Emmy

Emmy straightened her back and breathed deeply. She balanced the tray of Krodge’s evening victuals on one hand and knocked with the other. And she waited. Unfortunately, waiting gave her time to think.

In the days following Charo’s consciousness, the two had exchanged few words, except when Zecha appeared. He could get a reply from a tree, Emmy thought. She, on the other claw, had no idea what to say. The more she thought about what happened, the tighter the knot grew in her stomach. Things weren’t normal. Her precious order had been taken away. Life had never been pleasant, but at least it had been predictable.

Emmy chewed her lower lip. Why was she keeping Charo here? When Krodge found out, Emmy’s life wouldn’t be worth living. The crone would be furious, not just at the idea of a freeloading guest, but because Emmy had been keeping secrets from her. She should have told Krodge. She should have been truthful when the crone asked about the commotion. But in the moment, thinking of the female’s desperation, she had lied. Now, it loomed over her like a knife held above her head by a threadbare string. Emmy needed things to go back to the way they were.

Eventually she was granted permission to enter.

Krodge watched as Emmy set the tray on the bedside table. Emmy’s eyes sought the walking stick. She couldn’t see it.

Waiting to be addressed, she stood with her hands clasped. Krodge faced her and raised a talon, beckoning Emmy closer. Emmy didn’t hesitate, though her heart began to thunder.

She approached and knelt as always.

‘Emena,’ Krodge said, gesturing to one pointed ear, ‘is there something I need to hear?’

Emmy stilled, heart pounding even harder.

‘Well…’ she began.

Clasping her hands on her rotund belly, Krodge narrowed her eyes.

‘Yes?’

Emmy’s mouth worked, but all that came out was a dull croak. Something changed in Krodge, a dark glint to her eyes.

She launched her hand out and clamped it around Emmy’s throat, her claws digging into the soft skin.

‘Why is there a stranger in my house?’

Waves of breath pulsed against Emmy’s face. She spluttered, trying to pry Krodge’s fingers from her neck. Her eyes bulged and her vision blurred at the edges.

‘I hear everything!’ Krodge bellowed. ‘I know there is someone here!’

Emmy’s eyes rolled back. Krodge released her grip, only to bring her walking stick down like steel. Even as her back blazed with pain, Emmy refused to cry out. It would only lead to more pain.

Staying in her kneeling position, Emmy gasped for breath.

‘I was waiting for you to tell the truth,’ Krodge said, ‘but now I see I shouldn’t have had faith in you. What is going on?’

‘Yes,’ Emmy cried, ‘there is someone else here! She was brought to me by some of the townsfolk. She was nearly dead. I did everything you taught me to try to save her.’ Her words stumbled over each other. She looked up, hoping they placated Krodge, even a little. ‘Everyone in town knows about it. They know I was only able to save her because of how well you taught me.’

Sitting upright in the bed, which creaked under her considerable weight, Krodge raised an eyeridge.

‘Get up.’

Emmy did as she was told and resisted the urge to lean against the wall, though her knees were weak.

‘How is this female now?’ Krodge asked. ‘Will she live?’

‘Yes, Madame,’ Emmy replied. ‘She’s getting stronger every day.’

Krodge tapped one thick talon on her chin and nodded.

‘I see. And folk are interested in her, are they?’

Emmy nodded.

‘Yes, Madame. Everyone who comes in asks about her.’

‘Good,’ Krodge said, settling back against her pillows. ‘In that case, once she’s able, you will put her to work. She was saved by my knowledge and is being fed by my profits. I think she owes me a little servitude.’ At Emmy’s look of disdain, Krodge waved a hand. ‘I have no interest in keeping her as a slave,’ she said. ‘But there’s an Althemerian custom I’m quite fond of. It’s about owing a debt to those who have helped you. This female, she’s to work in the shop for no pay for three weeks. After that, if she satisfies me, you can pay her a pittance. A half-bickle a day should suffice. Or she can get out. I don’t care. But make sure she knows that, for the next three weeks, she doesn’t have a choice.’

Emmy nodded, saying nothing in the hope that Krodge would dismiss her.

‘Get out,’ Krodge said, waving her hand again. ‘Go and relay my instructions.’

Relief coursing through her, Emmy retreated, the burn at her neck abating.

Straight away, she found Charo at the kitchen table.

‘You’re to work for my mistress for three weeks,’ she added as Charo’s eyes widened. ‘She says you owe her a debt.’

Charo remained silent for a moment. Then she stood.

‘Alright,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘I will.’

Eyes bulging, Emmy’s mouth gaped.

‘You’ve just been freed from servitude. Why don’t you leave? You don’t have to do what she says. You could go now, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop you.’

Charo shrugged, smiling.

‘Different, this is,’ she said. ‘I have choice, for time first in my life. And,’ she added, her face coloring, ‘I like it here. And I don’t know anywhere else.’

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Memories of Krodge’s ‘lessons’ flashed in Emmy’s mind.

‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ she said. ‘Krodge isn’t pleasant.’

‘Stabbed you, ever?’

That question made Emmy stop. She flicked through her mind. Had Krodge ever tried to kill her outright? No, she hadn’t. But what she had done had left scars. Where Charo’s marks were easily seen, Emmy had an invisible web.

‘No,’ Emmy replied, ‘but she’s done other things. She’s hurt me.’

‘Servants, all mistresses hurt them.’ Emmy bristled at the word but said nothing. ‘Is expected. If she not try to kill me, is improvement on my last mistress.’

In truth, Emmy wasn’t so sure.

Over the next few days, Charo proved to be pleasant company. At first, it was strange for Emmy to share her living space with someone other than Krodge. But she got used to it, like breaking in a new pair of boots. Unnoticeable at first, followed by an easy comfort that she could wear for days.

The young female’s speech improved effortlessly. Charo was adept at many things, from trimming and mixing to measuring and crushing. She was charming with the customers, even Mr Bose.

At the end of another long day, Charo set to sweeping the floor without being asked. Emmy attended the glass cabinets, making sure the labels were straight and forward-facing. So absorbed in her task, she jumped when Charo called her name.

‘Emmy?’

There was a gentle tilt to Charo’s lips that made Emmy flush. She turned and tried to smile back.

‘Sorry. What did you say?’

Leaning on the broom handle, Charo tipped her head to one side.

‘I asked what Middlemerish is. It’s not something they have in the north, but I’ve heard lots of folk talk about. It’s happening soon, but I don’t know what it is.’

Her mouth opening in an ‘o’ of realization, Emmy folded her arms on the counter.

‘The Middlemerish Festival is when worshippers of Nunako celebrate the goddess, the Lady of Light,’ she said. ‘It’s all about being thankful and celebrating the goodness of Nunako. People come together to drink and feast and pray.’

Charo nodded.

‘It sounds like the Haetharran Festival of Fee, the Northern god of light and growth. They have lots of gods, up there.’

Emmy smiled.

‘There’s only one goddess here,’ she said. ‘Nunako, the Light and the Giver.’

She quoted from the Gospel of Nunako, a book she has only been able to read in secret as Krodge forbade her access to it as well as the temple. Not that she would have been welcome in the temple of Light, being as tainted as she was.

‘In the midsun, Nunako would with “steadfastness and determination bring into existence the workings of life.” We celebrate the goddess’s power and how she brought everything to life. Midsun is what we call Middlemerish—some places call it Midsummer’s Eve. At Middlemerish, you write down your prayer for the rest of the cycle and tie it to one of the bows of the Great Tree in the Central Circle of the town,’ Emmy continued. ‘It’s the tallest in the whole of Metakala, so lots of people come to Bellim to celebrate Middlemerish. The higher the bow you tie your prayer to, the more likely it is to be answered by the goddess. The festival is good for the apothecary. Many folk think their Middlemerish wish will be granted if they coat their offering in special concoctions—concoctions that can be bought in Krodge’s Apothecary, for the right price.’ Emmy snorted. ‘Why go to the bother of making one when you can get one already mixed? I wouldn’t be surprised if Krodge herself made up the practice. She’ll do anything for a bickle.’

Charo’s eyes grew round. When she spoke, her voice was small.

‘Do you believe prayers can be answered?’ she asked.

‘I don’t believe in anything,’ Emmy said vehemently. The words that came out next surprised even herself. ‘Sticking a piece of dead leaf or parchment to a bit of an old tree isn’t going to do anything. There’s no point in wishing for anything. All there is in life is hard work. That’s it. And no magical spells or enchantments, or divine intervention, is going to change that.’

Nodding, Charo straightened. She began to brush again, though the movement was lackluster.

‘And what’s the Lunar Awakening?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard a lot of folk talk about that, too. About how special it is, and how it only happens once in a thousand cycles.’

‘Don’t they know anything in the north?’ Emmy asked, trying to deflect from her own outburst with levity. At Charo’s scowl, she tamed her smile. ‘The Lunar Awakening is something that’s been mentioned in holy books and folklore for a long time. It’s said that the goddess Nunako’s power comes from the moons as they cross the Arc of the Sky. They’re known as her three faces: Dato, Rafa, and Akata. When they’re stacked on top of each other, the faces talk, so their power is threefold. It’s said to allow Nunako to walk among us again.’ Emmy shrugged. Recklessness loosened her tongue again, and she went on. ‘In truth,’ she said with a final pause, ‘I don’t think any of it is real.’

Charo looked up. She blinked.

‘I feel the same way.’ Her words were slow and quiet with subdued anguish. ‘I’ve been to lots of places, seen lots of temples to lots of gods, but…I’ve never believed in any of it.’

For a moment Emmy and Charo looked at one another. Emmy felt a smile pull at her face. There was something about Charo that spoke to Emmy’s core. The simmering pain beneath the surface was how Emmy felt herself. They may have been different in many ways, but some similarities bypassed colors. Charo now wasn’t just someone Emmy worked with. Now she was a friend.

Their moment of companionable quiet was shattered as Zecha burst through the door.

‘Hello, Emmy,’ he said, dancing across the floor and ending with an elaborate bow. ‘And hello, Charo.’

Charo smiled back, fiddling with the brush.

‘Hello Zecha,’ she said.

The two held one another’s gaze for a few moments. Emmy shook her head. There was something about the way they looked at one another Emmy couldn’t understand. She never understood how folk could get close to one another, even marry, have younglings. The spark of…whatever made that happen, simply wasn’t there for Emmy. It never had been and, she suspected, it never would be. And she was perfectly content with that.

Not wanting to dwell on the issue any longer, Emmy planted her hands on her hips.

‘Soup, Zecha?’ she asked.

Charo and Zecha laughed about something as they followed her to the kitchen, staying close to one another. Emmy prepared a tray for Krodge and set three bowls on the table. There was a large pot of soup bubbling over the fire. Charo attended it, still chattering with Zecha.

Emmy caught a glance of Charo’s limbs in the glow of the fire and she winced. The scars on Charo’s arms, legs, and face were thrown into stark relief as the light of the flames illuminated her. Emmy shook her head. It had taken a lot of abuse to become as good at household chores as Charo. Shaking off her musing, Emmy shifted her attention to Zecha.

‘How’s business?’ he asked, perching on one of the long wooden benches.

‘Busy. Middlemerish is soon, after all.’

‘True,’ Zecha replied. He turned to Charo. ‘How are you finding working for such an illustrious apothecary?’

Emmy rolled her eyes. Charo chuckled.

‘I’m enjoying it,’ she said, the skin of her face reddened by the fire. ‘I’m very grateful.’

You’ll learn a lot from Emmy,’ Zecha said. ‘She’s talented.’

Emmy rolled her eyes again and shook her head.

‘Zecha, hush.’

Nonplussed, Zecha shrugged.

‘I’m only telling the truth,’ he said.

Charo flushed and turned away. She lifted the pot from the fire. As her muscles stretched and flexed, Zecha was at her side to take the weight.

Emmy watched as Charo stepped back, her brows drawn together. She managed to chuckle.

‘I’m so used to being the one who does all the fetching and carrying and making,’ Charo said as Zecha brought the pot to the table. ‘It doesn’t feel right to have someone else do it for me, especially—’

Charo snapped her mouth shut to trap the words. But Zecha knew.

‘Especially by a male?’ he asked. He shook his head, his expression still amiable. ‘Don’t worry. I understand. I’m used to it. And you’ll learn to accept help, I think,’ Zecha said. ‘I can’t imagine that it’s easy to adjust to a free life. You are free here, aren’t you?’ he asked with one eyeridge raised, his gaze flicking to Emmy.

‘Oh, yes!’ Charo said. ‘I’m free. I could leave any time. I just…’ She looked at Emmy. ‘I don’t want to go. It’s nice here. I get shelter and a bed, and a little money. Money!’ Her face beamed with delight. ‘I’ve never had money in my life. Emmy even bought me these new clothes and sandals,’ she said, turning to show off her garments. ‘They’re new. I’ve never had anything new before.’

As the two prattled about their lives and Charo ladled soup into bowls, Emmy stood back and watched. A warmth permeated her abdomen, loosening the ever-present knot in her stomach.

Then she looked down at the tray. Krodge’s tray. Her heart grew cold. Perhaps one day, I’ll be free, she thought. She glanced at Charo, her plucked head now covered in harsh spikes of newly growing fronds.

Perhaps…