Recurve

His jaw dropped, and I blew him a kiss before I turned my back on him. “Hello, girls.”

“Larkspur, nice to see you,” the oldest of the three, Persimmon, Simmy to her friends, patted me on the shoulder. “I see you are on the outs with young Coal again.”

I shrugged. “Nothing new.” The other two gals hurried ahead of us and Simmy hooked her arm through mine, slowing my walk.

“That boy, he needs a firm hand. If you want to see it through with him, you can never be a doormat. He won’t respect you, Princess.”

“Respect.” I spit the word out, the taste of it like dung on my lips. “How can he respect me when I’m of so little use? When my abilities are so small I’m hardly good enough for the planting fields?”

Simmy’s eyebrows arched upward and her eyes sparkled dangerously. “You think you’re too good for the planting fields?”

“No.” I softened my tone. “No, that’s just it. I’m hardly able to help there, where the children often give a hand. Most of the ten-year-olds are beyond me in skill. You know that.”

She tugged me to a stop, next to a giant redwood. “Your mom wouldn’t like to hear you talk about yourself that way. She always said you would be one of our best one day. And she would know. She had the sight sometimes, could see what was coming.”

“Doesn’t matter what she would or wouldn’t like, Persimmon, she’s dead. Too bad she didn’t use her sight to stay alive. And I’d thank you to not remind me that she’s dead.” The words came out harsher than I intended and Simmy pulled away from me.

Shaking her head, she backed away. “You don’t have so many friends, Lark, that you can treat them poorly. Perhaps you’d best think on that as you work today.”

Spinning on her heel, she walked away, hunched a bit as if expecting a blow. I watched her go, waiting for her to be far enough ahead that my long legs wouldn’t eat up the distance between us. Shame bit at my insides, shame and guilt. The forest would have been better off if my mother had survived the lung burrowers, and I’d died in her place.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Simmy.” I grabbed at a fiddlehead, broke it off, and popped it into my mouth. I hated that she was right, though, about the ‘friends’ part. As the weakest member of our entire family, I was looked on with a lot of pity, and even more scorn. As the daughter of the king who was the strongest, I should have been living in the Spiral. Should have been helping our family by doing more than digging tiny holes by hand, picking weeds, and moving dirt.

The day in the planting fields went about as good as could be expected. Without even the meager friendship of Simmy, I worked alone, ate alone, and took my breaks alone. Left alone with my thoughts was not a good thing. The dream played over and over in my head, the fight with Coal, and the flare of irritation every time I caught a glimpse of the Spiral until I was flushed with emotion more than exertion.

At the end of the day, I’d planted lots of seeds, but not much else. The others were able to get their seeds to germinate and sprout right away. Not me. I just stuffed them in the dirt and prayed to the mother goddess that they wouldn’t rot. The fields, set in a patch where the redwoods didn’t hide the sun, emptied as the sun dipped lower, and I stood alone, my feet partially buried in the soft soil. Every day I stayed when the others left. And every day I hoped something would be different for me.

Maybe today was the day I’d breakthrough.

I wiggled my toes, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for that part of me that was connected to the earth.

Inside my head I could see the power, humming in a spinning ball of flickering green warmth, just waiting for me to dip my fingers into it. It beckoned me closer. I lifted my hand, as if to touch it.

A flash of pale pink rushed across my vision, like a splash of pink champagne, bubbling and dancing, followed closely by a shock of pain scoring along my skin, so sharp it made my heart stutter. I dropped to my hands and knees, the dirt biting into the bare skin.

Gasping for air, I lowered my head, tears dropping into the ground about the only thing I could give the seedlings. There were no words I could say that would change the fact I was retarded in my abilities. I would never be what the others were—guardians of the earth, one of the chosen. A useful part of society.

Footsteps brought my head up to see one of my father’s Enders standing across the way from me. Dark blond hair closely shorn into a spiky mess, and eyes the color of liquid honey watched me with no little amount of scorn.

He shifted his feet, crossed his arms, his dark brown leathers not making a sound as he moved. Our Enders wore a leather vest and leather pants, and were the only members of our family who wore heavy boots. The boots were a symbol that they would not willingly touch their natural abilities when sent to kill someone. Death by using the mother goddess’s sacred power was taboo.

Weapons hung from the belt wrapped low on his hips, a dagger strapped to each of his thighs so they wouldn’t swing and make noise. Over his back, above his head, poked a large handled sword. His arms were bare except for leather bracers covering the wrist and forearm, stopping before the bulge of his biceps.

He didn’t say anything, only watched me, watching him. How long had he been there? Could he sense me trying and failing to reach my meager ability with the earth? The thought galled me and I flushed under his gaze. That he might have seen how weak I was for himself, and added onto that, I was more than aware how much dirt I wore from the day’s work—that I didn’t look anything like a king’s daughter should. “What do you want, Ash?”