The first step I took in this world, feels the same till the end. Dull, moist air fills my lungs. It is a cold winter today too. I walk to the shed, hugging the waistline of my slightly tattered stola which had begun to fray, my sandal long soiled by the mud puddles on the ground. Overcast, nimbostratus clouds gather, this never ending rain.
‘Stallus can’t hold on much longer, I must get him medicine.’
I grip my fist determinedly, thinking of his constant diarrhea and vomiting. Memory of the local physician fills my mind. 1-2 lengths of medium quality woven linen cloth for a bundle of dried chamomile. Whilst the astringent herbs needed to control the inflammation and diarrhea costs 3-5 lengths of higher quality wool.
“Sir, as you know, my parents have departed for a long journey and haven't returned. Please, my brother is all I have.”
“No exceptions kid, you’re not the only one who has mouths to feed.”
Barely enough. What I have is barely enough. But what can I do but try? So far I have 2 lengths (1 meter) of high quality wool textile. A frown fixes itself on my lips. The cloth I plan on saving for my Chrismation, my adulthood ceremony. Gone. Just like this. This last jar will be the final stash of merino wool.
I briefly remember my herds of sheep, some of which succumbed to illness due to the poor weather. There’s not much merino sheeps left as they seem to take the brunt of the illness. Only 3 newborns and 4 adults left. When my parents were still here, we had an expansive plot of land to work with, 40 flocks of sheep, not enough to be called wealthy but enough to not be needy.
Then, we were left to fend for ourselves. From greedy relatives, and the shortness of labor. From the illnesses and the failing economy. It is not a good period to be alive as a farmer, nor a seamstress. With taxes this high and a winter this harsh. With the illness that beset our hoards of sheep.
I unlock the rusted lock with the key hanging on my neck. The only memento left I have of my parents. It smells old. But all I can feel is the coldness of the rough surface. Inside the shed are the preserved wheats from this earlier harvest, jars of dried onion, garlic and pepper, under it lies the underground storage where we keep the carrots freshly harvested this winter, and potatoes. But that is not why I came here, I redirect my focus despite my stomach grumbling harshly, the last jar of merino wool.
Don’t grab the food. I remind myself. Time is of essence. Stallus’s medicine is so expensive, I can’t waste any of it. Neither time, nor our decreasing stock of harvests. The clay jar of wool feels all the more heavy. But somehow, I manage to bring it inside my modest home.
“I am home, Stallus!” I call out to my younger brother. Only to be greeted by silence. Figures, his cold must have gotten worse. At the very least, the fire in the fireplace keeps me warm. I watch the dying fire nearly extinguished from the disappearing wood, die down and throw another log from last week’s stock. Almost out. I sigh. Don’t be depressed. This is how life is and how life will always be. Get used to it.
My tired hands ache still, I ignore it and take out the long spans of wool, spinning it on the device. I suppose I have another memento of our mother. Sometimes, I wonder why they left. Nightfall comes. And daybreak. Several cycles. By the time I am done, Stallus appears on the brink of death.
“Hang on, Stallus. Here, drink this chamomile infusion.” I encourage him, bringing a wooden bowl to his lips. He does not move much, in the end, I have to drip it into his mouth using a wooden spoon.
“Lillai…” Stallus calls my name, I immediately look at his, his hazel eyes, that reddens, “Sorry… I am such a burden.”
I can only pat his head, calming him as I feed him medicine again, “I am your older sister. This is what I am supposed to do.”
His fever rises and soon I am left to silence once more. Drab and dreary. This place. I sigh and place the 3 lengths of high quality textile meant for my adulthood ceremony in the wooden basket and head towards the physician’s place. It is not a nice time period to be a farmer, or a seamstress, and certainly not one for an orphan.
The slightly elevated house in front of me stands out from the surroundings. Though only slightly. For one, it is made out of medium quality wood and not too shabby in construction. There is even some engravings, some decorations on the door where a lantern is hung. Gosh, he wasted a lantern for the door.
“Open up, sir. I brought the textile you asked for!” I knock on the door, using my cramped hands, right hand gripping the basket in case it falls or gets stolen. I dart my gaze around, so alert, I can feel my heart palpitate.
The old physician opens it with half hearted cheer. I can see more meat in his cheekbones in comparison to mine that has sort of sunken. The familiar smell of medicine strikes my nose, and even more disturbingly, the smell of incense. Behind the old physician, is a 7 year old daughter, holding his gray and woolen long tunic… Somehow, the sight of his nearly equally tattered tunic makes me realize, he too is a villager.
“Come in.” He says as though grumbling, and I quickly enter inside. He goes behind to the humble storage where he keeps the medicine, and very quickly assembles the jar of astringent herbs. At least he keeps his words. I nod to myself, outstretching my hands for the jar, and causing him to outstretch his in return, “The cloth.”
I scramble, hurriedly putting forward the basket but hesitate for a second before pulling it back, my lips speaking faster than my fear, “This is all I have, please keep your words.”
The physician snorted for a second, before taking the cloth in the basket away, and handing me the jar of medicine in return, “I may be many things, but I am not a fraudster, kid.”
I sigh in relief going straight to the entrance when the sight of the physician’s daughter catches my eyes. Weirdly high quality stola (dress) and a flowing blue palla (rectangular shawl) which fits her small body. Really a walking piece of silver. I grind my teeth as the physician lifts her up into the air, telling her of her new clothes. Dad… where are you?
When I return home, I quickly boil the medicine for Stallus, and cools it for a second before bringing it to his lips. Oak bark. Blackberry leaves. Plantain. Tormentil. Witch hazel. Please, God. I beg in my mind, I can’t lose Stallus too.
But, his fever does not end, nor does the rain. I sit, putting the jar containing remaining herbs on the corner, before walking out into the rain. Gone. The memories of my parents fill my eyes. Gone. The garment I painstakingly saved for my 14th birthday. Gone..? The sight of Stallus smiling fills my mind. How many more?
I walk till the skies which had been faintly red from the falling sun darkens and the surroundings become unfamiliar. Out of nowhere, I can hear a light and melodious singing. The voice of a woman, as pristine as water itself, as raw as a storm. As the breaking of waves, as a shipwreck on its collapse. “Dust till dawn, the lingering tears fall. Rush and sow, the fisherman goes...”
Worried about the recent case of children disappearing, I keep my hands wrapped around my stola, my shoulders remain uncovered by the palla I left at home. It is cold. So cold, this winter. The song does not end, becoming increasingly eerie. “Who will tell of the sinner’s wish grown.”
“Who are you?” I call out, my mind on the verge of breaking apart.
The song only continues onwards, “Dust till dawn, the creeping tears grows. Rush and sow, the killer man goes.” I turn around to the source of voice, there in the river I have so nearly stepped into, the body of a beautiful woman, flowing ginger hair, skin as pale as porcelain. She turns her back around, those eyes burnt shut.
Suddenly, I begin losing control of my body, my legs walk on their own towards the river, I regain enough control to use my hands but only my hands. Adamantly, I hit my legs, with both palms. “Stop! Stop! Stop moving!”
Her voice only grows stronger, “Come forward, this sinner’s wish grown.” I keep on losing control of my body, my hands gradually lose control. The water nearly comes into contact with my legs. “Dust till dawn, the bloody tears fall.” She just won’t stop singing! I stare at her my conscious fuzzy, is that… a fish tail?
A smile falls into my lips. Even as a girl, I can only think of one line. Oh, she is so beautiful. My legs fall into the waters, hitting up to my ankles, a scaly hand touches my cheek, her fangs rise forwards as though planning to draw my blood. Her lips on it’s way to say the final verse before I am trapped, “Dust till dawn-“
Help… so beautiful. I slowly lose control of my thoughts, when suddenly a pebble is thrown at the creature’s mouth. I glance behind me, finally regaining my composure, thought still trapped, there on the river banks is-
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