is the only one who could approach the wise-woman.
‘Stupid girls!’ Squint-Eye snaps. ‘You don’t know anything!’
‘But . . .’
The long walking stick slashes at twin legs. ‘Anyone who talks to Kelya will feel this stick across their back.’
Half-Two squeals. Aissa almost smiles to see the red welt across her enemy’s calves.
‘I’ll decide what to do with No-Name,’ says Squint-Eye.
All that day Aissa sweeps and scrubs, grinds barley in the heavy stone querns, and even hauls extra water, because if she does everything as perfectly as she can, maybe Squint-Eye will forget that for two nights in a row, she’s filled the room with insects.
Maybe.
It’s nearly time to fill her bucket again and sponge the tables clean for the Hall folk’s dinner. Her stomach rumbles emptily; she’s had nothing since breakfast yesterday – she’ll be glad of the barley soup and leftovers when it’s her turn to eat.
She leans over the well to haul up her bucket. Someone pinches the back of her neck, so hard that Aissa jumps and nearly falls in.
Half-One. Of course. Half-One with a smug, malicious smile saying, ‘Squint-Eye wants you. Now.’
All the servants are in the kitchen. Every one of them is watching her.
‘Here, girl!’ Squint-Eye beckons. ‘In front of me: I need to see that you understand.’
There’s not a sound. The room seems to be holding its breath.
‘No-Name child,’ Squint-Eye says solemnly, ‘you brought a curse to this town the day you were abandoned at the gates. The Lady in her goodness allows you to live. But now you’ve shown yourself for the demon you are, calling up creatures in the night, I cast you out from the fellowship of servants. You will not sleep in the kitchen; you will not eat when we do. You will live as a rat in the night: you are no longer one of us. Now go.’
The words hit Aissa like stones, numbing her brain; she can’t understand what they mean.
She stares at the mass of hating faces.
‘Go!’ they shriek. ‘Get out of here! Go!’
‘Go!’ they say,
and Aissa goes
but her knees are weak,
her breath is gone
knocked from her chest
with the weight of words.
Creeping, broken, to the garden
to hide behind the heaps of waste,
because Aissa
is garbage too,
discarded like
a sucked-clean bone,
as if the gods hate her;
the earth rejects her.
Squint-Eye’s not a god
or Mother Earth,
but she is the keeper
of food and warmth
for Aissa.
She always thought
there was nothing worse
than being No-Name
the bad-luck girl,
but she was wrong.
No-Name was small,
but she was something –
if only to be
beaten and spat at.
Now she has a name
but she is nothing.
Huddled alone
through the night,
hearing the cries
of creatures in the dark
that she’s never heard
from the servants’ kitchen;
no cloak or roof,
cold teeth chattering,
stomach rumbling
because there’ll be no soup,
not for Aissa,
not tonight,
or ever again.
But worse than cold,
worse than hunger,
is being outside:
outside the kitchen,
outside the group,
outside life.
Because Squint-Eye’s curse:
cast out,
not one of us,
banished,
are just other words
for death.
Aissa wakes up colder, hungrier, and more confused than she’s ever been.
Squint-Eye will beat me if I don’t do my chores.
She’ll beat me if I’m found.
I’ll die if I don’t find something to eat.
I’ll die if they see me.
So she’s still hiding behind the furthest compost heaps when Half-One and Half-Two come to empty the slops onto the freshest pile. They’re talking so hard they don’t see her cowering there.
‘It can’t be true.’
‘But remember how Kelya used to feed her treats?’
‘She never did that for us.’
‘Tried to get her to talk.’
‘Ha! That was a waste of time!’
‘Did you see the Lady’s face?’
‘Horrified!’
‘Disgusted.’
‘Not—’
‘No, not that.’
‘Can you imagine?’
‘The gods wouldn’t be so cruel. No-Name in the
‘Stupid girls!’ Squint-Eye snaps. ‘You don’t know anything!’
‘But . . .’
The long walking stick slashes at twin legs. ‘Anyone who talks to Kelya will feel this stick across their back.’
Half-Two squeals. Aissa almost smiles to see the red welt across her enemy’s calves.
‘I’ll decide what to do with No-Name,’ says Squint-Eye.
All that day Aissa sweeps and scrubs, grinds barley in the heavy stone querns, and even hauls extra water, because if she does everything as perfectly as she can, maybe Squint-Eye will forget that for two nights in a row, she’s filled the room with insects.
Maybe.
It’s nearly time to fill her bucket again and sponge the tables clean for the Hall folk’s dinner. Her stomach rumbles emptily; she’s had nothing since breakfast yesterday – she’ll be glad of the barley soup and leftovers when it’s her turn to eat.
She leans over the well to haul up her bucket. Someone pinches the back of her neck, so hard that Aissa jumps and nearly falls in.
Half-One. Of course. Half-One with a smug, malicious smile saying, ‘Squint-Eye wants you. Now.’
All the servants are in the kitchen. Every one of them is watching her.
‘Here, girl!’ Squint-Eye beckons. ‘In front of me: I need to see that you understand.’
There’s not a sound. The room seems to be holding its breath.
‘No-Name child,’ Squint-Eye says solemnly, ‘you brought a curse to this town the day you were abandoned at the gates. The Lady in her goodness allows you to live. But now you’ve shown yourself for the demon you are, calling up creatures in the night, I cast you out from the fellowship of servants. You will not sleep in the kitchen; you will not eat when we do. You will live as a rat in the night: you are no longer one of us. Now go.’
The words hit Aissa like stones, numbing her brain; she can’t understand what they mean.
She stares at the mass of hating faces.
‘Go!’ they shriek. ‘Get out of here! Go!’
‘Go!’ they say,
and Aissa goes
but her knees are weak,
her breath is gone
knocked from her chest
with the weight of words.
Creeping, broken, to the garden
to hide behind the heaps of waste,
because Aissa
is garbage too,
discarded like
a sucked-clean bone,
as if the gods hate her;
the earth rejects her.
Squint-Eye’s not a god
or Mother Earth,
but she is the keeper
of food and warmth
for Aissa.
She always thought
there was nothing worse
than being No-Name
the bad-luck girl,
but she was wrong.
No-Name was small,
but she was something –
if only to be
beaten and spat at.
Now she has a name
but she is nothing.
Huddled alone
through the night,
hearing the cries
of creatures in the dark
that she’s never heard
from the servants’ kitchen;
no cloak or roof,
cold teeth chattering,
stomach rumbling
because there’ll be no soup,
not for Aissa,
not tonight,
or ever again.
But worse than cold,
worse than hunger,
is being outside:
outside the kitchen,
outside the group,
outside life.
Because Squint-Eye’s curse:
cast out,
not one of us,
banished,
are just other words
for death.
Aissa wakes up colder, hungrier, and more confused than she’s ever been.
Squint-Eye will beat me if I don’t do my chores.
She’ll beat me if I’m found.
I’ll die if I don’t find something to eat.
I’ll die if they see me.
So she’s still hiding behind the furthest compost heaps when Half-One and Half-Two come to empty the slops onto the freshest pile. They’re talking so hard they don’t see her cowering there.
‘It can’t be true.’
‘But remember how Kelya used to feed her treats?’
‘She never did that for us.’
‘Tried to get her to talk.’
‘Ha! That was a waste of time!’
‘Did you see the Lady’s face?’
‘Horrified!’
‘Disgusted.’
‘Not—’
‘No, not that.’
‘Can you imagine?’
‘The gods wouldn’t be so cruel. No-Name in the
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