Chocolate #2, Rocky Road #6 and Creamsicle #16
Author: Lynn Stillwood
Rating: PG - for references
Flavors: Chocolate #2 Rivalry/Jealousy, Rocky Road #6 Kitchen, Creamsicle #16 Authority
Toppings & Extras: None
Word Count: 1,967
Story: Currently Untitled
Notes: My first post! I hope I got everything right. I enjoyed picking out character names, it is one of my favorite parts of fiction writing.
Aodh never heard it spelled out in so many words, "Why can't you be more like your brother Tavish?"
That was because if Mother Demetra had to state the obvious, then the entire household as Aodh knew it would fall victim to her wrath. The females would be greatly shamed, the animals would run wild and the males would be cut or expelled entirely.
To not know Mother Demetra's feelings was to not breathe the air. Each individual's place was made immensely clear to all family members--even to Blind Cecilia.
The females were seated at the wooden dining table, Mother Demetra at the head, Oighrig and Fernella in the middle and Blind Cecilia at the foot. Tavish had pulled out Mother's seat for her, holding it in his strong, steady hands and smoothly gliding it to meet her body as she lowered herself. He bowed precisely and returned to his place amongst the other husbands and male servants along the back kitchen wall, lowering his head as they did. They stood out of the way of the great window, providing the females with a spectacular view of the grounds outside and horses trotting about the pasture.
Aodh's lanky, awkward frame blundered into the view of the picturesque scenery through the window. The females' imposing eyes appraised him darkly, all following Mother's lead. Where Tavish was graceful, Aodh was clumsy. Carrying the water pitcher in trembling hands, he stumbled over to the table, sweating nervously to the point where he feared a drop might dare to splash into the females' water. In his haste to prevent such a misfortune from occurring, he banged into the table and dropped the pitcher.
Shards of the hardened clay pitcher, painted pure white, fell to the scrubbed tiled floor, across the table, into Oighrig's lap. Water followed, splattering and soaking. The simplest of mealtime tasks was assigned to Aodh and he could not even do that appropriately.
Unlike her daughters and Blind Cecilia, Mother Demetra did not gasp, shriek or moan. She did not deign to give voice to such an error. Silently fixing Aodh with her stern glare, her mouth twisted harshly downward. The men at once rushed to resolve the catastrophe, putting the revered females at ease and setting their kitchen back to its rightful place of order. The other women accepted offers of apology, comfort and begging for forgiveness. But Aodh's world had shrunken to him, unworthy and small, and great Mother Demetra's next reaction.
The hustle and bustle faded to the background as Aodh remained rooted to the floor, blood draining from his face as the minutes stretched ominously before him. Mother let him squirm, pinning him with unwavering gray eyes of steel.
Sounds faded to silence as the men shuffled to their places. What was left of the clay jar was swept into the dustpan and disposed. The water was wiped from the table. When all order was restored, except for the aberation that was Aodh, everyone turned to watch Mother. She deliberately waited until all eyes were upon her, observing her rule.
Then her head shook, slowly back and forth in disapproval. She turned away from Aodh, not wasting her breath to speak directly to him. Instead it was Tavish she looked to as a solution. "Tavish, will you demonstrate to your brother the proper way to bestow upon us the great Goddess' water?"
"Why yes, of course, Mother." Tavish's lilting voice sought desperately to return Mother to her former position of satisfaction, replacing the ills that Aodh brought to her life with joys. "You do see, Aodh, don't you?" He held a new pitcher condescendingly under Aodh's nose with one hand. Effortlessly, Tavish poured the water into the four cups, filling Mother's first and highest and then the other three equally. Not a drop was spilled, not from sweat on his head (not that one as handsome could possibly sweat) nor from water on the table. "Goddess Bless you Mother."
A smile lit up Mother Demetra's face that warmed the whole table of women. She watched her favorite son and perfect servant with evident pride. Aodh stood by, hanging his head. As a man, being ignored was more unbearable than being glared at, though a common enough shame.
Mother began reciting the traditional morning prayer of thanks. It was the same morning prayer that preceeding the routine placement of food before Mother first to sample, and then the other women, presuming Mother was satisfied with the taste. Then the animals were to be fed and then the plates of the women cleared. After all that was carried out according to Mother's plan, the men could eat at their own small table in the corner off to the side. But all these hinged upon Mother chanting the morning prayer.
All but Aodh were blessed.
Those that were not blessed did not eat. They were not worthy enough to receive the Goddess' bounty.
Aodh crumbled to the floor. His thin body would starve again this day, longing for even the leftover scraps and rejects the other strong, muscular men would get to eat. A sharp kick to his protruding ribs knocked him from his prone position.
"Get up and be gone with you," Tavish hissed. "Our beloved women should not have to lay eyes upon you any longer than is necessary!"
Aodh took his orders from Tavish, for Tavish was the highest ranking of the men. Even higher was Tavish than the husbands, for he came from Mother's loin and she did cherish him as her perfect servant. How it hurt Aodh's heart to know that he could never attains such a position. He, too, may have been the product of Mother's loins, perhaps the only thing that redeemed him, but he was an odd creature with strange fiery red hair. It was whispered amongst those that gossip about such things that Aodh was a cambion child, some sort of bastard demon spawn.
Why could I not have been born purely from one of Mother's accepted chosen husbands, as Tavish has? Aodh thought fiercely to himself, trying to ignore his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering at the delicious smells from the kitchen. Better yet, why could I not have been born a privileged woman instead of a lowly man?
Except Aodh didn't truly want to be a woman. He knew this even as he exited the kitchen, to proceed to feeding and grooming the women's horses. He longed for Mother's approval of him as a man, as her son and servant. Perhaps one day, his despicable soul might be lucky enough to be chosen as a husband for a strong, beautiful woman. Sadly, it was more than likely that he was unsuitable for any woman. It was Tavish the local women had their eyes on, if Mother Demetra deemed her favorite son fit to be sold, not Aodh the cambion child. Surely Mother Demetra would be more than happy to be rid of Aodh but would there ever be any takers?
Cursed Tavish! Aodh thought angrily, kicking over a pail of oats. If Tavish had never been born, perhaps another daughter instead, then maybe Aodh's suffering would be lessened slightly. Sure, he'd be a man and a strange, red-headed Cambion child at that, but he wouldn't have to be compared to that precious favored half sibling of his!
Catching sight of himself in the distorted reflection of the tin pail, Aodh caught his breath. He often stared at his face in reflective surfaces during private moments, intently focused and trying to pick out every flaw. Underneath it all, he vainly searched for something appealing and charming that might shine through, if he smiled just right or lowered his eyelids a certain way, maybe a cocked eyebrow. He used to practice lines, his voice cracking as he tried out, "Good Morning my beloved wife, how may I serve you," but one day Tavish had caught him and taunted him endlessly for it. Aodh had never risked praciticing aloud again. Tavish's voice had transitioned smoothly into a deep, melodical bass from his child's voice, but even though Aodh was older, his voice still wavered between high and low occasionally.
Lost in thought, Aodh hardly noticed a stranger's laborious tramping through the pasture going on behind him.
"You there!" a strangely accented voice startled Aodh from his musings. "Sir, I've come to deliver a message. Can you please direct me to the head of the household?"
Aodh whirled around, kicking and scattering the oat pail even more about the barn. Mother Demetra would not be happy, about the oats or him delivering this messenger during the breaking of the women's fast. What kind of person would disturb breakfast? Aodh noticed that the clothes were as odd as the accent. The woman wore a pressed suit and shiny pointed shoes inappropriate for walking through a field. She had spoken to Aodh politely, if inpersonally, but she did not regard him as a pariah as most locals did. This woman was certainly some kind of outsider and Aodh gawked openly at her.
"Well then?" she demanded impatiently before Aodh could even begin to respond. The fidgiting started all in a flurry as she tapped her pointy toed shoe and checked a time piece with one hand while pressing a tendril of dark hair firmly behind her ear.
"I, uh," Aodh stammered in the presence of this woman, knowing that he must obey women but knowing also that it was much too soon to bring about another round of Mother's wrath. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Aodh tried desperately to come up with some type of polite but discouraging response, when the messenger woman pushed gently past him.
"I'll just drop off this notice, then," she stated, briskly walking to the doorstep. Aodh was about to breath a sigh of relief at having escaped what was surely destined to be more trouble for him, when suddenly the woman procured a hammer and a nail. She was about to profane Mother's doorway at breakfast hour!
"No, wait--!" Aodh pleaded, reaching out desperately to stop the messenger woman and tripping helplessly over his toppled tin pail. The woman was so intent upon her task that she hardly noticed him, only halfway observing him out of the corner of her eye as she let the hammer come down on the carefully positioned nail.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Straw fell over Aodh's miserable blue eyes as he stared up at the misdeed he had been unable to prevent. The messenger woman nodded at her accomplishment, pocketed the hammer and wiped her hands together.
The door swung open. First Husband stood in the doorway, answering it for Mother, but Mother was standing in the background. "Thank you for your cooperation and have a nice day," the messenger woman spouted out automatically, as though she had been doing this a hundred times.
From his lowly position on the ground, Aodh watched the woman step gingerly over him and begin her journey onward, notices filling her back pocket. Mother looked utterly furious as First Husband went around the back of the door to retrieve the notice.
"What kind of abomination is this!?" Mother Demetra demanded, as Aodh continued to lay amongst the scattered oats and straw. Though he wanted desperately to get up, he figured his best defense was to remain as low as possible, for having allowed the abomination to occur.
"Mother Demetra, what does it say?" asked Fernella, who was now standing as well, letting her breakfast get cold.
"Yes, please Mother, do tell us," Oighrig chimed in.
First Husband handed Mother the notice with a bow and awaited her response. All were silently watching as Mother's gray eyes scanned the document...