The Dollmage

This is the part of the story when Annakey truly becomes wise. How we all wish for wisdom, and yet there is a price to pay for it. After wisdom comes, gone is the joy that fills each morning upon waking, simply because it is another day. That inexplicable, unblamable joy — it makes my back arch with pleasure just to remember it. But it is only a memory, for now I, too, am wise.

I will give you an example.

A child there was once, in the days of my grandmother, who was a careful child. She was obedient and manageable, and all the old folks thought her to be much like themselves when they were young: perfect. She liked always to be clean, and to play in a sedate and cautious manner. She took no risks, tried nothing new, and never failed. Needless to say nothing bad ever happened to her. She took to hanging a little hood over her promise doll so that it remained as unmarked by soil or sun as it had been in the beginning. We all know that as the wood ages it discolors, cracks, and peels, never in the same way as another. That explains how we get wrinkles and age spots. Now, this girl never aged. Her skin stayed as smooth and bland as a child’s. Many men courted her, but none wanted to marry her. She was good to look at, but boring. She was never wise. She stayed with her mother all her life and was a burden to her in her old age.

A sad story.

I am full of them.

The next morning, Annakey left early, her pack full with the things she would need for a journey to the summer meadow up on the mountain. She had packed extra flatbread and fruit leather for Manal, who Renoa had again assured her would meet her on the trail by midmorning.

Annakey was happy.The day was bright on the mountains, the shadows small and cherry black beneath the pine. Birdsong echoed in the wood, and in Annakey’s heart. She was not afraid of the bears. They are late sleepers. She had hiked far by midmorning, passing the woodcutters cabin and the rotting bee tree, when she heard Manal’s footsteps coming up the path behind her. She stopped and waited for him.

It was not Manal. It was Areth.

Annakey could not hide the disappointment in her face for a moment. She had learned, however, that there was more happiness in being kind to others than in having what you want. So she smiled.

That was the last time Annakey smiled, for a long time. Finally, her frowning promise doll would have its way.

“It is me and not Manal,” Areth said. He was not smiling.

“So I see. Is Manal coming behind?”

“No.”

“Come then. We will climb a while, and then we will eat. I brought extra for — for you.”

“No. We will rest now,”Areth said.

“Come,” Annakey said, gesturing to him. She was already walking.

“Now, I said.”

There was danger in his voice. Annakey stopped. If she had known just how much danger, she would have run.

Slowly, she took the food from her pack. Areth was sweating and breathing hard. He did not look at the food, but at Annakey.

“What is troubling you, Areth?” Annakey said at last.

“You know.”

Areth was one of those people who always assumed that when hurt came to him the other person had done it purposely.

“I do not know,” Annakey said. “But we are friends, and so you can tell me.”

“Why did you lead me to believe that you loved me, when all along you loved Manal?” Areth said.

He was not really asking, and deep in his heart he knew that she had led him to believe no such thing. He was merely justifying in his own ears what he knew he was going to do.

“I have promised myself to no one,” Annakey said. She put down the buttered bread. She felt as if there were a worm in her stomach.

“You smiled at me, and you were kind to me, and praised my husbandry.”

“Everyone praises your husbandry, Areth. You are the best in the village, even better than Manal.”

Areth spat. “I am tired of everyone comparing themselves to Manal, as if to be better than him is a true feat.”

Annakey took a bite of her bread as if everything was all right, as if the air was not singing with danger. She chewed and chewed, but the bread would not go down.

“There are unspoken promises,” Areth said. “The way you treated me was an unspoken promise that you would be mine.”

“I am your friend, Areth,” Annakey said. “I have always been your friend—”

Areth slapped her mouth shut.

“We will be more than friends, you and I,” he said hoarsely. He pulled her near him and clutched at her breast. Annakey pulled away so violently she freed herself.

“How dare you treat a virgin of the village so,” Annakey said, panting with fear and fury.

“No virgin,” Areth said. “Last night I slept in the field with the other men on guard. In his sleep, I heard Manal speak about your breasts as a man who had seen them.”

Annakey shook her head. “No. Manal has always treated me with respect.”

“What you gave to Manal, you will give to me,” Areth said.