She thought of Leilia, of Krim, of Racine, how their faces would look if they were old and wrinkly, if they were still alive, and her tears dropped into the water below her, silent tears that accentuated the tiny new lines around her eyes. Trace the new lines around her mouth, from laughing, or her forehead, from concentrating on the Hibiol that she still made, but that had no power in this land, had no grasp over her life. But as time went on, in the little village of Helm on the coast of Mazerte, Maquia noticed the ever-forming lines on her face when she would wash Ariel in the stream by their home.Īt night, in the light of the moon, she would watch herself in the calm water.
It was not obvious to her at first, when Ariel was young and could barely speak or walk. Still shorter than him, but not so miniscule, how her eyes grow older, and not only from the burning of the Hibiol.īring her anyway, writes the King, and he bites his tongue so hard that blood seeps into his mouth. He notices, in the weeks to Mazerte, how she grows taller. Do not tire yourself so quickly,” replied Isol, steadily, although the girl unnerved him, made him hesitantly look to the Renato behind him to see if it had suddenly bent to her will, somehow. She struggled, but still could not release herself. He looked at her, her small stature, her vicious eyes, and loosened his grip on her wrists slightly. “You monster!” she cried, “Horrible, vile creature!” Leilia screamed, cried, beat the man’s chest as he held her wrists together, dragging her away from her home, from her friends, from Krim. Racine turned her head to the heavens, “If you do not leave this village, you will not have to find out.” Maquia sat a moment, before asking, quietly, “What happens to the Hibiol, if it is destroyed?” It felt like blasphemous ash against her tongue. They too could learn to, perhaps, find such selfless rewards. They think our long life runs through our veins, but it does not,” she bent down, caressed the closed bud of one of the flowers, “It is this land that gives us such longevity, our devotion to the Hibiol which gives us more time on this earth. Maquia nodded her head, and Racine continued, “The men of the lands far beyond here – they are foolish, blind. The elder ran her hand over Maquia’s cheek, her face and voice soft, “I will tell you a secret, Maquia, my sweet girl,” she said. On one such night, Racine met her in the fields where the beautiful purple flowers slept, their petals curled in on themselves for perhaps an eternal slumber. Maquia knew this best of all, during long nights when there was nothing for her to do but weave or climb out the window of her small room and watch the stars pass overhead. The village of the Iorph was peaceful, if not a little lonely.
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