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Authors: Nancy Etchemendy
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dark woods again. The young hunter breathed deeply, dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, and trotted after her.
Before another hour had passed, the trees suddenly gave way to open meadow. Jacinth stood at the edge of the clearing, silenced by its beauty. The stars and the full moon hung like pearls in the deep sky. The surface of the lake shivered with cool light. Loons laughed softly from the safety of the cattails, and frogs and crickets warmed the night with their songs. But most wonderful of all were the lilies.
Mingled with the grasses, the lilies grew in rich abundance, their blossoms waving in the soft breeze like the bright faces of a throng.
“Silver!” the young man murmured beside her. “They’re silver!”
And indeed it was true. Even in the moon’s chilly light, Jacinth could see that the graceful lily trumpets bore no hint of orange or yellow. She laughed once more, softly this time, with wonder. She had made her own roads indeed. And they led to lilies such as no one in Aranho had ever seen before.
Jacinth and the young hunter made a fire, caught fish and roasted them without speaking, for the lake and the lilies and the light of the moon cast a spell that words would have broken. When the fire had died to red coals and the hunter lay beside it, twitching in his sleep, Jacinth rested in the soft grass and looked up at the stars. Dearest Joth, she thought. I will be home soon, and I will bring with me greater treasure than I had ever hoped to find.
In the morning, Jacinth left the hunter where he slept. She broke off a piece of journey bread and laid it in the grassbeside him, as a sign of goodwill. Then she went about the happy business at hand. First she wove a basket from cattails. Root and all, she dug a single silver lily decked with two blossoms and several buds. This she planted in the basket with good loamy earth and water from the lake. With her bow slung across her shoulders and the lily cradled in one arm, she set off through the forest again, back the way she had come, following the notches she had cut into the trees.
By afternoon, she reached the main road. Her heart was light as thistledown as she strode along, humming a tune and wondering idly what kinds of dyes could be made from the unfamiliar flowers she passed.
Once, she heard voices. She crouched behind a boulder as two lily hunters trudged up the road toward the forest.
Jacinth kept silent until they had passed. Then she continued toward home, whistling.
She reached Aranho on the evening of the eighth day. Though she was tired and hungry and her body ached, she stepped proudly along the main street. The lily, snug in its basket of soft, moist earth, glowed softly in the dusk, still as fresh as it had been on the morning when she dug it. As she passed, curious citizens thrust their heads from windows or walked out onto their doorsteps to whisper with their neighbors. It was not the usual greeting reserved for the first returnee from the lily hunt. Nevertheless, she noticed the onlookers much less than she noticed the familiar stone houses and straw roofs. Whatever its shortcomings, Aranho was her home, and she was glad to be back.
Through the purple twilight she marched to the door of the cobbler’s shop. Joth opened it as she raised her hand to knock. His face was as luminous as the lily.
“I’ll tell you a story,” he said as they stepped into the street on their way to Jacinth’s cottage. “About a lame cobbler who fell in love with a one-eyed weaver.”
She laughed. “I already know that one. I’ll tell you one even better. About a weaver who traveled all the way to the sea and back just to find out that all she really wanted was to marry a cobbler and live the rest of her life in the town where she was born.”
Joth gazed at her merrily as he swung along on his crutches, his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “All the way to the sea?”
“Oh yes. It took that great a distance,” she
Before another hour had passed, the trees suddenly gave way to open meadow. Jacinth stood at the edge of the clearing, silenced by its beauty. The stars and the full moon hung like pearls in the deep sky. The surface of the lake shivered with cool light. Loons laughed softly from the safety of the cattails, and frogs and crickets warmed the night with their songs. But most wonderful of all were the lilies.
Mingled with the grasses, the lilies grew in rich abundance, their blossoms waving in the soft breeze like the bright faces of a throng.
“Silver!” the young man murmured beside her. “They’re silver!”
And indeed it was true. Even in the moon’s chilly light, Jacinth could see that the graceful lily trumpets bore no hint of orange or yellow. She laughed once more, softly this time, with wonder. She had made her own roads indeed. And they led to lilies such as no one in Aranho had ever seen before.
Jacinth and the young hunter made a fire, caught fish and roasted them without speaking, for the lake and the lilies and the light of the moon cast a spell that words would have broken. When the fire had died to red coals and the hunter lay beside it, twitching in his sleep, Jacinth rested in the soft grass and looked up at the stars. Dearest Joth, she thought. I will be home soon, and I will bring with me greater treasure than I had ever hoped to find.
In the morning, Jacinth left the hunter where he slept. She broke off a piece of journey bread and laid it in the grassbeside him, as a sign of goodwill. Then she went about the happy business at hand. First she wove a basket from cattails. Root and all, she dug a single silver lily decked with two blossoms and several buds. This she planted in the basket with good loamy earth and water from the lake. With her bow slung across her shoulders and the lily cradled in one arm, she set off through the forest again, back the way she had come, following the notches she had cut into the trees.
By afternoon, she reached the main road. Her heart was light as thistledown as she strode along, humming a tune and wondering idly what kinds of dyes could be made from the unfamiliar flowers she passed.
Once, she heard voices. She crouched behind a boulder as two lily hunters trudged up the road toward the forest.
Jacinth kept silent until they had passed. Then she continued toward home, whistling.
She reached Aranho on the evening of the eighth day. Though she was tired and hungry and her body ached, she stepped proudly along the main street. The lily, snug in its basket of soft, moist earth, glowed softly in the dusk, still as fresh as it had been on the morning when she dug it. As she passed, curious citizens thrust their heads from windows or walked out onto their doorsteps to whisper with their neighbors. It was not the usual greeting reserved for the first returnee from the lily hunt. Nevertheless, she noticed the onlookers much less than she noticed the familiar stone houses and straw roofs. Whatever its shortcomings, Aranho was her home, and she was glad to be back.
Through the purple twilight she marched to the door of the cobbler’s shop. Joth opened it as she raised her hand to knock. His face was as luminous as the lily.
“I’ll tell you a story,” he said as they stepped into the street on their way to Jacinth’s cottage. “About a lame cobbler who fell in love with a one-eyed weaver.”
She laughed. “I already know that one. I’ll tell you one even better. About a weaver who traveled all the way to the sea and back just to find out that all she really wanted was to marry a cobbler and live the rest of her life in the town where she was born.”
Joth gazed at her merrily as he swung along on his crutches, his eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “All the way to the sea?”
“Oh yes. It took that great a distance,” she
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