Roses (15 page)

“We’re washing at the river today,” said Isole one bright morning.

Washing clothes was normally a difficult affair that involved future planning and a whole day heating water and hanging wet garments over the fire, but in the spring and summer, the Hilland women met regularly to wash together at the river.

“Carry this.” Isole shoved a huge basket of clothes into Beauty’s arms and they trudged to the river together. The water gushed on the far side of the valley, and as they reached it, Beauty was surprised to see so many women lined on its bank.

“Isole!” cried Duna, motioning to a spot that she had saved next to her.

Beauty carried the basket over, but Isole pushed her back.

“That’s my place! Yur’ll be at the end of the line.”

Beauty stumbled downstream, where the youngest Hill girls were working. When they saw her approach, they moved over, leaving a large gap, and she knelt down, pretending not to notice.

The water there was soapy and difficult to wash out of the garments. Fumbling with clothes, Beauty looked upstream, past the row of white anths to the top of the river, where Isole was sitting at Duna’s side, surrounded by the older, respected Hill women. They spoke loudly enough for all to hear.

“How yur finding things now, Isole?” asked Duna. “Are yur settled? Hally and I misses yur much. Yur were our last young one.”

“It ain’t been easy, Auntie.”

A glare was shot downstream.

“My papa were gone so many seasons. He’s almost a stranger and we’ve not a lot of sticks for he spent much on his journey.”

A few of the older Hill women flinched. Beauty had noticed that Hillanders did not like to speak of sticks. They found it distasteful, unlike in Sago where it would be a common topic to discuss over syrupy tea.

“If yur needs anything, my child, yur come to me and Hally. Yurs a daughter to us.”

Isole beamed. “My apron is almost worn through. I spent so much time making our dress for that
thing
. Did I tell yur she ruined it? Completely tore it to shreds.”

“Yur said, my child. It were a nasty, evil thing for it to do to yur.”

This was said loudly, in case Beauty was not aware that they were speaking of her.

“Of course Papa won’t say a word against her.”

“He’s probably scared of it, my child.”

“She’s completely spoiled!”

Beauty stood and picked up her basket.

“I told yur that yur have to stay down there,” said Isole as Beauty approached her.

Beauty slammed the basket down in front of her.

“What do yur think yur doing?”

“Giving you washing to do,” she replied. “I am not going to do it listening to you speak of me so. Do it yourself.”

Isole gasped. “Did yur hear that? I swear she never helps me, Duna. I’ve gotta keep that cottage all on my own.”

“Don’t yur fret, my child,” Duna soothed, before turning to Beauty. “Yur go and do that washing!”

Beauty bent close to her face. “No.”

Duna made the sign of the gods and Beauty marched away.

“Yur bad creature!” she shouted after her. “Yur bad, bad creature!”

At first, Beauty thought that she might go to Comrade and tell him the whole sorry tale, but instead she turned in the opposite direction. Climbing up the hillside, she headed for the next valley,
where the men were tending the crops. Owaine, too, would be working nearby, training horses to be sold in town.

“What yur doing, Beauty?” he panted as he spotted her approaching.

The men in the fields caught sight of her and watched, open-mouthed.

“I thought yur were washing today? Yur should go back. This ain’t the place for women and girls.”

She stopped beside him and he saw her sad, pale expression.

“I cannot spend my days with Isole,” she whispered.

“Things are hard between yur, ain’t they?”

Beauty nodded.

“Owaine! Owaine!” shouted Hally, jogging over. “Things all right here?” He pushed his crushed leather hat back from his eyes.

The men in the fields behind him were still watching.

“Cousin, I wish to ask yur another favor, though yur’ve done enough for me.”

Hally glanced at Beauty. “We’re happy to have yur back and for the work yur have done. What’s it to be?”

“I’d like Beauty to help me in my work.”

“Owaine—”

“She’s good with horses.”

“Hill women don’t get—”

“She ain’t a Hill girl, as everyone keeps reminding her.”

Hally tugged his beard. “They won’t like it, Owaine.”

“She’ll stay by my side always, yur’ll see. And with her helping me, we’ll have double the horses to take to town come autumn.”

“Double?”

“Double.”

Hally counted the mares running loose in a field behind him.

“I count three wild horses. Yur tamed one since yur got here and yur did a good job. If yur can tame all them three, plus three more
before autumn, and make ’em good riding horses, then she can help yur if yur so please.”

Owaine ducked his head. “I thank yur, Cousin. We can do that and more.”

Hally sighed before striding away.

“I can really help you train the horses?” Beauty asked quietly.

“Yur can, yes. But we better keep that wager. Hally’s my cousin, but he’s Imwane’s Head Man and can’t give me too much special treatment.”

Beauty looked over at the wild horses, bucking and cantering in the field nearby.

“How did he get to be Head Man?”

“The villagers voted him in after the last one left.”

“Who was the last Head Man?”

“Me.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

The Girl with Amethyst Eyes

B
eauty and Owaine worked hard together training horses. Every day they awoke at dawn, walked with the other men to the next valley, and then backed and disciplined horses until the sun began to set.

Though Beauty had helped at the stables at Rose Herm, she had never handled a wild horse before, and it was not as easy as she had anticipated. In her first few days, she fell off more times than she could count, was bitten continuously, and had purple hoof-shaped bruises covering her body. This gave Isole some satisfaction. She saw Beauty hobbling home in the evenings and she would smile.

“Good day?” she would ask. “I been working my fingers to the bone cleaning this house while yur been out. Make yurself useful and chop some wood.”

When Isole was told that Beauty would now be working with Owaine every day, she had kicked up a huge fuss. She accused her father of not caring for her and, afraid that it was the truth, Owaine agreed that when Beauty returned from working the horses, she would perform odd chores to help Isole.

“I’m sorry,” he had muttered to Beauty, after the agreement was made.

“It is all right. I would rather that than spend the whole day working with her.”

So all through the bright springtime and the hazy summer, Beauty worked hard. As the days passed, she grew stronger and she finally settled into her Hilland life. She enjoyed the ceremonies at the temple, having never learned anything about the gods in Sago, and she liked training the horses. She was still ignored by the vast majority of Imwane villagers, but she cared little about that now.

When the faint drizzle that always pervaded the Hilland air began to thicken to fat rain and the trees began to shed their leaves, Owaine and Beauty made plans to travel to town. They had backed and trained seven horses, overreaching Hally’s bargain, and they were keen to see what their steeds could raise at the market.

“Imwane ain’t never tried to sell riding horses before, just wild ones,” said Owaine proudly one evening over dinner. “I think they gonna fetch even more than Hally’s been thinking.”

He grinned at Beauty and slurped a mouthful of ale.

“That’s all very nice, Papa,” said Isole. “But I got some stuff I want yur to get from town for me. I need new cloth for a dress and more lace for an anth.”

“But Duna and Hally gave yur a new apron only a season ago.”

“That ain’t a dress! And I need ribbons—like the kind Pia were wearing at the temple yesterday.”

“Whatever for?”

“I ain’t ever had nothing fine and if yur horses is gonna make as much as yur say then I want my share.”

Owaine looked like he might refuse.

“If yur must know, I want to look nice for Mama’s remembrance,” she added.

Owaine froze and Beauty looked up from her bowl.

“I want yur to come, Papa,” said Isole. “I ask Hally to hold it every year and this’s the first year yur gonna be around to attend.”

Owaine’s face turned ashen and he looked as though he might be sick. There was a long silence.

“Well?” said Isole, shifting in her seat. “Yur gonna come, ain’t yur? It’s important to me.”

Beauty watched Owaine worriedly; she had never seen him look so pale.

“Yes,” he said at last, as though it gave him great pain. “Yes.”

Isole glanced at Beauty.

“Yur not to come,” she hissed.

Owaine slammed his hand against the table.

“I say who attends my wife’s remembrance!” he roared.

Beauty had never seen him so angry and Isole trembled.

“I knew yur would do this!” she screeched. “Yur care for that
thing
more than yur own daughter! What would my mama say if she were alive?”

Isole ran from the table and out of the cottage, banging the door behind her. The chickens, which were now inside the cottage waiting for the colder seasons, squawked at the noise. Then there was silence.

Owaine rubbed his eyes.

“I do not have to attend if it causes you so much trouble,” said Beauty.

“But I’d like yur there.”

“Then I will come.”

He pushed his half eaten dinner aside.

“Do you think . . . do you think that your wife would have liked me?”

Owaine smiled. “I know so, Beauty. My wife were sweet but strong. She were pretty and so young. So very young.”

He bit his lip.

“Is that why you came to Sago? Because she—”

“Yes ’em. We were young, but I loved her much and we were doing so well in Imwane. I were Head Man and we lived where Hally does now.”

“The big house?”

Owaine nodded.

“She come from a village on the other side of the Hillands—a prosperous village. She married beneath herself with me, but I were gonna make it up to her. I worked so hard, but then she died. She caught a sickness after Isole were born.”

“Did Isole know her?”

“She were but a few seasons old. I couldn’t stay when she were gone. I had to leave and Hally were so good to take Isole in and be Head Man. I used to sometimes think I were never gonna come back.”

“But you did.”

“Yes ’em. Don’t think I could’ve managed it without yur, Beauty. I misses my wife everyday, but I’m gonna see her again in the end. That’s what the scriptures say.”

Beauty smiled.

When the first great gusts of autumn wind started to whistle through the hills, Owaine and Beauty set out for the nearest town. They tethered their horses in a long line and all the villagers of Imwane came out to wave them on their way.

“It is the first time that they have smiled at me,” said Beauty as they passed the temple and looked down on the crowd of crushed leather hats and white anths.

“They’re hoping we return with many sticks,” replied Owaine.

The nearest town was two days’ ride and they made the journey easily. Owaine took the lead with Sable, who was still as calm and trusty as ever, and Beauty followed at the rear on a dapple-gray mare—the first horse that she had tamed.

They entered the town market, drawing many curious glances, for trained Hilland horses were rare and quite valuable. It was said that horses from the hills were wilder than any other and the most difficult to break, but they outlived, outran, and outperformed all others. Owaine and Beauty were expecting to make many sticks.

And the town market did not disappoint. All seven horses were sold for at least double the expected amount at auction.

“Hally’ll be blessing the day he saw yur, Beauty,” said Owaine, grinning broadly. “There’s a bundle of sticks here even after we’ve given our third share to Imwane.”

“Can we watch the rest of the auction?” Beauty asked, sad to see all the horses go.

“Of course. We got the rest of the day—I can’t believe we sold ’em all before noon.”

With Owaine laughing and smiling to himself, they made their way back to the auction ring and stood in front of the fence to watch the animals being led in.

Having become accustomed to the solitude of the Hillands, Beauty found leaving them strange. This flat, cultivated land now seemed dull to her. The paths felt too narrow and the people too loud. She was surprised to find that she missed the hills and was looking forward to her return.

Suddenly she stilled, all thoughts of Imwane vanishing from her mind and the hair on her arms rising. A colt was led into the
ring and she fixed her eyes upon it. It was dragged and slapped, its terrified eyes rolling in its head. There were cuts on its bedraggled, thin flanks and knotted clumps in its mane and tail. It was covered in muck and diminished in size, and she knew right away that she must have it.