Dark
The warmth on my face told me it was mid-day, the sun shining brightly, but for me there was no flicker of a shadow, no color, not even the outline of shape. Nothing. Only dark.
As a child, back when I could see in the sun’s red glare, people noted my eyes, which were large and almond shaped, set wide with long black lashes that hid the changes happening beneath. Perhaps people first commented to glean favor from my foster father, Jessup, the warden of this small outland Duchy. Or perhaps they noticed because I stared too long, trying to see my way through the sharp light of day.
I would hear the intake of breath as they looked into my eyes. Their color, darkest violet shot with streaks of sapphire, was nothing like the serene gray of my townsmen. If they lingered overmuch, even the most daring would soon back away, confused and uneasy. Some, when they thought I couldn’t see, made a cantrap, that flurry of fingers to push a feared thing away. What caused them to fear a powerless maiden, I couldn’t say, but fear they did.
In a world where the women were favored by hair that matched the fall’s harvested grains and the men sported sand or ginger-colored beards, I stood out, a thistle among wheat.
There were few who would let their children play with me.
Not that my foster father encouraged me to mingle with the town people. He kept me busy with my studies: music, history and letters.
In my isolation, I was an eager student. By the time I was ten I could recite from memory all two hundred and twelve of the tales of Andover, line perfect. At thirteen my foster father allowed me to play the twenty-three songs of the heroes on my pear wood flute as background for the day of his Lord’s wedding. But by my fifteenth summer, when other girls my age were affianced, my vision was failing until I was near blind beneath blue cloudless skies. Marking me yet again different, and different was unmarriageable.
Jessup never mentioned marriage to me, never brought up my name to the others as a paragon of womanly virtue, never smiled with knowing winks when I blushed as some lesser noble offered to sit out a dance with me at a court ball. Neither did he seem concerned by my declining sight.
But I could feel his glance on me, ever alert to any discomfort or slight that came my way. And his hand would rest on my shoulder, reminding me that he was there, that I was loved.
In spite of my diminished sight, or perhaps as a kindness because of it, I was often asked to perform. I was sufficiently adept with music that my presence was often requested when dignitaries visited, illuminating the tales of the gods with my dulcimer, mandolin or flute. My voice was deemed good as it carried well in the large echoing rooms where the Lord entertained his fellow nobles.
I was not badly treated though sometimes I hungered for the companionship and laughter that came so easily to others.
But there were circumstances I knew were unusual—that I kept close to me. Even during the day at the sun’s brightest when my sight was at its ebb, I never bumped into walls, never knocked cups from a table, never fell over a hunting dog sleeping at the doorway. What I couldn’t see, I could feel; the weight, their presence, a force that distanced me.
It did seem incongruous, even to me, that though I was nearly blind during the sun-bright day and could not see my hand before me, I could move through the dark as if it were lit by a thousand candles. I told no one.
As a child, back when I could see in the sun’s red glare, people noted my eyes, which were large and almond shaped, set wide with long black lashes that hid the changes happening beneath. Perhaps people first commented to glean favor from my foster father, Jessup, the warden of this small outland Duchy. Or perhaps they noticed because I stared too long, trying to see my way through the sharp light of day.
I would hear the intake of breath as they looked into my eyes. Their color, darkest violet shot with streaks of sapphire, was nothing like the serene gray of my townsmen. If they lingered overmuch, even the most daring would soon back away, confused and uneasy. Some, when they thought I couldn’t see, made a cantrap, that flurry of fingers to push a feared thing away. What caused them to fear a powerless maiden, I couldn’t say, but fear they did.
In a world where the women were favored by hair that matched the fall’s harvested grains and the men sported sand or ginger-colored beards, I stood out, a thistle among wheat.
There were few who would let their children play with me.
Not that my foster father encouraged me to mingle with the town people. He kept me busy with my studies: music, history and letters.
In my isolation, I was an eager student. By the time I was ten I could recite from memory all two hundred and twelve of the tales of Andover, line perfect. At thirteen my foster father allowed me to play the twenty-three songs of the heroes on my pear wood flute as background for the day of his Lord’s wedding. But by my fifteenth summer, when other girls my age were affianced, my vision was failing until I was near blind beneath blue cloudless skies. Marking me yet again different, and different was unmarriageable.
Jessup never mentioned marriage to me, never brought up my name to the others as a paragon of womanly virtue, never smiled with knowing winks when I blushed as some lesser noble offered to sit out a dance with me at a court ball. Neither did he seem concerned by my declining sight.
But I could feel his glance on me, ever alert to any discomfort or slight that came my way. And his hand would rest on my shoulder, reminding me that he was there, that I was loved.
In spite of my diminished sight, or perhaps as a kindness because of it, I was often asked to perform. I was sufficiently adept with music that my presence was often requested when dignitaries visited, illuminating the tales of the gods with my dulcimer, mandolin or flute. My voice was deemed good as it carried well in the large echoing rooms where the Lord entertained his fellow nobles.
I was not badly treated though sometimes I hungered for the companionship and laughter that came so easily to others.
But there were circumstances I knew were unusual—that I kept close to me. Even during the day at the sun’s brightest when my sight was at its ebb, I never bumped into walls, never knocked cups from a table, never fell over a hunting dog sleeping at the doorway. What I couldn’t see, I could feel; the weight, their presence, a force that distanced me.
It did seem incongruous, even to me, that though I was nearly blind during the sun-bright day and could not see my hand before me, I could move through the dark as if it were lit by a thousand candles. I told no one.
