Opus 0, No. 4
(Fourth Episode of An Ancient Story)
Marah resolved in her mind to be good the whole week. Her mother would find no fault with her to worry over. Over the next few days, the servants noticed the change. She no longer attacked them with her small sticks from the garden, but rather she helped gather them for the fire. Lady Aylward and the nurse never wondered where she was because she restrained herself from exploring the castle. Even in the garden, Marah denied herself the many pleasures of climbing trees, splashing in the fish ponds, and smearing war mud on her face. She remembered that her mother never appreciated it when she walked through their quarters dripping with mud and smelling like an "Aquatic Regalosaph" (If you wonder what a "Regalosaph" is, I'm not surprised in the least. They no longer exist, though they were a common fish living along the coast of the Western province. As I remember, they truly did have an -- aroma to them. So, if anyone calls you an "Aquatic Regalosaph," it's a likely indicator that you require bathing in at least a hundred perfumes). But, though she did without these few pleasures, there were still more civil activities to occupy her days of self-restriction. She built castles with stone, wreaths with flowers, horses with sticks. Her happiest time was in baking a large mud cake with a goose egg for her mother, who appreciated it dearly.
Aylward came home every evening. He would tuck in Marah before asking his wife whether their daughter had behaved well that day or not. At first, Lady Aylward would answer in astonishment of the change, but with very high praise. As the days went on, her astonishment faded when she understood Marah's reasons, but her praise was not lessened.
The days passed until finally, it was the seventh day. Marah woke up suddenly and with excitement marked on her countenance. Ah, but then she remembered that one more day had to be endured before her visit to the prince. Briskly, she hopped to the kitchen to greet her mother, and briskly she hopped to the garden to start the day. Hal and Wat (her elder brothers by over 9 years) were practicing their swordsman skills. Marah sat on her designated rock and watched her heroes practice back and forth. Blow. Parry. Blow. Parry. Blow. Parry. One last blow and they were finished.
Marah called forth to them, "Do ye think I could pwactith too, bwothers?"
Hal, the elder brother, turned towards Marah, "Well," he smiled, "if ye down't go wandering off as ye always do. Sure ye can, Marah."
"Come here, Marah," Wat beckoned softly from where he sat. "You may hold my sword, but you must be careful."
"I will! I will be caewful!" she squealed excitedly. She skipped off her stone and before one could say 'No, nay, never' she stood before Wat. "I pwomise! I sweaw on my fatheh's sohd."
Laughing, the elder brother leaned against a tree, "Now," he said, "who told ye how to swar like that, sistaer? Ye sound like a regular pike!"
"Why," squaring her shoulders, she looked at Hal with prideful confidence, "Gabe says it ohll de time. He says 'tis de only way to espwess yohself."
Hal grinned, "Fer some men it is, but ye should be caerful on wuht ye swear on and when, sistaer. It could get ye in trouble sohmday."
"He's right, Marah," Wat said. "I hold nothing against Gabe, for he is true in spirit. But forging promises vainly, even small ones, leave those you know wondering if you'll be true to what you say. If you aren't, your promises become of less value and people will no longer trust you."
Marah reverenced these words from her brothers and solemnly nodded when they finished, "I will ohways keep my pwomise den." They must've found her sincere gravity amusing for both smiled at her.
Wat held out his sword to Marah, "Careful now." Gingerly, she touched the hilt. The blade reflected the light of the pond in such a way that gave it a blue sheen. It was mysterious -- and enticing. Exerting her strength, she grasped the hilt and attempted to hold the sword. This was the first sword she had ever held and to her surprise, it weighed a great deal. Much more than any of her model swords. It must've been equal in weight to herself, barely did the tip suspend above the ground. She looked confusedly at her brothers.
"Try harder littl' one. Ye're trying to lift a man's sword."
Straining harder, she lifted the sword a bit higher, "I did it!" she shouted, "Bwothehs, I did it!" her excitement had an affect on the sword. It wavered in her hands.
"Be careful now, Marah." Wat quickly reached for her hand, "It may slip out of your -- ah!" The sword had slipped as Wat was reaching for it. It swiveled around and mercilessly severed through his pants and part of his calf. Hal lurched forward from where he was resting on the tree.
No blood.
But no, there was a dark scarlet seeping through the pants.
"Marah?" Lady Aylward called from somewhere in the garden. It sounded like a sharp pin to Marah, pricking her on the spine. Her first thought was the prince. If her mother saw the blood coming from Wat's leg, she would ask what happened. When she found out, her father would find out, and he would surely do good on his word and leave her at home. But there was nothing for her to do. Soon, her mother would come to where they were in the garden. For a second, she held the idea of running away, but she pushed the thought aside the next moment. They would find her.
Oh! It wasn't fair! Hot tears streaked down her face. She had tried so hard to be good all week, and in a moment, some ill chance of fortune had swept her efforts into a dustpan and tossed them to the East wind.
Oh, my poor Marah. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, things don't always go your way. Maybe, though, just maybe something will happen that you don't expect. More coming later.
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