Black Rose, a Cursed Child

I/ The Valley of Olivion

       It was a remote region in the heart of the kingdom of Afthonia. It was called the Valley of Oblivion, but it bore its name badly, especially during the spring and summer seasons. All roads intersected in this valley full of life and abundance. Nestled in the hollow of the mountains, its surroundings were dotted with vines and fruit trees. Higher up, one could see the green pastures where herds of cattle, goats or sheep grazed... On days when the wind blew peacefully, one could hear the light sound of bells hanging on their necks in the distance.

I was born on a small farm in the early spring. At this time of year my father would leave us to go bargain in the neighbouring countries, hoping to find some treasure to bring back to the village. My mother, weakened by her nine months of pregnancy, felt my time had come as the dawn barely lit up the sky and only the earliest birds were chirping their joyful songs. It was in homage to this pure and unique moment that my mother named me Dawn. My father's absence was made up for by the constant presence of neighbours and friends who looked after her health and mine.

As the first child of a young merchant couple, I was not lacking in love and friendship.

My mother often told me how those who had witnessed my arrival were amazed when they saw the pure beauty of the newborn child. Never had they seen such a milky complexion, such large and deep black eyes, or such an impression of complete perfection. As I grew, my beauty became all the more striking. My face was soon crowned with black hair that cascaded over my shoulders. The first ten years of my life, although I have erroneous memories, come back to me in waves of innocence and pure happiness.

These bits of discontinuous memory are now tainted by remorse and resentment, but there are still a few moments of peace, which I savour when they come back to my mind. In particular, I like to remember the trade routes that used to cluster around the valley. Crowded by day, they emptied at night to fill the countless inns that flourished along their edges. As the sky darkened and the air grew cooler, the lights dotted the valley with a thousand torches and the sweet smell of grilled meat wafted through the air, accompanied by the mischievous melody of laughter and song. Occasionally, a fight broke out between one or other of the travellers. Screams of anger and excitement would fill the air, before the troublemakers were thrown out and the place returned to the peaceful, warm atmosphere of a roadside inn.

From my parents' farmhouse, situated high up on the mountain slopes, the lights could be seen and the wind carried laughter and muffled singing. In the evening, I liked to lean against the window and, for hours on end, contemplate this spectacle which seemed so soothing to me. I savoured that final moment of peace at the end of the day.

In these mountains, life as a farmer began as soon as you were fit to walk. Although my parents were initially merchants, they ran a small farm to supplement their resources, and often when my father went on a trip, I stayed with my mother and we continued our farming activities. I soon learned to help him with the upkeep of the thatch, the raising of the sheep and other tasks. The days were all the same, but no less enjoyable. Today I realise the importance of those peaceful moments of simple joy, of pure love between parent and child. A love that seemed unshakeable at the time.

As the cock crowed, I went out with a bucket to feed our animals. I took the sheep to graze in the pastures, a little higher up in the mountains. There I would meet Andrei, two years older than me and the son of our closest neighbours. In summer, we sometimes stayed for days up there, in a cocoon of greenery and calm. We spent our days together, watching the animals and telling each other about our dreams of adventure.

We would sit in the tall, wild grass and enjoy our handmade loaf, cheese and sheep's milk. We laughed a lot. Sometimes we cried. Often we dreamed.

Then we would go back down to the valley to do other things. I would lead the sheep into their pen, join my mother and watch her prepare dinner. Sometimes my father would come home exhausted from his day's haggling and we would settle down. I would listen to my parents discuss the week's rents and other news they brought back from the village. In the evening we would linger by the hearth. I listened to my mother whispering tales and legends from here and elsewhere.

It was only afterwards that I would return to the cherished solitude of my room, lean out of the window and listen to the sounds of night life.

Many years later, I would have paid dearly to regain even a moment of that peaceful existence.

I remember vividly the year I turned ten. My father had decided that it was time for me to accompany him on one of his trips. He came into my room when the sun had not yet risen. He whispered in my ear: "My daughter, now that you are grown up, you have the right to discover the world in all its vastness. And in no time I found myself waving goodbye to my mother as the cart took me off into the unknown.

I enjoyed the journey with boundless wonder. Sitting next to my father, I watched with interest the merchants we passed, the landscapes we crossed. I was so happy when father told me that we would sleep in the inns on rainy days! For the first time, I entered one of these buildings that had made me dream so much. I was struck by the heavy atmosphere that reigned there; the tired smell of bodies mingled with the rustic aroma of meat cooked on the fire. We sat by the large fireplace, in front of which a passing memoirist was playing. From his flute came a cheerful melody that revived the good mood of all.

In spite of the rusticity of the place, I found a certain comfort there and savoured the anonymity that accompanied these crowded places. Even today, I do not hesitate to push open the door of an inn to enjoy the simple company of strangers whose paths I have only just crossed and who will remain as insignificant to me as I will remain to them.

As is often the case, the place was crowded, and we had to share a room with another family, consisting of parents and their three children. I slept on a straw mattress, snuggled in my father's arms and revelling in his protective covering as I ventured into this new world.

We set off again and the days passed, monotonous, but I never ceased to be amazed. I watched my father's negotiations and exchanges, opening my ears wide to learn as much as possible. I didn't want to spoil anything on this trip, which was celebrating my tenth birthday, my transition to 'grown-up' status.

However, the highlight of this enchanted journey was my first contact with the vast expanses of water that lined the northern part of the kingdom. I had heard my father's travel tales describing them, or the epic songs of the Memoirs that recounted marine epics. But to see these deep and mysterious seas with my own eyes was a different experience. The greyish-blue waves licked the shore, retreated and then stormed back to a land never conquered.

This image became engraved in me.

I don't really know what the sight of it did to me, but it changed me forever. I was ten years old at the time and nothing could have prepared me for what I would have to endure a few years later, but looking back now, I have come to believe that those waves tossed relentlessly on the hard stones of the shore are the exact symbol of what I have become. Offered to the torments of fate, no sooner do I extricate myself from a situation than I am pushed into new abysses of suffering. Perhaps I sensed in spite of myself the harsh reality of my destiny.

Everything changed when we returned.

It was a slow upheaval, imperceptible at first. In remote areas such as the Valley of Oblivion, superstitions are great and touch many facets of daily life. It was easy to interpret the signs that might foretell a bad omen, and they were taken with the utmost seriousness by the whole village.

No one wanted to see misfortune befall the whole valley because of the misfortune of one person.