Cracks in the Stone

Heavy mist hangs above the village, filling my nostrils with the scent of death.  The earth beneath us was thirsty and we’ve offered it its fill. It swells into the muddy puddles around our boots as swirls of crimson blood ink the soil.

The Men of Stone walk over the Mud People as if their remains were mere ripped ragdolls strewn among piles of broken toys. I scan my mind, recalling that short time I was a child of Mud. Faceless ghosts are all I see.

The Men do not see them but I do: the souls hovering around the stiffening bodies, each of them pointing an accusing finger towards me.

“Traitor, how could you?”

I smile back, to show that I neither care that they’re dead nor do I want to remember who they were when they were among the living.

I follow Lord Stone across the village, not as a servant but as his equal. He beams with pride when he sees the smirk on my face.  There is a chill in the air, and I shiver. He asks me if I am cold. He wraps his furs around me without waiting for a response.

I am patient while the Men take their choice of spoils. I gravitate towards the smallest hut. I find nothing but a glint of something shiny. As I make my way towards the farthest corner of the room, I see a shard of mirror.

I am stunned by the face staring back at me. This stranger plays an integral part in the Society of Stone.  The face once belonged to a child who was but currency among her people. Her once cherubic cheeks are now chiseled, resting above a strong jawline. Her eyes, once the color of summer leaves, now hide under the shadow of majestic sadness.

Those same eyes once watched a man auction his daughter at the market, advertising chastity as her best feature. He tossed her away like a sack of flour and puffed an expletive in disappointment as to how much he didn’t earn from the transaction.

This corner revives a blurry memory in my head. This was the same hut where Father told me that the lack of length between my legs made me invaluable. I never spoke to him again after that.

I was a child of nine summers old when the Men invaded. My parents heard the screams and quickly carried my younger brothers out. I was left behind, frozen in the same forgotten corner. Lord Stone looked down at me in appraisal then tossed me over his shoulders. I didn’t struggle. I watched a few Mud Men advance towards him but quickly abandoned their quest when they realized I was not worth dying for.

I woke up beside a boy not much older than I. The Lordling led me out of the tent and I was stunned when I laid eyes on a woman-warrior. I’ve never seen one before. He calls her Mother. She tossed a heavy wooden sword into my hand and swished her fighting stick at me. It stung on impact and I was advised to block every blow afterwards. I wasn’t strong enough to disarm her but I remained on my feet.

Anger filled my soul when she told me I’ve passed the first of many tests to prove my worth. It took three men to wrestle me to the ground and she laughed as she wiped the cut I made on her lip. She gave the men orders to drain the water out of me. I assumed they were going to shed my blood.

The Men never once asked my name, addressing me only as “Mud Girl”. They jeered as they took turns dueling me. I fought hard but I just couldn’t keep up. They strike at me like they were beating dirt out of a lump of laundry. At the end of each day, I was sore and bruised. This went on for months.

I noticed that they always aimed for my head. One night, the Lordling told me that a blow to the head was meant to release me of any memories of my past life. I silently damned the Men for their sadistic nature. But my thoughts of survival prevailed over remembering I was a child of Mud. It wasn’t long afterwards when I took to the ways of the Stone Men and they took me into their arms as if I was born among them.

It was the summer afterwards when Lady Stone renamed me Summer Clay. I was to bear that last name with honor: it was given only to those “born of mud and dried into stone”.

After years living among the Men of Stone I learned to kill. We kill to preserve our way of life, to ensure that no one will dare to stand up against us. The Mud People’s blood isn’t the first nor the last I will wipe off my sword.  But it sure did give me the most perverse delight. They viewed no value of me. I only reciprocated what I feel about them.

I storm out when I hear a nearby commotion. I make my way to the center of the spectacle where stands a girl who has yet to see her first blood. She tackles me to the ground and punches my nose. I curse as my men pull her off me.

My husband, the present Lord Stone, hands me a kerchief to blow my nose into. As the girl struggles from the Men’s grasps, she calls for the man lying face-down in the mud. I silence her with my bloody kerchief and order my men to take her back to camp.

There is no doubt in my mind the girl will be named Clay someday. But in her anguished cries I knew she was loved by her parents, very much unlike how I was valued by my own. It will take longer for her to deny who she was. And the intensity of her glare tells me that she wouldn’t fully embrace the ways of the Stone.

A fear for the future looms in my thoughts. This Mud girl will turn to stone. She will become a Clay as I had, as with every maternal relative in my son’s bloodline. This Clay, however, will fracture and in the cracks a flower will bloom. A flower named revenge. Her young mind is already calculating how to exact her revenge against the Men of Stone.

Spittle rolls down her chin. She tastes my blood, but she will never have a taste for it. I will love her as my mother-in-law loved me. And the Mud Girl will love me like she loved her own mother. As for her duty to my son, the future Stone Lord, only he can earn that love.

“Do you think she is worthy to become our son’s wife?” asks my husband as he pulls me up then gives me a kiss on the forehead.

“I will name her Lily,” I say with certainty as he wipes the blood dribbling down my lips. “But, yes, she will do.”