Maylie
THE LINE OF trees further up the mountainside seemed to shift and shiver.
‘Mam?’
‘Mam, dinner’s ready!’
It was Gredie, her eldest son, trudging towards her, swishing a stick through the bracken. Tawny sheep scattered in his wake, bucking and bleating.
‘You’ve been out here for ages,’ he added.
Maylie looked back at the forest, but whatever she thought she had seen in the trees had gone.
‘I’m coming,’ she replied, picking up her trug laden with cut grasses and herbs. ‘I didn’t realize it were so late.’
She had set out earlier that afternoon to roam the surrounding hillsides and restock her supplies. There were some plants that only grew wild and would not sprout in her garden, no matter how often she took cuttings and tended them diligently.
‘Pap said you were out this way.’
Maylie had not told Chrisanie when or where she was going, but her husband had a knack for sensing her whereabouts.
‘I were collecting posieous,’ she said, pointing at the tangled, thorny plant at their feet, its yellow buds interspersed with thin, green leaves.
‘’Tis a remedy for headaches. Some call it mountain breath. ’
Gredie dutifully looked and nodded. It was not so long ago that he would have been fascinated, peering closely and asking questions.
When her sons were small, Maylie used to strap them to her back as she strode about the mountainside, their snuffles and babbles in her ears.
When they were bigger, they had toddled after her, singing songs together and collecting sticks, flowers and stones on their way.
But one by one, as the winters passed, they had stopped, preferring to stay by the cottage or play with the village children in the main square.
Last summer had been the final time Rozowie joined her on her forages.
She missed their company and had been looking forward to carrying a new baby on her back again.
Maylie slipped her hand beneath her shawl and touched her stomach. When she woke this morning, for a few blissful, painful moments she had still thought that she carried a child in her belly.
‘Come on, Mam,’ said Gredie. ‘I’m starving.’
He dipped his shoulder and lightly bumped her side. Maylie had not told her children about the pregnancy, but at ten winters, Gredie could sense something was wrong. For the last day he had been unusually thoughtful and occasionally affectionate.
‘You finished up your chores?’ she asked as they walked side by side. ‘You’ve even scrubbed the floor?’
It was the most hated job in their household and it rotated around each family member. Everyone tended to forget when it was their turn.
‘Yep. And polished it.’
‘What a kind son the Great Creator has blessed me with.’
Gredie turned to her with hands clasped. ‘I were thinking that as a reward … we could go to Tormale?’
Maylie stopped short.
‘To see all the ceremonies,’ Gredie added in a rush. ‘The Maiden Sacrifice, the royal funeral and the coronation of the new King!’
A herald had arrived in Silicia yesterday, spreading the news of King Borto’s death throughout the Mountain villages, and inviting his subjects to the funeral in the capital.
‘Why would we do such a thing?’ asked Maylie, trying to ignore the quick, panicked thud of her heart.
‘’Cause loads of people in Silicia are going.’
Gredie peered at her from beneath his mop of hair. All of Maylie’s sons had the same pale brown hair and light eyes as their father.
‘Bosiccie said his family are making the trip tomorrow. Can we go too, please? I’ve never been to the capital and they said ’tis amazing. Nothing like Silicia. Or even Morccia – and that’s the biggest Mountain village I know.’
A memory of Tormale and the Pits surfaced in Maylie’s mind. She saw cramped, winding streets and oily cobblestones.
‘Your friend has never been to Tormale,’ said Maylie, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘’Tisn’t amazing, as they say. ’Tis dirty and teeming.’
Gredie groaned. ‘I knew you’d say no. Can’t I go with them if they’ll let me?’
‘No.’
Maylie strode ahead, fighting to keep old, painful memories buried.
‘’Tis not fair!’ Gredie shouted behind her. ‘You’ve seen it. You used to live there!’
Maylie stopped again. Fear clutched at her throat. ‘Who told you that?’ she snapped, turning around.
Gredie fiddled with the stick in his hands. ‘Bosiccie’s mam mentioned it. I asked Pap if it were true and he said it were.’
‘What else did your pap say?’
Gredie blinked. ‘Nothing.’
Maylie exhaled a fine, silvery gasp into the cooling evening air.
‘Why have you never mentioned it before, Mam?’
‘’Tis not nice to think of,’ she replied.
‘Why did you come back to Silicia? Dracie moved to the city two winters ago and wrote to his grandpap that he’ll never return. He said it were better in the city than here.’
Maylie bit her lip. She did not want to lie to her son. ‘I … I came back because I missed the mountains,’ she said finally.
It was somewhat true.
They both looked to their right, where the scrubby ground sloped ever upwards, its sides becoming rocky before soaring into the jagged, craggy peaks of the mountain tops.
Woodland and streams veined the mountains’ sides and snow swaddled their peaks.
They were the jewel of the region of Calestra. Undeniably magnificent and mysterious.
‘You do love the mountains,’ muttered Gredie with a shake of his head.
‘And so do you.’
He shrugged. ‘At the schoolhouse today everyone was saying the ceremonies in Tormale will be mighty. The teacher said it will be the biggest days of celebrations in our lifetime.’ Gredie stepped closer, dropping his chin. ‘Can I go to Tormale with my friends? Please, Mam.’
Maylie reached out and touched his cheek. It still had the soft downiness of boyhood.
‘Let me speak to your pap.’
Gredie grinned. ‘We should hurry,’ he said. ‘Pap’s made butter mash and if we’re late, Harie will eat it all.’ He ducked out of her grasp and scampered ahead, thrashing his stick back and forth through the long grass. He knew he had won.
‘Your brother wouldn’t do such a thing,’ chided Maylie, following.
They wandered across the mountainside together, joining one of the trodden paths that led to the village. Ahead, a scatter of glowing lights beckoned them onwards.
‘Mam, if you love the mountains so much, why did you ever leave them in the first place?’ asked Gredie as they approached Silicia’s main square.
Maylie sighed. ‘You’re right. I didn’t fit there. I were young and foolish to go in the first place.’
‘Did you go alone?’
Maylie sucked in her breath. ‘No,’ she said.
They climbed the steep path through the clutter of cottages to the top of the village.
‘Did you—’
‘Go on inside now, Gredie,’ said Maylie. ‘I’ll be a moment longer. I need to check on the animals.’
Gredie paused, as though he might ask more, but he shoved his hands into his pockets and sloped away. ‘Don’t be long, Mam,’ he called.
Maylie tucked her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
The sun had dropped below the mountain tops and the air had become dark and chilled.
Soon the days would be full of bright, whitish light and the evenings would be long and warm.
Maylie welcomed the end of the long winter, but the arrival of spring was always bittersweet.
It brought with it the Maiden Sacrifice.
With her trug hooked over her arm, Maylie shut the henhouse and walked the perimeter of their cottage.
All was as it should be and she knew she ought to head inside for dinner, but she lingered.
She always felt tender as the Maiden Sacrifice approached, her days full of regret and remorse.
She did not like to be around anyone, not even her family.
It was difficult to behave normally. But she must remember that in just four days it would be over.
Sticky buds would bloom on the trees, the mountains would echo with birdsong and another girl would be chosen.
Then it would be finished. Time would slide onwards and spring would become summer.
With a sigh, Maylie walked towards the cottage door. She must not keep her family waiting any longer; no doubt her boys were already bickering and tussling, desperate to eat.
Maylie had her fingers on the handle of the front door when she felt an itch at the back of her neck. A familiar feeling of unease.
She paused and turned. Her gaze skittered up the darkening mountainside, over the scrubby ground and the winding stream to the forest. She squinted.
Something flitted through the trees. She stared, her eyes watering.
It was the silver shadow again.
Maylie stood, her senses hissing and snapping. She had not been mistaken earlier; she was being watched and followed.
The shadow darted with impossible grace behind a cluster of knotted tree trunks and disappeared.
Then all was still once more.
Maylie tasted a bitter tang in her mouth and the tips of her fingers tingled.
She had not felt these sensations since her girlhood – not since she left the mountains for Tormale all those winters ago.
It must mean something. Perhaps it was a sign or a warning.
Maylie thought of the Maiden Sacrifice once more and shivered. But it could not be that. Surely it could not happen again.