Dragonfly Song Read Free Page A

grain grinder,
    woodchopper, hunter,
    garden boy and cheese girl,
    like ants rushing
    from a kicked-over anthill,
    screaming to the road
    pushing past Aissa,
    small, still-as-stone Aissa
    waiting by the gate.
    Even Kelya,
    with her warty chin and Aissa-watching eyes
    hobble-runs past
    and doesn’t see Aissa.
    Small Aissa tumbling
    when the water boy knocks her
    blood on her knee,
    red and sticky pain.
    Biting her stone so she doesn’t cry –
    the mama stone around her neck
    because Mama said,
    ‘Don’t make a noise,
    no matter what you hear, not the tiniest peep,
    stay quiet, still as stone till I come back.’
    And the smell from the running people,
    the rushing, shouting,
    sweating people,
    is the same smell as Zufi
    when he shouted, ‘Raiders!’ –
    the sharp and sour
    stink of fear.
    So Aissa crouches
    in a nook in the wall
    a hole too small for anyone else,
    and she watches and listens,
    staying quiet, still as stone.
    The Bull King’s ship sails into the fishers’ cove. It’s the biggest ship that’s ever landed here, because the cove isn’t sheltered enough for big trading ships, but the Bull King’s men don’t care. They row straight in, and when the hull crunches on the pebbles, some jump off to haul the ship up onto the beach. The others stand on their rowing benches with spears raised over their shoulders, or on the front deck, bows drawn with arrows ready to fly.
    There are nearly sixty of them, wearing leather war helmets, with battleaxes or daggers at their belts as well as the spears and bows in their hands – the islanders know there’s no point in fighting.
    The captain and half the crew cross the beach to greet the Lady and the chief, leaving the rest to guard the ship. And although the captain uses a strange, barbaric language that the tall guard has to translate, the words stick in every islander’s head.
    ‘The Bull King, king of the sea, priest of the Bull God, hears that your island is troubled by slaving raids and pirates. He promises that these will end from today. In return for his protection, each year you will pay twelve barrels of olive oil, twelve goat kids, twelve jugs of wine, twelve baskets of grain, twelve baskets of dried fish, twelve lengths of woven cloth – and a boy and a girl of thirteen summers to honour the god.’
    ‘Your god requires children as sacrifice?’ demands the Lady.
    ‘Honour and glory, not sacrifice. They will join in the bull dances that the god loves. If they survive the year, they may return home and your island will be free of further tribute.’
    ‘Have any ever done so?’
    The captain shrugs.
    ‘And if we refuse?’ the Lady asks, though she knows the answer.
    ‘Then it will not be two youths, living and dying with glory. It will be your island and all its people, and there will be no honour in their deaths and enslavements.’

2
    AFTER EIGHT SPRINGS IN THE SERVANTS’ KITCHEN
    The Hall and inner town are on a small plateau against the east side of the mountain. They’re protected on three sides by a great rock wall, but the fourth side is the cliff – higher, steeper and more impossible to climb than any wall. The backs of the Hall and the goddess’s sanctuary nestle into its hollows; the kitchen’s cool room and the snakes’ home are almost caves.
    Between the sanctuary and the south wall, a giant boulder is wedged tight. It balances on an angle, as if the goddess has stopped it mid-bounce to protect her home. Its front is so shiny and smooth only a gecko could climb it, and it slopes out to shelter worshippers waiting to lay their offerings on the table at the sanctuary door. The top, as far as anyone can tell, slopes down to the cliff at its back. There is no way through.
    No way for an adult, that is, or even a well-fed child. But if a thin-as-a-reed girl drops to the ground whenno one is looking, she can slither like a snake under the gap where the edge of the boulder doesn’t quite meet the bottom of the wall.
    When she was