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ONE
The Shamer's Brat
Strictly speaking, it wasn't really Cilia's fault that I was bitten
by a dragon. It was probably sheer coincidence that
she decided to throw a bucket of whey in my face on the
very day the man from Dunark came. But every time my
arm hurts . . . every time I miss Cherry Tree Cottage and
the pear trees and the chickens we h a d . . . I get mad at
Cilia all over again.
Cilia was the miller's daughter, the only girl in a brood
of six. Maybe that was the reason why she had become
such a pain. Every time Cilia wanted something, a slice
of honey-bread, a silk ribbon, perhaps, or a new set of
Prince-and-Dragon markers . .. well, all she had to do was
flutter her eyelashes and make her voice all syrupy. Her eyes
were periwinkle blue, and she had the most charming
dimples when she smiled. Her dad was putty in her hands.
And if anybody teased her or thwarted her in some way, she
complained to a couple of her brothers. They had all worked
in the mill practically from the time they could walk, and
they thought nothing of tossing around sacks of grain as if
they were filled with feathers. Nobody liked to cross them,
not even my own brother, Davin, who actually seemed to
enjoy a good fight now and then. Most of the time, Cilia was
in the habit of getting exactly what she wanted.
Normally, I gave her a very wide berth. But that day had
been a bad day from the start. Mama had scolded me for
leaving my shawl out by the woodshed the day before, so
that it was now soaking wet. I got into a fight with Davin,
and Melli, my four-year-old pest of a little sister, had picked
the eyes off my old rag doll. So what if I was much too old
to be playing with dolls—Nana was my doll, and Melli had
taken her without even asking. I was so mad and so fed up
with the whole family that I couldn't stay in the house with
them. I stood for a while in the barn and shared my woes
with Blaze, our brown mare, who had the sweetest of tempers
and was very patient with most human beings. But
then Davin led her out to graze among the pear trees in the
orchard, and the barn became lonely and boring. I knew
that if my mother caught sight of me, it would not take her
long to find some task for me; she was of the opinion that
work is the best cure for the sulks. Without really thinking
about it, I set off down the road toward the village.
Birches is not a big town, but we do have a smithy, an
inn, and the mill, run by Cilia's parents, not to mention
eleven different houses and farms of varying sizes. And
then there are the places like Cherry Tree Cottage, some
distance from the village yet somehow still a part of it. In
almost all the houses were families, and almost all the
families had children, some of them as many as eight or
ten. You would think, with so many to choose from, that
it would be possible for me to find a friend or two, or at
least some playmates. But no. Not me. Not the Shamer's
daughter. Two years ago I could still sometimes play with
Sasia from the inn. But then it became more and more difficult
for her to look me in the eyes, and after that, things
became kind of difficult. Now she avoided me completely,
just like everyone else.
So, having walked about a mile through mud and
gusty winds to reach the village, I had no idea what to do
there. I rarely went there anymore, except to run a few
errands for Mama; and I ended up standing indecisively
in the village square, trying to look as if I had merely
stopped for a minute to catch my breath. Janos Tinker
went by with his handcart, waving at me but not quite
looking. At the smithy Rikert was shoeing the miller's gray
gelding. He called my name and wished me a good afternoon,
but stayed bent over his work the whole time. And
then big fat drops of rain started to spatter the gravel, and
I could no longer pretend to be basking in the sun. I
headed for the inn, possibly just out of habit. The main
room was nearly empty; a lone guest was having a meal, a
big bear of a highlander, from up the Skayler range. Probably
he had taken summer work as a caravan guard and
was on his way home now. He cast a quick and curious
glance my way, but even without knowing me, he instinctively
looked away, avoiding my eyes.
Behind the counter. Sasia's mother was wiping glasses.
"Hello, Dina," she said politely, her eyes strictly on the
glass she was polishing. "What can we do for you?"
What would she do if I said, Look at me? But I didn't, of
course. "Is Sasia in?" I asked instead.
