Town of Goldiloop; the year of disgrace 1352
The slight, bronzed girl ran like the wind towards the shanty town. Her raven hair billowed behind her, resembling the flames under the alchemists’ boiling flasks. Along the unpaved road winding to her family’s house, her feet deftly negotiated the potholes with unwavering precision.
Hell’s teeth! I must hurry, or Mum will give me a lot of stick again! Eiri prodded herself into running to hell for leather.
Once again, the capricious gods did not answer her childish prayers, letting the sombre morning blossom into a radiant day instead of granting her the solace of a tempest. It was a day ripe for picking herbs, now in fullest bloom as the spring was ready to pass the sceptre to summer.
The girl shuddered with disgust at the thought of gathering medicinal plants and roots, a tedious task requiring a level of patience she had yet to acquire. She paused, casting her gaze skyward in a futile plea. Her honey-coloured eyes encountered the boundless azure, and then she hung her head with a vanquished look.
In such fine weather, Salomena, the daughter of the town’s swordsmith and her sole friend, surely would be riding her buckskin pony, a gift she had received for her name day two years ago. Meanwhile, Eiri was only given a maize-yellow linen dress, hastily stitched by her mother, who was carrying the girl’s second brother under her heart at the time. The very same dress she was currently wearing, which was already slightly short and tight. However, that was probably the least of her worries now.
Why couldn’t I have been an only child, too? Or why can’t there be a great storm, at least today? Eiri clenched her teeth, suppressing her anger.
She would have liked to turn around and run away immediately, but there was nowhere to go. She was not a boy and not even ten years old yet. Feeling emotionally hurt by the world itself, she sniffled and shuffled the last few steps to the low house. Her mother awaited her in the doorway, holding a wicker basket.
“Eiri!” she thundered her daughter’s name. “What the blazes? Where have you been?! Did you not heed me yesterday? I mentioned that if the weather is fine, we’d go herb picking today, did I not?”
The tears began welling up in the Eiri’s eyes, and she bit her lip to hold them back.
“Don’t stand there looking at me like half a buttock hiding behind a tree! Get changed, grab a basket, and let’s go!” she ordered without compromise, stepping back from the entrance and pointing her index finger toward the room.
“But—” Eiri’s younger brother’s cries drowned out her objection.
“No buts! Just do as I say,” her mother left no room for dissent and then turned to her crying son, whom she had upset with her shouting.
Gnashing her teeth, Eiri shot daggers at their mother.
Ludmila, the herbalist from Goldiloop, was about to give birth to her fourth child that summer and celebrate her thirtieth name day at the same time. The seventh month of her delicate condition made it somewhat difficult to move, but after three previous deliveries, she already knew what a woman could endure. Her face was crimson with anger at the adolescent daughter, whom she had been trying to teach about responsibility and a girl’s fate since her early years. She leaned over her son, who ceased crying straight away.
Ivan, a two-year-old boy with almond-brown skin, stood in a coarse linen shirt before his mother, gazing at her with something similar to awe. Ludmila smiled with benevolence at her son and caressed his sandy blond hair. He sniffled loudly, wiped his tears, and then gave his mother an affectionate hug.
Eiri, observing the scene, pouted. With an unfailing instinct, Ludmila noticed her expression and shook with anger.
“Eiri! What have I told you?!”
The disobedient daughter vanished like greased lightning into the house where she was born and which she longed to leave soon. Yet she harboured no faith or hope in her desire. It was merely the silent cry and quiet defiance of a girl refusing to submit to her fate.
The dwelling comprised a spacious ground-floor room with a stove at its heart. It served not only for heating and food preparation but also as a sleeping place for the herbalist’s sons. The meritorious mother retired for the night on the double bed standing in the corner, while the adolescent Eiri had nothing more than a straw mattress on the floor near the stove.
The sullen Eiri crossed the room with its earthen floor of tamped soil. She passed a plain dining table with a small heap of dirty dishes, just waiting to be washed by her. Then, she halted before her parents’ bed, a sight she seldom witnessed—her parents being together.
Their father had worked as a labourer for years, spending most of his days away from town. His travel tales and ghost stories, likely mostly concocted, never failed to captivate her; she remembered his every word. Yet, these stories often hindered her from peaceful sleep and made her fearful of venturing out alone at night to the latrine.
Hence, one day, she wanted to use the chamber pot prepared by Ludmila, who was expecting her elder son, Anti. At that time, the stove still served as Eiri’s refuge, and the menacing shadows lurking in the dark corners could not easily reach her.
Convinced that her parents had stopped dancing between a pair of sheets, she crept like a thief towards their bed. However, she discovered nothing in the spot where her mother had placed a clay pot for voiding. Eiri dropped to all fours and began searching in the darkness beneath the bed, worried about having to undertake the terrifying journey to the jakes at the rear of the house. But what she clasped in her grasp was not the chamber pot or its unpleasant contents. In a heartbeat, the icy fingers of the bogeyman seized her wrists, and it growled at her from the inky blackness.
The memory sent shivers down Eiri’s spine. The incident had occurred nearly five years ago, but it still gave her the chills even today. She cast a fearful glance at the dark shadow line near the bed. Just then, something pounced on her from behind, causing Eiri to scream in terror.
“What on earth are you doing there?!” roared Ludmila’s voice from the doorway.
The attacker of half Eiri’s weight immediately released her and giggled softly. Still petrified, Eiri recognised her brother in that mischievous tone and turned around at once. Anti stood before his sister, wearing her old, extensively patched shirt, girded with a bast, and grinning from ear to ear.
“Funk,” laughed Anti, whose skin was the same honey tone as Eiri’s eyes.
“You little brat. I’ll—” Eiri raised her arm in anger.
“Shake a leg, Eiri! I won’t wait here for you till kingdom come!” the irritated mother reminded her.
Just leave without me, Eiri replied in her mind, not daring to say it aloud.
“And don’t forget to bring a basket!”
Eiri rolled her eyes and hung her arm.
“Are you listening to me, Eiri?!” demanded the relentless voice.
“Yes, Mum,” she said aloud for Ludmila to hear.
Her attention turned away from Anti, and she approached the chest near her parents’ bed. Eiri lifted the lid with both hands and looked at the piles of clothes she had neatly folded under the watchful eye of their mother the previous day. Morose, Eiri pulled her best yellow clothes over her head and reached for an outfit made of coarse linen that more resembled a sack than a girl’s dress.
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“Are you dressed yet?!” Ludmila did not give her peace.
“Yes, Mum!” she shouted with little thought.
“Liar,” Anti hissed, and he flicked her naked backside with a birch in their mother’s style.
Eiri leapt up in pain and surprise at the same time. Anti did not wait for her response; he dropped the switch and darted away before his sister could turn around.
“And don’t forget to bring a basket!” he mimicked Ludmila, sticking his tongue out at her and hiding behind the stove.
Furious, donning that ugly dress, Eiri picked up a flexible cane and pursued the fair-haired rascal. But instead of their usual chase around the stove, Anti sprinted towards the door, seeking refuge behind his mother’s skirt.
“Coward!” Eiri shouted in disappointment.
Ludmila appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “I’ve had enough of this!” she declared in a tone that made Eiri’s bum crack tighten. “Fetch a basket and let’s get going. And hand over that birch you’re hiding behind your back. I have a feeling we’ll need it,” ordered Ludmila, extending her hand.
As soon as Eiri caught sight of Ludmila, her posture stiffened like a ramrod, and her eyes shifted upward to the low attic where they were drying the gathered herbs. She swallowed nervously in response to the command and lowered her gaze. Shuffling in her bast shoes, known as lapte in that region, Eiri approached the irate mother and obediently handed her the birch twig. She glanced at Ludmila’s enraged face and hastily brought the wicker basket—the very same one she had forgotten in the woods at the start of spring, along with the lungwort flowers she had gathered to cure Anti’s chest cold. The compelled return for the basket, as nightfall approached, resulted not only in her mother’s reprimand but also in several nights of nightmares. The recollection of the dim forest and the eerie sounds that had to belong only to the creatures from ghost stories gave Eiri goosebumps and contorted her countenance.
“Why are you gawping like you’ve swallowed a toad?” Ludmila snapped, her patience wearing thin.
“Yuck! A toad,” Anti peeked out from behind her skirt.
Their mother turned around and exhibited the birch to him, a stern expression on her face, without uttering a word or making any threatening gestures. It was enough to show him to make him understand she was in no mood for jokes.
If only the same would carry weight with her. Ludmila glanced at her daughter, who could not hide her annoyance.
Eiri gave a reproachful look to their mother, who was beginning to show the first wrinkles around her brooklime-blue eyes. The square shape of her medium white face appeared visually slimmer for her hazel-blonde hair, which flowed down over her loosely tied bodice and partially covered the sunburnt nape of neck. The corners of her wide, slender lips turned downward, and though she appeared stern and menacing, she was only exhausted.
Ludmila wore a loktushe—a white bonnet, the emblem of a married woman—atop her head. The pea-green skirt that extended nearly to her ankles, overlaying her long white shirt. A girdle with pouches for gathering herbs encircled her waist above her pregnant belly. She had feet swathed in foot rags and shod in low, heel-less, soft shoes fastened around her ankles with twine. These shoes, known as krpce in the local region, were tailored from a single piece of cowhide.
“Let’s go,” commanded Ludmila.
At that moment, the anguished cry of Ivan resonated from behind her. Eiri and Anti jerked in alarm. The herbalist from Goldiloop pivoted on her heel and hurried out to her son, with the older children following suit.
The youngest member of their family sat on the doorstep beside his mother’s wicker basket. A small knife lay on the ground in front of him, its blade exposed, while its leather sheath was a little way away. Ivan clutched his bleeding finger, and his cries intensified.
Anti widened his eyes and hissed as if he could feel his brother’s pain. Eiri tensed up.
If he cut himself badly, we’re not going anywhere. A saving idea flashed through Eiri’s mind, for which she immediately felt ashamed. Ludmila let out a deep sigh.
“Show me,” she urged her son, bending over her pregnant belly. Ivan obediently raised his arm. Ludmila grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet, and then she briefly examined each of his hands.
“You’re alright,” she delivered the stern verdict, wiping a drop of blood from his index finger with her thumb.
Anti breathed a sigh of relief, whereas Eiri could not help screwing up her face.
“It hurts!” Ivan complained.
“Then you should remember it,” said the seasoned mother sternly. “I warned you not to touch the knife. But you disobeyed me, so it serves you right. I won’t pity you,” she reprimanded Ivan for his mistake and straightened up.
The chastised Ivan bit his lip and then began sucking on his finger. Observing the scene, Anti swallowed softly and unconsciously embraced his right arm. A tiny scar from his first encounter with the knife remained visible on his palm. Almost a year had passed since that incident, and he was careful not to cut himself again.
Eiri had already forgotten the pain of her first cutting wound, and therefore, she found her Anti’s caution somewhat childish. For her, the knife was no longer a forbidden object, but the daily tool she had to use in the kitchen to prepare food for the whole family. She did not relish it, just as she disliked doing laundry, collecting firewood, or rising early.
“What are you just standing there and looking at? Bend down and hand me the knife, Eiri,” said Ludmila in a tone that often made the girl despise her own name.
“Why me again?”
“Because I said so!” Ludmila fumed, looking around for the cane she had mindlessly put down as she rushed to the crying Ivan.
Nimbly, Eiri bent down to retrieve a small knife with leather wrapping and handed it to her mother.
“And the sheath? Am I supposed to pick it up myself, or what?”
Eiri grumbled under her breath. She bent down for a second time, collecting it and the basket as well, to take the precaution that Ludmila would be out of her hair.
“Unbelievable. What an effort you’ve made,” came instead of a thank you.
Eiri puffed out her cheeks in indignation at the reply.
“Toad!” Anti called out, pointing his finger at her. “She ate a toad! Yuck!” he started pulling faces.
“Shut up, you little bugger!” Eiri burst out, ready to leap on him.
“That’s enough. Both of you. Silence!” shouted Ludmila, turning her attention to the youngest offspring. “Let’s leave so we’re back before nightfall,” she took Ivan’s hand and stepped across the threshold with him. Anti darted after them like a sorcerer’s lightning bolt, while Eiri shambled along as if burdened by all the weight and injustice of the world in her basket.
“You’ll keep an eye on Anti,” Ludmila instructed Eiri as she locked the door.
Eiri let out a miserable howl.
I can’t believe this. Why me again? She’s doing this to spite me. She was angry with their mother and fought the urge to pitch the basket on the ground.
“Stop pulling a face as if you’ve sand in your arse. I’m not asking that much from you, am I?” Stashing the key in the bag at her waist, she shot a nasty scowl at her daughter. Eiri began opening her mouth to respond, but then thought better of it.
Mum won’t listen to me, anyway. She’ll only scold me and have things her way, as always. Eiri resigned to the losing battle and looked away.
Silence lingered for a few moments.
“So, I am,” Ludmila interpreted it as tacit approval.
Eiri remained silent. The herbalist took a deep breath, the sound reflecting her exhaustion and pain. Anti, captivated by the cabbage butterfly on the road until that moment, became alert. Ivan, also sensing their mother’s mood, clung to her skirt. Only the eldest daughter pretended to care no whit about them. But the truth was different. She liked them all, even though they often got on her nerves. However, Eiri could not put herself into Ludmila’s shoes at her young age.
“You have disappointed me,” said Ludmila, for whom it was too much.
Eiri twitched. Her mother’s words stabbed like a sharp knife. Startled by the harsh statement, she looked into her face. But it didn’t end there.
“You’re bone-idle and find everything difficult to do. I can’t believe I brought you into this world,” Ludmila released a long-suppressed rage from her mouth. It turned into a two-edged weapon that hurt even her at once. She bit her bottom lip, hands clenched into fists.
Anti rushed up to her, a frightened look on his face. Eiri’s honey eyes darkened. Her mother’s anger befell Eiri like a disease, and her hurtful words inflicted injustice.
“You had disappointed me too,” she snapped at Ludmila. “No matter what I do, it’s never good enough for you! You’re absolutely unfair!”
“In this world... nothing is fair,” her mother replied almost inaudibly, trying to control her raging emotions.
“I have to do everything. And on top of that, to watch over Anti,” continued the hurt Eiri, for whom Ludmila had become an evil stepmother at the moment.
Ivan trembled with fear. He was too young to understand all the words, let alone the complexities of interpersonal relationships. The Eiri’s screams, their mother’s clenched hands with whitening knuckles, and the Anti’s expression gave him enough clues to understand that the situation was dire.
Anti’s chin dropped when his name came up. He adored Eiri and looked up to her, though he also enjoyed teasing her to get her attention. For the past year, he had tried in vain to compete with her, yearning to grow up and mature as fast as possible. He did not just want to surpass her; he also wanted to support Eiri more. As a result, his sister’s fury overwhelmed him like an avalanche. His voice caught in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Everything?” Ludmila snorted with a sarcastic tone. “I merely asked you to keep an eye on him. Is that too difficult for you? Or does it seem to you I’m doing nothing?” Her voice carried gravity, tinged with sadness. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not just looking out for myself, but for all four of you.”
“Four?” Eiri wondered. Ludmila pressed her lips together and placed a hand on her belly.
“Yes, Eiri. Soon you’ll be... No, you’ve been four for a while now,” she reminded her of the impending reality, an acknowledgement that Eiri had not been ready to accept until now. “So, does it really seem so unfair to look after one brother for a while?” she sighed.
Eiri swallowed hard, lowering her eyes with guilt and shaking her head.
“Very well. Let’s go,” Ludmila muttered wearily. She pulled the frightened Ivan close, absently reaching out to stroke Anti’s hair. Yet her fingers brushed only empty air. She stiffened like a thunderstruck.
“Anti?!” she yelled, looking around the street in horror.
But it was as though the five-year-old boy had vanished into thin air.