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Of Oysters, Pearls and Magic - Part III: Wrath.
Second Father behaved curtly towards me days after the sea-witch had appeared in our village. I stayed my anger and held my tongue, because I love my half-sisters and hate to see them hurt or otherwise. Moreover, his attitude simply accentuated my curiosity. I wanted to know more about the sea-witch.
The storm hit within a week. We had fair notice of it, being warned by the watchers who paid close attention to weather patterns. Sheets of water cascaded down, washing away the sand, causing rivulets to form on the shores. The wind was strong and batted at anyone who dared venture out of their huts. I sometimes dreaded staying indoors, simply because there was Second Father around with his surly face and his barbed words. Grandmother was there, shielding me from his bluster. She was diplomatic when it came to her sons-in-law, polite and neutral in her speech.
My birth father – First Father – was cordial towards Second Father and told me to be pleasant towards his brother (all the men in the village call each other ‘brother’). He was still concerned about my light curling ability and stressed repeatedly that I should focus on other things. I nodded, though I seethed inside. I was no longer a little girl to be told to or of.
Yet for his kindness, First Father did not prepare for the wrath I was about to face on the second day of the storm.
Second Father was the leader who led the charge and showed up at the door, the raindrops beating a jagged rhythm on his rattan raincoat. He had earlier left the house, muttering about something and we let him, having more important things to worry about. The netting needed repairing and we still had to check on the pearl-oyster pools now open to the deluge of rain.
“What are you doing?” My mother said sternly, flicking water off her. Second Father was letting water pour into the hut and she did not like that. He led a group of solemn-faced men, similarly attired and similarly postured: belligerent.
“We have decided,” Second Father snarled and glared at me with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Mirra needs to be secluded.”
Ice flooded my body and I cried, “I did nothing.”
First Father shook his head. “Brother, you don’t have to do this.” Mother flung a look at him; he knew something we didn’t.
“Why did the sea-witch appear?” Second Father sneered and stalked into the hut, rainwater dripping off him. He stopped before me and grabbed my right arm. His hand was cold, clammy. “Because of her. Her!”
I pulled my arm away, wincing at the pain. There would be some form of bruising later. His grip was that vicious. “No. I refuse to go. I have stopped my light curling.”
“Stop lying, you little urchin,” Second Father spat and Mother stared at the ugly man she had married. “Women should not use magic.”
First Father lost his cordiality with his brother and stepped up, putting himself between me and Second Father. “She has said so. Let her go, brother.”
Second Father was past reasoning. He flung First Father aside, grabbed me once more and dragged me out into the open where the rain drenched everything. I soon became soaked to the skin. Someone tied my hands with rough fishing wire and it cut into my wrists. I was surprised it did not slice through skin.
There was a scuffle. First Father lost his temper and slapped Second Father across his jaw. In the pouring rain, I could glimpse pairs of eyes peering from other huts. My breathing grew frantic, my body was cold.
Mirra-Mirra-Mirra.
Second Father regained his composure, flung a contemptuous glance at First Father whose eyes showed shock and anger. “Majority vote, brother.” The rest of the group muttered assent and refused to meet my eyes, my parents’ eyes.
“What perfidy is this?” Grandmother’s voice. Loud and clear. She had been napping. Now she stood, her stance stubborn, arms akimbo on her sides.
Second Father ignored her and yanked me into moving. I stumbled, slipping on the slick mud. Fell. Another vicious tug at my arm – and I found myself flung into a dark hut, smelling nothing but dead and rotting fish. The door slammed close and I was alone, heart thumping wildly, in the fetid darkness.
Mirra-Mirra-Mirra.
I pulled at the door. It was locked from outside. I screamed and shouted. I beat the walls with my bound fists. Nobody seemed to have heard me. Instead there was the roar of the rain and the wind. There was some shouting outside, women’s voices raised against men’s. I blinked back tears and stared at my hands, tied as they were. I tried to summon the circles back. They appeared, but they were weak, bereft of power, spinning feebly. It was as if my ability had fled, fearful of censure.
Then the sea had her revenge.
~*~
I am the daughter of the sea. It has been said that the sea will protect her daughter when she cries out for help, that She will step in when there is injustice done.
I am the daughter of the sea.
I have never doubted that.
~*~
Part I: Daughter Of The Sea.
Part II: Mirra.
The storm hit within a week. We had fair notice of it, being warned by the watchers who paid close attention to weather patterns. Sheets of water cascaded down, washing away the sand, causing rivulets to form on the shores. The wind was strong and batted at anyone who dared venture out of their huts. I sometimes dreaded staying indoors, simply because there was Second Father around with his surly face and his barbed words. Grandmother was there, shielding me from his bluster. She was diplomatic when it came to her sons-in-law, polite and neutral in her speech.
My birth father – First Father – was cordial towards Second Father and told me to be pleasant towards his brother (all the men in the village call each other ‘brother’). He was still concerned about my light curling ability and stressed repeatedly that I should focus on other things. I nodded, though I seethed inside. I was no longer a little girl to be told to or of.
Yet for his kindness, First Father did not prepare for the wrath I was about to face on the second day of the storm.
Second Father was the leader who led the charge and showed up at the door, the raindrops beating a jagged rhythm on his rattan raincoat. He had earlier left the house, muttering about something and we let him, having more important things to worry about. The netting needed repairing and we still had to check on the pearl-oyster pools now open to the deluge of rain.
“What are you doing?” My mother said sternly, flicking water off her. Second Father was letting water pour into the hut and she did not like that. He led a group of solemn-faced men, similarly attired and similarly postured: belligerent.
“We have decided,” Second Father snarled and glared at me with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Mirra needs to be secluded.”
Ice flooded my body and I cried, “I did nothing.”
First Father shook his head. “Brother, you don’t have to do this.” Mother flung a look at him; he knew something we didn’t.
“Why did the sea-witch appear?” Second Father sneered and stalked into the hut, rainwater dripping off him. He stopped before me and grabbed my right arm. His hand was cold, clammy. “Because of her. Her!”
I pulled my arm away, wincing at the pain. There would be some form of bruising later. His grip was that vicious. “No. I refuse to go. I have stopped my light curling.”
“Stop lying, you little urchin,” Second Father spat and Mother stared at the ugly man she had married. “Women should not use magic.”
First Father lost his cordiality with his brother and stepped up, putting himself between me and Second Father. “She has said so. Let her go, brother.”
Second Father was past reasoning. He flung First Father aside, grabbed me once more and dragged me out into the open where the rain drenched everything. I soon became soaked to the skin. Someone tied my hands with rough fishing wire and it cut into my wrists. I was surprised it did not slice through skin.
There was a scuffle. First Father lost his temper and slapped Second Father across his jaw. In the pouring rain, I could glimpse pairs of eyes peering from other huts. My breathing grew frantic, my body was cold.
Mirra-Mirra-Mirra.
Second Father regained his composure, flung a contemptuous glance at First Father whose eyes showed shock and anger. “Majority vote, brother.” The rest of the group muttered assent and refused to meet my eyes, my parents’ eyes.
“What perfidy is this?” Grandmother’s voice. Loud and clear. She had been napping. Now she stood, her stance stubborn, arms akimbo on her sides.
Second Father ignored her and yanked me into moving. I stumbled, slipping on the slick mud. Fell. Another vicious tug at my arm – and I found myself flung into a dark hut, smelling nothing but dead and rotting fish. The door slammed close and I was alone, heart thumping wildly, in the fetid darkness.
Mirra-Mirra-Mirra.
I pulled at the door. It was locked from outside. I screamed and shouted. I beat the walls with my bound fists. Nobody seemed to have heard me. Instead there was the roar of the rain and the wind. There was some shouting outside, women’s voices raised against men’s. I blinked back tears and stared at my hands, tied as they were. I tried to summon the circles back. They appeared, but they were weak, bereft of power, spinning feebly. It was as if my ability had fled, fearful of censure.
Then the sea had her revenge.
~*~
I am the daughter of the sea. It has been said that the sea will protect her daughter when she cries out for help, that She will step in when there is injustice done.
I am the daughter of the sea.
I have never doubted that.
~*~
Part I: Daughter Of The Sea.
Part II: Mirra.
no subject
The impression I am getting (and I could be so very wrong) is that upsetting the sea witch is hazardous to one's health. And Mirra seems to be favored by the sea witch.
The question now seems to be will the entire male population of the village pay for their actions or just Second Father? Also, if he is Second Father how does he command so much power in the village?
no subject
Well, the men seem to think that upsetting the sea witch is a Bad Thing. *grin*
Second Father is only a designation in the polyandry structure within a household. However, this man does hold a lot of power, because his magic is flashy (and therefore, deemed powerful). And because he also comes across as an arrogant and overconfident man, I think the rest of the men kinda listens to him. Hope this is clear. *lol* I am a little muddle-headed today.
Second Father
There seems to be more going on with his dislike of Mirra than just a simple personality clash. Jealousy of her for some unstated reason?
Re: Second Father
It's not just a personality clash. It's more, I think. The fact that she can also use magic/curl light - and he's also a petty man, given to jealousies.
no subject
no subject