Stone soup, p.8
Stone Soup, page 8
With a sigh of relief, she emerged onto the moonlit path. It had taken nearly twice as long as usual to get through the forest, but dawn was still hours away. She headed down the first little ditch, pausing at the bottom in hope the crows might appear. When they didn’t, she turned toward the well, reviewing her plan as she went. At daybreak, she’d sneak into the village to see if the blacksmith had finished her hand. Then, as soon as it was ready, she’d take the road heading north.
She stopped at the well to gaze up at the tree. To her disappointment, the branch was empty.
“Arduon?” she whispered. “Paduon? Are you there?” She spun in circles, head back, hoping to see a wing alight from the darkness. When nothing but stillness descended on her, she pulled the wineskin from her pack, filled it, and drank. Then, draping the blanket over her head, she sat back against the well, her breath the only source of heat.
She longed for the crows’ counsel and wondered how she might summon them—or if doing so were even possible. For the rest of the night, she alternated between short bouts of sleep and long meditations on the crows. She needed to figure out who she was, they’d said. She needed to remember. But how, exactly, did one go about such a mystifying task? Perhaps it was rather like a treasure hunt. Perhaps all that was required was a desire to learn. In any case, she was determined to follow their advice wherever it led.
She awoke at dawn to see light filtering in through the blanket. She lifted it and peered around at the fading gloom. For a moment, as the terrain took on recognizable form, she wasn’t sure where she was. Then it all came back to her: She’d run away. She’d made her choice and was on her own. The thought was at once thrilling and terrifying.
Her back aching after hours spent hunched against the well, she groaned and stretched. When the air around her began to crackle and buzz, she got to her feet, then turned and sprang back. There, on the far side of the well, was a shape looming in the shadows.
“Zounds!” she said. When she realized it was Arduon, she closed her eyes and put her hand to her heart. “How long have you been there?” she asked. “I was hoping you’d come last night.”
“We didn’t want to interrupt your work,” he said from his perch atop the well. She glanced over to see Paduon waddling in the grass nearby.
“I wasn’t working. I was just sitting here,” she said. Paduon began to peck at the ground.
“You were thinking, weren’t you? Trying to sort things out in your mind? That’s the most important work a person can do.”
“Aye, I suppose,” she said.
“But how rude of us!” he said, glancing at Paduon. “We have yet to offer you our congratulations.”
“Congratulations?”
“You have decided to go in search of yourself. And you’ve taken the first step: recognizing what is not you: the false self.”
“False self?” she said. The only part of herself she knew to be false was her hand.
“Aye. The one you show to others, the one that reflects their expectations of you. Like a mask, it hides the real you, which is vastly superior.” He let out a squawk and turned to Paduon. “Paddy, which is the bird with the most brilliant feathers, in your opinion?”
“Peacock,” he answered quickly between pecks.
“Ah, the peacock, an excellent example! You see, at first glance, the peacock appears a rather drab, unremarkable fowl. But behind that unremarkable facade is the most breathtaking display of plumage in the entire avian kingdom. It’s the same with the real self. Its brilliance is right there, just waiting to be discovered.” She hugged the blanket around her shoulders and turned to pace along the well, her eyes searching the ground for meaning.
“The false self you created in order to survive life with your mother has lost its usefulness. You have outgrown it, and like the chrysalis that protects the tender larva, it must be broken through and discarded. Only then will you be able to spread your beautiful butterfly wings,” said Arduon, dramatically unfurling his wings. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“I ran away,” she said. He nodded.
“And to what do you run, Green Eyes?”
“I don’t know. There’s someone who needs my help, but I don’t even know who she is. I think someone’s trying to hurt her.”
“Aye, the Air Princess. I believe it is she you seek,” he said. “You will find her at the top of a mountain.”
“A mountain?” She’d failed so many times to scale a mountain in her dreams, she cringed at the thought of having to climb one in her waking life. “Where? How can I find her?”
“You have carried the key to her whereabouts with you your entire life—there, upon your heart,” he said, pointing his wingtip toward her chest. Sure she had no idea what he was talking about, she shook her head a little. When she opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, he continued. “You need only look within, Green Eyes. Ask yourself the question on your lips, and the answer will come. You already have everything you need for your journey. You need only look for it.” She glanced down at her pack and sighed. Paduon fluttered up to join Arduon on the wall.
“But I’m scared,” she said, fighting the quiver in her lip. “What if I fail?” She closed her eyes.
“All those who go in search of themselves find what they seek,” he said. “You cannot fail. For even if you fail, you will learn, which is the goal, after all.”
“Why, even our cousin, the chicken, can be as brave as a hawk when he chooses,” said Paduon, his baritone reverberating with such gravity, it caused the surface of the water to ripple.
“And so can you, Green Eyes. You see, fear is like mud in water: It makes it difficult to see. But if you feel your fear and give it the chance to move through you, your mind will grow still and you will understand,” said Arduon. Paduon nodded, and both birds leaned out over the water to drink.
As she stood there watching them, something about what she was seeing didn’t make sense to her eyes. She gazed down at the ripples spreading out across the water and realized that their images were not reflected there. When they stopped drinking and the water grew still, she plainly saw the wall’s reflection, but there were no birds atop it. She glanced up, just as they were beginning to dissolve and grow transparent. Paduon turned to her.
“Remember, Green Eyes, you’re guided by an imperial force. You always have been,” he said.
“Wait! Come back!” she called, reaching out to them. Before she could utter another word, they were gone, and she was alone with the new day.
-20-
Green Eyes lined up the flint, the fire steel, and the vegetables on the well wall. She was grinning ruefully at the paltry provisions, when she realized she’d forgotten to pack a knife. She picked up the vegetables, bit them into smaller chunks, and spat them into the pot, then dipped the pot in the water to fill it.
She glanced around for anything else she might add. Spotting what looked like a patch of green onions growing a few feet away, she went over, plucked one, and held it up to her nose. Her eyes brightened. Knowing all about plants and their uses was one advantage of being raised by a witch. She greedily ripped them up and brought them over to the well, then rinsed them in the water, cut them with her teeth, and dropped them into the pot.
After arranging some rocks into a tight circle, she gathered up some twigs and branches and mounded up some dry grass. She struck the flint against the fire steel until a spark caught, then nestled the pot into the flames. She began to stir the contents with the spoon, gazing sadly at the lonely bits of vegetable swirling around inside the pot. If only I’d saved some of last night’s ham, she thought, her stomach gurgling.
She checked the pack, hoping to find a pinch of breadcrumbs left over from one of the many lunches she’d carried with her to the village. Instead, she pulled out the spell book, untied the scarf, and sat down.
She wondered at the strange symbols and words written in both English and another language she didn’t recognize. Entire pages were filled with the same few words or phrases written over and over. Others had sprigs of herb, strips of fabric, or clumps of hair—both human and animal—pinned or glued to them. Several of the pages gave her a sickly feeling in her stomach, which mixed with the hunger roiling around there.
She continued on through the book, arriving at a spell entitled “Stone Soup.” The recipe, which promised “a remedy when ingredients are scarce,” called for the recitation of a few words over a rock or stone before placing it in a pot. Though she knew she lacked the eerie command of the elements her mother seemed to possess, she was hungry enough to try anything. She set down the book, picked up a stone from the circle, and felt its heat through her glove. She stood, held the stone aloft, and, though she felt a little silly and doubted the spell would work, began to recite:
“Mother Earth, from whom all aliment flows,
Take pity on your child, whose hunger grows.
With empty hand and deep humility,
I beg for sustenance and sympathy.
Upon this rock of thine, my hope is cast
That nourishment from Thee to me is passed.”
She slipped the stone into the pot and consulted the recipe. It called for covering the pot and counting to three. She clamped on the lid and watched as tiny bubbles formed around the edge.
“Very well,” she said, closing her eyes. “One, two, three.” She opened them to see the pot unchanged. With a shrug, she reached down to lift the lid, shocked to see the pot now overflowing with carrots and potatoes. She leaped to her feet.
“It worked! It worked!” she cried, dropping to her knees to inhale the pottage’s enticing aroma. It was even more delicious than the one she’d made the previous night, when she’d had an entire garden at her disposal. She picked up the spoon and stirred, in awe that with every turn around the pot, the stew seemed to thicken.
Once the vegetables were soft, she lifted the pot onto the wall, blew on it until it had cooled, and ate spoonful after spoonful directly from the pot. When she’d had her fill, she emptied the pot onto the ground. The stone plopped out last, and she smiled down at it. Perhaps her quest would be easier than she thought.
She rinsed the pot in the well, and as the water grew still, she caught sight of herself. The last time she’d seen her reflection here, she’d cursed it and felt ashamed. But now that her bruise was gone, she felt differently. She wondered why it was that her mother always insisted she was ugly. Gazing at her reflection rippling out across the surface, she felt for the first time that the gentle slope of her nose, her long silver eyelashes and glowing skin, her bright green eyes and shimmering hair might actually be appealing. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the figurine carved in her likeness, and gazed into its dull, unseeing eyes.
This…,” she said, “is not who I am.” Though the figurine resembled her in superficial ways, it was small, weak, easily manipulated. It was the person her mother had made of her, a servant for her to use and abuse. She flipped back to the spell for binding, took up the lock of baby hair, and got to her feet. She grasped the figurine together with the hair, closed her eyes, and held them out over the water. Mouthing a silent prayer for release, she dropped them into the water. The hair spread out like a fan, and the figurine bobbed and rolled. Then, as if suddenly made of much heavier stuff, they dipped beneath the surface and sank into the depths. Right away, she felt stronger and lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.
Gathering up her things, she slipped on her pack and headed back toward the path. Just as she was turning toward the village, the sun crested the hill in front of her. Its soothing, warm rays streamed down on her, and it seemed to her as if this day were somehow different from all the others she’d known. She squinted up at the glowing orange disk and knew it wasn’t the sun that had changed.
She arrived at the bridge, relieved to see that the river had slowed to its usual pace. Somehow, the gap in the boards didn’t seem nearly so wide as before. She leaped over it with relative ease, surprised to feel only a hint of her former apprehension. She paused to wonder which was more different: herself or the river.
Continuing on into the village, she noticed light spilling from a few of the windows. The road was empty, but she kept her head down nonetheless. Her mother would still be in bed, but when she did awaken, the village would be the first place she’d come looking for her. The fewer people she encountered along the way, the better—for their sake as well as her own.
She stopped at the blacksmith’s door and bent down to peer in through the keyhole. The shop was dark. She pressed her ear against it but heard nothing. Quietly at first, she began to knock, until she heard something move inside.
“Master Blacksmith?” she whispered. A grumble and a cough were followed by the sound of footsteps. The door opened to reveal the blacksmith, hair standing up on one side.
“Aye?” he replied, dragging his knuckles across his eyes. “Well, good morrow, lass.”
“Good morrow,” she said, glancing warily over her shoulder. “May I come in?”
“Why, of course,” he said, stepping aside. She slipped through the door, looking relieved to be off the road.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, Master,” she said, glancing through the doorway to the back room, where a blanket and pillow lay jumbled atop a cot.
“Not to worry. I was just dozing,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’ve not yet completed your hand,” he said. She struggled to hide her disappointment. “However, it is possible I could have it done by eventide. Could you come back then?” She smiled and nodded.
“Aye, many thanks,” she said, bowing and turning to go.
“You’re very early today, Green Eyes,” he said, opening the door for her. “Is something amiss?”
“I have left my mother’s home,” she said quietly.
“Ah,” he replied, glancing at the floor. “Is everything all right?” he asked again.
“Aye,” she said softly. “It’s just… If you see her, would you tell her—?”
“She shall not know you were here,” he said, giving her a smile that quickly dissolved into a look of concern. “But where will you go, lass?”
“I don’t know. Someone needs my help. I must find her. I must save her.” She stepped outside.
“I will work without rest to finish your hand,” he said. “Come back this eventide.”
“Many thanks, Master Blacksmith,” she said, turning to head back down the road.
-21-
With nowhere else to go and anxious to stay out of sight, Green Eyes returned to the well. She sat down, and after some time spent staring at her boots, wondering how she would ever find her sister, she again took up the book. Flipping through it with a mixture of fear and fascination, she arrived at the last page. It was a spell for turning lead into gold. There were graphs and figures, but none of it seemed to make any sense. The notes scribbled in the margins seemed to indicate her mother’s repeated attempts to make it work.
She turned back to the spell for shadowing and saw that it was missing. Her mother must have torn it out before she’d left! Had she foreseen her escape? Had she known she’d try to take the book with her? As unsettling as the discovery was, she refused to allow it to dampen her spirit. Let her mother send a thousand shadows; she would not be cowed.
She set the book aside and took out her blanket. Balling it up beneath her head, she stretched out and gazed up at the crooked tree branches laid out against the sky. Before long, she’d nodded off.
Green Eyes charges out across the plain, paws thundering as the ground speeds past beneath her. She stops at the outcropping to gaze down along the valley. The second cat joins her, their bond timeless and deep.
They race across the valley floor, and Green Eyes begins to climb. She leaps onto the mountain, loses her grip, and slides back down, just as she’s always done. This time, though, the second cat is there to break her fall, and instead of hitting the ground, she lands on her companion’s shoulders. She glances down to see the second cat swishing its tail and roaring up at the mountain, as if determination alone were enough to conquer it.
Encouraged by this support, she again leaps up, scratching at the mountainside until, finally, her claws hit on something solid. They dig deep to find a hold, and for a moment, she’s suspended against the cliff. With the second cat snarling and swishing beneath her, she throws up her other paw and again finds a root hidden just beneath the surface.
In an exercise of sheer will, she hauls herself up, her massive shoulder blades twisting and hunching beneath her fur. Her powerful tail swings out to cling to the mountain, acting almost as a fifth limb. Her claws, black with dirt, grapple for a hold, when one of them slips, and she falters. For a moment, it appears she will slide back down. Instead, she throws her paw higher, reaching farther than ever before, and her claws catch on another root. Before she knows it, she’s traveled several body lengths up the mountain. Again, she stops to peer down and sees the second cat pacing back and forth, thrashing its tail and throwing back its head to roar.
Turning back to the cliff, determination burning within her, she spies a root sprouting from the earth above her. As she continues up, she finds that the higher she climbs, the surer her grip becomes. When she stops again to peer down, she sees that her companion is still there, swishing and pacing, though its roar has grown faint.
She continues higher, muscles straining, hoping the top will soon come into view. Instead, she encounters a layer of mist shrouding her way up, and the cold, damp air condenses on her fur. It’s so thick, she can barely see the mountain beneath her claws. Groping blindly for a hold, she throws her paw higher, resolved to finally beat this overwhelming obstacle.
