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Erymanthos -> Dandelion--Short Story (11/11/2011 8:29:04)
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“Refugee child!”
“Magic-touched!”
“Go home to Mjalka!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark shape speeding towards her face. She flinched back, but not fast enough; the clod of dirt burst against the side of her head, causing her to gasp at the blow.
Raucous laughter rose from all around.
“Did you like that, dirt eater? Want some more?” A young man jeered, squatting to scrape up a handful of dirt from the ground. She recoiled as he stood once more, his upper lip curling up in a sneer. He made a show of packing the dirt into a ball as his taunting insult was taken up by the villagers surrounding them on either side of the riverbank.
“Dirt eater! Dirt eater! Dirt eater!”
She stared wide-eyed all around her, her breath coming out in short, quick gasps. There could not have been more than a dozen people, out to fetch the daily water for their families, but their shouts and glares whirled around in her head so that it seemed like a thousand were closing in, waiting to pelt her with dirt balls as soon as the young man released his.
Stumbling to her feet from beside the water, clutching her partially filled bucket to her chest, she began to run. As if her movement was a signal, the jeering man drew back his arm, slung it forward, and sent the clod of dirt stinging into her side. Another came from a different direction, striking the small of her back.
A few more followed but missed, sailing harmlessly to either side or to land on the path behind her. After these the villagers lost either range or interest. Aside from some last insults, no more missiles came.
She finally allowed herself to slow as she approached the little knoll upon which stood her home. Glancing down, she saw only a few inches of water remaining in the bucket; the rest of the water had sloshed out onto the path and down the front of her ragged dress.
The meager amount in her bucket was not enough to last through the day… yet after what had just happened, she could not return to the river.
She sank down to the ground, her water bucket giving a dull thud beside her. She felt like crying, but had no breath for tears.
***
‘Poor child… her parents were killed in the war.’
‘How horrible. There have been too many situations like this as it is…’
‘And there will be more. There is no stopping it.’
‘She has no other relatives she can go to?’
‘Not that anybody knows of.’
‘Then she’ll have to go to an orphanage. Do you--’
‘I’m taking care of it. There are some difficulties, though… she’s too young to know her own name, for one thing.’
‘Poor little poshka… Poshka will have to do. At least until she can decide for herself.’
***
‘Poshka, eh? Too many names like that already… What’s wrong, not enough to go around? No matter. Times like these, your name’s the least of your worries.’
***
‘Poshka… a pet name? That’s no proper name for a child… Not a proper name at all, really. Maryna, how’s that, love? It suits you, with your fair hair…’
***
‘Maryna? Hmph. I don’t really care what you’re called, as long as you come when you’re called. And do as you’re told. Nobody slacks off here, everyone has their own chores. I’ll show you once, and then I expect you to remember.’
***
‘Maryna. Oh, that’s lovely, just lovely. What a lovely barbaric name. Why, it’s so beautiful, it just makes me retch! Listen you little mud-baby, don’t let me hear you say that word again, you hear me? Just count yourself lucky to be here at all, after what happened to your last place… Why I should be forced to harbor mud-babies, I can’t figure. Only good grace is keeping me from kicking you all out into the streets…’
**
‘You. Come ‘ere. You’re old enough to take care of yourself, now. Fifteen, are you? Should’ve kicked you out several years back, but no matter. Spilt milk now. Here, now, you’re gonna go with those traders, and they’ll dump you off the first place they find. Then you’re on your own.’
***
The dull crunching of gravel broke into her memories, causing her to look up. A young man was approaching. She immediately scrambled to her feet and began to run for her houseonly to realize she’d left the water behind. She turned to get it, then stopped. The man was too near.
She whirled back around and made the last few dashes to the door, slamming it behind her. A day without water was little price to pay after what had happened to her this morning.
“Wait!” The man called.
She did not. Why would she? Did he think he could fool her?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he continued.
She was not that gullible. Still, something in his voice made her lift the flap of her window until there was a just enough of a slit for her to peek out.
“I saw what happened. And I…. I don’t know what I want to do. Hurt that fellow who threw the first one, for starters. And then all the rest…. This isn’t making a good introduction. Um.”
Unconsciously, she opened the slit wider. She now saw that he had short blond hair and brown eyes, and he was dressed in farming clothes. He was tall and had a good build, suitable for his work.
“I’m Garrick,” he finally began. “My family’s lot isn’t too far from here.”
A long pause.
“What’s your name?”
She lifted the flap even more and croaked out, “Maryna.” She wondered why her voice was so strange. Then she realized that it was because she hadn’t spoken in over three months, since she first came to the village.
“Maryna…. Isn’t that a tree?”
“A bird.”
“Oh.”
Another pause.
Garrick scratched the back of his head. “Well…. I’d better be headed back, now…. I’ll come back tomorrow? If-if that’s all right, that is.”
“…I don’t mind,” she responded, barely above a whisper.
“All right, then.”
He smiled at her before turning and going down the hill.
***
Garrick came to visit her every day after that. Sometimes it was just for a few minutes. As the days passed, he began to stay longer, sometimes for hours. Even if she could find nothing to talk about, Garrick always did. She loved just listening to his voice, looking at the expressions on his face, the gestures he made with his hands.
Later, he would bring her things. A ripe fruit one day, a bird’s nest the next, an interestingly shaped stone another. The gifts were always simple ones, but she treasured them all.
He was the only one in the village who was kind to her. Everybody else avoided her, or openly mocked her whenever she had to venture out from her house to get water or food. They hated Mjalkans, blamed the magic-wielding western race for the war that had diminished them to poverty. Although she herself held no magic, and had suffered as much from the war as anyone, they still held her responsible for the war between Mjalka and Yarre, their own country.
Garrick saw such prejudice as pointless. “What have you got to do with the war?” He demanded angrily as they sat outside her house in the sun. “Did you start it? Did you even fight in it? No… I wish the others could see that you aren’t at all at fault.”
“It’s enough for me that you do,” she murmured, eyes on the ground as she flushed. She hated that she could never seem to speak above a whisper, even around him. Some unknown fear paralyzed her.
But… Garrick had given her so much. She owed him something in return… but what? She had nothing.
Nothing. Exactly.
“Garrick,” she whispered, eyes still focused on the grass growing around her ankles, “Maryna isn’t my name.”
“It isn’t? But-”
“It’s just… just what they called me. But I’ve never thought of it as my real name.”
“Then… what is your real name?”
“I don’t know. My parents-” She stopped, overcome with tears that threatened to overflow.
“I’m sorry!” Garrick hastily apologized as he saw the emotion on her face. “I just- Hey! If you don’t have a name, why don’t we give you one?”
She looked up.
“Yes. Something that would be you, that you would want to be called.” He looked around, then reached out and pulled a yellow flower from the ground. “Look. These are everywhere this time of year. Like gold in the grass.” He tucked the flower behind her ear. “Dandelion.”
“Dandelion,” she replied. Stronger, she repeated, “Dandelion.”
He grinned at her. “You like it?”
“Yes.” She nodded. After a moment of thought, she asked, “What if… what if I wanted my name to be Dandelion?”
“Then that’s your name from now on. Dandelion.” He tested it. “It suits you.”
Her answering smile was so wide that it hurt.
***
Three nights later, Dandelion was sound asleep, the flower from her naming-day dried and slipped under her pillow. She didn’t hear the murmurs outside her door, or the dull thunk of an object being thrown against the side of the house. She didn’t feel the heat intensifying in her small room, or see the bright dance of the flames writhing up the walls. Smoke flew into her lungs and clouded her dreams.
Then someone was there, pulling her up, slinging her over a shoulder, rushing from the house moments before it collapsed- but she didn’t know of any of this. Dandelion was sleeping the most dangerous of sleeps.
When she finally woke, someone was splashing her face with water, calling her name over and over: “Dandelion! Dandelion, wake up! Dandelion!”
She sat up, coughing harshly as she strived to rid her lungs of the dark smoke. A fist was thumping her on the back, trying to aid her.
“Are you all right?”
It was Garrick, staring anxiously into her face. Still coughing weakly, she managed a nod.
Then she was in his arms. Staring wide-eyed over his shoulder, she took in the moving waters of the river.
“I heard them talking about it,” he whispered fiercely into her scorched hair. “They didn’t want me to know…. I came as soon as I could, but when I saw your house already on fire, I thought I was too late….”
He held her away at arms-length, looked into her face. “Dandelion, come with me. I don’t want you to go through this anymore. Come with me to Mjalka.”
“M-Mjalka?” She gasped, too surprised to say anything else.
“Yes. You won’t be persecuted there. My hair is fair enough I can get away as one of your people. We’ll go to the city… open up an inn! We’ll do anything you want, as long as we can get away from here!” His eyes were alight with possibilities.
This time it was she who threw her arms around him. They sat like that for a while before standing and disappearing, together, into the darkness.
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