Isadora

Chapter Three - Isadora

Rough hands shook Isadora awake as she returned from her meeting with the Moon Lady. She struggled fiercely out of her stupor, slapping the hands away with more force than necessary.

“Easy there, Isa, no need t’ be pushy. Just wakin’ you up, s’all. Lady ‘bove, but you’re snappy in t’ mornin’.” Miliani wandered away to wake the other servants, muttering to herself. Isadora sat up with care, her head passing below the ceiling by a few sparse inches. She rolled out of her bunk and seized her grey cotton dress, pulling it over her head with a minimum of movement. She tied back her long black hair with a strip of worn leather and, slipping her rough wooden shoes onto her feet, clumped down the stairs from the servant’s dormitory to the mess hall directly below.

There, she seized a wooden bowl and spoon from the drying trays and went to line up behind those who had been ready more quickly. Most, like Isadora herself, were dark skinned with black hair and dark eyes, although there were a few who looked more like the masters. Those were the servants taken when their lands were warring with those of the masters, and they were generally given the higher-ranking jobs. Isa didn’t know where her ancestors had come from; rumour had it that her people had been brought from a land far away across the sea, but she had never met any who knew of this mythical place.

“Isa, wait up!” The dark woman turned in time to duck out of the way of an enthusiastic hug from her younger brother.

“Julen!” she snapped at him, drawing a few glances that quickly slipped away in seeing who it was. “I’ve told you before not to run in the mess. You could slip and hurt yourself or someone else!” The boy-and he was still a boy for all of his fifteen szen-made a half-hearted attempt to look like he was apologetic, but it was ruined by the wicked grin he wore.

“I don’t know why you’re so uppity now that you’ve passed eighteen szen, Isa,” he said as he slipped into the line beside her. His dark eyes sparkled with barely contained mirth. “After all, it’s not like you’ve tied the veil with anyone yet-no one’s expecting you to act like a wife or anything.”

“Whether or not I’ve tied the veil is not what we’re discussing here, Julen,” she said, pinching his ear lightly. “What we’re talking about is proper behaviour. If Mama or Papa had seen that act, they would have whaled you, fifteen szen or not. You know they don’t hold with that sort of foolery.” The boy looked down at his feet, a barely discernable blush mantling his dark cheeks.

“Ayah, Isa. I’ll be good.” She smiled at him.

“Just stay out of trouble. I’d be the last to ask you to be an angel like Harlai there.” She made a wide gesture in the direction of another boy, this one slightly lighter in skin. Julen’s mouth twisted in a slight grimace. None of the boys particularly liked Harlai, branding him as too much of a good person. Sadly, their analysis of the boy was correct-he would report even his own parents if he thought they were doing wrong.

She and Julen took seats together once they were served their morning bowl of thick stew. Isa tried every morning to identify the meat in the stew; today she was relatively sure it was beef, as opposed to the usual venison. She savoured each mouthful, knowing they would not be fed until the noon meal. The servants ate well, but sometimes she wished she could just have that bit extra so that she didn’t get so anticipatory for the next meal. Still, at least I do get enough to eat, she thought. I could be in a much worse situation.

“Isa, you’re on clean-up duty today, ‘right, hon?” Miliani asked as she passed their table. Isadora nodded to the older woman then proceeded to scrape her bowl with the chunk of dark grain bread they were given with their stew. The bread was incredibly filling, and today she saved a small piece to munch on during her ten-minute morning break.

“Oh well,” she sighed under her breath, tucking the bread into the pocket of her dress. “I suppose it’s on to another day of work; at least until the Lady calls me to meet with the Lord’s emissary.” And, standing up and taking her dishes with her, she headed out into the kitchen to wash dishes.

A/N; If any of you have read Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s classic One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich you’ll kind of get the meal thing. Don’t worry; the servants are treated much better than poor Shukhov. I wouldn’t do that to our heroine…or would I?!?!?!?