Stone soup, p.3
Stone Soup, page 3
As she approached the river, she felt the old familiar knot taking up residence in her stomach. She trembled at the thought of having to again risk her life on this treacherous old bridge and hoped she’d have better luck getting over the gap. When it came into view, she noticed with relief that the water was rushing by at a slightly slower pace.
There’d been days when she’d lingered too long at the monument, hoping for one last sale, and been forced to cross the bridge in near-total darkness. Now, though twilight crept steadily forward, she could easily see the steps she’d need to take to clear the gap. Clambering down the bank, she told herself that with fewer figurines to weigh her down, she’d stand a better chance of getting over it. Her main advantage, though, lay in the fact that the gap was closer to the village side of the bridge. She’d be able to get a running start while still on land.
She stood for a moment and sighed at the bridge. Ratcheting up her courage, she dashed forward and leaped as high as she could into the air. She came down on the far side, grabbed hold of the rope, and bounded the rest of the way across. Bending forward to catch her breath, she frowned back at the bridge.
She was climbing up the bank to rejoin the path, when the daylight suddenly dimmed. All at once, the air grew heavy, and a sense of foreboding gathered around her. She glanced down to see her shadow stretching out along the ground and noticed that beside it was the slowly forming shape of a second shadow, this one as black as ink. It was the infernal presence that so often accompanied her on her journeys to the village.
Just as she always did when this shadow appeared, she told herself it wasn’t real, that it was only her imagination. She was alone on the path, so a second shadow was impossible. Perhaps it was a trick of the setting sun or a reflection off a distant cloud. But as she approached the first little ditch, she felt the shadow and the dread that always accompanied it beginning to weigh on her. Though she tried to dismiss the feeling, it grew so strong, she found herself searching the sky for the source of her oppression. There was nothing up there except the pale sapphire of encroaching dusk.
Ignoring the shudder in her spine, she set off down the ditch. She’d made it halfway up the first little hill, when her throat began to close, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it. She began to feel dizzy, as if the ground were squirming beneath her feet, and paused to steady herself. By the time she’d stumbled down the far side of the hill, hand over her throat, she could barely breathe. What could be causing this suffocating feeling? Had she inhaled too much of the blacksmith’s sooty air?
At the bottom, she fell to her knees. Fighting for even a single sip of air, she was starting to fade away, when the hand suddenly released. Her chest heaved, and she collapsed onto her side, hair spilling from her bonnet and trailing silver locks into the mud.
She lay still for a moment, willing her lungs to work, then rolled over onto her back. She noticed that the light filtering through the wispy clouds overhead formed a rainbow-colored halo around the sun. That’s strange, she thought, I’ve never seen a round rainbow before. She lay there, gasping for air, resigned to the fact that she may never understand this malevolent force that stole her breath. She was simply grateful, as always, that it was gone.
She was getting to her feet, when she heard a voice.
-6-
“Get up!”
Green Eyes scrambled to her feet and glanced around. She peered up the hill but saw no one. Holding still to listen, she noticed that the heaviness in the air had been replaced by a crisp, electrified feeling, as if lightning were about to strike. Perhaps the iridescent clouds overhead heralded a change in the weather. She slipped on her pack and resolved to hurry home.
She mounted the hill, slowing as she neared the top, and a crow appeared on the path in front of her. It stood perfectly still and stared at her, then turned to hop away along the path. She gazed after it, then began to follow, watching as it stopped here and there to peck at the ground. Scanning the area in search of whoever had spoken, she turned back just in time to see a second crow flutter out from behind a bush. They cawed to each other and seemed to ignore her. She crept after them as they pecked and hopped along and eventually decided to overtake them.
“Excuse me,” she said as she passed them by. She’d put a couple of yards between herself and the crows when she heard a second voice behind her, this one deep and tremulous.
“Not at all.” She spun around to see the crows standing side by side, staring at her. Certain she’d just heard one of these birds speak, she took a step back toward them.
“Did you just… say something?” she asked, a little embarrassed to be interrogating a crow. They just stood there, motionless, watching her. When one of them turned its head to examine her with a single penetrating eye, she laughed a little, shook her head, and spun around to head down the last little ditch.
She glanced up to see the crows circling overhead. She was trying to ignore them, when they cawed and dove down at her.
“‘Hoy! Watch where you’re flying!” she said, leaping out of the way. She continued on, keeping a wary eye on them as they hovered above. She’d reached the bottom of the ditch, when one of them let out a loud caw and landed on the path in front of her. She stopped, hands on her hips.
“Excuse me!” These birds were really starting to annoy her. The crow refused to budge, so she started around it.
“Pardon me,” said the crow, stepping out of the way. She stumbled back, mouth open, as the bird gallantly lowered its beak to the ground. “After you.” She blinked a few times, then slowly shook her head at the impossibility of what she was seeing. She was waiting to see what else it might say, when the second bird fluttered to the ground nearby. She shifted her eyes this way and that and considered bolting up the path.
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Arduon,” said the first crow, puffing out his chest. She took another step back and put her hand to her cheek, hoping to wake herself from what could only be a bizarre, bedeviling dream. The second crow stepped forward to join the first. “And this is Paduon,” he said, nodding to his companion. “We’re crows,” he said cheerfully. Paduon rotated his head for a quick groom of his back feathers.
“How do you do?” he asked, his voice strikingly low.
“Uh…,” she replied after a pause. “Fine?”
“Excellent!” said Arduon, hopping forward. She took another step back. “And what is your name?” he asked, leveling his shiny black eyes at her. She just stood there, stunned.
“Green Eyes,” she answered slowly, glancing up and down the path. She did not wish to be caught conversing with these strange creatures. She was opening her mouth to ask them how it was they could talk, when Arduon burst into a cawing chuckle.
“Why, that’s not a name!” he said, flapping his wings. She blinked a few times.
“It’s what my mother calls me, so I suppose that makes it a name,” she said defiantly. She narrowed her eyes and continued, “Did she send you, my mother? Are you here to spy on me?” They exchanged a glance and shook their heads.
“Spy? Heavens, no! She doesn’t need us for that,” said Arduon. She considered this a moment and nodded. Paduon returned to grooming; Arduon hopped a little closer.
“And you are fine, you say?” he asked, turning his head to eye her, as if unsure what to make of her.
“Aye?” she answered, a crinkle in her brow. Arduon waddled back to Paduon, who cawed a few times. Arduon cawed in response, and they turned to her.
“Come with us,” he said, and the birds abruptly took flight. They circled overhead, cawing and peering down at her as she spun in circles, following them with her gaze. A friendly chat was not enough for these two? Now they expected her to fly?
They headed off along the ditch, with Green Eyes staring after them. After a moment, she began to follow, stumbling through the rocks and brambles as she struggled to keep up. As she left the path behind, she couldn’t help but wonder how much this detour would delay her. She was sloshing through a mud puddle, when it occurred to her that following a couple of talking birds might not be an entirely sane thing to do. She was just about to ask them where they were taking her, when they landed on the branch of a gnarled old tree. She stood for a moment, then approached.
“Well, what is it?” she asked.
“Exactly!” said Arduon, dipping his beak toward the base of the tree. She frowned and shook her head, then turned to head back toward the path.
“You do not know yourself,” said Paduon, his voice so low, it seemed to bend the air around her. She whipped around.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“You have forgotten who you are,” said Arduon, rustling his feathers. “It would behoove you to remember.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, turning her palms toward the sky. “But then neither does talking to a couple of daft crows.” She again turned to go.
“The person you think you are is a creation of the world,” said Arduon. She shot them a look of extreme vexation. “It’s not real. The real you is inside, waiting to be discovered,” he said. “It’s time you took an important journey, Green Eyes, the journey to find yourself. It is the reason you were born. It is the reason you live. And when you have discovered who you are, you will find that your entire life has changed for the better.” She peered up at him and struggled to tease the meaning from his words.
“Well?” asked Paduon in a low rumble.
“Well, what?” she replied, growing weary of their nonsense.
“Very nearly so!” said Arduon, puffing out his chest. “But I’m afraid you may have it backwards. Perhaps what you really mean is ‘What well?’” He fluttered down to what looked like a tangled mound of branches a few feet from the tree. When he began to caw and bob his head toward it, she noticed a stone structure hidden underneath. Moving the branches aside, she uncovered the rim of an old well set close to the ground.
“What well,” she said quietly, as Arduon flew back up to his spot on the branch. She got to her knees, unhitched the pack, and leaned out over the edge. The water was nearly as dark as the water in the blacksmith’s bowl and formed a near-perfect mirror.
She gazed down at her reflection and was taken aback by the yellowish-brown bruise stretching from her cheek to her hairline. The image of her mother’s hand swinging down toward her flashed across her mind. She reached up to touch it. It had been hours since she’d been struck, and the swelling had mostly gone down, leaving behind this unsightly mark.
“Are you all right, lass?” The baker’s words rang in her ears. For a moment, she hung her head. Then, venturing another look, she turned to compare her bruise to the bronze skin of her other cheek and was hard pressed to say which one was uglier. She slipped off her glove and began to tug at a clump of dirt stuck in her hair but stopped almost immediately. It was no use: Mud or no—she was homely either way.
“Why did you show me this?” she asked, gazing up at them.
“So you can see yourself,” replied Arduon.
“But I don’t want to see myself. I’m… I’m ugly,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m the wrong color.” Arduon let out another cawing chuckle.
“Compared to what? A buzzard? A pelican? Paddy, what’s the least attractive bird, in your opinion?”
“Bald ibis,” he answered quickly, his voice so low, it seemed to vibrate the branch beneath their claws.
“Bald what?” she said. “Those are birds. I—”
“Exactly! You are a girl; we are crows—two exceptionally handsome crows, I might add,” he said with a wink. “Isn’t that right, Paddy?” Paduon nodded. “But place us next to a parrot, with his brilliant tropical plumage, and a discerning watcher of birds might actually find us lacking. You see, we are crows—extremely good-looking crows, as I previously noted.”
She turned back to her reflection and sneered down at her tangled locks. She was tucking them back beneath her bonnet, when she heard the little girl’s voice in her head.
“Mama, that lady has peculiar hair.” The look in the girl’s eyes had been like a dagger through her flesh, while the lady’s strange reply of “analyce” had left her confused and a little afraid.
“Are you saying I’m not ugly?”
“You are different, that is all, as the eagle is different from the swan, as the turkey is different from the owl.”
“Who,” said Paduon.
“The owl,” said Arduon.
“No, who,” Paduon bellowed.
“Aye, of course! The owl’s perpetual refrain. And a fitting one, too, wouldn’t you say, Green Eyes? You see, there is much to be learned from birds and in particular the owl, who asks a very important question—a question which, I daresay, demands an answer,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I would hasten to add, however, that in my opinion—and I have done quite a bit of research on the subject—it is the crow that is the most intelligent of birds. After all, the owl can utter only a single word, whilst we can pontificate endlessly.”
“Quite so!” rumbled Paduon.
“You have much to learn, Green Eyes,” Arduon continued. “You are a stranger to yourself, though you know it not. The journey of self-discovery is not an easy one, to be sure, but the destination is well worth the effort.” He winked again, and Paduon let loose a low, rolling caw-laugh. “But it grows dark, my dear,” said Arduon, cocking his head toward the sky. With a nod, she picked up her pack, pausing to see if they would say anything else. When they were silent, she turned to go. Arduon called out after her.
“Go and find out who you are, Green Eyes. There is more of value inside you than a hundred thousand gilded swords.” She glanced back just in time to see their bodies beginning to shimmer and fade. Before she could take another step, they’d vanished, leaving the empty branch behind.
-7-
Green Eyes made her way back toward the path with a chill zipping down her spine. Where had those birds come from? And where had they gone? How could she be sure they hadn’t been sent by some malevolent force to lead her astray? She hurried forward, rattled by the thought that she’d most certainly be late getting home.
She rushed headlong into the forest, hair and bonnet a loose, disheveled mess, as the twilight sky darkened with every step. She told herself that at her current pace not even the swiftest of boars could catch her. When the trees finally parted on the cottage and she saw the thin wisp of smoke twirling up from the chimney, fear turned to panic. She broke into a sprint, the pack thumping against her back, and arrived at the door in seconds.
Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, she quietly lifted the latch to see the kettle boiling over onto the logs and the lamp glowing on the table. She set down her pack, unclasped her brooch, and hung up her cloak and bonnet. Tossing her apron over her head, she carried the pack over to the table. She was pulling out the wineskin, when the door to her mother’s room creaked open.
She froze, too afraid to breathe. Slowly, her mother emerged from the shadows, hair a tangle of wiry black, skin a shrivel of ghastly folds. Beneath glaring slit eyes, puffy half-moons drooped down onto sharp, sallow cheekbones. Dark, menacing eyebrows came together over her long, pointy nose, while thin, craggy lips pursed together in a contemptible sneer. She forced herself to meet her mother’s gaze.
“Where have you been?” Her mother’s shriek split the stillness, sending a flock of birds on the ground outside the window into the air. Green Eyes buried her face in her shoulders and held out the wineskin.
“I’m s— sorry, Mistress.”
“I hapth farna blurph!” she screamed, grabbing it from her. “Do you understand?” Green Eyes trembled and shook her head. “Where were you?” she growled. Green Eyes backed up against the table. She peered at her mother’s face, which was so contorted with rage, she thought she could feel it radiating off her. The old woman raised her arm; Green Eyes closed her eyes. But when the blow didn’t come, she peeked through her eyelashes to see her mother reaching past her to grab a goblet from the cupboard. “I had to light the fire for the tea myself!”
“I’m terribly sorry, Mistress.” Her mother slammed down the goblet, uncorked the wineskin, and slopped the blood-red liquid into it. She picked it up, waved it around carelessly, and took several sloppy gulps.
“Give it to me!” she spat, thrusting out her hand, mead trickling down her chin. Green Eyes rifled through the pack for the purse and held it out. Her mother snatched it and strode away. Green Eyes tried to breathe, hoping the day’s haul would be enough to ease her mood. “What’s this, four?” she asked, sniffing at the coins in her palm.
Green Eyes let out a silent exhale; her mother was pleased. With her eyes riveted to the floor, she set about unpacking the figurines and replacing them in the bookcase. When her mother returned to the table to refill her goblet, Green Eyes quickly stepped out of the way. The old woman stood there, swigging mead past jagged, stained teeth and glaring at her. Green Eyes stared uncomfortably at the floor, then picked up the fire iron and began to stoke the coals.
“What are you doing?” her mother screeched. Green Eyes flinched and cowered. “Get in there!” she said, gesturing toward the bedroom with her goblet and sloshing mead onto the floor. Green Eyes nodded and set down the fire iron. Her mother sauntered over to the chair.
Slipping past her to unlatch the front door, Green Eyes rushed into the bedroom, where she was immediately hit by the warm smell of feces. Stifling a gag, she hurried around the unmade bed toward the overflowing bedpan. She crouched down to pick it up, but it was too heavy to lift with one hand. At the sound of her mother’s footsteps approaching, beads of sweat broke out on her forehead.
