Page 1 of Mestra

Mestra

The man said he was a merchant. He had heard of my father’s affliction, and could take me off his hands, as long as I would do what I was told.

“She will,” my father said.

“She’s fifteen? A virgin?”

My father drew himself up, because he was still a king, even poor as he’d become.

“Of course.”

So my father sold me to the man for seven roasted chickens. They’d initially agreed on ten, but the man was clever and when he came back that afternoon with the chickens, he brought them hot in a basket, and their smell filled the room. I could hear my father tearing their joints as the man led me away in my veil. There’d be no formal wedding because my father had no money for one. And I was not really a wife anyway. The veil was just a piece of old dress, so sheer with use that I could look through it. The man gripped my arm on the way out of the palace, as if he thought I would run. But I was nearly as starved as my father, and sick with grief for both of us.

“Please Father,” I begged. “Let me stay and help you.”

He jerked his head no. “This is the best help you can be.”

The man’s cart was empty, and splintering down the back. The horse had scarred withers and a split hind hoof. The man pushed me up onto the seat. Seven chickens, he said to me. You better be worth it.

Even through the veil I could smell the fume of his breath. I’d seen at least one blackened tooth. He was the same height as my father, but thicker of course. I didn’t know where he lived, if we’d be driving for a mile or a hundred.

The cart rattled down the dusty track. We passed the grey cliffs overhanging the sea, and the path that ran down beside them to the small beach. I had loved that place since I was a child. After my father’s misery had begun, after all the animals had been eaten and all the treasure sold and the household fled, my comfort was to go sit and watch the water there. The waves seemed to me the only thing in our lives that was unchanged. Sometimes fishermen would land, and I would beg fish from them for my father.

I had gone one afternoon three months ago. It was my favorite time of day, when the sun turned the sea to gold. That was where the god had found me. He rose from the waves, and took me with both hands.

After, he’d stood above me, broad and bright, holding his trident. My lip was bitten through, and my body ached with bruises. When he’d first seized me, I had had a moment’s foolishness where I’d tried to fight. But you cannot fight a god.

“Soon you will have a child to make you happy,” he said. He was handsome, of course, hair crisp with salt, beard foaming to his chest. I wondered how many girls he had found, on how many beaches. I wondered how many of them mouthed what I did. My lord, you honor me.

He went back to his waves, and I limped home. My skin turned purple where he’d held me, and my lip was scabbed for a month, but there was no one left to see except my father, and in his torment he did not notice. I was grateful for that, at least he was spared this new grief. And despite what the god had said, his briny shrimp hadn’t seemed to grow in me after all. My courses had been gone for months by then, since the last of the stores had been eaten.

So I was not a virgin. I didn’t know what I dreaded more: how this man would find out, or what he might do to me when he did. For the first time, I wished I did carry the god’s child, so he might help me. We were past the beach, but on that sudden thought, I held out my palms. “Earthshaker,” I whispered. “Poseidon. Save one who pleased you. For this man will kill me when he finds I am not as he thinks, and then my father will be alone. For his sake, help me.”

“Stop muttering,” the man said.

“I’m praying,” I told him. “Poseidon has shown me favor.”

The man laughed, a wet sound, like snapping chicken joints.

“If this is his favor you need a new patron.”

I was glad for the veil between us, sheer as it was. My chest was cold, and filled with rocks. It was true, there was no help coming. My father would die alone, and I would be swallowed by this man with his rotted mouth.

I should have cut up my face, I thought. I should have acted mad, or foolish. But that would not have changed anything. Like his cart and his horse, this man did not mind using broken things.

By then I was cold all over, shivering even in the sun. My flesh felt like a coat I wore.

The man stopped the cart to make water. The land around us was flat and dry, scrubby with rocks. I fumbled to pull the veil off. My fingers scarcely knew themselves, they felt so swollen, and my throat was clogged with dust.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“I can’t breathe,” I said. My voice came out rough and thick. I thought I might faint from my dizziness. I pressed my hand to my face, and yelped. There was something on it, hairy and coarse. I yanked at it, and cried out again, for it stuck to my cheek and hurt.

The man was shouting, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I had caught sight of my other hand. It was twice its old size, with black hairs on the fingers. I looked down at my lap. My dress was gone. There was a tunic and large chapped knees. They were hairy too.

“What’s wrong with you? Answer me! Where’s the girl?”

The coldness was easing. I touched the beard again to be sure. I rubbed my head, which was bare skin on top. I flexed my calloused toes.