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Chapter 5:- THE PRESENTATION
"I’ve told my part of the story, Liver. Let me know if you need me again."
"I will, Blue Toe."
*************************************************************
A round, short woman toddled over to the windows of the tavern. She closed the curtains that looked out onto the street.
The room grew instantly dim with brownish light. “No one can see in now,” she muttered. The owner brought Fair into the room and sat her down at a small table. With a room full of hoomin watching her, Fair devoured her first warm meal in nine years. It was a moment that filled Fair’s soul as well as her belly.
It might sound cruel, but her mother didn’t dare keep a fire going during the night and risk the smell of food cooking, or risk having a Protector pay her a surprise visit only to discover her keeping food for two warm in the coals.
His question would likely be, “Who you keeping that warm for?”
But now, here at the tavern, Fair felt like her belly was going to burst.
She looked around the room, amazed by the cracks of light that pierced through the closed curtains, flecked with stars of dust. She was amazed by the hints of color she saw on hoomin cheeks, amazed by the warmth that had passed over her tongue and down her throat, amazed to see movement, the hints of someone’s eyes, the shape of a nose, the sound of laughter.
Although the room should have smelled like porridge cooking for breakfast, it smelled more like dinner. Avran had asked Lariel what Fair would want to eat.
Lariel guessed that it would be poppenballs (warm little pastries topped with butter that melts into succulent pools), roast leg of lamb (as there was no shortage of lamb to be found at the tavern), vegetable soup made with fiddleheads (Fair used to call them baby fern curls when she was small and foraged for them in the woods with her father) and a big cow’s-horn mug of glug, made from the juice of mashed strawberries and honey.
Drinking out of a cow’s horn was stinky business because they never seemed to lose their smell. So Fair pinched her nose while she took a sip and moved the mug away from her face. She unplugged her nose, which allowed her to taste what lay in her mouth. Oh, that tasted good. Fair pinched her nose and finished off the entire mug in one breath.
The old, round woman noticed Fair had finished eating. A wrinkled smile grew on her shining, dark face. “It’s time for cake!” she announced. Lariel had hoped Fair would like a swizzlenut torte with brownsen glaze for her birthday cake, and asked the owner to make one.
The owner went from table to table, pouring grape juice into everyone’s mug. Then, he poured one for himself. He turned one of the chairs around with a loud scrape and a laugh, straddled it cheerfully with his stocky legs, and lifted his mug to each one of the hoomin there. They lifted their mugs back to him. He looked around the room and hollered, “Everybody!”
Everyone in the tavern turned to look, and seeing the mugs held up, did the same. Then, he bellowed, “Here is to Fair’s day of maidenhood! Drinkwater bound!”
The whole room resounded with a hearty repeat of his toast, “Drinkwater bound!” They all put their mugs to their lips and gulped the contents until they were gone, slamming them down on the table with gusto, clack, clack, clack! Polished horn hitting wood with a percussive melody.
The last two words of the toast had been spoken for as many years as anyone could remember. It was made any time a hoomin held a mug and wished to say it. Where it came from, no one knew, but they assumed it meant to fill your stomach with drink, as though it were bound to go somewhere.
When it came time to eat the cake, Fair relished every bite of it. It’s just how I remember it, she thought. Chewy and nutty. It’s just perfect. She wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“Come, Fair. It’s time,” said the woman.
One more bite.
She led Fair to a low table in the middle of the room. “Stand on the table, if you will.”
Fair stepped onto the table. Her dog, Sauveren, climbed up and sat next to her on his haunches. His weight made the table creak beneath him. Everyone in the room laughed. Fair looked around, wondering why everyone was laughing. She was used to always having him with her.
“And your dog, too,” the owner laughed.
Fair took a moment to look around, “You all seem to know me, but I don’t know you.” The feeling reminded her of her dream, but this was real.
Fair watched with wonder as they scooted out their chairs and lined up to greet her. They didn’t seem afraid of anything or anyone. Amazing.
The beautiful, round woman moved towards her. She moved like a rolling boulder beneath a long dress and apron. Her shoulders were covered with a dark purple cape flecked with silver, held together beneath her neck with a silver clasp in the shape of a perfect circle. Fair thought she knew who the woman was.
The woman slid along the floor, coming towards Fair. Fair wondered if this woman had feet. She cocked her head to see if she could have a peek at the tips of her shoes. Nothing.
Her face, neck and hands were the color of freshly turned, fragrant soil. A rich, deep brown. Her skin glowed as though the thinnest bit of copper lay just beneath the surface. Her hair was grizzled with gray. It hung in a wiry braid as wide as her shoulders that fell down to the back of her knees. Fair remembered having seen her as a child. Her name was Azanamer. Her mother told her that Azanamer’s skin was dark because she had absorbed so much of the sun. It had darkened her skin to show that she was filled inside with nothing but light.
She took both of Fair’s hands in hers. Fair remembered how she used to smell sweet, like ripe peaches. She still smelled the same. Fair noticed Azanamer’s hands were warm. Fleshy. Soft. Her voice was barely audible, like a soft wind. Fair had to lean in to hear her.
“I am Azanamer. I was with your mother the day you were born. I brought you into the world and named you. I gave you your soul star—your Luminamen.”
“Yes, mother told me.”
Fair’s mother once told her that Azanamer was able to see the shape of a soul’s light and purpose whenever a wee hoomin was born. She was always present at a birthing to give the wee-born hoomin a name to match its soul. At nightfall, she then pulled threads of colored light from the aurora borealis, which danced every night above Cloven Grave. With those very threads she wove the complex, geometric shape of a Luminamen—the shape of the soul’s light and purpose. Each one was unique, as was each wee-born hoomin.
Fair used to stare at her Luminamen for hours, imagining that the light she was made of—if she could only see it—looked the same. This is who I am . . . even in the darkness, she often thought.
Azanamer moved aside. Next, a hand thrust out and took Fair’s hand, “Apparently your father wanted us to be here. I’m one of your mother’s brothers. That makes me your uncle.” He paused and looked at his wife and wee hoomin, “We’re family. I . . . I didn’t know you were alive . . . until this morning. We just found out. It’s a wonderful surprise.” He pulled his daughter close to him. She was about Fair’s age.
Fair felt her heart lurch into her throat. The girl snuggled into her father’s arm. A yelp wanted to jump, like a frog of longing, out of Fair’s mouth. She swallowed it down.
I missed all that.
The light and the love of family.
My father’s arm around my shoulder.
All those years in darkness.
The lump in her throat felt like it would choke her. I feel so alone. Sauveren gave her hand a nudge just then, and Fair ran her fingers through the fur on his shoulder. She looked at him and thought about how he’d been with her all those years. So had her mother, when she could. But still . . . , she thought.
Right then, Fair felt a desire sprout violently within her from seed to tree, I’ve got to find my father and brother. It was a feeling that was so strong that she could have burst out of the room right then, into the streets, running wildly from place to place until she found them. Words from the Scrolls of Truth entered her mind:
You have something big to do here, now.
Not doing it will feel like a burden.
Not doing it will make you feel like you
aren’t doing what you came here to do.
Not doing it will leave you feeling empty.
Was that it? Finding them? Fair felt her heart pound so hard that she thought her chest was going to burst. Her face flushed for an instant and she felt out of breath. She heard her mother’s voice in the darkness of her cellar days. She often spoke while the music box played, “Pay attention to the signals, Fair. Your body lets you know what your heart is trying to tell you.”
My heart is beating fiercely. Finding them must be ‘it,’ that ‘something big’.
A boy hoomin, her cousin, stood next to his father. Her uncle. He looked up at Fair through beady eyes. He narrowed them, cocked his head to one side and asked, “Who are you anyway? You’re so pale.”
It was true. Fair looked completely different than the rest of the hoomin in the room. Although she had the rounded cheeks of a hoomin, they weren’t rosy. Her skin was so translucent that it gave her round face a moon-like quality. The only bit of color came from her full, pink lips beneath her slightly upturned nose. Her eyes, too, were a clear, silver blue.
Fair felt confused. She wrapped her arms around Sauveren’s neck. She looked around the room then back at the child, “I . . . I don’t . . . know. I’ve . . . I’ve been in a very dark place for a long time.” She stood close to Sauveren and dug her fingers into his deep fur. “This is my dog. He was my blanket and kept me warm.”
“Why? Didn’t your parents care about you enough to keep a fire going?”
Fair said, “It’s not like that.” She didn’t want to have to explain, so she left it at that. “You can pet him if you like.”
“What would I do that for?”
Fair didn’t say anything.
She noticed a dreadful-looking hoomin sitting at a small table in one corner. He had black, matted hair that fell over his face and down his back. He had not introduced himself to her. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what was going on in the room.
Fair watched as he poured honey into a big bowl of milk, stirred it up with his finger, then sucked the liquid off the end of it with a pop. As he drank, the honey milk poured out over the rims and dripped down his beard. He put down the bowl and tore apart a poppenball. He tapped the crumb against his beard.
What’s he doing? she thought.
Immediately a small mouse peeked out. The hoomin put the crumb in front of the mouse, who took it in its paws. Fair stood and watched. Astonished. It nibbled the morsel then darted back into the hoomin’s beard. What an odd creature, she thought, not thinking about the mouse.
As far as bowls of milk go, it is all he was ever seen eating—or drinking, actually. Some said that except for the warm, sweet milk the tavern provided him, he lived off the bugs he dug up under fallen logs. Why Harrold King hadn’t put him away was anyone’s guess.
For no reason at all he sang and dribbled,
A mighty hoomin, he is, he is
A mighty hoomin he is.
No hoomin is worthy to tie his shoes
He’ll dunk below the fizz.
Fair couldn’t take her eyes off him. He doesn’t make any sense.
Now, the owner of the tavern stood next to her. He looked at the hoomin sitting around the tables. Fair realized in some far off way that he was speaking just to her. She felt fuzzy and just heard snippets of words, “We know how long you’ve waited . . . loss of your father and brother . . . so sorry . . . didn’t find you . . . thanks to your mother.” She saw heads nodding.
She felt like everything was moving in slow motion. While he spoke, Fair surveyed the whitewashed room.
Thick windowsills, just like at home.
Geraniums in the windows, just like at home. Only these had a hint of red in the dim light, not dark grey silhouettes in the moonlight when she sat reading with her mother.
But the hoomin. There were so many of them. She counted nine in all. Nine hoomin with flesh and blood! Not daydreams. They were real. How amazing. How strange, she thought. They all look at me like they know and care about me, and I’ve no idea who they are. (Except for Gibber Will, who was enjoying himself tremendously.) He nibbled at his cake with a toothy grin.
She reached out and found Sauveren. She feathered her fingers into the soft, glossy fur on his black head. She looked at him and felt the hint of a smile draw itself on her face, “I think it’s time,” she whispered to him. His head was as high as her chest. The girl and her dog regarded one another for a brief moment of knowing.
Azanamer looked at the tall clock in the corner. Not much more time left before they all had to leave for Clock Tower Square.
“. . . So the time has come,” she said.
Fair felt Azanamer’s hand on her shoulder.
“In a few moments you will be known as a maiden, no longer a wee hoomin.”
Fair pulled Sauveren close to her. She wished her family were there to see her, but she tried to brush the longing feeling away. The room became dead silent.
“You were born thirteen years ago today. In keeping with tradition, the Woolly will present you with your apron of maidenhood in the presence of witnesses. Even though we are small in number this time, those in this room are your witnesses.” Fair tugged at her dress, which was already uncomfortable enough without an apron tied around her waist.
Gibber Will thought how fun the celebration would have been at her home, if things had been different. Fireworks, crowds of hoomin, food and frolic.
Fair looked around for who the Woolly might be. Everything was so still. She hadn’t met the hoomin yet. She pulled at the neck of her dress and looked at the back doorway, expecting to see someone walk through.
Then she saw a movement in the corner. Heads were turning that direction. Her eyes grew round. The mouse-beard hoomin? Him? “Oh my . . .” she muttered.
The Woolly stood up. His chair fell over with a clatter. He gave a loud growl, showing lots of teeth. He scratched his chest and belly, clearly satisfied by his favorite drink. He seemed to take great satisfaction in scratching his chest. His elbows flapped wildly.
He wiped his beard dry with his sleeve.
Fair realized her fingers had gone up to the scarf her mother had tied around her hair the night before. She could feel her long, brown hair pressing on her back. It rippled down her back in wild, dripping rivulets. This is my becoming. Here I am. In front of these hoomin I don’t know. In front of this strange hoomin. For the first time in her life she wondered how she looked.
The Woolly walked up to Fair. He held a folded piece of cloth on his upturned palms, like a pillow. He silently unfolded the apron and put it over Fair’s head, then walked behind her and tied it around her waist. She moved her shoulders around to get comfortable. She looked down and saw that the apron was white. Not a spot on it. Not a shadow. Nothing but white. Light. Freedom.
At last he spoke, “Your full name is . . .”
Azanamer stopped him, “Not now. If Fair doesn’t know, she can’t tell. It’s her last protection.”
The Woolly followed by saying something remarkably coherent, “You are your parents inheritance. A great gift.”
Fair knit her eyebrows together for a brief moment. Mother says that every time she says good night, ‘You are my inheritance from the gods, my great gift.’ Did all parents say that to their wee hoomin when they tucked them in at night? What does it mean?
Then she heard the Woolly say, “And you are to bring a miracle to Cloven Grave.”
Hold on. What? Fair was stunned. Her stomach became a heavy stone.
“A miracle? Me? What do you mean?”
“Just that.” He made a move to leave, then stopped. He stopped to scratch Sauveren’s head. The two furry creatures looked remarkably similar if it weren’t for the fact that one of them stood on two legs. The Woolly’s demeanor changed then and he walked back to his chair, muttering,
Tie your shoes, I can’t, I can’t
Tie your shoes I can’t.
The night before, as she had lain in the wagon dreaming of this moment, she had imagined that it would feel wonderful. Just to be a part of the world outside of her cottage. Outside of her cellar. But to have to do something she knew nothing about? This didn’t feel wonderful.
She hadn’t planned on her new world being a world of so many unknowns. She had traded darkness, daydreams and comfort for light, sight and unexpected responsibility. It was a complete shock.
Fair looked around at everyone in the room. They were all looking back at her. Full of expectance. They were used to the Woolly’s jibberish, but he had never pronounced anything like this before.
A miracle! The miracle, perhaps?
For some time now, mysterious writings had appeared along the roadside trees. Every time Harrold King had the whim to post another law on the Cries Unia that hung from the road-side trees (which was nearly all the time), the following night, words were burned into the leather parchment, completely replacing what he had decreed as law
There had been quite a few tree writings, as they had come to be called. He was furious about it.
The tree writings prophesied that a miracle was coming. They wrote that a new law would do away with the Laws of Memory. Harrold King had taken the Laws of Memory to the extreme, and so the hoomin of Cloven Grave had looked forward, for a long time now, and with great expectancy, for the coming of this “miracle.”
Now the Woolly was telling them that Fair was going to bring them a miracle.
Fair noticed movement in the room. Some of the hoomin were beginning to stand up. Her uncle was encouraging his wee hoomin to stand. They’re standing because of me. Fair felt like she wanted to hide. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. How do you bring a miracle?
She said in a barely audible voice, “Not me. Please. I, I just want to know my father and brother again . . . I want, I want to know who I am . . . I want to know why everything has been such a secret all my life.”
Azanamer glided up to Fair. She held her hands together as though she were praying, “Some things just are.”
“I don’t understand, Azanamer.”
“You may call me grandmother. Everyone else does.”
Fair took her cue and said, “I don’t understand,” she paused, “Grandmother. Why . . .?”
“You will find out in due time,” Azanamer answered. “I wanted to take this moment to tell you a story. It’s the story of the beginning of the hoomin—and your beginning, Fair. But we don’t have time.”
“I’d really like to hear it . . . Aza . . . uh, grandmother.”
“And you shall, but not now. We must be quick if we’re to make it to Clock Tower Square. I’ll simply announce this: You are now, as of this moment, a maiden. She turned to the hoomin in the room and said, “Fair now belongs to us. Accept her gladly.”
A shock of light filled the room, and everything became brilliant and white.
The owner of Lambs Tavern had yanked open the curtains. He threw opened the windows, held onto the windowsill, did a little jig, and shouted, “Hallelujiah!” into the street.
The silence in the room erupted into laughter and talking. Fair felt kisses on her cheeks, and her hand being shaken, over and over.
She was free.
Fair was jostled to the front door with a lot of laughter. She looked behind her and noticed she would be first in line to leave Lambs Tavern. The door opened.
Two rows of pipers in kilts and tall, bear skin hats framed the exit out onto the street. Music began to drone like a sick cow, then surge and swell majestically until it filled the air with chilling, beautiful music. Fair looked at her arms, and saw goose bumps all over. Everyone was laughing, but all she heard, was the music. It filled her from the inside out.
She looked to Azanamer with a surprised look on her face, “What’s all this?”
“This is the usual way to end the celebration of maidenhood, Fair. This one is a modest procession . . . but nonetheless. You go first, dear maiden.”
Fair smiled. Now she felt the joy she had hoped for. She was on the edge of walking freely into daylight for the first time in nine years.
Fair and her dog walked through the door, into the wide, wide world.
Hidden within a crack in a wall, two red eyes watched her leave.
And there was the faintest sound of something scratching.
Like sandpaper.
************************************
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"I’ve told my part of the story, Liver. Let me know if you need me again."
"I will, Blue Toe."
*************************************************************
A round, short woman toddled over to the windows of the tavern. She closed the curtains that looked out onto the street.
The room grew instantly dim with brownish light. “No one can see in now,” she muttered. The owner brought Fair into the room and sat her down at a small table. With a room full of hoomin watching her, Fair devoured her first warm meal in nine years. It was a moment that filled Fair’s soul as well as her belly.
It might sound cruel, but her mother didn’t dare keep a fire going during the night and risk the smell of food cooking, or risk having a Protector pay her a surprise visit only to discover her keeping food for two warm in the coals.
His question would likely be, “Who you keeping that warm for?”
But now, here at the tavern, Fair felt like her belly was going to burst.
She looked around the room, amazed by the cracks of light that pierced through the closed curtains, flecked with stars of dust. She was amazed by the hints of color she saw on hoomin cheeks, amazed by the warmth that had passed over her tongue and down her throat, amazed to see movement, the hints of someone’s eyes, the shape of a nose, the sound of laughter.
Although the room should have smelled like porridge cooking for breakfast, it smelled more like dinner. Avran had asked Lariel what Fair would want to eat.
Lariel guessed that it would be poppenballs (warm little pastries topped with butter that melts into succulent pools), roast leg of lamb (as there was no shortage of lamb to be found at the tavern), vegetable soup made with fiddleheads (Fair used to call them baby fern curls when she was small and foraged for them in the woods with her father) and a big cow’s-horn mug of glug, made from the juice of mashed strawberries and honey.
Drinking out of a cow’s horn was stinky business because they never seemed to lose their smell. So Fair pinched her nose while she took a sip and moved the mug away from her face. She unplugged her nose, which allowed her to taste what lay in her mouth. Oh, that tasted good. Fair pinched her nose and finished off the entire mug in one breath.
The old, round woman noticed Fair had finished eating. A wrinkled smile grew on her shining, dark face. “It’s time for cake!” she announced. Lariel had hoped Fair would like a swizzlenut torte with brownsen glaze for her birthday cake, and asked the owner to make one.
The owner went from table to table, pouring grape juice into everyone’s mug. Then, he poured one for himself. He turned one of the chairs around with a loud scrape and a laugh, straddled it cheerfully with his stocky legs, and lifted his mug to each one of the hoomin there. They lifted their mugs back to him. He looked around the room and hollered, “Everybody!”
Everyone in the tavern turned to look, and seeing the mugs held up, did the same. Then, he bellowed, “Here is to Fair’s day of maidenhood! Drinkwater bound!”
The whole room resounded with a hearty repeat of his toast, “Drinkwater bound!” They all put their mugs to their lips and gulped the contents until they were gone, slamming them down on the table with gusto, clack, clack, clack! Polished horn hitting wood with a percussive melody.
The last two words of the toast had been spoken for as many years as anyone could remember. It was made any time a hoomin held a mug and wished to say it. Where it came from, no one knew, but they assumed it meant to fill your stomach with drink, as though it were bound to go somewhere.
When it came time to eat the cake, Fair relished every bite of it. It’s just how I remember it, she thought. Chewy and nutty. It’s just perfect. She wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“Come, Fair. It’s time,” said the woman.
One more bite.
She led Fair to a low table in the middle of the room. “Stand on the table, if you will.”
Fair stepped onto the table. Her dog, Sauveren, climbed up and sat next to her on his haunches. His weight made the table creak beneath him. Everyone in the room laughed. Fair looked around, wondering why everyone was laughing. She was used to always having him with her.
“And your dog, too,” the owner laughed.
Fair took a moment to look around, “You all seem to know me, but I don’t know you.” The feeling reminded her of her dream, but this was real.
Fair watched with wonder as they scooted out their chairs and lined up to greet her. They didn’t seem afraid of anything or anyone. Amazing.
The beautiful, round woman moved towards her. She moved like a rolling boulder beneath a long dress and apron. Her shoulders were covered with a dark purple cape flecked with silver, held together beneath her neck with a silver clasp in the shape of a perfect circle. Fair thought she knew who the woman was.
The woman slid along the floor, coming towards Fair. Fair wondered if this woman had feet. She cocked her head to see if she could have a peek at the tips of her shoes. Nothing.
Her face, neck and hands were the color of freshly turned, fragrant soil. A rich, deep brown. Her skin glowed as though the thinnest bit of copper lay just beneath the surface. Her hair was grizzled with gray. It hung in a wiry braid as wide as her shoulders that fell down to the back of her knees. Fair remembered having seen her as a child. Her name was Azanamer. Her mother told her that Azanamer’s skin was dark because she had absorbed so much of the sun. It had darkened her skin to show that she was filled inside with nothing but light.
She took both of Fair’s hands in hers. Fair remembered how she used to smell sweet, like ripe peaches. She still smelled the same. Fair noticed Azanamer’s hands were warm. Fleshy. Soft. Her voice was barely audible, like a soft wind. Fair had to lean in to hear her.
“I am Azanamer. I was with your mother the day you were born. I brought you into the world and named you. I gave you your soul star—your Luminamen.”
“Yes, mother told me.”
Fair’s mother once told her that Azanamer was able to see the shape of a soul’s light and purpose whenever a wee hoomin was born. She was always present at a birthing to give the wee-born hoomin a name to match its soul. At nightfall, she then pulled threads of colored light from the aurora borealis, which danced every night above Cloven Grave. With those very threads she wove the complex, geometric shape of a Luminamen—the shape of the soul’s light and purpose. Each one was unique, as was each wee-born hoomin.
Fair used to stare at her Luminamen for hours, imagining that the light she was made of—if she could only see it—looked the same. This is who I am . . . even in the darkness, she often thought.
Azanamer moved aside. Next, a hand thrust out and took Fair’s hand, “Apparently your father wanted us to be here. I’m one of your mother’s brothers. That makes me your uncle.” He paused and looked at his wife and wee hoomin, “We’re family. I . . . I didn’t know you were alive . . . until this morning. We just found out. It’s a wonderful surprise.” He pulled his daughter close to him. She was about Fair’s age.
Fair felt her heart lurch into her throat. The girl snuggled into her father’s arm. A yelp wanted to jump, like a frog of longing, out of Fair’s mouth. She swallowed it down.
I missed all that.
The light and the love of family.
My father’s arm around my shoulder.
All those years in darkness.
The lump in her throat felt like it would choke her. I feel so alone. Sauveren gave her hand a nudge just then, and Fair ran her fingers through the fur on his shoulder. She looked at him and thought about how he’d been with her all those years. So had her mother, when she could. But still . . . , she thought.
Right then, Fair felt a desire sprout violently within her from seed to tree, I’ve got to find my father and brother. It was a feeling that was so strong that she could have burst out of the room right then, into the streets, running wildly from place to place until she found them. Words from the Scrolls of Truth entered her mind:
You have something big to do here, now.
Not doing it will feel like a burden.
Not doing it will make you feel like you
aren’t doing what you came here to do.
Not doing it will leave you feeling empty.
Was that it? Finding them? Fair felt her heart pound so hard that she thought her chest was going to burst. Her face flushed for an instant and she felt out of breath. She heard her mother’s voice in the darkness of her cellar days. She often spoke while the music box played, “Pay attention to the signals, Fair. Your body lets you know what your heart is trying to tell you.”
My heart is beating fiercely. Finding them must be ‘it,’ that ‘something big’.
A boy hoomin, her cousin, stood next to his father. Her uncle. He looked up at Fair through beady eyes. He narrowed them, cocked his head to one side and asked, “Who are you anyway? You’re so pale.”
It was true. Fair looked completely different than the rest of the hoomin in the room. Although she had the rounded cheeks of a hoomin, they weren’t rosy. Her skin was so translucent that it gave her round face a moon-like quality. The only bit of color came from her full, pink lips beneath her slightly upturned nose. Her eyes, too, were a clear, silver blue.
Fair felt confused. She wrapped her arms around Sauveren’s neck. She looked around the room then back at the child, “I . . . I don’t . . . know. I’ve . . . I’ve been in a very dark place for a long time.” She stood close to Sauveren and dug her fingers into his deep fur. “This is my dog. He was my blanket and kept me warm.”
“Why? Didn’t your parents care about you enough to keep a fire going?”
Fair said, “It’s not like that.” She didn’t want to have to explain, so she left it at that. “You can pet him if you like.”
“What would I do that for?”
Fair didn’t say anything.
She noticed a dreadful-looking hoomin sitting at a small table in one corner. He had black, matted hair that fell over his face and down his back. He had not introduced himself to her. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what was going on in the room.
Fair watched as he poured honey into a big bowl of milk, stirred it up with his finger, then sucked the liquid off the end of it with a pop. As he drank, the honey milk poured out over the rims and dripped down his beard. He put down the bowl and tore apart a poppenball. He tapped the crumb against his beard.
What’s he doing? she thought.
Immediately a small mouse peeked out. The hoomin put the crumb in front of the mouse, who took it in its paws. Fair stood and watched. Astonished. It nibbled the morsel then darted back into the hoomin’s beard. What an odd creature, she thought, not thinking about the mouse.
As far as bowls of milk go, it is all he was ever seen eating—or drinking, actually. Some said that except for the warm, sweet milk the tavern provided him, he lived off the bugs he dug up under fallen logs. Why Harrold King hadn’t put him away was anyone’s guess.
For no reason at all he sang and dribbled,
A mighty hoomin, he is, he is
A mighty hoomin he is.
No hoomin is worthy to tie his shoes
He’ll dunk below the fizz.
Fair couldn’t take her eyes off him. He doesn’t make any sense.
Now, the owner of the tavern stood next to her. He looked at the hoomin sitting around the tables. Fair realized in some far off way that he was speaking just to her. She felt fuzzy and just heard snippets of words, “We know how long you’ve waited . . . loss of your father and brother . . . so sorry . . . didn’t find you . . . thanks to your mother.” She saw heads nodding.
She felt like everything was moving in slow motion. While he spoke, Fair surveyed the whitewashed room.
Thick windowsills, just like at home.
Geraniums in the windows, just like at home. Only these had a hint of red in the dim light, not dark grey silhouettes in the moonlight when she sat reading with her mother.
But the hoomin. There were so many of them. She counted nine in all. Nine hoomin with flesh and blood! Not daydreams. They were real. How amazing. How strange, she thought. They all look at me like they know and care about me, and I’ve no idea who they are. (Except for Gibber Will, who was enjoying himself tremendously.) He nibbled at his cake with a toothy grin.
She reached out and found Sauveren. She feathered her fingers into the soft, glossy fur on his black head. She looked at him and felt the hint of a smile draw itself on her face, “I think it’s time,” she whispered to him. His head was as high as her chest. The girl and her dog regarded one another for a brief moment of knowing.
Azanamer looked at the tall clock in the corner. Not much more time left before they all had to leave for Clock Tower Square.
“. . . So the time has come,” she said.
Fair felt Azanamer’s hand on her shoulder.
“In a few moments you will be known as a maiden, no longer a wee hoomin.”
Fair pulled Sauveren close to her. She wished her family were there to see her, but she tried to brush the longing feeling away. The room became dead silent.
“You were born thirteen years ago today. In keeping with tradition, the Woolly will present you with your apron of maidenhood in the presence of witnesses. Even though we are small in number this time, those in this room are your witnesses.” Fair tugged at her dress, which was already uncomfortable enough without an apron tied around her waist.
Gibber Will thought how fun the celebration would have been at her home, if things had been different. Fireworks, crowds of hoomin, food and frolic.
Fair looked around for who the Woolly might be. Everything was so still. She hadn’t met the hoomin yet. She pulled at the neck of her dress and looked at the back doorway, expecting to see someone walk through.
Then she saw a movement in the corner. Heads were turning that direction. Her eyes grew round. The mouse-beard hoomin? Him? “Oh my . . .” she muttered.
The Woolly stood up. His chair fell over with a clatter. He gave a loud growl, showing lots of teeth. He scratched his chest and belly, clearly satisfied by his favorite drink. He seemed to take great satisfaction in scratching his chest. His elbows flapped wildly.
He wiped his beard dry with his sleeve.
Fair realized her fingers had gone up to the scarf her mother had tied around her hair the night before. She could feel her long, brown hair pressing on her back. It rippled down her back in wild, dripping rivulets. This is my becoming. Here I am. In front of these hoomin I don’t know. In front of this strange hoomin. For the first time in her life she wondered how she looked.
The Woolly walked up to Fair. He held a folded piece of cloth on his upturned palms, like a pillow. He silently unfolded the apron and put it over Fair’s head, then walked behind her and tied it around her waist. She moved her shoulders around to get comfortable. She looked down and saw that the apron was white. Not a spot on it. Not a shadow. Nothing but white. Light. Freedom.
At last he spoke, “Your full name is . . .”
Azanamer stopped him, “Not now. If Fair doesn’t know, she can’t tell. It’s her last protection.”
The Woolly followed by saying something remarkably coherent, “You are your parents inheritance. A great gift.”
Fair knit her eyebrows together for a brief moment. Mother says that every time she says good night, ‘You are my inheritance from the gods, my great gift.’ Did all parents say that to their wee hoomin when they tucked them in at night? What does it mean?
Then she heard the Woolly say, “And you are to bring a miracle to Cloven Grave.”
Hold on. What? Fair was stunned. Her stomach became a heavy stone.
“A miracle? Me? What do you mean?”
“Just that.” He made a move to leave, then stopped. He stopped to scratch Sauveren’s head. The two furry creatures looked remarkably similar if it weren’t for the fact that one of them stood on two legs. The Woolly’s demeanor changed then and he walked back to his chair, muttering,
Tie your shoes, I can’t, I can’t
Tie your shoes I can’t.
The night before, as she had lain in the wagon dreaming of this moment, she had imagined that it would feel wonderful. Just to be a part of the world outside of her cottage. Outside of her cellar. But to have to do something she knew nothing about? This didn’t feel wonderful.
She hadn’t planned on her new world being a world of so many unknowns. She had traded darkness, daydreams and comfort for light, sight and unexpected responsibility. It was a complete shock.
Fair looked around at everyone in the room. They were all looking back at her. Full of expectance. They were used to the Woolly’s jibberish, but he had never pronounced anything like this before.
A miracle! The miracle, perhaps?
For some time now, mysterious writings had appeared along the roadside trees. Every time Harrold King had the whim to post another law on the Cries Unia that hung from the road-side trees (which was nearly all the time), the following night, words were burned into the leather parchment, completely replacing what he had decreed as law
There had been quite a few tree writings, as they had come to be called. He was furious about it.
The tree writings prophesied that a miracle was coming. They wrote that a new law would do away with the Laws of Memory. Harrold King had taken the Laws of Memory to the extreme, and so the hoomin of Cloven Grave had looked forward, for a long time now, and with great expectancy, for the coming of this “miracle.”
Now the Woolly was telling them that Fair was going to bring them a miracle.
Fair noticed movement in the room. Some of the hoomin were beginning to stand up. Her uncle was encouraging his wee hoomin to stand. They’re standing because of me. Fair felt like she wanted to hide. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. How do you bring a miracle?
She said in a barely audible voice, “Not me. Please. I, I just want to know my father and brother again . . . I want, I want to know who I am . . . I want to know why everything has been such a secret all my life.”
Azanamer glided up to Fair. She held her hands together as though she were praying, “Some things just are.”
“I don’t understand, Azanamer.”
“You may call me grandmother. Everyone else does.”
Fair took her cue and said, “I don’t understand,” she paused, “Grandmother. Why . . .?”
“You will find out in due time,” Azanamer answered. “I wanted to take this moment to tell you a story. It’s the story of the beginning of the hoomin—and your beginning, Fair. But we don’t have time.”
“I’d really like to hear it . . . Aza . . . uh, grandmother.”
“And you shall, but not now. We must be quick if we’re to make it to Clock Tower Square. I’ll simply announce this: You are now, as of this moment, a maiden. She turned to the hoomin in the room and said, “Fair now belongs to us. Accept her gladly.”
A shock of light filled the room, and everything became brilliant and white.
The owner of Lambs Tavern had yanked open the curtains. He threw opened the windows, held onto the windowsill, did a little jig, and shouted, “Hallelujiah!” into the street.
The silence in the room erupted into laughter and talking. Fair felt kisses on her cheeks, and her hand being shaken, over and over.
She was free.
Fair was jostled to the front door with a lot of laughter. She looked behind her and noticed she would be first in line to leave Lambs Tavern. The door opened.
Two rows of pipers in kilts and tall, bear skin hats framed the exit out onto the street. Music began to drone like a sick cow, then surge and swell majestically until it filled the air with chilling, beautiful music. Fair looked at her arms, and saw goose bumps all over. Everyone was laughing, but all she heard, was the music. It filled her from the inside out.
She looked to Azanamer with a surprised look on her face, “What’s all this?”
“This is the usual way to end the celebration of maidenhood, Fair. This one is a modest procession . . . but nonetheless. You go first, dear maiden.”
Fair smiled. Now she felt the joy she had hoped for. She was on the edge of walking freely into daylight for the first time in nine years.
Fair and her dog walked through the door, into the wide, wide world.
Hidden within a crack in a wall, two red eyes watched her leave.
And there was the faintest sound of something scratching.
Like sandpaper.
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