I sighed. They did not exist. Nothing existed that was good. I wondered if even Una had been real, if that was not a fictitious account that only read as a diary. It was then that I realized that, other than a love for my sister, a confusing love for my parents, and the joy I had in books, I had nothing else. Nothing about my little life was happy.
At that age, I did not yet understand that regular food, warm shelter, and clean clothes were their own happinesses.
“Please,” I said, and this time there was a choke in the word. “Can you listen to me, please? Rodwin does not love me. I—I need to know I am not bad. They keep telling me I am bad.”
My body gave a heave as I let out a sob. Even in my solitude, I was embarrassed at this display. When my body relaxed, a heavy exhale rushing from my lips, I slid along the bottom of the box. The fat flesh at the base of my thumb stung, and I felt a trickle of blood.
I remembered the splinter on my heel from the first boxing, but this was worse, a nasty little piercing of the skin. In the limited space, I made a chicken wing of my right arm, keeping it close to my body, and worked it up to my mouth to suck the splinter out and stop the flow of blood.
This effort calmed me, and my tears dried up somewhat.
When, despite the dark, I managed to get the largest shard of wood out of my hand, I worked it back down my body, the agitated palm resting on the box’s bottom. And then I had an idea.
“I guess I could pray to you, Mother Earth. Do not Tintariansprick their hands and offer a drop of blood to their god in prayer? You are surely the mistress of wood. Very well then. Here is my blood. Could you make the wood a bit warmer?”
I made myself laugh at this. Into the night I spoke to her, teeth chattering. My last words before I slipped into a fitful sleep were a request that she speak to Father Fire on my behalf about the temperature of the church. I had amused myself into slumber.
I had tried to piss right before the tenth-day service and was not troubled by a needful bladder or by the need to make waste. I had eaten very little. I knew this would make my time in the box cleaner even though it would worsen my hunger. These are not decisions a child should weigh out with their sibling’s input. Rowena had looked appalled at my frank speech about bodily functions, but then she had quickly come around to advising me that no, I should not eat too much. We had lain in our shared bed and discussed this all the night before.
The second day in the box was a bit easier. My joints were stiff without having been used, and my back felt like it rested on a bed of river rock. But I was distracted by my own bravery at praying to a god other than Saint Rodwin. And the weak sunlight that lit the church windows had returned, so the cold was somewhat reduced. I knew the night was coming.
I tried to spend the majority of the day recitingThe Life of Unato myself. I realized I did know great portions of it by heart.
When the two small air holes above my face began to darken, I knew the sun retreated from the sky and the church would plunge into darkness and ice again. Overcome by a sudden urge, I ran my splinter wound over the wood again and again until a fresh droplet of blood was produced.
“Mother Earth, please,” I started. “Please, please,pleasekeep me warm. I cannot stand another night. Please tell Father Fire I am cold.”
I blinked back another round of tears and returned to speaking to her again, this time about my sister and how pleasant she was, howI tried to be more like that. I told her about the handful of times I had sneaked into the Nyossa forest and witnessed the exotic plants and the phosphorus river algae. I drowsed again, lulled asleep by the very idea of her presence.
I was awakened by a squeak and a worried grunt. Blinking in the murky darkness, I made out the shape of Brother Tibolt leaning over the box.
“Hush, child,” he half shouted, half whispered.
I had not made a sound and found myself irritated that my state of semi-rest was interrupted. Then I was blanketed in heat.
A thick, woolen tapestry—one made of soft fibers, meant to be used for comfort and not for hanging—was draped over me. It was hot, as if it had been hanging near a fire.
“I gave the guards some whiskey,” the old man was saying. “Do not ask me what I put in it because for the love of Rodwin himself, no priest should have that stuff. Lightleaf is banned in Perpatane and by the gods, it is here too, though I don’t enforce the banning.”
I did not understand what he was on about, only that I was gasping with relief as my body felt like an iced-over thing suddenly under sun and thawing, melting into itself.
“I couldn’t take it,” the priest went on. “I was sitting in my rooms, just staring into the fireplace. Just astounded at myself, my weakness, my cowardice. Can you ever forgive me, child?”
I slipped a hand out from under the blanket and spoke without thinking, clutching at one of his hands. “I love you, Brother.”
I had never spoken the words aloud before. My mother had told us she loved us when we were very little. My father had spoken of love for us but not to us. And I felt an anguish then at having never told my twin that I loved her.
My words echoed in the stillness. Tibolt stood looking down at me, a wonder in his face. And then his features crumpled. “I have never deserved something less than your love, Roberta Miller.”
I had never seen a man weep before and I was scared.
“Please don’t be so cruel to yourself,” I said as quietly as I could. “I am so grateful for this. You are such a kind priest.”
This only increased his sorrow. He shook his head and said, “I’ll be by in a few hours with a warmer covering. And then again before morning. They can’t see that I did this for you.”
I nodded, though I doubted he could see it in the dark. I did not wake when he visited a second time, but I did when he removed both layers of covers from the box and told me I only had a little bit more to endure before the sun rose.
For the next four seasons, he did this same ritual during my winter boxings, giving tea or whiskey laced with drug to the guards, bringing me warmth in the form of blankets. In warmer moons, the night air was pleasant so he let me be, but he would bring a damp cloth for the sweat on my brow in the afternoons if he could distract the keep guards with some kind of errand. And because of this, I stood with less fear when my name was called in church and let them lift me into the box, knowing someone was thinking of me.
