1
It was Bisma’s eighteenth birthday, which meant it was time for goodbye.
But there were hours until then; she would not think of it now. Instead, Bisma got up from her bed: a soft spread of leaves above a thick branch molded perfectly for her body.
She stood and stretched, looking around the room she occupied in her home, a massive treehouse in the center of the Enchanted Forest. The other girls weren’t as comfortable with heights, but Bisma loved the feeling of being above the entire world, so her room was the very highest. It suited her just fine. With seven of them occupying the home (Baji Eva the eldest at twenty-one, and Deeba the youngest at two), Bisma relished the quiet up here.
Walking across the weathered wood floor, Bisma went to the center of her room, where the tree’s massive trunk rooted all the rooms together. She stuck her head through the opening, down the stairs that twisted and turned around the trunk, connecting every portion of their home.
She heard her sisters rising, already bickering over morning chores. Baji’s voice rang out clearest as she ordered them all about.
Baji was the title for the leader of their family; her actual name was Eva, but when she became the head, she was called Baji out of respect.
And now it was almost Bisma’s turn to become Baji.
Pushing aside the twinge in her heart at the thought, Bisma stepped on to the staircase. Rather than going down to join the others, she went up, climbing onto the roof of her room, then up higher on to another thick branch well above the treehouse. She sat down, pulling her knees to her chest, and inhaled a deep breath of fresh, sweet air, savoring the taste of earth on her tongue.
The first time Bisma had gone into town, she’d eyed the neat homes in the village along the way: little cottages, one or two storey tall.How boring, she’d thought.And stuck on the ground, too!Her home was a plethora of connected rooms built on thick tree branches on the biggest tree in the Forest, and from up here, they had the very best view.
The sun warmed the sky with color, rising higher and higher, shimmering over the tops of the green trees, turning the leaves a fiery gold. From here, she could see the outline of the glistening Mirror Lake, its waters a perfect bright blue, as though it was a stroke of paint.
To the east, she saw the meandering shape of the Rushing River, the waves roaring white and gray as they dashed forward. Beyond that, she knew the Forest led straight to the Cliffs, which then cut off to the ocean. Birds flitted through the sky, their wings violet and red, chirping their morning songs.
Bisma had known the Enchanted Forest her entire life, but it seemed there was always more to see, more to explore. Her magical home, the very best place in all the world.
Turning her wrist, Bisma looked down at the mark on her skin, a simple black tree that branded her as an Unwanted Girl. This was what the villagers called her band of sisters, and they had long since adopted it themselves. An unwanted child, Bisma had been left on the outskirts of the Forest as a baby. She was lucky in that sense.
Some of her sisters had similar experiences, but others had come to the Forest willingly, having nowhere else to go. Not all who came were accepted by the Forest, and she had heard the stories of how frightened her sisters had been to plunge into the dark woods, not knowing if they would survive.
But those who were accepted were accepted wholeheartedly; strangers one day and sisters the next.
Bisma listened to the faint sound of her sisters down below. She could hear five-year-old Nori, up to her usual mischief, most probably bothering two-year-old Deeba. Twelve-year-old Azalea would be hiding away from her chores, while nine-year-old Mei would be assembling breakfast with fifteen-year-old Luna.
Inhaling another sweet breath of mossy air, Bisma enjoyed the view of her forest. She stood and walked along the branch, balancing perfectly along the curve until she reached the very end. Bisma did not bother to look down; she simply jumped.
Wind whipped across her body as she fell, and Bisma let out a shriek of delight, unable to help herself. Her stomach gave out as the ground hurtled up toward her, growing closer, closer—Until a branch reached out and caught her. Bisma laughed, hair falling over her cheeks.
‘Thanks, Forrie,’ she said, as the branch gently deposited her onto the floor of the Forest. The branch waved at her, then slithered back into place in the treehouse.
Bisma sighed, looking up at the house. She didn’t want to go in just yet, or she would be stopped a hundred times with baby Deeba demanding cuddles and Luna wanting to once again ask if she thought the baker’s son had told her to have a nice day in a general sort of way or if he’d meant that he specifically wantedLunato have a nice day, a question Bisma had already answered about seventeen times.
But really, she wanted to avoid the cheerful birthday wishes—and the harsh reality that accompanied it. Just a little longer.
Turning her back to the treehouse, Bisma skipped along. Whistling with the birds chirping up above her, she passed the vegetable garden and the chicken coops as she made her way down to the well for a drink of cold water, then meandered down to the stream to wash.
Stripping off her clothes, Bisma bathed in the cool stream, as she had hundreds of times before. She washed her long hair with lavender soap, watching the dark brown waves grow straight and ink-black in the water. The familiar scent calmed her, and she sank deeper into the water.
When she was done, Bisma saw there was a fresh outfit laid out for her on a branch, along with a drying cloth. It was a new dress; she recognized Azalea’s hand on it. While the twelve-year-old hated chores, she loved sewing and was always making new outfits for the sisters.
The Forest had brought the clothes out for her. ‘Thank you, Forrie.’
The wind whistled in response as Bisma got dressed. The dress fell to mid-calf and fit like a glove. It had short cap sleeves and was in her favorite color: a deep emerald green with black embroidery on the body.
She pulled the strings on the corseted bodice and tied them into a little bow, then admired the mehndi on her hands. She had applied it two nights ago and it had finally fully darkened.
Bisma twirled, watching the fabric of her dress lift with the movement, then fall back down, as soft as a sigh. She walked over to a still pool of water to look at her reflection. The dress really did look beautiful.
Her dark hair was beginning to dry and curl. Bisma usually let her unruly hair flow freely or tidied it into a simple braid. At most, she would add a string of motia, the sweet jasmine scent staying with her the entire day. But today, she knew Mei would want to do something special. The nine-year-old was alwaysinsisting on doing her sisters’ hair in complicated fashions they had no need for, and today Bisma would indulge her.
