CHAPTER ONE!! (4,634 words ain't dogfood!)
CHAPTER ONE
There are many ways to sell leaves, to just about anyone. My favorite way to persuade someone to buy a leaf happens to be one that my father taught me.
“If you keep on eating the way you do, you need this to balance things out. If you don’t smoke this leaf, you will be shitting blood.”
Barthram’s mouth fell open. I could hear my hens clucking outside the hut in the cool, spring air, and was reminded of how hungry I was as my stomach growled. He didn’t move, but he blinked. A lot.
“You mean that? Really?” He searched my face for any sign of anything other than pure professional knowledge. Suddenly, he broke out in a loud laugh. I raised my eyebrows in a very serious and staged manner.
“Why are you laughing? I’m not joking. I’m telling you now, you will be shitting blood. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me you already were shitting blood, to be honest with you.” I scratched my chin and thought about the muffins sold by Mrs. Kithop, and how I planned to run down there as soon as I could get Barthram out of there and close up the shop. I was starving. And those muffins were so good.
“Well…” he began, lowering his voice as he stared at me. “Would, the um, the blood be…noticeable?”
“That’s the problem. You see, the blood starts in such small amounts and it’s mixed in—“
“Mixed in? With the shit?”
I stifled a grin. He had nearly squawked the word “shit” and I imagined Kris hearing it from the next room over and wondering what I was telling the customers now.
“Yes, that’s right. It mixes in, and you wouldn’t notice it right away. You lose the blood though, over time, and it weakens you more every day. After a few weeks, the blood will come faster and I have been told that if you don’t do something about it, you will end up shitting ONLY blood. Barthram,” I said, reaching out and touching his arm gently, “This could kill you. Not today, or tomorrow, but someday. There’s only so much the body can tolerate.”
He swallowed. I had him.
He fumbled in his jerkin and pulled out a tattered sack on a rope. He looked around, as though someone else might be entering the hut. I waited and pretended to busy myself brushing dust from the table in front of me, even as I was readying to open the nearby box with the bristleleaf inside and wrap it in bark for him to take with him. After he paid, of course.
At long last, he pulled a silver coin from the sack and placed it on the counter in front of me. I sighed, and thanked him as I removed the blue leaves from the box and prepared it. I was careful to wrap the leaves tightly so they would be undetected out on the road. The elders were not very pleased with bristleleaf at the moment, ever since Father Hullinbee had smoked it and gone swimming nude in the lake at night while under its influence. He had come down with frostbite and his wife had accused him of dallying with a maid from the village across the lake. I decided not to remind Barthram, who was a good man but not very bright, of the fact that it was the same leaf I was selling him that had caused Father Hullinbee’s odd behavior. A side effect of too much bristleleaf was an overwhelming desire to be in the water. Not to mention to drop one’s inhibitions. And common sense. Still… at least it was a sale.
“Now remember to roll it in tanned paper only. And portion it off. This is important. Smoke only one tenth of the leaf at a time. That’s all you’ll need. And finally, come back to me when you need more,” I said, handing him the package.
“Thank you, and I will. Follow your directions, I mean,” he said, as he turned towards the doorway.
“And come back for more, don’t forget that part,” I called.
“Yeah, if it works, I will.” He walked out into the sunshine and the chickens clucked in an uprise as he walked past them.
I shoved the box of bristleleaf back under the table, and sat down hard in one of the chairs as I studied the silver coin he gave me. If he had given me a fake coin, like I had heard he’d once done to the tanner, I would go to his hut myself and punch him in the stomach. And I’d wear my good gloves while I did it, too.
It looked real enough. His lucky day. No stomach punches.
Kris strolled into the room from the back bedroom. His hair was pointing in different directions and he wore his tan jacket without a shirt under it. I could still smell the wine on him, and knew he was not quite out from under his hangover yet.
“Shylah, hey, thanks for letting me stay here again last night,” he said, falling into the chair opposite me at the table. “I was wondering, how would I know if I was shitting blood? Would it be everywhere? On my pants, down my legs? Oh, please help me avoid the blood shits!”
I laughed. “Come on, get up. Let’s go get something to eat before you sick all over my table. No more sicking!” I stood up and pulled him to his feet. He didn’t stumble, which I had expected him to do. Instead, he jumped up gracefully and did a quick dance move with his feet as he attempted to flatten out his unruly hair with his hand. His chin stubble looked soft and I briefly wondered if it would feel soft if I ran my hand over it. I pushed the thought away as we made our way towards the door.
In the street, once I shut the door to my hut, I saw that several wagons were already out and fires were burning in many pits. People were awake and doing business already? A look at the shadows on the ground revealed why… it was already well past noon. Another morning had slipped by. That always surprised me. What’s a little roundleaf now and then? I bet that the people who don’t know how to smoke it properly, like I do, lose a lot more time than I do. Good thing I am a professional at leaves.
Kris reached for my hand. I shuddered a little as I took it. He pulled me out in the mud and we walked a little way like that, playfully swinging hands as he sang a drunken song aloud about a three-legged whore and her many tricks. It made me laugh, like it always had. I stuck my tongue out at old Hubley, who sneered at us and muttered something about “sin” as we went past. Hubley smelled like rotten cabbages and dirty feet, anyway.
We got to Mrs. Kithop’s hut, and the door was closed. That was weird. She was always busy. Everyone went mad for her muffins. And her cakes and pies. She was the greatest baker in the entire tribe, and it seemed like whenever we went there we needed to wait our turns to get something to eat. But today, the door was just a wooden wall closing us off from the delicious aromas inside.
I knocked on the door and called out, “Mrs. Kithop?” There was no answer, so I tried again. Kris shoved me out of the way and banged his fist on the door. “We need muffins!” he called in a childish voice. “Please open up and let us purchase some of those muffins, please!!”
“She ain’t gonna open that door,” a voice rasped from behind us. “I been bangin’ all morning and all day. She just ain’t coming out.” It was one of the migrant men from the fields, a gypsy with no teeth and one cloudy eye.
I stepped away from him a bit and asked, “Have you heard anything from inside? Maybe she isn’t doing business today.”
“Nap. Nuthink. It’s been quiet and still,” he said through a cough that made Kris wave a hand in front of his own mouth and nose, to try to ward off the dirty air from the gypsy’s lungs. “I been waiting though, she could come and then we buy the good cakes.”
I didn’t really want to stand around with the coughing man and wait for the door to open. I did want a muffin, though. I craved them so much. Just thinking of them again made my stomach gurgle and whine. I wandered out towards the road again, Kris following behind me.
“Do you want to go get some meat?” he asked. He always wanted to eat meat. He never cared what kind of meat it was, as long as it was from an animal only recently killed. When we were younger, he used to carry pieces of cooked meat in fabric as we hunted in the woods, and I know the smell of the meat scared off the animals. I couldn’t convince him to just leave it at home, though. The boy always wanted to snack, and he preferred to snack on meat.
“No. I want something sweet,” I grumbled. There was a loose stone in the roadway, so I kicked it. Only my energy was low, so the stone only rolled a little way in the drying mud and my leg swung sloppily through the air. “Should we wait for her to open up?”
Kris didn’t answer. He waved a hand dismissively at me and began walking up the road in the direction of the hut my mother lived in with her new husband. I rushed to catch up with him—there was no way I wanted to go and beg for food from my mother today.
The day before, my mother and I had gotten in an argument. She had heard some people in the tribe talking about my selling practices. Of course, what they were saying was true. I was selling leaves and herbs that could be used for what they called “the lazy visions”, and this angered the spiritual women and men in the village. They had no problems with me growing and selling the High Vision Leaf, or the God Smoke, but the fact that I was selling things that common and low members of the tribe could buy to have laughing fits around the fire pits was not looked on favorably. My mother was embarrassed and told me I was ruining the reputation our family had sustained for generations, and asked me to stop growing roundleaf and the other herbs I had been growing behind my hut under a tarpaulin.
“Shylah, everyone knows you are tampering with the leaves. That’s why you have to keep them shielded from the sun—the leaves burn because they are not natural. Whatever you’re doing, you had better stop,” she had said, her curly hair popping up from under her crownveil so it looked like the ridges of ribs on an underfed dog.
I tried to remain calm, but my voice crept higher as we talked in her large kitchen-room. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done, mother. Come on now. It was a simple accident, the plants crossbred and that’s all. I just think the spiritual ones are afraid of it because it’s new. If they just tried it, they’d see it’s just as good as the God Smoke. Really.”
She gawked at me. “Just as good as the God Smoke? Do you even hear what you’re saying? My lord, Shylah, I wish you could hear how stupid you sound. It’s a weed, and it’s nothing but a sense-duller, and everyone knows it.”
“Oh, yeah? Like who? Who knows that?”
“I do! Girl, I have been growing plants and selling leaves my whole life, and I would rather die than sell people sense-dullers. Come on now.” She crossed her arms and her eyes were steely as she stared at me.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
She screamed, “Shylah! You are becoming an embarrassment to me, and I should hope to yourself! Look at you! When was the last time you washed that hair of yours, or sewed a proper dress to wear? You look like a common gypsy these days, girl!”
I did a sarcastic gypsy dance with my arms over my head and spun around. When I stopped, she was clicking her tongue angrily at me and I smiled at her and rolled my eyes. “I have been doing good business, mother, and I have been busy. I don’t have time to make a new dress! I don’t have time to constantly groom my hair till it shines; there are leaves to sell and people to help. I’m just playing my part,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Don’t worry so much.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. When she did finally look back to me, her eyes looked tired. “Fine, you win. Just leave me alone for now. I’m glad business is good, I am glad you are busy, but I can’t talk with you right now, Shylah. Go home. Please.”
So I’d left. I had every intention of staying away for at least a week or so before I called on her again or invited her to have dinner with me and my friends. I wasn’t ready for Kris to go parading up there like nothing had happened and ask her if Bruni had managed to bring more meat home from his latest hunt, and if there were a few scraps salted and ready for eating.
“Hey, slow down for a second,” I called out to him as he walked with his usual swagger up the hill past the sheep pen. “Kris, let’s not go up there.”
He turned around and he fumbled in his pockets for a smokestick. “Why not? I saw Bruni with a dead bear the other day. Bear, Shylah! It’s good!” He found a bent smokestick, and he jammed it between his lips and strode over to a burning firepit, bet over and lit it. The smoke billowed back around his head as he stood looking up towards their hut, his back to me.
I came up next to him. “I know, I know. But me and my mother had a little fight. I’d rather not go there.” He didn’t say anything. I continued, “I think I have some crushed waxflowers and lard, I could make something back at my hut. I’m gonna do that, if you want to come with me.”
He turned and winked at me. I felt a little flutter in my chest at that; he always looked so sexy when he did that wink. “No, you go do that. I don’t need you with me, your mother likes me… she’ll give me some meat. See you later.” He turned and walked up the hill, waving playfully to two women shearing a sheep next to a hut with a hole in the roof.
Defeated, I watched him go. The sun shone in blotches on his back and shoulders as he went, and one of the women was giggling with the other as they pushed wads of grayish wool down into stacks next to the quiet sheep. I wished they would return to taking care of the sheep and stop staring at Kris. It made me want to spit at them. Luckily, for the sake of any future sales, I held myself back and finally turned and walked back towards my hut.
The gypsy was still pacing in the mud outside of Mrs. Kithop’s hut, and he waved a shaky hand at me as I passed. I noticed that two of the elders were speaking in front of the main firepit of the tribe, and there were a dozen or so wreaths of wood stacked near a sleepy-looking horse. The last time I had seen wreaths like that was when my father had died. I continued on towards my hut, wishing again that I could have gotten at least one muffin. Just one. Two would have been better, but one would have done the trick. Damn.
“Shylah!”
Standing near the entrance to my hut was a figure in a heavy woven cloak. I couldn’t see the face of the person underneath it, but the voice was unmistakable. Kavvie.
Kavvie stepped up closer to me, her bad leg dragging just a bit in the mud. “Shylah, did you hear what happened? Oh my lord! It’s just awful!” She reached out with her wrinkled old hands, and in doing so, dropped a wad of colored thread and some paper.
I bent to pick it up for her as she cooed thanks to me. I could smell the wine on her as well, although on her it didn’t smell sweet like it did on Kris; it smelled medicinal. My grandmother had been seeing the tribe healers again. What could it be this time, I wondered… sore hips, a pain in her jaw when she ate, a headache whenever she took a drink of water… I just hoped I wouldn’t have to hear a rundown of any intestinal troubles. For a split second, as I thought that, I wondered if she would want to buy any bristleleaf from me.
“My dear girl, the elders are talking about the deaths! Have you heard them? They’re right over there!” She pointed, where anyone could clearly see the elder men deep in the same conversation I had walked past only moments earlier.
I handed her back the thread and paper as I opened the door to my hut and ushered her in. “I saw them, Kavvie. So what’s going on, then?” I walked past her and made my way to the cabinets and hunted for the crushed waxflowers. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet, so hope you don’t mind if I eat.”
“No, you eat. While you still can. My gums hurt all the time now. I can’t chew meat anymore, did your mother tell you that? I can’t have milk anymore either, because that gives me—“
“So, who died, Kavvie?” I interrupted loudly.
“Oh! Terrible! It was the twins! The twins, they were found down near the valley!” She swallowed loudly and reached around in her cloak for something.
Twins. I couldn’t think of any twins. Unless she meant the twin boys from the family of dark-haired gypsies we had let into the tribe back when I was still just a little girl. They’d come from the North and were chased away because the mother had made some prophecies, or something. People thought she was a witch, or a demon. I couldn’t remember. I know they gave the elders a pretty basket woven from golden fibers, and that seemed to impress our tribe enough to let them move in and stay with us. They weren’t any trouble, and they kept to themselves. I even had one of the family’s baskets in my hut. I kept firewood in it.
“The gypsy twins?” I asked, pounding a small handful of waxflower into what was left of my lard, which was already turning. Hunger was hunger though, I’d eat it.
“Yes!” Kavvie hissed, almost conspirator-like. “Someone had scared them to the point of death! Their eyes were stuck open, and their hands were curled into claws. They’re saying that the demons chased them and put a hex on them for being twins. Don’t you ever go down to that valley, Shylah! And tell your mother and your brother the same thing!” She licked her thin, dry lips. “Might I have a little of that, there?”
I tore off a wad of the waxflower cake and walked over to her. She took it hungrily and nodded excitedly.
“I wish you would stop calling him my brother, Kavvie,” I said as I chewed. “We’re adults now, we’re more equal than anything. ‘Brother’ is such a kid’s name.”
She chuckled. “You will always be young to me, girl. All of you younger ones are brothers and sisters to me!” She coughed a little, and I saw a tiny piece of waxflower cake land on my table. I threw a paper from the messy pile at the end of the table over it so I wouldn’t see it. “I would think you two would be married by now, what with the things I hear about you two.”
Oh, here we go. More gossip. I put my head down on the table and covered my ears with my hands. Kavvie laughed, and tapped the top of my head.
“They say Kris stays at your hut overnight. And that you rarely go anywhere without the other. That’s nothing, you two have always been the best of friends. But Shylah, you are not married, and sleeping together is just not done. The elders could decide to banish you if you keep that up, especially if you become heavy with a baby.”
“Kavvie!” I sat up and shoved her hand away. “He gets drunk and needs to sleep here because he can’t get back to his house in the dark. He sicks on my floors. It’s not what I would call a courtship! Please, there is nothing going on. Never has, never will be. Gods be damned!”
She hid a smile. “Of course, dear.”
“I’m serious. He doesn’t see me that way. I know it!”
She pushed her chair back from the table and stretched with an audible groan. “Help me to the bed, Shylah.” I sighed. Just what I needed…my grandmother napping in my bed while I was expecting to get some business done today. I hoped her snores wouldn’t distract my customers, as they had one day in the winter when a farmer named Boj had made jokes about the poor quality of my leaves to another customer (“her leaves just put people to sleep!”)and laughed so hard at her old woman sounds that he’d accidentally stuck his hand through a handmade parchment I had drying near my fireplace. I had to kick him out, and he had never returned again. Neither had the other customer, who had never even taken the time to remove his scarves from the cold.
I grasped Kavvie by the upper arm and walked with her to the doorway of my bedroom. I kicked some filthy clothing out of the path and quickly pulled a half-empty bottle of wine down off of the shelf near the doorway. She muttered thanks and moved with a series of sighs and groans towards the bed. I heard someone knock softly on my doorframe out in the main room.
“I’ll be right there!” I called, as I turned and left her there to settle in. I moved the wine behind me as I went, hoping my jacket would hide it well.
An elder stood in my doorway. One of the men who had been talking out by the firepit. He held out a small bundle of twigs tied together with goatgut. His expression was humorless and I could barely make out his eyes under his heavy, gray eyebrows.
“I am sorry to enter without permission, Shylah. We are going to each hut to spread some very serious warnings to the tribe. Do you have a moment?”
I cringed. Warnings? Surely the warnings couldn’t be about roundleaf, or any of the unusual plants I was growing and selling to the tribespeople…
“Yes, of course, come in,” I said lightly, showing him to the table. With a careful hand, I slid the paper with the spit-out waxflower cake underneath it to the end of the table and balled it up in my hands under the table. I didn’t take my eyes from him as I tossed it quickly onto the floor. It wasn’t everyday that an elder visited my hut, and I didn’t think he’d appreciate putting his hand down on a wet paper and a wad of chewed-up waxflower cake.
He sat, and I grinned nervously as I sat down across from him and folded my hands—business-like—on the table in front of me.
“I am sure you have heard the tales of strange happenings around the land. Animals are running off in the night, there have been reports of flames in the sky and rumblings coming from under the earth. These are dangerous times. And now, the twins have been murdered in the yellow valley. We suspect magical means. We are asking that everyone in the tribe stays within the village, and does not stray after dusk.”
My mouth felt dry. But a wave of relief came over me. No mention of my leaves.
“Yes, yes, I have heard about some of this. Terrible. What do the elders think is the cause of these things?” I managed, hoping I didn’t sound too relieved as I spoke.
“We don’t know yet. We need to consult with the wise ones, and their books. The spiritual ones are praying and seeking answers through God’s Smoke, and we are going to send an envoy to the West to consult with the neighboring Vichi people. Until then, please stay in your hut here and do not venture out at evening. We need to keep our tribe safe and protected.” He stood up, and handed me the small bundle of twigs.
“Hang these above your threshold. They were fashioned by the spiritual ones to ward off evil spirits.” He turned and walked to the door again. “Be careful, Shylah. We all must be.” He left.
I looked down at the twigs in my hands. “Huh,” I said.
Just then, Kavvie called out from the bedroom. “Shylah, I think someone sicked in here, too! What a mess!” I ignored her, because outside the tribe’s drum was beating and a rush of loud people were hurrying through the road outside my hut. The elders’ message was traveling fast, and so were the tribespeople. My hens clucked loudly from their pen, and I could hear horses whinnying as they clopped through the mud.
I picked up a nail from a shelf, and took one of my shoes off. At the doorway, I nailed the twigs up using my shoe as a hammer. Several people nodded to me as they passed carrying their baskets of berries from the woods, pulling confused looking children alongside of them or pushing an unwilling sheep or two along the road.
Before I put my shoe back on, I reached in to the toe area until my fingertips hit the smokestick I’d buried in there for emergencies. Some of my best roundleaf. I lit it up from my firepit before I doused it and locked the chickens in their pen, the smokestick dangling from my lips. By now, Kavvie was really hollering about the mess Kris had made in the bedroom from his drunken escapade the night before. The roundleaf helped me drown her out.
I went back inside, but not before I glanced Kris coming back down the hill, a package of meat in his arms and the sheep-shearing girl next to him, laughing as they moved with the crowd.
“Oh, screw you, Kris,” I mumbled, as I shut the door and felt my eyes growing heavy from the smoke. I smiled as Kavvie rushed at me, her finger waving in the air before her, her mouth yelling words like “sick” and “all over the floor”.
“Kavvie? Guess what? Evil’s coming! Now quiet down, sit here and have a smoke with me!”
***
There are many ways to sell leaves, to just about anyone. My favorite way to persuade someone to buy a leaf happens to be one that my father taught me.
“If you keep on eating the way you do, you need this to balance things out. If you don’t smoke this leaf, you will be shitting blood.”
Barthram’s mouth fell open. I could hear my hens clucking outside the hut in the cool, spring air, and was reminded of how hungry I was as my stomach growled. He didn’t move, but he blinked. A lot.
“You mean that? Really?” He searched my face for any sign of anything other than pure professional knowledge. Suddenly, he broke out in a loud laugh. I raised my eyebrows in a very serious and staged manner.
“Why are you laughing? I’m not joking. I’m telling you now, you will be shitting blood. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me you already were shitting blood, to be honest with you.” I scratched my chin and thought about the muffins sold by Mrs. Kithop, and how I planned to run down there as soon as I could get Barthram out of there and close up the shop. I was starving. And those muffins were so good.
“Well…” he began, lowering his voice as he stared at me. “Would, the um, the blood be…noticeable?”
“That’s the problem. You see, the blood starts in such small amounts and it’s mixed in—“
“Mixed in? With the shit?”
I stifled a grin. He had nearly squawked the word “shit” and I imagined Kris hearing it from the next room over and wondering what I was telling the customers now.
“Yes, that’s right. It mixes in, and you wouldn’t notice it right away. You lose the blood though, over time, and it weakens you more every day. After a few weeks, the blood will come faster and I have been told that if you don’t do something about it, you will end up shitting ONLY blood. Barthram,” I said, reaching out and touching his arm gently, “This could kill you. Not today, or tomorrow, but someday. There’s only so much the body can tolerate.”
He swallowed. I had him.
He fumbled in his jerkin and pulled out a tattered sack on a rope. He looked around, as though someone else might be entering the hut. I waited and pretended to busy myself brushing dust from the table in front of me, even as I was readying to open the nearby box with the bristleleaf inside and wrap it in bark for him to take with him. After he paid, of course.
At long last, he pulled a silver coin from the sack and placed it on the counter in front of me. I sighed, and thanked him as I removed the blue leaves from the box and prepared it. I was careful to wrap the leaves tightly so they would be undetected out on the road. The elders were not very pleased with bristleleaf at the moment, ever since Father Hullinbee had smoked it and gone swimming nude in the lake at night while under its influence. He had come down with frostbite and his wife had accused him of dallying with a maid from the village across the lake. I decided not to remind Barthram, who was a good man but not very bright, of the fact that it was the same leaf I was selling him that had caused Father Hullinbee’s odd behavior. A side effect of too much bristleleaf was an overwhelming desire to be in the water. Not to mention to drop one’s inhibitions. And common sense. Still… at least it was a sale.
“Now remember to roll it in tanned paper only. And portion it off. This is important. Smoke only one tenth of the leaf at a time. That’s all you’ll need. And finally, come back to me when you need more,” I said, handing him the package.
“Thank you, and I will. Follow your directions, I mean,” he said, as he turned towards the doorway.
“And come back for more, don’t forget that part,” I called.
“Yeah, if it works, I will.” He walked out into the sunshine and the chickens clucked in an uprise as he walked past them.
I shoved the box of bristleleaf back under the table, and sat down hard in one of the chairs as I studied the silver coin he gave me. If he had given me a fake coin, like I had heard he’d once done to the tanner, I would go to his hut myself and punch him in the stomach. And I’d wear my good gloves while I did it, too.
It looked real enough. His lucky day. No stomach punches.
Kris strolled into the room from the back bedroom. His hair was pointing in different directions and he wore his tan jacket without a shirt under it. I could still smell the wine on him, and knew he was not quite out from under his hangover yet.
“Shylah, hey, thanks for letting me stay here again last night,” he said, falling into the chair opposite me at the table. “I was wondering, how would I know if I was shitting blood? Would it be everywhere? On my pants, down my legs? Oh, please help me avoid the blood shits!”
I laughed. “Come on, get up. Let’s go get something to eat before you sick all over my table. No more sicking!” I stood up and pulled him to his feet. He didn’t stumble, which I had expected him to do. Instead, he jumped up gracefully and did a quick dance move with his feet as he attempted to flatten out his unruly hair with his hand. His chin stubble looked soft and I briefly wondered if it would feel soft if I ran my hand over it. I pushed the thought away as we made our way towards the door.
In the street, once I shut the door to my hut, I saw that several wagons were already out and fires were burning in many pits. People were awake and doing business already? A look at the shadows on the ground revealed why… it was already well past noon. Another morning had slipped by. That always surprised me. What’s a little roundleaf now and then? I bet that the people who don’t know how to smoke it properly, like I do, lose a lot more time than I do. Good thing I am a professional at leaves.
Kris reached for my hand. I shuddered a little as I took it. He pulled me out in the mud and we walked a little way like that, playfully swinging hands as he sang a drunken song aloud about a three-legged whore and her many tricks. It made me laugh, like it always had. I stuck my tongue out at old Hubley, who sneered at us and muttered something about “sin” as we went past. Hubley smelled like rotten cabbages and dirty feet, anyway.
We got to Mrs. Kithop’s hut, and the door was closed. That was weird. She was always busy. Everyone went mad for her muffins. And her cakes and pies. She was the greatest baker in the entire tribe, and it seemed like whenever we went there we needed to wait our turns to get something to eat. But today, the door was just a wooden wall closing us off from the delicious aromas inside.
I knocked on the door and called out, “Mrs. Kithop?” There was no answer, so I tried again. Kris shoved me out of the way and banged his fist on the door. “We need muffins!” he called in a childish voice. “Please open up and let us purchase some of those muffins, please!!”
“She ain’t gonna open that door,” a voice rasped from behind us. “I been bangin’ all morning and all day. She just ain’t coming out.” It was one of the migrant men from the fields, a gypsy with no teeth and one cloudy eye.
I stepped away from him a bit and asked, “Have you heard anything from inside? Maybe she isn’t doing business today.”
“Nap. Nuthink. It’s been quiet and still,” he said through a cough that made Kris wave a hand in front of his own mouth and nose, to try to ward off the dirty air from the gypsy’s lungs. “I been waiting though, she could come and then we buy the good cakes.”
I didn’t really want to stand around with the coughing man and wait for the door to open. I did want a muffin, though. I craved them so much. Just thinking of them again made my stomach gurgle and whine. I wandered out towards the road again, Kris following behind me.
“Do you want to go get some meat?” he asked. He always wanted to eat meat. He never cared what kind of meat it was, as long as it was from an animal only recently killed. When we were younger, he used to carry pieces of cooked meat in fabric as we hunted in the woods, and I know the smell of the meat scared off the animals. I couldn’t convince him to just leave it at home, though. The boy always wanted to snack, and he preferred to snack on meat.
“No. I want something sweet,” I grumbled. There was a loose stone in the roadway, so I kicked it. Only my energy was low, so the stone only rolled a little way in the drying mud and my leg swung sloppily through the air. “Should we wait for her to open up?”
Kris didn’t answer. He waved a hand dismissively at me and began walking up the road in the direction of the hut my mother lived in with her new husband. I rushed to catch up with him—there was no way I wanted to go and beg for food from my mother today.
The day before, my mother and I had gotten in an argument. She had heard some people in the tribe talking about my selling practices. Of course, what they were saying was true. I was selling leaves and herbs that could be used for what they called “the lazy visions”, and this angered the spiritual women and men in the village. They had no problems with me growing and selling the High Vision Leaf, or the God Smoke, but the fact that I was selling things that common and low members of the tribe could buy to have laughing fits around the fire pits was not looked on favorably. My mother was embarrassed and told me I was ruining the reputation our family had sustained for generations, and asked me to stop growing roundleaf and the other herbs I had been growing behind my hut under a tarpaulin.
“Shylah, everyone knows you are tampering with the leaves. That’s why you have to keep them shielded from the sun—the leaves burn because they are not natural. Whatever you’re doing, you had better stop,” she had said, her curly hair popping up from under her crownveil so it looked like the ridges of ribs on an underfed dog.
I tried to remain calm, but my voice crept higher as we talked in her large kitchen-room. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done, mother. Come on now. It was a simple accident, the plants crossbred and that’s all. I just think the spiritual ones are afraid of it because it’s new. If they just tried it, they’d see it’s just as good as the God Smoke. Really.”
She gawked at me. “Just as good as the God Smoke? Do you even hear what you’re saying? My lord, Shylah, I wish you could hear how stupid you sound. It’s a weed, and it’s nothing but a sense-duller, and everyone knows it.”
“Oh, yeah? Like who? Who knows that?”
“I do! Girl, I have been growing plants and selling leaves my whole life, and I would rather die than sell people sense-dullers. Come on now.” She crossed her arms and her eyes were steely as she stared at me.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
She screamed, “Shylah! You are becoming an embarrassment to me, and I should hope to yourself! Look at you! When was the last time you washed that hair of yours, or sewed a proper dress to wear? You look like a common gypsy these days, girl!”
I did a sarcastic gypsy dance with my arms over my head and spun around. When I stopped, she was clicking her tongue angrily at me and I smiled at her and rolled my eyes. “I have been doing good business, mother, and I have been busy. I don’t have time to make a new dress! I don’t have time to constantly groom my hair till it shines; there are leaves to sell and people to help. I’m just playing my part,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Don’t worry so much.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. When she did finally look back to me, her eyes looked tired. “Fine, you win. Just leave me alone for now. I’m glad business is good, I am glad you are busy, but I can’t talk with you right now, Shylah. Go home. Please.”
So I’d left. I had every intention of staying away for at least a week or so before I called on her again or invited her to have dinner with me and my friends. I wasn’t ready for Kris to go parading up there like nothing had happened and ask her if Bruni had managed to bring more meat home from his latest hunt, and if there were a few scraps salted and ready for eating.
“Hey, slow down for a second,” I called out to him as he walked with his usual swagger up the hill past the sheep pen. “Kris, let’s not go up there.”
He turned around and he fumbled in his pockets for a smokestick. “Why not? I saw Bruni with a dead bear the other day. Bear, Shylah! It’s good!” He found a bent smokestick, and he jammed it between his lips and strode over to a burning firepit, bet over and lit it. The smoke billowed back around his head as he stood looking up towards their hut, his back to me.
I came up next to him. “I know, I know. But me and my mother had a little fight. I’d rather not go there.” He didn’t say anything. I continued, “I think I have some crushed waxflowers and lard, I could make something back at my hut. I’m gonna do that, if you want to come with me.”
He turned and winked at me. I felt a little flutter in my chest at that; he always looked so sexy when he did that wink. “No, you go do that. I don’t need you with me, your mother likes me… she’ll give me some meat. See you later.” He turned and walked up the hill, waving playfully to two women shearing a sheep next to a hut with a hole in the roof.
Defeated, I watched him go. The sun shone in blotches on his back and shoulders as he went, and one of the women was giggling with the other as they pushed wads of grayish wool down into stacks next to the quiet sheep. I wished they would return to taking care of the sheep and stop staring at Kris. It made me want to spit at them. Luckily, for the sake of any future sales, I held myself back and finally turned and walked back towards my hut.
The gypsy was still pacing in the mud outside of Mrs. Kithop’s hut, and he waved a shaky hand at me as I passed. I noticed that two of the elders were speaking in front of the main firepit of the tribe, and there were a dozen or so wreaths of wood stacked near a sleepy-looking horse. The last time I had seen wreaths like that was when my father had died. I continued on towards my hut, wishing again that I could have gotten at least one muffin. Just one. Two would have been better, but one would have done the trick. Damn.
“Shylah!”
Standing near the entrance to my hut was a figure in a heavy woven cloak. I couldn’t see the face of the person underneath it, but the voice was unmistakable. Kavvie.
Kavvie stepped up closer to me, her bad leg dragging just a bit in the mud. “Shylah, did you hear what happened? Oh my lord! It’s just awful!” She reached out with her wrinkled old hands, and in doing so, dropped a wad of colored thread and some paper.
I bent to pick it up for her as she cooed thanks to me. I could smell the wine on her as well, although on her it didn’t smell sweet like it did on Kris; it smelled medicinal. My grandmother had been seeing the tribe healers again. What could it be this time, I wondered… sore hips, a pain in her jaw when she ate, a headache whenever she took a drink of water… I just hoped I wouldn’t have to hear a rundown of any intestinal troubles. For a split second, as I thought that, I wondered if she would want to buy any bristleleaf from me.
“My dear girl, the elders are talking about the deaths! Have you heard them? They’re right over there!” She pointed, where anyone could clearly see the elder men deep in the same conversation I had walked past only moments earlier.
I handed her back the thread and paper as I opened the door to my hut and ushered her in. “I saw them, Kavvie. So what’s going on, then?” I walked past her and made my way to the cabinets and hunted for the crushed waxflowers. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet, so hope you don’t mind if I eat.”
“No, you eat. While you still can. My gums hurt all the time now. I can’t chew meat anymore, did your mother tell you that? I can’t have milk anymore either, because that gives me—“
“So, who died, Kavvie?” I interrupted loudly.
“Oh! Terrible! It was the twins! The twins, they were found down near the valley!” She swallowed loudly and reached around in her cloak for something.
Twins. I couldn’t think of any twins. Unless she meant the twin boys from the family of dark-haired gypsies we had let into the tribe back when I was still just a little girl. They’d come from the North and were chased away because the mother had made some prophecies, or something. People thought she was a witch, or a demon. I couldn’t remember. I know they gave the elders a pretty basket woven from golden fibers, and that seemed to impress our tribe enough to let them move in and stay with us. They weren’t any trouble, and they kept to themselves. I even had one of the family’s baskets in my hut. I kept firewood in it.
“The gypsy twins?” I asked, pounding a small handful of waxflower into what was left of my lard, which was already turning. Hunger was hunger though, I’d eat it.
“Yes!” Kavvie hissed, almost conspirator-like. “Someone had scared them to the point of death! Their eyes were stuck open, and their hands were curled into claws. They’re saying that the demons chased them and put a hex on them for being twins. Don’t you ever go down to that valley, Shylah! And tell your mother and your brother the same thing!” She licked her thin, dry lips. “Might I have a little of that, there?”
I tore off a wad of the waxflower cake and walked over to her. She took it hungrily and nodded excitedly.
“I wish you would stop calling him my brother, Kavvie,” I said as I chewed. “We’re adults now, we’re more equal than anything. ‘Brother’ is such a kid’s name.”
She chuckled. “You will always be young to me, girl. All of you younger ones are brothers and sisters to me!” She coughed a little, and I saw a tiny piece of waxflower cake land on my table. I threw a paper from the messy pile at the end of the table over it so I wouldn’t see it. “I would think you two would be married by now, what with the things I hear about you two.”
Oh, here we go. More gossip. I put my head down on the table and covered my ears with my hands. Kavvie laughed, and tapped the top of my head.
“They say Kris stays at your hut overnight. And that you rarely go anywhere without the other. That’s nothing, you two have always been the best of friends. But Shylah, you are not married, and sleeping together is just not done. The elders could decide to banish you if you keep that up, especially if you become heavy with a baby.”
“Kavvie!” I sat up and shoved her hand away. “He gets drunk and needs to sleep here because he can’t get back to his house in the dark. He sicks on my floors. It’s not what I would call a courtship! Please, there is nothing going on. Never has, never will be. Gods be damned!”
She hid a smile. “Of course, dear.”
“I’m serious. He doesn’t see me that way. I know it!”
She pushed her chair back from the table and stretched with an audible groan. “Help me to the bed, Shylah.” I sighed. Just what I needed…my grandmother napping in my bed while I was expecting to get some business done today. I hoped her snores wouldn’t distract my customers, as they had one day in the winter when a farmer named Boj had made jokes about the poor quality of my leaves to another customer (“her leaves just put people to sleep!”)and laughed so hard at her old woman sounds that he’d accidentally stuck his hand through a handmade parchment I had drying near my fireplace. I had to kick him out, and he had never returned again. Neither had the other customer, who had never even taken the time to remove his scarves from the cold.
I grasped Kavvie by the upper arm and walked with her to the doorway of my bedroom. I kicked some filthy clothing out of the path and quickly pulled a half-empty bottle of wine down off of the shelf near the doorway. She muttered thanks and moved with a series of sighs and groans towards the bed. I heard someone knock softly on my doorframe out in the main room.
“I’ll be right there!” I called, as I turned and left her there to settle in. I moved the wine behind me as I went, hoping my jacket would hide it well.
An elder stood in my doorway. One of the men who had been talking out by the firepit. He held out a small bundle of twigs tied together with goatgut. His expression was humorless and I could barely make out his eyes under his heavy, gray eyebrows.
“I am sorry to enter without permission, Shylah. We are going to each hut to spread some very serious warnings to the tribe. Do you have a moment?”
I cringed. Warnings? Surely the warnings couldn’t be about roundleaf, or any of the unusual plants I was growing and selling to the tribespeople…
“Yes, of course, come in,” I said lightly, showing him to the table. With a careful hand, I slid the paper with the spit-out waxflower cake underneath it to the end of the table and balled it up in my hands under the table. I didn’t take my eyes from him as I tossed it quickly onto the floor. It wasn’t everyday that an elder visited my hut, and I didn’t think he’d appreciate putting his hand down on a wet paper and a wad of chewed-up waxflower cake.
He sat, and I grinned nervously as I sat down across from him and folded my hands—business-like—on the table in front of me.
“I am sure you have heard the tales of strange happenings around the land. Animals are running off in the night, there have been reports of flames in the sky and rumblings coming from under the earth. These are dangerous times. And now, the twins have been murdered in the yellow valley. We suspect magical means. We are asking that everyone in the tribe stays within the village, and does not stray after dusk.”
My mouth felt dry. But a wave of relief came over me. No mention of my leaves.
“Yes, yes, I have heard about some of this. Terrible. What do the elders think is the cause of these things?” I managed, hoping I didn’t sound too relieved as I spoke.
“We don’t know yet. We need to consult with the wise ones, and their books. The spiritual ones are praying and seeking answers through God’s Smoke, and we are going to send an envoy to the West to consult with the neighboring Vichi people. Until then, please stay in your hut here and do not venture out at evening. We need to keep our tribe safe and protected.” He stood up, and handed me the small bundle of twigs.
“Hang these above your threshold. They were fashioned by the spiritual ones to ward off evil spirits.” He turned and walked to the door again. “Be careful, Shylah. We all must be.” He left.
I looked down at the twigs in my hands. “Huh,” I said.
Just then, Kavvie called out from the bedroom. “Shylah, I think someone sicked in here, too! What a mess!” I ignored her, because outside the tribe’s drum was beating and a rush of loud people were hurrying through the road outside my hut. The elders’ message was traveling fast, and so were the tribespeople. My hens clucked loudly from their pen, and I could hear horses whinnying as they clopped through the mud.
I picked up a nail from a shelf, and took one of my shoes off. At the doorway, I nailed the twigs up using my shoe as a hammer. Several people nodded to me as they passed carrying their baskets of berries from the woods, pulling confused looking children alongside of them or pushing an unwilling sheep or two along the road.
Before I put my shoe back on, I reached in to the toe area until my fingertips hit the smokestick I’d buried in there for emergencies. Some of my best roundleaf. I lit it up from my firepit before I doused it and locked the chickens in their pen, the smokestick dangling from my lips. By now, Kavvie was really hollering about the mess Kris had made in the bedroom from his drunken escapade the night before. The roundleaf helped me drown her out.
I went back inside, but not before I glanced Kris coming back down the hill, a package of meat in his arms and the sheep-shearing girl next to him, laughing as they moved with the crowd.
“Oh, screw you, Kris,” I mumbled, as I shut the door and felt my eyes growing heavy from the smoke. I smiled as Kavvie rushed at me, her finger waving in the air before her, her mouth yelling words like “sick” and “all over the floor”.
“Kavvie? Guess what? Evil’s coming! Now quiet down, sit here and have a smoke with me!”
***
posted by Lisa Armsweat @ 10:14 PM
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