The Dollmage

This much all of you know: Manal was the best boy of the village. He was not the best at everything, but he was the one all the other boys measured themselves by. Atur Longbody was the best runner in the village because he was the only one who could sometimes outrun Manal. Areth was the best cattleman in the valley, because his were the only cows that were fatter than Manal’s. Kello Naplong grew the juiciest corn and Wagon Dogkeep the hardiest wheat because theirs was better than Manal’s. Manal was the second best at everything in fact, except hunting. For that Manal has been named Masterhunter.

As I had promised, he grew to be very like Mount Crownantler. He was the tallest boy in the village, just as Crownantler was the tallest of the mountains. He was a silent man, like the mountain. The mountain peak bore ice even in the summer, and so also did Manal keep his emotions cool even in anger. Crownantler was not friendly to the valley people, and no one but Renoa could climb it far. So also Manal kept a distance from most people.

But he promised his heart to Annakey.

It shows the depth of her trust that she took Manal to her secret place after I had sent her to fetch the sheep she had made. Manal never betrayed her trust. He was silent as she led him to her bower. He did not tell her he had the previous day seen this bower from the other side of the river.

“And here, in the hole of this tree, I have a blanket, and fishing wire and flint and dried fruit. I shall run away and stay here,”Annakey said. “I will make a story for my father.”

“Annakey, did you make this?”

Manal was standing over the valley doll that Annakey had begun on the large, flat rock by the river.

She nodded. “It is not quite right. It is not like our valley.” Manal turned to her. Now, in addition to his affection and desire, Manal loved her. He looked at her in wonder and admiration. “Now I know you are the Dollmage,” he said quietly. “You cannot run away. Our people need you.”

“It is what I have desired, Manal,” she said. “I cannot help seeing the story of the village with my hands.”

He turned back to the doll. “You must build the doll of a house. Make it a fine house.”

“A house?”

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“Mine. Ours, if you will.”

Annakey bent and picked up the sheep Follownot. “Ours? You will do as Areth and ask me to promise to marry you?”

“No. I make a promise of myself. One day you may return my love, but if not, it will not change my promise to you that I will love only you.”

The best loves begin this way. The longest loves last this way.

No, I will not tell you what she answered. Have you no dignity? Will you give them no privacy?

Suffice it to say they returned to me.

She held the sheep in her hand, loose at her side, relaxed. She did not bow her head.

“Show it to me,” I said. Renoa leaned over my shoulder to look, too.

Annakey showed me the sheep. She hoped I would see the power in her hands. I did. It was more than a replica. It had the field in it, and when I looked in its eyes, I saw. I saw.

Renoa grabbed the clay sheep from Annakey’s hand. “This sheep is not like Follownot. Where is his ribbon?”

“It is like, but for that,” I said, my voice trembling. I did not think to ask Annakey if she had made anything else.

Renoa picked up a bit of thin ribbon and tied it around the clay sheep’s neck. “There. Oda Weedbridge always placed a ribbon around her sheep’s neck, like this.”

She smiled up at me, hoping for my approval, but saw only pity in my countenance.

“Yes,” Annakey said. “That is better, Renoa.” In her voice I could hear the confidence a Dollmage has in her art, and pity for Renoa. Renoa heard it, too.

She looked from me to Manal to Annakey. Then, before I could stop her, Renoa threw the clay sheep into the fire and ran out of the house.

I let her go.

“Did you not promise me that you would make no more animal dolls? To break a promise is punishable by death. I will counsel the villagers to be lenient, but one who has broken a promise can never be Dollmage.”

Annakey stood tall. Something inside her had changed, and I had not seen it. Or perhaps I changed, for until that moment I had interpreted her gentleness and cheer for weakness, not knowing the strength it took to choose it. Now I saw her strength.

“Release me from my promise, Dollmage, since I made the sheep for a companion to my father’s doll that I found in your chicken coop.”

So.

That was it. She knew my terrible secret, and what I had done to her father and to Vilsa and to herself.

So.

“I release you,” I said. I turned away from her and slammed the door.

That night I wept in my pillow for it. I prayed to God and asked him why he gave me to put a frown on her promise doll and then gave her the gift to make this sheep. He answered me in a puzzling way (so like Him): He told me the one thing that Annakey feared.

Now I will tell you.

Annakey was afraid of the power that she knew was in her hands.