Of the Silence of the Heart _
The story of Orli and Noëlle
A bird called out amidst the forest, melding together with the soft, feathery sound of the river water rushing by. The sun had barely reached its peak, signifying an entire morning having gone by as its rays stretched through the emerald green canopies of trees to the eager ground waiting its nourishment from below. Sparsely covered in spring-green grass, there were several paths through the woods that looked as though too many feet had been upon them; for showing through amidst the blades was the dusty brown of the parched earth below. A giggle sounded from within the trees, and Noëlle caught the sound of some of the older women singing. Perched upon a branch that none of the others had dared ascend to, she plucked several of the succulent ruby-orange fruits from amidst the masses of leaves. She began humming along as she placed them into a grass-woven satchel hanging across her chest and resting at her hip.
With the back of her hand, Noëlle wiped at the sweat that glistened upon her forehead. Inhaling, she caught the humid air, feeling so thick that she was sure you could have sliced through it with a spear; the one good thing about air this thick, she reflected, was that you could taste the sweetness of the fruit that grew around them as if you’d actually taken a bite. Noëlle had been tempted; no one would see her eating their produce way up where she was. But she had resisted, knowing that Kala would somehow find out. Wrinkling her nose, Noëlle strongly wished that the young woman had not been put in charge of today’s gathering. Only a year and a half older than herself at twenty-one, Kala often took upon the air of someone who was much older. Kala absolutely relished in the thought of being trusted with such responsibilities, and the power often intoxicated her to the point where Noëlle simply could not tolerate it. Which was, really, one of the reasons why she had climbed so high.
Sighing, Noëlle’s pale grey eyes sank to the forest floor in mild exhaustion. They had started out just before dawn and the women had yet to have a reprieve from the heat and the gathering. It took a moment for her to realize that the singing had stopped, and it was only shortly after that that Noëlle saw a streak dart past her tree on the forest floor. Catching a look at its back, on which there was the painted tattoo of a hawk, she realized it was Niko, one of the warriors-in-training, running hurriedly past all of the others. Curious, and not a little worried, Noëlle began to climb down, catching every lower branch with a practiced swiftness her father would have been ashamed to see. The women of their village were supposed to be demure and proper; their tasks were to sew and to gather, to take care of their children —
not to climb trees or partake in any other such activity.
“Kala!” he called, coming upon a small group of women from Noëlle’s village. Kala looked up, intense green eyes sharp in contrast to her milky skin and black hair. Her gaze softened, however, when she saw who it was. If the situation was not so strange, Noëlle might have smirked — Niko and Kala had been betrothed to each other since birth, and despite some initial tension, they had come to love each other in a way that often gave passers-by a rather large toothache.
“What is it, Niko?” Kala asked in reply to his call, one dark eyebrow raised in surprise of his intrusion. Gathering was, predominantly, a female ritual within their village.
“The other village — the one from across the sea,” he began, his face flush with hurried excitement, “they’ve sent messengers. They crossed the sea, Kala!” Noëlle’s breath left her as though she’d been punched. The sea had not been kind to her village; all who had gone out into it had never returned. They had come to the conclusion that the Goddess merely willed that they not attempt to cross it. Niko continued, “The whole village is in a state of disarray. No, no —” he interrupted, as Kala had opened her mouth in shock as though she were going to ask a question — “they’ve not been hostile. They wish to speak with our Elders ... but the villagers are in a state of panic. I’ve been sent to retrieve you; all want their daughters home immediately.”
Kala nodded, all-business. She opened her mouth to order them back to the boats, but Noëlle was already on her way. Bare feet kicking up a fine amount of dust, she slid off her satchel, placing it amongst several others in her boat (she’d been the carrier for that day). Kicking off from the bank of the river, Noëlle leapt with feline grace into it, waiting for it to settle before grabbing the oar resting in the bottom and pushing urgently back upstream. The current of the river was never very fast — unless they’d just had a rainy season — and Noëlle had always been terribly fast with an oar (another thing her poor father would be ashamed of). She reached the embankment of their village first, bare feet splashing into the crystal-clear water as she pulled the boat onto the grass. Throwing two satchels of fruit over her shoulder, Noëlle set off, running the mile along the dirt path towards the large huts she saw in the distance.
Niko hadn’t been lying when he’d said the villagers were in a state of panic. Both mothers and fathers were scrambling around, desperately trying to remember where they last saw their children playing. Noëlle was stopped by the mere sight of it.
“Noëlle!” a female voice called. Noëlle turned to her left and saw her best friend, Kohl, who was carrying two buckets of water by way of a wooden pole resting across the top of her back and shoulders.
“Kohl!” she replied, running to her friend. “Why is everyone so fit to panic? Niko said that they didn’t come with hostility.”
A half-amused smile graced her friend’s lips. “You know,” Kohl said, shrugging with difficulty, “‘we most fear that which we mostly do not know.’” Noëlle laughed at the quoting of the oldest Elder who often gave them such speeches on the resting day. Kohl’s face sobered. “You haven’t seen little Kalina, have you? Mama’s been looking everywhere for her.”
Noëlle shook her head. “I just returned; I was gathering today. The others should be back soon. Why?”
“These men who have come are strange-looking. They’re tall and thicker than ours. Their skin is paler and their eyes are blue, like the stream reflecting the sky on a clear day.” Kohl shifted her weight to her other foot, adjusting the pole across her shoulders. “My father says that they carry infections and will not hesitate to snatch up a young woman to ... ‘have his way with her’ as he says.”
Noëlle felt her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
Kohl shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m not entirely sure I’d like to find out.” Noëlle nodded in agreement. Another shout sounded in the air.
“Noëlle!” She turned; it was her father. He was clothed in cream-colored linen from the waist downward, like most of the older men of their village were. Like them, he was also lean of body, his skin dark tan from working out in the sun. His hair was a fine chestnut color, mahogany-browns splayed with fire when the light caught it properly, and it reached his waist. His light grey eyes — where Noëlle was often told she’d gotten her own — were narrowed with concern. By the time he caught up to her and Kohl, his hand came to fasten itself around her upper-arm. “We’ve been waiting for you. Your mother and I were hoping that the men from the North hadn’t traveled too far inland. Come, we’re going home.” As he began to drag her away, he looked towards Kohl, “You should be getting home, too. As quickly as possible.” Kohl nodded, her light cocoa-colored eyes glowing with an unusual amount of seriousness. Noëlle merely tried not to spill the satchels nearly-overflowing with fruit she still carried at her hip.
***
In the three days since the men from the North arrived in their village, Noëlle reflected that she had never seen their Commons area so empty. The huts of their village had been scattered in a circular pattern, and the dusty patch of ground at the center was common to them all. There was usually quite a large amount of activity occurring within the Commons: matrons doing their weaving by sunlight as they watched their children play nearby, men resting from work they had done in the fields or on the new storehouse they were building to house produce. However, the circular patch of ground, sparsely covered in fading, yellow grass was now covered in a multitude of large, white tents now growing slightly cream-colored with dust. The sun shone fiercely and the sky was such an intimate shade of blue that it absolutely pained Noëlle to not be allowed outside.
Her father had made it perfectly clear that she was not to exit their hut.
Noëlle spent her days with her mother, preparing tea and working on a new sarong for herself; her old one was growing too small and was torn at the hem, and her mother said that she needed to start taking better care of her clothes if she were to find a husband. She was in the middle of embroidering a flower along the bottom with a pretty, rose-colored thread her mother had made when a knock sounded upon the door. Noëlle’s mother, after hesitating, rose, setting down her own sewing and answering the door. Kohl entered — escorted by her father — and Noëlle’s grey eyes lit up fast at finally having a reprieve from her dull schedule. Grabbing Noëlle’s arm, Kohl dragged her to the back room of the hut, which was usually used for sitting and company. Kohl’s father, Noëlle heard, was in deep, quiet conversation with her mother, and was grateful for such distraction as she sat with her friend, eagerly awaiting all that she had to say.
“I am forbidden to leave our hut,” Noëlle began. “Papa doesn’t think it is safe.”
“My father didn’t think it was too unsafe to let me come here.”
“Yes, but he came with you. You didn’t come alone.”
Kohl shrugged. “I don’t suppose he would have let me, either.”
Noëlle smiled slightly at her friend, sitting back and crossing her legs beneath her. “So what do you have to tell me?”
Kohl beamed. “I’ve found out why the villagers from across the northern sea have come,” she said, with a minor air of importance. Then, shrinking slightly and leaning forward conspiratorially, “I overheard Papa having a meeting with some of the other Elders.” Noëlle nodded, awaiting the news. She knew Kohl’s father was among the higher recognized Elders and any information that he was privy to was bound to be fascinating.
“They want to see about matching us,” Kohl continued, voice emanating clear excitement.
“Matching us?” Noëlle inquired. “What do you mean?”
“
Matching us! Oh come, Noëlle, don’t be daft!”
“I’m not — ”
“They’re going to betroth us to some of the men from the North.”
“But
why?” Noëlle asked. “You said there were no hostilities ... we don’t need a pact of peace.”
Kohl clucked her tongue, impatient. “They traversed the
sea, Noëlle. Surely you see how great an accomplishment that is!”
“I don’t see at all what that has to do with making us marry them.”
“I overheard my father speaking with the other Elders,” she clarified. “They were talking about some of the things that the Northern Elders were proposing. My father feared their infections, but one of their Elders said that that was the point of their coming. If we marry our villages together, he said, our children would be able to withstand disease! Isn’t that something, Noëlle?”
Noëlle considered for a moment. “I guess. How are they going to figure out how to pair us up? And wait — ” she paused, “how do we know that we’re going to be paired up?”
Kohl smiled. “They’re only taking those of us who still have our virtue. That way they know that we are pure and won’t spoil things.” One corner of her lips dragged down slightly. “They have to test us, though, in case some of the women lie in order to save their reputations.”
“How will they do that?” Noëlle asked.
A few days after that, Noëlle had the answer to her question. She, Kohl, and numerous other young women were all brought into the Commons and were escorted through a series of the dusty white tents. In the first she had been prompted to undress by one of the village wise women and then one of the Northern men began inspecting her. He looked in her eyes, ears, and mouth, and poked and prodded her abdomen until Noëlle was quite sure she would be bruised. The next tent brought a horror that she never wanted to relive — the “test” for her virtue. Noëlle was given back her sarong and escorted to one final tent where there were men and women of both tribes. They allowed her to redress, though instructed her to wear the sarong so that the material that held it up was thrown over her right shoulder. It felt strange to be wearing her garb like so, a young woman was not to do so until she was married.
In a few moments, Noëlle was seated. Two matrons knelt at either side and were attempting to soothe her, rubbing her upper arms and whispering softly. She dared not think about what might be coming next if she had been flanked on either side by two of her village’s women. One of the Northern men came and wiped something cold over the left-most area just beneath her clavicle bone and right above her heart. When he began paddling the needles onto her skin, filling it with ink, Noëlle did not scream. She tried desperately not to squirm, and wondered what they were tattooing her with. Noëlle, like the other young women of the village, were not supposed to be marked until they were bound in marriage. She closed her eyes, waiting for it to be finished, clenching her teeth against the constant stinging pains.
Finally she was released, the recent tattoo covered in cloth smeared with one of the wise women’s healing paste. Before it had been covered, she noticed it had been done in black ink; it looked as though a heart that had had the upper-right part of it cut off, with a simple dot in the middle of it. The man muttered something to her in his own tongue, something that she did not understand and neither did the two women who had held her throughout the process. Both of the women did not catch her gaze and it was that, perhaps, that made Noëlle all the more wary of this entire process. Where was her choice in this matter? What if she did not want to be matched with one of the young men from the north? Noëlle caught sight of Kohl as she was being escorted out of the tent; much of the light was also gone from her eyes. The women left Noëlle to her waiting father, who was gazing down at her with his grey eyes in no little bit of scrutiny. Noëlle visibly folded beneath his gaze, and would not bring her eyes to meet his own. Her father did not say anything as he led her home, and Noëlle did not initiate conversation; she felt strange, almost as though in the past hours of the morning she had aged a full decade and was more than ever aware of the fact that she was a female, and her father was not.
