomped out of the house, hurrying along the catwalks that led to the central square in the tree that held Old Locher, the cold wind smarting against her face, reddening her sleepless eyes.
.....
Gattlin stared at the doorway, as if his sister were still standing there, her words stinging in his ears.
“What is she doing? She thinks this boy Shakoba knows….ugh!” he slapped his forehead, an image of Shakoba flashing in his mind.
“Jonnah, you are making a mistake. This man will be just like Aspen’s father….” He turned to go awaken Asabet, but stopped himself, his hands folded over the back of his head in rumination.
A sound from the other side of the room interrupted his soliloquy.
“Gattlin, is that you,” Asabet croaked, raising her tangled white head from her blankets. “What is the fuss?”
He remained silent.
“Gattlinian? Where is your sister off to?”
He groaned inwardly. Of course she had heard. Even asleep, at seventy-four, she had the hearing of a hawk.
“Nowhere…” he lied, turning away from her.
“An old woman likes to see her child’s face when he speaks,” she teased.
He cringed, feeling her words hit their target like a knife into his chest. She never missed anything.
“Yes, mother.”
...
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-Voxina
