Excerpt from First Truth by Dawn
Cook
Copyrighted Material
“You were up
late again last night,” she said into the morning quiet. “I don’t recall
hearing you come in.”
Alissa
cringed. Ashes, she thought. Her mother hadn’t heard her come in because
she had fallen asleep in the garden. Again. “I was out on the rock
watching the night,” she admitted, trying to sound as if it meant nothing.
“The big one in the squash patch.”
Standing
before the sink, her mother sighed, gazing out the window as she continued
to clean the pumpkin seeds she had put to soak last night.
“I wasn’t
alone,” Alissa protested weakly. “Talon was with me.”
Her mother’s
shoulders drooped, but she said nothing. Alissa knew her mother’s opinion
wasn’t very high when it came to her one and only pet. That Talon flew at
night only made it worse. Kestrels generally didn’t, but no one had told
Talon that, and the small oddity was easily overlooked. At least, Alissa
thought, she could overlook it.
Alissa’s mouth
twisted as she scraped her knife across her toast, rubbing off the burnt
parts with a stoic acceptance. It had been toasted only on one side. At
least half of it was edible. She glanced up as her mother slumped at the
harsh, repetitive sounds. Breakfast was invariably well-done. Alissa had
taken over the kitchen in self-defense years ago, but her mother refused
to let go of their morning meal.
It didn’t
matter how much she scraped at it, Alissa thought. Burnt is burnt. And she
pushed the plate with its crusty, black char away with an all too familiar
resignation. Slouching on her stool, she stretched until her boots reached
the patch of sun that made it into the kitchen. The sound of dripping
water slowed. Her mother’s shadow lay long behind her. A frown stole over
Alissa as she realized it wasn’t moving. She looked up, straightening in
unease. Her mother was still washing the same handful of seeds as when
Alissa had come in. Something was up.
“So, what are
your plans this morning?” her mother asked, her gaze never shifting as the
water dripped unnoticed from her fingers.
“Um,” Alissa
grunted, forcing herself to be casual. “I thought the side vegetable
patch. The beans are about done. I was going to clear them out, give
what’s left to the sheep. Oh! That reminds me,” she blurted, glad to have
some bad news that couldn’t possibly be her fault. “I think a dog is
about. The sheep have gotten skittish. Even Nanny won’t let me touch her.”
“M-m-m,” was
the distant answer, worrying Alissa all the more. Her mother stared out
the window, her gaze seeming to go all the way to the unseen plains. The
silence grew uneasy. Alissa watched her mother take her eyes from the
hills, turning to her hair ribbon draped on its hook next to the sink.
Oh, no! Alissa
thought with a tight stab of alarm. Her mother only tied her hair back
when she was planning something strenuous like a spring-cleaning, or
meeting out punishment. And Alissa hadn’t done anything wrong lately—she
thought. Alissa’s eyes widened as the pumpkin seeds fell back into the
slop her mother had been rinsing them free of and she absently dried her
fingers on her skirt. “Don’t do it,” Alissa breathed, but her mother’s
fingers twitched, and reached, and grasped the thin, coppery band of
fabric. With a determined abruptness, she gathered her long, dark hair.
Alissa took a
shaky breath. She was still all right. If her mother wrapped it about her
hair once, she was all right. Once is no problem, twice is lots of work,
three, and she was in trouble.
Alissa
swallowed hard as her mother wrapped it four times, tying it with a
severity Alissa had never seen before. “I should have locked her door,”
her mother said to herself as her fingers
worked. “I should have shuttered her windows.” Without another word her
mother turned, strode into Alissa’s room, and shut the door.
“I’m pig
slop,” Alissa whispered. “That’s it. I’m pig slop.” Breakfast forgotten,
she tip-toed to the door and put an ear to it. The sharp sounds of
cupboards opening and shutting met her. There was an annoyed squawk,
followed by a muffled, “Then get out of my way!” and Talon joined her,
having flown out the bedroom window and back in through the kitchen’s.
Chittering
wildly, the small bird landed upon Alissa’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she
said. Talon cocked her head at the closed door. With a slight gasp, Alissa
flung herself back to the table trying to look nonchalant. Her mother
didn’t seem to notice Alissa’s artful disinterest as she blew out of her
daughter’s room and into her own, a bundle of cloth in her arms, a
determined look on her face. The door crashed shut. Alissa’s ear was
against it almost before it hit.
“No,” Alissa
heard her mutter. “She won’t need that. Yes. Most definitely yes. That
would be nice, but it won’t last a week.”
“Oh, Ashes,”
Alissa whispered, and feeling decidedly ill, she sank down on her stool at
the table. It had been her spot ever since she could pull herself into a
chair. She had a bad feeling it wasn’t her spot anymore. . . .
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