A beam of orange light shone into illuminating the otherwise dark and stuffy room. The somberness of lonely evening. A spinning wheel whirred in the silent room, pedaled by a small girl, who, if not for time, would still have eyes red from tears. The distant buzz of the village seeped through the open window, along with small particles alit due to the evening sun’s rays. Syndra had been at work for many hours. Her hands tired and dry. The dress was in a better state than yesterday, as it lay splayed upon a chair in the corner of the room. An obvious patch on where Evard had ripped it the day before. She was dressed in simple white-brown hempen tunic and pants. Her punishment was lighter than feared, though she was forced to spin yarn for a new dress, and of course patching her dress back up, though she would be unlikely to use it again. In agreement her parents decided that dresses were too fragile to remain in her wardrobe, as such she was restricted to hempen dressings, now that she had proven she couldn’t be trusted with finer materials.
The spinning wheel slowed, as Syndra took her foot off the pedal. She surveyed five spindles she had made, and the three that had broken. The one she was working on was about half-way finished, yet she had no more patience. Head drooping with a heaviness, she lay down on the wooden floor. Her body still teeming with energy, but without the will to muster it. With leaden head and light body, she rolled her body from side to side. She studied her hands, red with cuts and sore from work. So, she remained for a few minutes. And then a few more. before she heard a clicking. A sugarbeetle meandered across the wooden floor. Her weariness disappeared in an instant as the intruder promised stimuli. She slowly sat, as to not disturb the small creature. Her eyes fixed upon the slow waddle of the armoured insect. Syndra thought it was in search of food, she shimmied to the chair, and pushed her dress aside. Below was the bowl of rice she had received as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She hurriedly dug out a few grains uneaten, and gingerly crawled back towards her guest. Placing a grain in the path of the beetle, she watched the tiny knight waddle its way toward the treasure. To Syndra a grain seemed insignificant, but to her newfound friend, it would seem enormous. It however seemed highly uninterested in her gift. She put a few more in front of it, more abrasive this time. She would not let her offerings be ignored again. Hunger got the best of it. With a slow nibble it began devouring the meal it was given.
Syndra was ensorcelled by the muted colours of the beetle. She remained until the scavenger had had its fill and shuffled away once more. Fat after its meal, Syndra scurried after it, head on the floor, trying to get an eyeful of its slow movements. It marched clumsily to the edge of the room and crawled onto the flax lining the room. Yellow was the veritable mountain it took. The determined animal heaved its weight ever higher, until it had reached its top. Sitting upright on her knees, Syndra observed the beetle unfurl its wings, and with a loud buzz, it took flight. The sudden movement surprised the young girl, and she fell backward with a short shrill. On her back she giggled at the creature as it flew hither and thither around the room, unable to find the window into freedom.
Heavy footfalls sounded outside the door. It was violently pushed aside, and her mother looked at the young girl who had abandoned her duties. The woman wore a thick green dress, knees, and hands dirty, indicating a day in the garden. Her long black hair tied in a bun and brown eyes dark with anger. Syndra remained frozen, her eyes wide with fear. Forcefully the young girl was lifted to her knees and dragged to the milk churn.
“How did this happen?” she asked, her anger shone through. The young girl simply looked at the container, dumbfounded.
“I don’t know” She answered truthfully.
“It has soured! You were supposed to churn it.” Her mother was seething.
Syndra couldn’t help but feel agitated, as her mother was also the one to tell her to spin yarn until day became night. She realized however it would be a fruitless endeavor. Her mother forced a small pouch into Syndra’s hands and closed the girl’s hand tightly around it. The pain was sharp, as the coins dug into her flesh. Her mother looked her deep in the eyes. With a low voice she growled.
“Go buy a new one if there are still any left. You come back with either cheese or coin.” She threatened.
Syndra was turned by the shoulders and pushed outside, shoved the last steps, and she tumbled out of the family home. She had nary caught herself, before a bucket was tossed in her direction. Quickly she caught herself, converting the momentum into a run. Not daring hesitation to invoke additional ire. She caught a glimpse of her brother in the garden, grinning wide at her misfortune, but Syndra saw it not, her mind was elsewhere.
She hugged the pouch close to her chest and began running towards to market. Her naked feet on the muddy road became rapidly cooled, and when the muddy path intersected with the rocky road, she slowed once more. Slower and more timidly she trudged through the lazy afternoon streets, the bustle winding down, as various vendors took down their stalls.
A sea of multicoloured coverings, in various states of being gathered and stored. The little girl roved from stall to stall, looking for a replacement to the food she had ruined. Her eyes darting from stall to stall, not daring to have her gaze caught by the flashy nuances and trinkets. Her fear too encompassing.
She passed by a portly man, clad in simple grey and brown tunic, humming a tune to himself. His knees on the coach, he leaned over the cart fastening what remained of his stall to the cart. The scent unmistakable. The little girl walked to the side cart, in hopes of laying her eyes on the golden treasure.
“We’ve closed up for the day girly. Run along now.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He moved from the coach. The man’s voice was lighter than his body but revealed a softness. She looked at him, clutching the pouch to her chest. She looked up at him, trying to formulate a sentence. The man sighed and cast his gaze down in resignation.
“Alright, alright. What do you want girl?” Syndra’s eyes beamed, forgetting the tears that had begun to form at the corner of her eye.
“Uhm… Cheese please.” She said as she held the pouch towards the generous man, who couldn’t help but smile at the thankful barefoot child in front of him.
He took the pouch, and carefully considered which wheel she would be able to carry home. Weighing the pouch in his hand, he took four coins. A fair price considering the weight of food, but the child needed not know this. He handed her pouch and soft disc and gave her a warm smile.
“Now hurry along, it’s getting late, and your parents will probably want a piece of that pie.” He gave her a wink and hauled himself back to onto the seat of the cart.
Syndra’s heart was overflowing. A warmth spread throughout her body, as she held the circular object in a tight embrace. She stood for a moment, in the low sun. Basking in a victory achieved, she triumphantly returned homeward.
The bustle of the evening opened to her; the veil of desperation lifted from her eyes. From baubles to jugglers, a sweets shop, and a performing mage. Behind the figure stood a covered wagon, adorned in many-coloured cloth, baubles and trinkets, each containing a mystery and each having a tale, begging to be imagined. She merged with the throng of young who had flocked to the fabulously dressed spellslinger. With a closer look, she could fully bask in every hue of the rainbow. Feathers of hundreds of birds adorned the long robe and long cloths attached seemingly to nowhere, swished around the tall man. With a large horned hat, he struck an imposing figure, that Syndra couldn’t help but adore. Crackles and explosions filled the air, a feeling of awe struck the young girl, as she witnessed the display of power unfolding before her. With a deep wish, she hoped to one day also create things out of nothing. No one could tell her what to do if she was like him!
She was lost in the dazzle before her, halfway in a daydream. The shades tinting her eyes. A sudden push from behind yanked her mind back into a too real and too muted world. A silhouette loomed above her. Eyes needed not adjust, for the laugh of Evard was unmistakable. Ringing of coins revealed his intention. The desperation that had filled her heart returned once more. Evard turned and entered a sprint. Syndra hurried after him, in the vain hope of catching up. Moving between stalls and running over rocks, left her feet hurting. Pushing through the pain, fueled by adrenaline. She collided with a young man, who dropped a sack. It landed with a thud and ripped open, leaking nuts, berries, and various forested foods. He turned and pushed her back, before kneeling and trying to save what wares he could. Syndra crashed against the hard ground, she turned to catch herself against the earth, she scraped her forearms leaving them red and bloody. Looking after her brother, he ducked behind a corner and out of sight. She picked herself off the ground. Tears welled in her eyes, she brushed them away.
She ambled back to where the magician’s show. Stalls somehow less vibrant than before, fewer smiles. She only wished to find what she was sent to get and come back home. Oh no. Her pace increased. A fear gripped her, as she moved back. Faster and faster, until she was almost running. With the same panic and desperation, she pushed through the dispersing crowd. The wheel was not where she had left it, so she searched. She could not return home while her key was lost. She felt a tap on her shoulder. The magician was looming above her, framed by the light of dusk. He wore an ornate white and black mask. The wolf and lamb, twin aspects of death, and a revered symbol. In one fluent, dramatic movement, the mage arced their arm overhead and pointed towards the side of the wagon, on which her packed cheese rested.
Happiness. The feeling seemed wholly absent. Desperation had left her and the adrenalin was rapidly exiting Syndra's system. Fatigued and lethargic. Syndra would barely acknowledge the person who had filled her with such amazement only a moment before. The girl moved sluggishly. Passing by the looming entertainer. It turned its mask inquisitively, but the girl saw it not. She instead simply collected the food and moved on. In an attempt to avoid Evard, she travelled another path home. The road would be longer, but at least she would be alone. The slaps of her naked feet against the paved road, sounded through the otherwise silent street. As stone turned to mud, tapping turned to a wet slurping as she trudged through the path, shaded by the woods. Within she knew the Ghost-Willow rested. Her place of rest. Her load became heavier and heavier. Though her home was not far, she had not the strength to go. Her body and soul required rest. She contemplated detouring, but she was late enough as it were. Placing the burden on a rock by the side of the road, she leaned her back on rough flank, running her hands over her scraped arms and knees. Digging through her sleeves, she found a small hole she had not noticed. Syndra couldn't even mister a frustrated snort. She simply accepted she would have to fix it tomorrow. She took a heavy breath of fresh air. The wind carried a certain quality that only revealed itself after rain. She usually enjoyed it, especially after a full day inside, but right now she felt nothing. Her eyes fell on a deep puddle that reflected the glow of the many insects that awoke during the evening. She let her mind wander. She let herself be distracted. She let her eyes water, not that she had much of a choice. The feelings of not just these few days, but of the last months and years washed over the child. But especially the last day’s events. So she sat, and she felt. Her negative emotions washed over her in waves, and she quietly sobbed her anguish away. She heard the sound of a sudden splash. The girl rubbed her eyes and refocused them on the small body of water. Newly disturbed by the impact of a wheel of cheese. Shock and panic filled her mind, as she clampered toward (her ticket to a warm meal and bed?). She fished it out of the water, it was very dirty, but it could probably be cleaned. She turned to see what had pushed it, and there stood a sight she had hoped to never see again. Evard and two of his friends were standing behind her with barely contained laughter. Hiding the cheese behind her, she stood and fought to hold back her tears.
"I hate you! Get out of my life!" She yelled, her throat almost giving in.
This only seemed to embolden the trio. They knew she could not fight back. Evard stepped forward.
"Or what?" He asked, placing both hands against her chest and pushed.
She lost balance and fell backward, landing squarely on what she was meant to protect. A splash and a squish, and she was looking at weeks in the sewing room. Locked inside doing dull chores. For a moment she sat there, stunned. The laughter once more awoke her, and she crawled into a sprint. She ran as fast as she could away, through the foliage and along the winding paths of the forest.