Vignette: A Glimpse of Valenia
Boredom does wonders for my writing efficiency.
They were so glamorous, these women travelling alone together, with all the dresses that they wore everyday and the bits and baubles they had to go with them. Two nights they’d been here, waiting out the storm that was too slowly rumbling itself out down in the southwest, and Valenia had had plenty of chance to listen to the way they talked and watch the way they were. She watched them right then, through the little window over the stove, which she was supposed to be paying more attention to than she was. Oh, she hated the monotony of stirring, of pots and pans and serving and clearing. Even the babies, usually a bubbly bright spot in her day, subjected her to their own tiresome routine: eat, cry, shit, cry, sleep, cry. It made her antsy for something, something like the things she read about in the books that she begged for and got every Turn’s End or so. Even the women in them had spectacular lives full of bounce, with large ships and dragons and great loves. Not just loves, but great loves. She longed for that, so so much.
“Valenia.” Her name was little more than a whine in her oldest cousin’s voice. “I can tell that sauce is burning on the bottom from here.” Valenia doubled the speed of her stirring hand, looking down at the stove again.
But her imagination let her look past it, as she conjured up each of the women, like delicate pieces of tissue paper in her memory, and thought on them. Junavie was so clearly the boss of it all; she had the frayed map and dictated directions from it, the rest of them followed along easily enough. That hair, like hers but so different, so pretty she wanted to touch it and not touch it at the same time. Livi was unlike anyone she had ever seen before, so tall and animated and dark. She called her Val, just like she called the little one Chee; she liked it, the nickname, it gave her a sort of elegance of her own. Chee was a spitfire, and intimidated her almost as much as Petra did, but she couldn’t help but watch the both of them, they were so deep and interesting. Ruesse reminded her of her mother, but with more of what a mother should have, even though, as far as she knew, the woman hadn’t had any children of her own. Danta was quiet, too quiet even for this sleepy little cothold, but she had gotten her to talk a bit. She was sweet, considerate and very smart, as smart as Valenia could ever hope to be. She wished she was talking to them now, any one or combination of them, really. They made the time go by so easy.
“Stop your daydreaming and keep an eye on these potatoes,” her next youngest sister berated her, sliding the tubers she’d been chopping into the pot Valenia was pretty sure had just begun to boil. She nodded while she swiped with the back of her wrist the sweat that the fire brought to her forehead, masking her sigh as best she could.
She would have bet that not a one of those women planned on standing over hot stoves every single night of their lives. It steamed her more than that stove ever could that in a day or two, they would get to keep going to whatever fascinating location-a Weyr, if she’d heard right-that they were headed for, and she would be left here with her indifferent family and run down life. Staring down at the faintly roiling potatoes, she decided something right then and there. She was going to talk to them after dinner, those glamorous women, tell them that she wanted to come along with them, wherever they were headed. People did it all the time, didn’t they? Whether it was on the back of a search dragon or in the arms of some handsome harper or with a band of pretty women. It was possible. She’d make her life interesting if it wouldn’t turn out that way on its own. It would make for a fun little adventure, she was sure of it.
They were so glamorous, these women travelling alone together, with all the dresses that they wore everyday and the bits and baubles they had to go with them. Two nights they’d been here, waiting out the storm that was too slowly rumbling itself out down in the southwest, and Valenia had had plenty of chance to listen to the way they talked and watch the way they were. She watched them right then, through the little window over the stove, which she was supposed to be paying more attention to than she was. Oh, she hated the monotony of stirring, of pots and pans and serving and clearing. Even the babies, usually a bubbly bright spot in her day, subjected her to their own tiresome routine: eat, cry, shit, cry, sleep, cry. It made her antsy for something, something like the things she read about in the books that she begged for and got every Turn’s End or so. Even the women in them had spectacular lives full of bounce, with large ships and dragons and great loves. Not just loves, but great loves. She longed for that, so so much.
“Valenia.” Her name was little more than a whine in her oldest cousin’s voice. “I can tell that sauce is burning on the bottom from here.” Valenia doubled the speed of her stirring hand, looking down at the stove again.
But her imagination let her look past it, as she conjured up each of the women, like delicate pieces of tissue paper in her memory, and thought on them. Junavie was so clearly the boss of it all; she had the frayed map and dictated directions from it, the rest of them followed along easily enough. That hair, like hers but so different, so pretty she wanted to touch it and not touch it at the same time. Livi was unlike anyone she had ever seen before, so tall and animated and dark. She called her Val, just like she called the little one Chee; she liked it, the nickname, it gave her a sort of elegance of her own. Chee was a spitfire, and intimidated her almost as much as Petra did, but she couldn’t help but watch the both of them, they were so deep and interesting. Ruesse reminded her of her mother, but with more of what a mother should have, even though, as far as she knew, the woman hadn’t had any children of her own. Danta was quiet, too quiet even for this sleepy little cothold, but she had gotten her to talk a bit. She was sweet, considerate and very smart, as smart as Valenia could ever hope to be. She wished she was talking to them now, any one or combination of them, really. They made the time go by so easy.
“Stop your daydreaming and keep an eye on these potatoes,” her next youngest sister berated her, sliding the tubers she’d been chopping into the pot Valenia was pretty sure had just begun to boil. She nodded while she swiped with the back of her wrist the sweat that the fire brought to her forehead, masking her sigh as best she could.
She would have bet that not a one of those women planned on standing over hot stoves every single night of their lives. It steamed her more than that stove ever could that in a day or two, they would get to keep going to whatever fascinating location-a Weyr, if she’d heard right-that they were headed for, and she would be left here with her indifferent family and run down life. Staring down at the faintly roiling potatoes, she decided something right then and there. She was going to talk to them after dinner, those glamorous women, tell them that she wanted to come along with them, wherever they were headed. People did it all the time, didn’t they? Whether it was on the back of a search dragon or in the arms of some handsome harper or with a band of pretty women. It was possible. She’d make her life interesting if it wouldn’t turn out that way on its own. It would make for a fun little adventure, she was sure of it.