"The Dance, the Worship, and the Years of Silence," Part 1. (an unfinished story)
"I will ask the gods for... a husband who is kind and patient and does not fear a curse."
PC: JacksonDavid on Pixabay.
I cannot sleep tonight. Tomorrow I will be tested on my dance. I am confident. I will be able to place my feet rightly even if I am too tired to remember which name is mine.
You do not know what it means among our people for a girl of barely thirteen to have mastered the steps of The Great Dance. My mother says it is a mind-sorter: that women of quick mind will always succeed at it. My best friend talked before the first year of her life, and she was lithe and quick to begin the dance, imitating the old ladies before her real lessons even began. My older sister Sarilah did not talk until three, but by the time she was six, she was exasperating her older brothers as she won arguments. And she, too, excelled at the dance. Sarilah has been married these five years now, and has borne three sons already. Not married to a man who is very great, but she is content with that which is hers. My parents have hoped that I will leap yet higher.
But in the secret courtyard of my heart, I know that is not what I will ask for when I go to offer sacrifices in the morning. I begged mother that I may offer the gods sacrifices greater than those customary to a woman of my youth, but even she does not know why. When she reminds me that a king may see me, and at the least a noble man of great possessions will desire me when I dance, I smile but remain silent. It would be a great help to the family, yes. But most, I will ask the gods to give me a husband who is kind and patient and does not fear a curse.
My younger sister, Astrena has not brought a curse yet. She has lived through eleven runnings of the seasons, and we have not had a curse on our family. Mother continued to birth sons after her, and father has only increased in success and dignity. And yet Astrena still cannot speak her own name, and makes a mess if she is not helped to the chamber pot. These past three months, I have noticed mother is tired from waking up with her. Mother is so much older than I; so many children she has nursed. So I have trained my mind to wake up at Astrena's slightest sound instead. It was very difficult the first two nights, but now I wake up to her and to no other sound. Mother thinks that her difficulty in the night has stopped.
So, I will pray—I have prayed for a husband who will be kind, and will allow us to take her into our home... and who will allow Astrena to see the sunshine and the birds. I am not worried that I will fail to please my husband with mistakes in cooking, or in speaking foolishly among the wives of his friends, or in failing to work my hands diligently embroidering fine fabric. But what if the man's soul is not great enough for this?
First draft: August 2015
Known influences: “Taliesin,” by Stephen Lawhead, “Till We Have Faces,” by C.S. Lewis, and the life of Amy Carmichael. (I could wish to not have Flannery O’Connor’s “The Life You Save May be Your Own” as an influence for this one, but maybe I do!)
At the time I first made it - literally the same day, the timestamps seem to tell - I read an encouraging post on the question of whether virtuous characters could be interesting… (versus the interestingness-level of villains) maybe more about that later!