Purest Of Prose, Flash Fiction: Itsaso's Face
Tall grass grew in tussocks around and behind the house belonging to the family of brothers Koldo and Antton, their wife Maialen and their other-wife Xebete. The violet plumes topping the stalks were so numerous, it looked like the family had wizards or chiefs hiding in their bushes. Maialen didn't think they looked so wondrous, and privately thought her house looked as if it was surrounded by strange animals with upright tails. In the dark, she thought the plumes, moved by breezes, wagged eagerly, and she imagined slavering creatures waiting, hungry.
*
At chief Ederne's second wedding, plumes from Maialen's garden had been cut and speared through the bride's coiffure. The crowd crowed as the husband-brothers embraced each other, then their shared wife, and Ederne kissed her newest husband. Staring at Ederne, Maialen wondered if her beautiful chief knew that the mat upon which she sat was woven and dyed by her own hands. When she saw Ederne, perhaps unthinkingly, fingering the tassels and petting the tight weave by her feet, Maialen looked away.
Later, as music started, Ederne grinned at Maialen and said, "I want you, your house to make Itsaso's kite." Then she swung her to her feet to dance.
Itsaso: goddess of tempestuous, difficult weather; of passions thunderous and unrequited. Maialen remembered Itsaso as a woman who never married for she could not be with the one she loved best, who shrieked and wept continuously because of heartbreak. But she agreed.
Returning home, Xebete chided her for being so obviously envious of Ederne's eyes, nose, lips. Bedding down after festivities, curled between Koldo and Antton, Maialen listened to rustling grasses, like monsters shuffled against each other impatiently. The plumes wafted to and fro, as if worn by Ederne, dancing.
*
Itsaso's kite was traditionally in the shape of a birdwoman, wings outstretched, head bearing a corona of curled feathers. Maialen wove diamond patterns and inserted dried flowers and feathers, but as the day all prayers must be flown approached, Itsaso's head was still missing. Concerned, frowning, Xebete offered to finish the kite. Maialen refused, but reluctantly began making Itsaso's face.
Broad, proud nose. Black eyes shiny with oil and cleverness. Thin lips, stained with berries. Human, not goddess.
Peeking, Xebete said, "Don't let your jealousy steal her face, dumpling!" For everyone knew that if a kite bore a real person's face to heaven, the gods would steal it, leaving them blank as bark cloth, incapable of emotion. Xebete stroked Maialen's forehead and said, "Don't our husbands make you feel beautiful, too?"
Dreamily, Maialen began again.
*
The day of prayers, the gusts blew steady and strong, a determined wind. Clutching Itsaso's kite, its face towards her breast, Maialen headed to the hilltop where people had gathered, ready. When Maialen saw Ederne laughing with her family, she hesitated, trembling, then bowed her head and joined them.
As Itsaso flew up, Ederne shouted, "Oh, how lovely!" She turned to compliment Maialen and screamed.
Maialen was faceless and finally emotion-free.
Notes:
Names are all Basque, or at least supposedly Basque, because I like Basque names. This is not a depiction of Basque culture.
The grass growing around the house is something like Pampas Grass but better, because it's purple. Making things purple is probably the best perk of writing fantasy. (It is at least a top ten perk, for certain.)
*
At chief Ederne's second wedding, plumes from Maialen's garden had been cut and speared through the bride's coiffure. The crowd crowed as the husband-brothers embraced each other, then their shared wife, and Ederne kissed her newest husband. Staring at Ederne, Maialen wondered if her beautiful chief knew that the mat upon which she sat was woven and dyed by her own hands. When she saw Ederne, perhaps unthinkingly, fingering the tassels and petting the tight weave by her feet, Maialen looked away.
Later, as music started, Ederne grinned at Maialen and said, "I want you, your house to make Itsaso's kite." Then she swung her to her feet to dance.
Itsaso: goddess of tempestuous, difficult weather; of passions thunderous and unrequited. Maialen remembered Itsaso as a woman who never married for she could not be with the one she loved best, who shrieked and wept continuously because of heartbreak. But she agreed.
Returning home, Xebete chided her for being so obviously envious of Ederne's eyes, nose, lips. Bedding down after festivities, curled between Koldo and Antton, Maialen listened to rustling grasses, like monsters shuffled against each other impatiently. The plumes wafted to and fro, as if worn by Ederne, dancing.
*
Itsaso's kite was traditionally in the shape of a birdwoman, wings outstretched, head bearing a corona of curled feathers. Maialen wove diamond patterns and inserted dried flowers and feathers, but as the day all prayers must be flown approached, Itsaso's head was still missing. Concerned, frowning, Xebete offered to finish the kite. Maialen refused, but reluctantly began making Itsaso's face.
Broad, proud nose. Black eyes shiny with oil and cleverness. Thin lips, stained with berries. Human, not goddess.
Peeking, Xebete said, "Don't let your jealousy steal her face, dumpling!" For everyone knew that if a kite bore a real person's face to heaven, the gods would steal it, leaving them blank as bark cloth, incapable of emotion. Xebete stroked Maialen's forehead and said, "Don't our husbands make you feel beautiful, too?"
Dreamily, Maialen began again.
*
The day of prayers, the gusts blew steady and strong, a determined wind. Clutching Itsaso's kite, its face towards her breast, Maialen headed to the hilltop where people had gathered, ready. When Maialen saw Ederne laughing with her family, she hesitated, trembling, then bowed her head and joined them.
As Itsaso flew up, Ederne shouted, "Oh, how lovely!" She turned to compliment Maialen and screamed.
Maialen was faceless and finally emotion-free.
Notes:
Names are all Basque, or at least supposedly Basque, because I like Basque names. This is not a depiction of Basque culture.
The grass growing around the house is something like Pampas Grass but better, because it's purple. Making things purple is probably the best perk of writing fantasy. (It is at least a top ten perk, for certain.)