Run

II. Hyree

II-Hyree

It was at long last, the Fourteenth Day.

Hyree had waited all her life for this day, when the village’s artisans came to apprentice all the orphans who had recently turned fourteen years of age from the orphanage. They called it removing burdens from society. She called it freedom.

She sat on the dusty wooden floor, just where she could watch everyone coming  in and out through the door and waited all day as the artisans walked in and out, asking each orphan to demonstrate something they could do. Occasionally, they would pause and ask Hyree a question, such as ‘Girl, can you sew?’ or ‘Here, try to pick this up.’ But when she failed, they would just cluck their tongues and walk away. The only thing she had of value was her rich alto voice.

After hours of sitting on the floor and sometimes singing children’s songs to the younger ones, the quaint muffling around of the villagers was broken by the arrival of a new visitor.

“Excuse me?” she said.

She was tall, regal, even, with her long, violet gown and the cascade of jeweled flowers draping around her voluminous chestnut hair. Her clear blue eyes and pale skin contrasted greatly with the tanned complexions of the farmers and smiths. Everyone fell silent, and all the ooh-ers and ahh-ers quickly had hands clapped over their mouths.

The woman cast not even a fleeting glance at any of the orphans or farmers, who cleared the way immediately for her, (whether it was fear or respect Hyree could not tell) but made her way efficiently over towards the mistress of the orphanage, Ma’am Lusil.

“Do you have any that can sing?” she asked imperiously. Ma’am, usually boisterous and dowdy, meekly replied,

“That one, mistress.” She pointed a thin, heavily tanned finger at Hyree, where she sat amidst a cluster of young children. They unhesitantly helped her up and some even pushed her into the path of the woman.

“M’lady,” Hyree said, attempting a curtsey. Her hands wobbled as she picked up her light brown, dirty dress, and she bowed as low as she possibly could.

“Come here, girl,” the woman countered, looking her down. “and sing for me. Anything.” Hyree’s mind buzzed with half-lyrics of songs, a blur of confusion. Would a traditional celebration song be too countrified? What if she sang a song of nobility? What then, would she be considered haughty? Eventually, she merely opened her mouth and sang the first words that came into her head.

“When the road is dark and cold,

When nightmares will plague you,”

She continued the lullaby she had sung for years to the babies when they sobbed. The toddlers were heard rustling around as they saw that a rich, glorified woman would want to hear the same lullabies she sang to them.

“And darling, peaceful be y’sleep.” she finished, hitting an impossibly low note.

“You have talent, but it needs to be controlled.” She stepped further, smiling. “I can teach you that control.”

Ma’am Lusil looked at her. “M’lady, where you taking her?”

“That is none of your concern. I can take her in for the rest of her life, and remove another possible burden from your shoulders, or you can keep her for your own entertainment.”

“Take her. She got nothin’, so don’t pack up, m’lady.”

“Good. Come along now, we have less than a day to reach the capital.” She placed a long-fingered, stealthy hand on Hyree’s shoulder, and whisked her out of the orphanage.