Caged

The air smells like spices. The scent of Ekkenis drifts by, making my mouth water. It’s one of my favorite treats- crunchy fried dough sprinkled with cinnamon, fresh out of the oven. I turn away, though, knowing that my allowance is all going towards Althaea’s gift.

The sounds of bartering merchants and bustling carts fill my ears as my feet pad along the cobblestone streets of the markets toward my family’s shop, the square already lively though it’s but early morning.

Mother is debating the price of a purse-sized silver statue of Aneket, the Atlantean goddess of wealth, with a young bearded gentleman as I slip through the blue curtain into the back room.

I drop my cloth bag on the ground and find my sister, Althaea, on the couch, braiding her dark hair and reading a large book.

She looks up at the sound of my entrance, brown eyes glittering.

“Jharna ! Did you hear?” She asks excitedly.

I shuffle through my bag, looking for the spices I purchased.

“About what?” I ask, pulling out the small pouch that contains the ginger and garlic. I set it on the table before flopping down next to her.

“About the festival!”

I roll my eyes affectionately. “Here we go again.”

She giggles. “Oh, Jharna ! I can’t even begin to imagine what divine things will be there!”

“So don’t. You’ll find out in due time anyway- why worry about it?”

She harrumphs. “You’re no fun. How can you be so sensible all the time?”

“Oh, alright.” I plop down next to her. “Go ahead.”

“The food, the music, the dancing, and,” She pauses and darts a glance towards the door, looking extremely guilty.

When no one emerges, she smirks and sidles up closer to me, lowering her voice. “The young men.”

“Althaea! Think what Mama would say! Her youngest, already wasting time on frivolous things like men.” I slap her arm playfully, both of us laughing.

Althaea pulls a face. “Actually, I think she would be quite happy. She’s been talking about marriage for you and an engagement for me for a week now.”

I start to feel faint. “What?”

Our Mama enters the room, a smile on her face, and Althaea nudges me to act normal.

“Did you get the price that you wanted, Mama?” Althaea inquires. She nods.

“10 gold coins. That should be enough for a little something for your fifteenth birthday.” Mama replies.

A wide grin breaks out across Althaea face. “A book, Mama, please?”

Mama smiles mysteriously. “We’ll see.”

I elbow her playfully. “Keep it down, or rainbows are going to shoot out of your eyes!”

She sticks her tongue out at me, suppressing a smile.

“Now, little daughter, don’t be a bad sport.” Mama scolds, starting to rummage through my bag of purchases.

She never calls any of us by name- Althaea’s just ‘little daughter’ and I’m referred to as ‘my oldest.’

It’s like she’s removed from us.

Althaea’s face falls. “No, Mama.”

I give her hand a little squeeze.

Althaea lives for Mama’s praise- it doesn’t come often, and even less seeing as she’s the youngest daughter.

In a way, that’s a good thing, as she doesn’t have as many responsibilities, but it also means that she’s the invisible one.

Anyways, Mama can be like that sometimes- smiling and happy one moment to scowling and shooting daggers the next.

“My oldest, what did you buy in the market today?”

“Ginger and Garlic, twelve coppers, from Master Vernius. Paper, extra quills, wax for letter seals, a gift for Althaea, four silver coins, Master Sakkas’s shop.” I say, hoping that she won’t count the money- if she does, she’s bound to notice how much was taken for Althaea’s gift.

It’s a big volume of all of Guinimant’s works, the only one of it’s kind.

Master Sakkas had it made for me especially, with a leather cover and the words ‘A Collection of Guinimant’s Works’ stamped in gold.

The book has two thousand pages, can you imagine!

“Why so much?” She asks, a little frown playing on her lips.

I rack my brain, knowing that if she doesn’t find my excuse good enough, it could end badly. “The quills are made from Ostrich feathers, Mama. I would have purchased something less expensive, but Ostrich is the fashion now, and our customers won’t settle for less.”

“True, our customers trust us to provide them with the very best. All the same, do try to buy for cheaper next time. Have I taught you nothing about bargaining? I should think the things from Master Sakkas would have only costed two silver coins at the very most.” She rolls a quill between two fingers.

I bow my head. “Yes, Mama.”

She picks out the stack of paper and inspects it, checking the quality, doing the same for the rest of the goods. To my relief, she nods in approval. “You did well, my oldest.”

I smile and blush. “Thank you, Mama.”

She hands me a little pouch. “Here’s some money to spend for the festival. Perhaps you could treat yourself to a new dress, maybe some kohl for the eyes and white lead for the face. You can buy some red ochre, too, for rouge. It’s time you found a husband, and the festival will be a perfect time to do so.”

I roll my eyes. I was about to thank her for her kindness.

“Not this again, Mama! It seems as though it has been time for me to find a husband for the last five years!” I retort, throwing my hands up in the air with an exasperated sigh. Mama glares at me.

“Honestly, it’s that kind of attitude that has been keeping away all your possible suitors!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Althaea slip away up the ladder to her room, sensing a fight like a dragonfly senses a storm.

“Well, have you ever thought that maybe I don't want any suitors? That maybe I want to marry for love instead of money?” I clap a hand over my mouth, realizing that I was shouting.

I've gone too far. Mama points a finger at the door.

“Out.”

“M-mama, I'm sorry. I didn't me-” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Out.”

This time I listen. I brush through the blue curtain, my head lowered in shame. The sun is high in the sky now, beating down upon the noon-time shoppers of Atlantis.

I begin to make my way to the docks, craving the sound of waves, the shouts of sailors from merchant ships unloading their goods, the salty tang of the air. Merchants call from the shops at me.

“Look at this lovely sapphire bracelet! It matches your beautiful eyes!”

“A necklace of lovely pearls for a lovely young lady!”

I keep my hair down, brushing my dark, wavy hair around to shield my face.

The docks were in sight now. I find a quiet dock looking out to the glistening sea, and sit at the edge, my feet dangling off the edge. I watch the waves crashing against the shore. It's beautiful in its rhythmic repetition. The tide is rising quickly, and before I know it, the cold water is licking at my toes. The endless cycle of water is hypnotic, and I feel my eyes getting heavy. I settle up against a group of shipping crates. Slowly, I slip into a deep sleep.

≈]}{[ ≈

I dream that I have slipped off the dock, and into the swirling ocean below. The cold darkness envelops me, as I glide down into the depths. It's quiet. Almost peaceful. But like all good things, it doesn’t last. They never do.

I’m suddenly awoken from this dream by being slammed against the ground. My eyes snap open. The sky is dark and glittering with stars, and standing above me is the very angry face of a red- faced middle-aged man. His icy blue eyes are filled with rage. He reaches down and grabs my wrist, forcing me to stand. I cry out on pain.

“Who are you, and who do you think you are? I know you’re kind, the filthy scum that lives on the docks, and steal other people's goods!”

He screams. My hair has fallen over my face, matted and dirty from the night I spent on the docks.

“Sir, I-I'm sorry, I'm not here to steal anything!” I plead.

“Don't lie to me!” He shouts again, tightening his hold on my wrist.

“I know why you’re here! You were hoping to get your disgusting little hands on some of my jewelry, were you? Well, I'm going to protect my goods from the likes of you!”

The strike comes before I can react. I fall to my knees on the wooden planks. My face burns where his hand struck my face, bound to leave a mark. Uncustomed to blows, the handprint throbs and pulses.

Another strike comes, this time in the form of a kick to the abdomen. I gasp, wanting to retch. It’s no use- I eat next to nothing today… or is it yesterday?

And another, and another, and another, and another. I curl up into a ball, my whole body trembling with the effort to stay conscious.

Upon the last kick, I feel something break. I scream and cry, trying to get away, but the attacks won't stop. With each kick, I grow closer to the edge of the dock.

As the man delivers a final set of blows to my back, my grasp on consciousness grows weaker. The world slowly turns fuzzy at the corners, the sound of the waves no longer comforting but mocking. And loud- too loud.

Through the pain, I suddenly hear the sound of quick foot steps on the dock.

“Stop! What are you doing?” Says a new voice. “You're going to kick her over the ed-”

But the warning comes too late. My bruised body falls over the edge of the pier and I sink into the dark ocean. The cool water feels soothing against my wounds. I feel my consciousness begin to slip as I fall down… down… down…

≈]}{[≈

When I regain consciousness, I'm sent into a coughing fit, saltwater coming out from my lungs. It burns. I'm on the dock again, and the moon is still in the sky.

My vision is blurry, but after a few moments it focuses.

I force myself onto my knees, using my hand as a support, wincing as I realize there’s someone next to me, witnessing my disheveled state.

It's a boy. He looks about my age, eighteen, with dark, curly hair, the classic Atlantean olive skin, and deep, murky blue-green eyes, with flecks of gold, that are filled with concern. I realize that he is dressed in the attire worn by those who work at the palace, with three lines of blue tattooed on his upper arm, standing for three years of service.

“What?” I snap at him, embarrassed. “Go ahead, laugh all you want. I’m sure it’ll make quite a story in the servant’s quarters back at the palace- the shopkeeper’s daughter, mistaken for a common thief.”

He doesn't laugh. Instead, he reaches down and helps me to shakily get on my feet and puts an arm around my back to steady me. Rather against my will, I feel my face grow hot. I sit down on a shipping crate, my entire body sore and aching. He sits down next to me.

“I'm not going to laugh, you were almost killed,” he begins, but then stops, smirking. His eyes dance, and I turn away, shoving down the sudden, unwelcome desire to hug him. “Although, your hair is in a bit of a state.”

“Hmph!” I turn away, but I double over from the pain.

“Be careful, try not to move. I think that idiot drunk broke one of your ribs.”

“Great, thanks for the information,” I mumble, adjusting the long sleeves of my soaked dress.

“No, really. Don’t.” He insists, but I continue to adjust anyway.

“Aargh!” I cry in frustration, tugging at the fabric.

“Here, this’ll help.” The boy hands me a pocketknife. “Use it to, you know, cut the cloth or something.”

“Thanks.” I blush despite willing myself not to. “Oh, well. The dress is ruined anyway.”

“I don’t know…” He c***s his head, stroking an imaginary beard. “I don’t think it matters much anyway. You’d look beautiful even in rags.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, so first of all, let’s get this straight- flattery will get you nowhere.”

He sticks his bottom lip out in a little-boy pout. “It works on all the other girls.”

“Yeah, well, I think you can tell, I’m not ‘all the other girls.’”

“No, you’re too pretty.” He rolls his eyes. “And don’t try to argue with me on that.”

He catches me preparing to lash back at him with some cunning remark and holds up a hand. “Nope, I don’t want to hear it.”

I sit back, arms crossed. “Why, you didn’t even know what I was going to say!”

He sighs. “Yes, I did, Miss Feisty.”

I laugh and try swat his arm, but my sleeve gets caught on a loose wood plank.

He takes the knife from me. “Let me help you with that.”

I blush, but allow him to slowly begin to cut the sleeves off my dress.

The whole time I think, What would Mama think? Her oldest, allowing a young man to expose her shoulders.

But, after being cast out off the house, I don't care what Mama would think.
The feeling is liberating. With one last cut, I am now wearing a sleeveless dress.

“My name is Calix Mariette, if you wanted to know.”

I look him up and down, considering.

“Ahh, Calix. ‘Handsome’ in the old tongue, how very unfitting,”  I say, turning my head back around with a flip of my damp hair to hide the blooming smile. “Tell me, were your parents quite disappointed when they saw your face?”

“For a girl who was just saved by me, you seem a little ungrateful,” he says, a glint of humor in his eyes.

“For a boy who just saved me from a near encounter with death, you seem a little unconcerned for my well being,” I retort, “And this ungrateful girl’s name is Jharna, for your information.”

We turn back to face each other.

My deep blue eyes meet his turquoise ones, and we burst into laughter.

It hurts to laugh, but the feeling of happiness is worth it.

I collapse against him, and we begin a sad attempt to recompose ourselves.

His hand lifts my chin so that I'm looking at him.

“You’re pretty, Jharna, you must be married, or at least engaged. So tell me, what man is coming to slit my throat tonight for flirting with his girl?” He asks, with a smirk.

“No one,” I say, looking down again, “in fact, that's the reason I'm on this dock in the first place.” He slides closer to me.

“Do tell,” he asks, gently stroking my hair. Even though Calix is still practically a stranger, something within myself tells me It's safe to tell him.  

I’ve only just met him, and yet it feels like we’ve known each other for years.

So I do.

Author's Note

Calix- creepy or sweet?