her bow in astonishment. “Show yourself,” she shouted into the gloom, half relieved and half furious.
With great crashing and crackling, a man emerged from among the trees. By the light of the stars and the rising moon, she could see that he held his hands out at his sides, palms up and empty. When he stood within a few steps of her, she recognized him as the arrogant lily hunter who had confronted her on the road. He had no arrow in him.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I … we’ve found hardly any lilies where the elders told us to look. Only two or three. There’s not enough food. The hunting’s been bad, and today a bear killed the baker’s son. It was my idea to follow you. Because of what you said … that you make your own roads. I thought … I thought you might …”
His voice trailed off into self-conscious silence. By the faint, cold light of the moon, she saw that he was nearlyweeping with fatigue. His face and hands were covered with dark scratches, and mud smeared his clothes.
Jacinth stared at him dumbfounded. She felt as she had when, as a child, Noa had blindfolded her and forced her to walk across a narrow, bouncing plank. They were playing in the rafters of the mill. Noa told her that the plank stretched high above the grinding stones, and that if Jacinth slipped, she would fall to a grisly death. Jacinth had started across the plank, her knees quaking and fear clawing at her insides like a wild animal. Midway she had fallen, and in the moments after she realized that Noa had lied, that the plank was only a few hands above the floor, she had felt just as she did now—betrayed, foolish, and ashamed of her gullibility.
All her life she had revered the lily hunt, connecting it with the mystery of that summer dusk when Sten had come for Wynna, attributing to it all the magic of hard-earned passage from a child’s thralldom into the independence of maturity. But now the blindfold was ripped away. So this was the lily hunt! The old men of the village told the young men exactly where the prizes were to be found and what to expect along the way. If it had ever been a true test of courage and resourcefulness, it was no longer. The brave lily hunter who stood before her was just a boy, whining because he’d had an unexpected taste of manhood and didn’t like the flavor. If he found a lily tomorrow, he would think of it as something he deserved, and probably sulk because it hadn’t come more easily. If he ever became a man, what happened in these woods would have precious little to do with it.
Like a cave dweller who has climbed up through bleak caverns and seen the sun for the first time rising at her door, Jacinth now realized that the thing she sought had been there all along. She had convinced herself that without the flower talisman, she could never be a woman. She had spent her life in bitter longing because her peers had judged her by her eyeless cheek and found her wanting, and so, she thought, withheld from her the thing she desired most. All along, the lily had been inside her. And Joth, dear Joth, who had always known, waited patiently while she found her own road to it.
In the forest night, Jacinth threw back her head and laughed, more freely and joyously than she ever had before. The lily hunter shuffled his feet and watched her nervously as if she had gone mad, which only made her laugh even more. Her ribs ached, and her voice was hoarse by the time she stopped.
She smiled at the disheveled young man and shook her head. “All right then. If you’d like, we can share a fire tonight,” she said, wiping the tears of mirth from her eye.
She looked up into the starry sky. “Do you see those loons?” she asked. “They live on the lake that lies just ahead of us. Stand still a moment and you can hear the water lapping at its banks. It’s the kind of place where lilies are likely to grow. I plan to camp there.”
Without another word, she turned and started through the
With great crashing and crackling, a man emerged from among the trees. By the light of the stars and the rising moon, she could see that he held his hands out at his sides, palms up and empty. When he stood within a few steps of her, she recognized him as the arrogant lily hunter who had confronted her on the road. He had no arrow in him.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I … we’ve found hardly any lilies where the elders told us to look. Only two or three. There’s not enough food. The hunting’s been bad, and today a bear killed the baker’s son. It was my idea to follow you. Because of what you said … that you make your own roads. I thought … I thought you might …”
His voice trailed off into self-conscious silence. By the faint, cold light of the moon, she saw that he was nearlyweeping with fatigue. His face and hands were covered with dark scratches, and mud smeared his clothes.
Jacinth stared at him dumbfounded. She felt as she had when, as a child, Noa had blindfolded her and forced her to walk across a narrow, bouncing plank. They were playing in the rafters of the mill. Noa told her that the plank stretched high above the grinding stones, and that if Jacinth slipped, she would fall to a grisly death. Jacinth had started across the plank, her knees quaking and fear clawing at her insides like a wild animal. Midway she had fallen, and in the moments after she realized that Noa had lied, that the plank was only a few hands above the floor, she had felt just as she did now—betrayed, foolish, and ashamed of her gullibility.
All her life she had revered the lily hunt, connecting it with the mystery of that summer dusk when Sten had come for Wynna, attributing to it all the magic of hard-earned passage from a child’s thralldom into the independence of maturity. But now the blindfold was ripped away. So this was the lily hunt! The old men of the village told the young men exactly where the prizes were to be found and what to expect along the way. If it had ever been a true test of courage and resourcefulness, it was no longer. The brave lily hunter who stood before her was just a boy, whining because he’d had an unexpected taste of manhood and didn’t like the flavor. If he found a lily tomorrow, he would think of it as something he deserved, and probably sulk because it hadn’t come more easily. If he ever became a man, what happened in these woods would have precious little to do with it.
Like a cave dweller who has climbed up through bleak caverns and seen the sun for the first time rising at her door, Jacinth now realized that the thing she sought had been there all along. She had convinced herself that without the flower talisman, she could never be a woman. She had spent her life in bitter longing because her peers had judged her by her eyeless cheek and found her wanting, and so, she thought, withheld from her the thing she desired most. All along, the lily had been inside her. And Joth, dear Joth, who had always known, waited patiently while she found her own road to it.
In the forest night, Jacinth threw back her head and laughed, more freely and joyously than she ever had before. The lily hunter shuffled his feet and watched her nervously as if she had gone mad, which only made her laugh even more. Her ribs ached, and her voice was hoarse by the time she stopped.
She smiled at the disheveled young man and shook her head. “All right then. If you’d like, we can share a fire tonight,” she said, wiping the tears of mirth from her eye.
She looked up into the starry sky. “Do you see those loons?” she asked. “They live on the lake that lies just ahead of us. Stand still a moment and you can hear the water lapping at its banks. It’s the kind of place where lilies are likely to grow. I plan to camp there.”
Without another word, she turned and started through the
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