When Narina awoke, it was snowing. Delicate, white flakes of ash falling into her palm.
She sat up, but didn’t move. She looked straight ahead, not daring to see the aftermath of the night. To turn around was to acknowledge that her old life had been reduced to ashes.
The day passed and night came, darkness and light passing before her eyes. Her mind felt broken, unable to understand what had happened, unwilling to accept the consequences. She had nowhere to go, so she remained there, seated beside the burnt remains of her home.
—
Eventually someone found her. A wandering shepherd who had seen the strange signals of smoke in the sky. The man spoke to her, but Narina couldn’t hear him, or chose not to.
He stood there for a while, leaning on his staff and scratching his beard as he pondered what to do with the mute girl. Finally he walked over to Narina, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Can you walk?” the man asked. His voice was gruff and he barked out the question as grunts, yet there was some pity hidden within the coarse words.
Narina nodded weakly, still refusing to turn her head.
“Then let’s get you away from this place.”
The pair went on their way through the pastures and into the local hills. The winter rains had rendered the terrain muddy and bare, little streams snaking down into the scant greenery of the creeks below them. Narina had no shoes and walked barefoot through the muck. She didn’t complain about this, even when she felt the sting of a rock against her skin: she was already numb to that sort of pain.
They reached the man’s home; it was a large circular tent built of wood and lined with animal skins, inside it was warm and smelled of earth and sheep. Narina was seated on a stool draped with fur as the man rummaged through his belongings. He returned with a bowl of porridge.
“Eat,” he grunted.
She did. The porridge was cold and had absolutely no flavor, but after the first spoonful Narina realized how hungry she was: it had been nearly two days since her last meal. Her body ached as she scarfed down the gruel and before she knew it, began to doze off in her seat.
—
When Narina woke up, she was lying on the ground, her head resting on a bundle of blankets. It was dark, but she could feel the soft pelt underneath her, wrapping the fur around her fingers.
“...I just don’t understand what you were thinking, bringing her back here. Trusting the boys to watch the flocks, don’t be stupid!”
A woman’s voice, stern and reprimanding, yet hushed in the darkness. It continued:
“We have no use for a girl, if you thought I was going to take care of her. I have enough work to do, to raise this child—no—absolutely not!”
“She’s an orphan.” The man spoke up, his voice still coarse but little more than a murmur. There was a tinge of regret in the simple observation and the silence which followed it.
The woman’s demeanor softened slightly as she replied. “Yes, I know. She’s a poor thing, I won’t deny that. I just worry you get her hopes up, now that she has spent the night it will be all the harder for her to leave tomorrow. Children can take to all kinds of silly notions.”
The man didn’t say anything, but let out a quiet grunt.
“How about this: you leave tomorrow early in the morning. Return to the pastures and make sure everything is as it should. I’ll look after the child, and make sure she is taken care of. How about that?”
No response. The woman continued:
“You did a kind thing today. But you know we have no charity to offer, no means to provide for her. The best thing we can do is take her to someone who can.”
With those words the conversation ended, and Narina soon fell back asleep.
—
The next morning the man was gone. In his place the stern woman handed Narina another bowl of porridge.
“Eat up,” she said. The woman’s face was thin, and her gaunt frame draped by a gray shawl. The scrunched wrinkles over her eyes made her look especially severe as she watched Narina eat.
“What is your name?” the woman asked.
“Narina,” she replied, mouth full of food. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
“Already did.” The woman stood up, hands on her thighs. “Now, before we head out, let’s make you a little more presentable, shall we?”
She took Narina’s now-empty bowl and passed her a wet cloth. “Clean up, will you? Your face is black with soot and it didn’t help that my husband had you traipse through the muddy hills all day. Your old dress is also of no use; I don’t have much, but this should fit comfortably. At the very least you’ll be presentable.”
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The woman’s tone was matter-of-fact as she paced around the space, cleaning and tidying up. She handed Narina an old dress of sackcloth that was far too big. Narina dutifully scrubbed her face and limbs, removed her old clothes (which at this point had been reduced to little more than tatters) and put on the new dress. It was itchy but clean, and Narina folded the hemline several times so that it did not drag on the ground.
“There, there, much better!” the woman murmured. “Unfortunately we have no shoes, so you will have to make do without.” She pulled a comb through Narina’s thicket of long black hair, the girl wincing slightly.
“Where are we going? What is your name?” Narina asked.
“My name is Lena. I will be taking you to the city where we can find someone who can take care of you.” The woman continued to work her way through Narina’s hair. “Every life has its hardships that we must meet face-first. I can’t imagine how it must be in your situation, but nonetheless it is worthwhile to count one’s blessings. For instance, consider how lucky you are that my husband found you, and not some worthless, wandering scoundrel.”
As Lena alluded to the truth, that awful truth, Narina felt her throat constrict and her eyes water as the thought she had been repressing for days reared its head. No, she refused to acknowledge it, yet what choice did she have?
“What happened to my…” Narina’s voice choked as she tried to finish the sentence. “What happened to…them?”
Lena’s voice grew distant, still preoccupied with Narina’s hair. “It was...a fire. My husband said it looked awful, oh poor thing…”
“No,” Narina interrupted. “It wasn’t a fire. Our house was made of clay, no fire could’ve done that. And also, I saw it, or I mean, I saw something right before…”
“It was fire!” Lena cried, gripping Narina’s hair so hard that she let out a yelp of surprise. The woman drew her face close to Narina’s, staring into her eyes with a look of intense fear.
“It was a fire,” Lena whispered at her. “From here on out, that is what you say. Your parents died in a fire and you are looking for a new home. If you even suggest that this is not the case, that it was something which killed them, no one will take you. They will think you are cursed and they will be terrified and too fearful to take you and I will no longer be able to help you. Do you understand me?”
Narina was taken aback, startled by the panic in Lena’s voice. Whatever had come out of the forest that night, it had not been the first time it had struck nor would it be the last. She nodded weakly, resigning herself to silence.
“Good,” Lena said, stepping back and straightening her shawl. “We should get going; we’ve wasted enough time here.”
—
Narina and Lena traveled in complete silence, whatever goodwill between the two having vanished after the mention of the creature. Deep within her own thoughts, Narina began to entertain new, alarming questions: Did Lena also believe that she was cursed? Was that why the woman was so eager to get rid of her? Even if she couldn’t trust Lena, she was in no position to refuse the woman’s help.
They soon reached the city, built upon the side of a hill with walls and gates between its districts. Narina was overwhelmed; she had never seen so many people in one place, let alone buildings which towered over her. She stayed close to Lena, staring at people as they passed; soldiers with bronze swords at their belts, women hanging white linens from the rooftops, merchants leading mules laden with baskets of fruit and jugs of wine. And what variety! Everywhere she saw people of different colors and shapes, clothed in strange garments and exotic scents. And yet each one walked by them without so much of a glance, utterly preoccupied with their own lives and unconcerned with anything else. Narina felt something she had never felt before, the sense of the great world that had always existed, of countless people and the intertwining lives that together formed the tapestry of humanity. Whatever happened to her, that world would keep on existing, spinning its tales and threads beyond the span of her own life, and eventually beyond the span of anyone who would remember her. She was so small, and the world was so big.
Narina would remember that day as a blur of activity. For a long while they walked to and fro, until they finally came upon what Lena had been searching for. It was an orphanage, a simple square building of brick with narrow windows, austere and uninviting. Inside Lena spoke with the Matron, Narina trying her best to smile sweetly.
Her mind filtered out the conversation of the two adults as she looked around. They were in a foyer, the smooth stone beneath her feet cool to the touch. Beyond was a doorway flooded with soft sunlight, which led into a central courtyard. Within Narina could see children, girls no older than herself, walking aimlessly and sitting on benches. Soon, she thought, she would become one of them, another lost child with nowhere else to go. She recalled the image of her father, her mother, the little home where she had spent so many happy years...but no. What was the use of recollecting these things? They were long gone, already turned distant, painful memories.
“Come here, child, Narina…” She felt the frail arms of the Matron around her shoulders. “Come here within the protective embrace of the gods. Say goodbye to your guardian, and thank her for bringing you to your new home.”
Lena bent down and kissed Narina on the forehead.
“Goodbye Lena” Narina said.
The old woman turned around. She gave the girl a thin smile, yet her eyes remained cold and distant.
—
The Matron showed Narina around the orphanage. Her actual name was Anahita, or Ana for short, but everyone seemed to call her Matron, the girls saying “yes, Matron” or “no, Matron,” curtsying as she addressed them with her breathy voice. Narina had never seen someone with piercing blue eyes—as blue as the clear sky—nor such ghostly-white hair, though only a few delicate wisps escaped the headscarf which wrapped around her face. At each doorway of the house the Matron would stoop slightly, bowing before the face of a woman carved into stone, her long locks of hair coiled like snakes.
“To your mercy, Isa,” she whispered.
The orphanage was not particularly large, with four rooms organized around the central courtyard. There was the dormitory, lined with wooden beds and mattresses stuffed with straw. On the opposite side of the courtyard was the mess hall, where meals were served and instructional classes were held. Then there were the latrines and stone basins which were filled with water once a week, and the private chambers of the Matron and her servants.
“Now, child, why don’t you go into the courtyard and meet the other girls?” The Matron drifted away, and Narina was alone. In the nearest corner there was a girl sitting by herself in the dry dirt.
“Hello, my name is Narina. What’s your name?” she asked as she knelt down beside them.
“Mishal.” She looked up at Narina with dull, bored eyes. Mishal was taller than Narina, and at least a few years older, with sandy brown hair and glum but healthy cheeks. She didn’t say anything else, her eyes returning to the ground where she played with a set of simple dolls made of wood and twine.
“I like that one,” Narina said, pointing at one of the figurines in Mishal’s hand. It had an elegant head with the faint etchings of a face, as well as hair made out of bits of frayed string. “What’s its name?”
“Appa.”
“That’s funny! What does it mean?”
“Father.”