Anelle woke with a start.
The warmth of the flames still coursed through her body, paralysing her. The scene was too vivid to be a dream but what else could it have been? Why had her mind conjured up a dead dragon? Even without wings she was sure it was a dragon. Her fathers library contained two books on mythical creatures that she had read from cover to cover. Each contradicted the other when it came to dragons. Anelle had conjured up images of snake-like creatures with wings. Not the beautiful hulking creature in her dream. But one thing the books could agree on was how to kill a dragon. You must take its wings and let nature take the final blow or Galencia, lord above, would strike you down for killing a majestic creature.
Anelle smiled at the thought of her walking into Zackie-Lea's shop asking for books on dragons and magic. Zackie's mouth had dropped to the floor. How naive she had been only three years ago. Word had gotten through town faster than beggars to free food. Father had made priest Jeremia lecture her for hours on end about the danger of being pulled into demonic teachings. If only she could go back to when those lectures had been a terrible punishment. When everyone she loved was alive and her only worry was how to spend her time.
Anelle lay there looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling taking deep breaths to calm down. The lumpy mattress only made her miss her old life.
Slowly her fingers began to regain movement. Then her hands and wrists. She sat up in bed with her legs hanging over the edge. To her right was a small window she hadn't seen last night. The sun had awakened hours ago with the rest of the lively city.
Her old life was gone and she should be grateful for the little comfort she had.
Hanging on a hook on the back of the door was a new chemise and overdress. Anelle slipped on the chemise and stepped into the over dress. It took several attempts for her to keep the dress from falling off her shoulders. The bodice was heavy unlike any she had worn before. The boning was built into it, making it a corset and dress in one. Instead of ties the dress had five stiff metal buttons along her left side. She fiddled with the buttons, twisting her body to find the holes. Finally after all five buttons were done she took an exasperated breath. Last summer she had worn a dress with buttons from her neck to her toes. She felt rather guilty and impressed that her maid, Gewn, had done them so quickly.
Anelle's new life would be very different but it was just beginning to dawn on her the amount she was going to need to learn.
Anelle smiled. She knew how small her achievement was but she felt proud for dressing herself for the first time. Anelle grabbed the blanket from the bed, wrapped it around herself as a makeshift shawl and left the bedroom.
Sounds of movement could be heard from the top of the stairs. The front door was wide open allowing the sun's warmth to seep into the house. People shouted and carts rolled through the streets outside.
Anelle rounded the bottom of the stairs and walked into the main room of the house. Standing next to the stove was the women from last night. She had her back to Anelle, her feet moving as she hummed a tune.
"Good morning." Anelle said. The women looked up from the stove and smiled at Anelle standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Phy-Los." She said in greeting. Her gaze fell on Anelle's shoulder. Anelle moved the blanket and felt loose fabric. The women walked over to her and popped the three forgotten buttons through their holes. Anelle lowered her head trying to hide her cheeks that were getting hotter. The kind woman overlooked her embarrassment and ushered her to sit at the table. She then rushed over to the stove, and mixed the cast iron pot.
"Tiione." The woman shouted, projecting her voice through the passageway.
The muffled sound of a response echoed back.
The woman grunted and put the heavy pot filled with stew on the table. She took a few deep breaths and wiped her pink cheeks. Footsteps sounded from beyond the kitchen. Her face turned a deeper shade of red and her eyes narrowed in anger. The boy stood in the kitchen covered in sawdust. The aforementioned leaving a trail in his wake like a snow monster leaving evidence of its presence. The woman shouted in disgust and shewed him back. She tsked her lips before sitting down at the end of the table. A moment later the boy returned, this time only the persistent wood shavings that stubbornly cling to his vest and pants remain. He sat down at the table and mumbles something resembling an apology to his mother. She nodded and started cutting into a large loaf of bread.
Anelle was baffled by the setting in front of her. In the centre was a plate but on one side were two spoons, one large and one small. She looked up hoping to follow someone's example. She watched as the boy took his large spoon and dolloped the stew on top of a slice of bread. He then rolled it up, the filling spilled out the sides dripping back on to the plate. Then took an enormous bite off the end. The broth dribbled down his chin. He hunched forward trying to catch the drips on the plate.
Anelle's face drained of colour. She turned to the women desperately hoping for a better example. The woman picked up her large spoon and took a scoop of the stew, pouring it onto her plate. The plates had a slight lip on the sides to hold the fluid. Anelle followed her example. The woman then picks up her little spoon and tucked into the stew. Anelle relaxed and took her first spoonful. The flavours danced over her tongue, salty dark meat followed by a mix of herbs leaving a warm feeling in the back of her throat. The woman handed her a slice of brown bread. Anelle looked at it for a moment realising she was supposed to take it with her bare hands. She pinched the edge of the slice, holding it in the air, her lips pursed together. Touching food with your bare hands felt dirty, her etiquette teacher would be rolling in her grave the poor woman.
The boy laughed covering his mouth as he did so. Anelle could feel the warmth returning to her cheeks. She looked down at the slice of bread and with a fake confidence ripped it in two. She copied the woman and dipped the bread into the stew a little too enthusiastically. Pulling it out the bread flopped with the extra weight, about to break off. Anelle looked across at the boy. He sat eagerly waiting for her to take a bite and make a mess. Not to be out done by a slice of bread Anelle mustered up her confidence and lifted the bread to her mouth. She swiftly took a bite and managed to keep any stew from spilling. The bread filled her mouth, the sweet spices mixed with savoury stew, brought a tear to her eyes. Despite her perfect execution the boy still laughs at her reaction. She ignored him. The flavours took all of her attention and she continued to dip the spiced bread into the stew until her plate was wiped clean.
"Kllua gilsr?" The boy looked across at her as he spoke, his eyebrows raised slightly.
Silence followed. Anelle realised the boy's question was directed at her. She looked back at the boy trying to read the meaning of his question from his face. He sighed. He pointed at his chest and looked her in the eyes.
"Tii-O-ne, Tiione," he then pointed his finger at her and asked, "Kllu?"
He waited patiently watching her. Anelle remembered the women shouted the same word earlier and grasped it was his name.
"Anelle." She responded.
His eyes grew bright and a smile covered his face. The woman looked up at her and smiled as well.
"Anelle, holu breter." The woman said. Taking Tiione's lead she points at her chest, "Emera."
"Emera," Anelle repeated and smiled.
A feeling of joy wells up in her chest. A wall between them had been cracked by a boy no older than ten. Anelle felt a small weight slip from her shoulders. The isolation she had felt on arriving in this foreign place was beginning to slowly melt.
*****
Over the next few days life fell into a simple routine. Anelle became Emera's shadow, watching and copying her. Emera would often use the words 'Aige' or 'Jeá' and wave Anelle over. She felt like a clumsy toddler constantly making mistakes.
"Doilrt." Emera said.
Anelle watched Emera dunk the dirty laundry into the cauldron that they bathed in. Emera then grabbed a rag pouch that was filled with small rough stones and began rubbing the garments with it. Once finished she squeezed out the excess water and handed Anelle the white shirt and pointed at the rafters above. Anelle threw the sopping wet shirt towards the rafter. The shirt flew through the air hitting the wood and falling to the ground. Emera let out a laugh clutching her stomach. She barely made a sound as she gasped for air. Once Emera got her breathing under control, she shook her head and repeated the word 'Kee' with a lingering smile on her lips. She pointed at the stool she was standing on and then back at the rafters. Anelle's face grew hot, she looked away to hide her embarrassment. She quickly picked up the shirt and brought it back to the basin. Anelle washed the shirt under Emera's watchful gaze. This time standing on the stool she hooked the shirt over the rafter and left it to dry.
Every two or three days Emera would hand Anelle a basket of dirty clothes or bedding for washing. She felt incredible pride that Emera trusted her. Anelle struggled the first time she had to wash the bed sheets and figured out a way to throw them over the rafters without dragging on the floor. By the end she was as wet as the sheets and yet again got a laugh out of Emera.
Anelle walked back into the living room having just finished the washing, her dress mostly dry. She tied her spare apron around her waist as she walked.
Emera was at the kitchen bench, her hands and apron covered in a combination of different flours. The beginnings of dough sat on the counter in front of her. Her head was tilted back with her eyes closed, her mouth silently mumbled something.
Anelle quietly took a seat at the table, unnoticed. She pulled a shirt from her pocket and searched for the hole. Tiione had brought it to her yesterday, his eyes darted to the door that Emera had just walked out of, deliberately making sure his body blocked the shirt from view. His eyes pleading as he showed her the newly made gash, his hand mimicking the motion of sewing. Anelle nodded and saved him from his mothers wrath.
Anelle pulled Emera's sewing tray from the cabinet onto the table, looking for the right needle and thread in the different compartments. At first she felt uncomfortable touching Emera's sewing supplies. Her step mother had always been overprotective of her sewing box but Emera had happily allowed her to take what she wanted. The woman had practically thrown the box at her when she found out Anelle could sew. Anelle was thankful for the hours her step mother and governess had spent forcing her to learn embroidery against her will. Emera had praised her tiny intricate stitches as if they had been a gift from the heavens. However, Anelle suspected the praise may have been less for her craftsmanship and more because they could share the workload. Tiione seemed to rip his shirt every other day. Emera would always sit down after the evening meal to sew before the fire. She made new clothes as well. Mostly male clothes but far too big for Tiione to wear anytime soon.
Emera remembered her last ingredient and moved with a skip in her step through the pantry to find it. Anelle swiftly began stitching up the hole and kept looking up to watch as Emera started kneading the dough. This was the first time that Emera had not invited her to watch and learn what she was doing. It made Anelle curious as to what type of bread she was making. Emera slowly added water as the dough collected more of the flour from the bench, until it was a solid ball. The dough recipe was simpler than the spiced bread they often ate. But Anelle felt a sombre presence about it, all day she had felt something was different.
Emera threw the dough into a skillet with a decent helping of oil. Once cooked she flipped the bread onto the bench. A heavy thump followed as it landed.
Having finished sewing up the hole Anelle folded the shirt and placed it in her pocket. She slipped past Emera and headed through the passageway towards the workshop.
The outside door was propped open, sounds of the street beyond drifted in and out. The chatter of people, carts and the occasional sound of cattle drifted past. The light illuminated the space. Sawdust covered the table and clung to its surroundings. Ruff cut pieces of wood in different stages of shaping lay on the workbench. The free standing shelves held more wooden objects in different states of creation. The back wall was lined with drums of strange syrupy liquids. Loosely hanging on the far wall were long white gut strings in different thicknesses, wrapped around one another in figure of eights. Beneath the strings hung a variety of metal tools with strange shaped ends, some round and coarse others long and pointy.
Anelle had few reasons to explore the workshop and took her time looking through the shelves. She recognised an almost finished lute with no strings attached and smiled recalling the first time she heard the sound. A travelling group of performers had once stopped in Athary village and she had snuck out of the house with her older sisters to see them perform. She recalled the sounds of that night. The music had coursed through her entire body compelling her to move. She had happily allowed her eldest sister, Alyse, to pull her and Lea into the fray of dancers, not stopping till their feet were sore and their lungs gasped for air.
On the shelf above was an ornate violin stained black with silver constellations painted over its surface. The edges were gilded in silver but it was missing its strings. Violins were far more common in high society but this one was a work of art. She gently picked it up by the back of the neck, resting the bottom in the palm of her hand. She remembered her music instructor caining the back of her legs when she first picked up a violin crushing the strings with her fingers. A mistake she would never make again. She had struggled with violin for an entire year before her instructor had recommended she change to the pianoforte. Her wide hands and long fingers had been a hindrance with the strings, either crushed against each other or pressing multiple strings at once. It didn't help that she hated practicing. That year of struggling had given her an appreciation for the instrument and anyone who was skilled at the art.
She carefully placed the violin back and continued around the shelves. In the back corner of the room Tiione was standing next to a shelf, deep in thought. He was holding a piece of wood next to the scroll of a finished mandolin, turning his piece slightly to compare the shape. Tiione's brown wavy hair reflected the afternoon light coming in from the small window above. The waves were more intense and lighter than Emera's and likely came from his father.
He looked up. Analle pulled his shirt out of her pocket and held it up for him to inspect. A smile bloomed across her lips. He took in the shirt, holding up the bottom to find only the tiniest seam where he had ripped it the day before. He ran his hands over the almost seamless stitching.
"Kullu Nabe." He said, taking the shirt from her.
"Kee, kee." Analle grabbed the shirt from him and folded it back up before placing it in her pocket again. "Doilrt."
He looked at her confused with furrowed brows.
Not knowing how to say the word clean she simply said 'doilrt' the word for washing and pointed at him. His current shirt and pants were covered in the usual mix of sawdust and woodchips, the pocket of his apron was filled with the stuff. Then she made a brushing motion on her shoulders and arms. He looked down at himself and nodded with a laugh.
"Tiione, Anelle!" The distant shout came from the direction of the house.
Anelle headed back towards the passageway. She stopped at the threshold and shook her skirts to get rid of any sawdust. Tiione also remembered to brush himself off.
The dining table was set for three, with the dense bread Emera made earlier centre stage. A small bowl of liquid, sat next to each plate. There were no utensils to be seen. Anelle sat in her usual seat across from Tiione. Her confusion was met with his disgruntled face. The bread was already cut into five even strips. Emera sat at the end of the table and took the two end pieces and gave them to Tiione and Anelle. She then took the next size up and placed it on her own plate, leaving the two larger slices on the table. Tiione started to grumble at his portion, pointing at the slices at the centre of the table. Emera was having none of it tonight. Her tone was low and commanding as she scolded him. He pouted as he dipped his bread in his bowl of salty water before eating it. He chewed through his anger. Anelle took a bite and felt pain shoot through her tooth. The bread was incredibly hard. She dipped the bread in her bowl and tried again. The bread, if you could call it that, was bland and stodgy. One of the worst things she had ever eaten. She was shocked by how bad it was. Since living here Emera's cooking has always been delicious and full of spices.
She looked up, and both Tiione and Emera seemed to be enjoying supper as much as she was. It was evident with the current atmosphere that there would be no other food tonight. She dipped her piece of bread into her bowl and continued to eat.