~ Chapter VIII ~
Stone and Soap
She awoke to the touch of stone on her shoulder. "It is noon, small one." Maelé's dry voice cut through the curtain of unconsciousness.
"What?" she mumbled.
"You requested that I wake you at noon. It is noon. I am waking you," the maeleachlainn explained.
Fíohra sat up, dazed. It took her a moment to reconcile her memories to the strange surroundings. With a frown she looked around. The hovel…she should have woken up in the hovel, next to Padraigin. But the face near hers was not her sister's. It was wrong somehow, too cold and too…
In a flash she remembered everything that had befallen her through the night. Recoiling from the stone servant, Fíohra threw herself back onto the furs, hoping they might disguise the sound of her weeping.
Maelé was unmoved. It touched her shoulder again. "Little one, you must rise. The master has requested much of you before your audience with him."
Fíohra did not listen, only pushed herself deeper into the furs and into her despair.
"Are you ill?" Maelé inquired after a minute of silence. Still Fíohra said nothing. Maelé withdrew its hand and stood above the human girl, contemplating the display of emotion it could not comprehend. Then, not knowing what else to do, it thrust the heel of its hand in the direction of its charge and spoke a single word in a language Fíohra did not understand.
At once Fíohra felt something like fiery fingers wrench her lips open and seize the muscles of her throat. Before she knew what she was doing, the words tumbled from her mouth.
"Of course I'm not ill! I miss my father! I miss my sister! I want to go home…I'm frightened of this place. I don't even know why I'm wanted. Please, just let me go home! Can't you understand? You frighten me! Your talk of your master frightens me! Everything frightens me! I'm not even a grown woman yet…I want to live. I want to see humans again. I don't want to belong to the mountain! I want…I'm not…" Her words stumbled into silence as the spell wore off. Horrified, Fíohra looked up at the stone servant and touched her lips. "How did…what did you do to me?" she asked at last in an undertone.
Maelé bowed. "Forgive me, child. I did not know what else to do. I feared something was wrong." It paused. "Why did you not answer me?"
Fíohra sighed as the hopelessness of the situation closed over her. "I suppose you don't understand what it means to feel sadness, aye?"
The stone head inclined in assent. "You are right; I do not."
The girl sat up again. As bizarre and frightening as it was, whatever Maelé had done had succeeded in its goal. With the torrent of words released from her, Fíohra also felt a little of her despair go with it. Determination welled up in her to face the day bravely, no matter what unknown terrors lay in wait for her. An image of her father standing before the pack of wolves flashed across her mind, and that determination hardened into a resolution. Father faced the forest for Padra and I, and he did all he could to save me, she told herself. I can show that courage here. I can show these creatures and their master whose daughter I am. I won't fail him.
Maelé spoke again, unaware of her charge's change of heart. "Is that what sadness looks like then, small one?"
"Aye. I suppose." She narrowed her eyes. "But you haven't answered my question. What did you do to me to make me speak like that?"
The stone servant extended her hand to Fíohra to help her rise. "I told you to speak in the Language from which language was born." Maelé bowed as Fíohra stood, which the girl took to be another apology. "It is not customary to use words of such power on a mortal, but as I said, I did not know what else to do."
Remembering the first maeleachlainn's gesture that incapacitated her father, Fíohra furrowed her brow. "Do you mean…you're a sorceress, Maelé?"
Maelé edged her charge towards the bath. "No. It is no magic. I simply spoke the truth. My master will explain; I have not the proper knowledge of your kind to make you understand. What little I do know I use only to perform my duties."
"And what would those be?" Fíohra asked as they plunged into the steam of the tiled room, her nose wrinkling at the sulphurous smell.
Maelé stopped and turned, motioning to the pool. "Among many other things, serving you. If you would care to undress, I will dispose of your clothes and prepare for you a suitable wardrobe."
Fíohra looked down. Her dress was filthy, tattered and worn beyond belief, but it was also the only dress she owned. She had had it for many years, ignoring the hemline when she had grown too tall to let it out anymore. It was a part of her, and one of the last physical things she had tying her to her life in Baláirdh Drún. If the stone servant had asked her to remove her arm, it couldn't have been harder to part with.
"I don't want to lose this," she said, gathering the skirt in her two balled fists. "It's my only dress."
Instead of arguing, Maelé simply nodded. "Very well. I will wash it and return it to you when it is clean." The stone eyes studied the stained fabric and Maelé added in a drier voice than usual, "You may not see it for a while."
But Fíohra didn't mind. "A'right." With a few tugs the dress was pulled off her and tossed over Maelé's outstretched arm. "And the rest?" she asked, reddening a little. The servant only nodded gravely. With a sigh, Fíohra stepped out of her undershift and handed it over as well. She stood naked by the side of the bath, arms crossed, as Maelé bowed and backed out of the cloud of steam. When the servant was gone, Fíohra turned to the pool.
A sudden wave of panic washed over her as she stared at the water. Though deep enough for washing, the stream outside of Baláirdh Drún had never been deep enough for swimming; consequently, neither Padraigin nor Fíohra had ever learnt. But her panic ebbed as she continued to study the bath. It looked no deeper than her shoulders, and her bare skin would welcome its warmth. Tentatively, Fíohra lowered herself to the edge of the pool and dipped her feet in the water.
After a moment, the rest of her followed. It was more wonderful than she had even dared to dream. The water came no further than her neck, and she was quite able to reach the bottom. After a minute or two even the sulphur smell ceased to be an annoyance. Seventeen years of poverty, dirt and hunger slipped away beneath the surface of the warm water and vanished, as though they had never been. Fíohra even dared to hold her breath and duck beneath the surface for a few seconds to wet her hair. When she returned to the surface, Maelé was waiting.
"You may use this, child. It will help you to wash." It placed a bottle on the side of the pool, its leather surface rubbed to a dull shine. Fíohra's nose twitched.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It is a preparation of oil and ashes that the maeleachlainn use for cleansing."
"It's soap?" Fíohra clarified.
"Yes."
The girl stretched out her hand to take the bottle. She sniffed again. A strange smell hung about the soap, something Fíohra couldn't identify. It was sharp and made her hair stand on end, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. It reminded her of the days in early spring, when she and her sister would follow their father as far as they dared into the forest. The brisk air had carried promises of warmth to come, and Fíohra had felt only excitement as she and Padraigin tread the invisible boundaries set by the villagers of Baláirdh Drún. Danger still lurked in the shadows of the forest, but she had only felt exultation in the facing of that danger.
The scent of the soap had brought back a little of that same feeling. Fíohra uncorked the bottle with a strange mixture of eagerness and apprehension. She tipped it upwards and poured a little of the contents into her cupped palm. A soft, silvery-gray liquid ran into her hand, and she felt shivers run down her spine. The thought flashed across her mind that more than oil and ashes had gone into the substance, and she looked for more of the strange words inscribed on the bottle. But there were none.
With a sigh, Fíohra replaced the leather container at the edge of the pool and worked the soap through her hair. It was marvelously refreshing, soothing away the many days' worth of soot and grease from her scalp. She ducked underwater again to rinse it clean. When she surfaced, Maelé was waiting with a length of linen, apparently for drying. Her bath was done.
Easing herself onto the slippery tiles, Fíohra took the offered fabric as quickly as she could, unable to hide the blush that spread across her cheeks. It wasn't that she felt embarrassed in the presence of the stone servant, not exactly. Merely…uneasy. But her feelings proved to make no difference to Maelé. With its unchanging expression, it helped Fíohra to her feet and ushered her to the bedroom, placing her in front of the wardrobe. At the sight of the words carved into the wood, a thought started in Fíohra's mind.
"How did you get in here, Maelé?" she asked.
"You requested that I wake you," it reminded Fíohra. "It was an invitation, however delayed."
"Ah," Fíohra said, pursing her lips. "I understand." And I'll have to keep that in mind, she thought. A slipped word could let something in. She shivered a little, her wet body uncomfortable in the air outside the steaming bath. Whatever it is that I'm supposed to be protected against in here. But her ominous musings were interrupted by Maelé's directions. The servant was showing her the uses of the wardrobe.
"As I presume you have seen, this article has certain power, just as your door has. It will bring you what you need, upon request and within reason. Use it carefully and it will serve you well."
"It'll bring anything I need?" Fíohra said, amazed.
"Anything within reason," Maelé repeated. "I have prepared it to furnish you with suitable clothes for today, and when you are finished dressing I will instruct you to use it to bring your afternoon meal."
Fíohra nodded and stepped closer. "Show me," she said.
The stone servant pressed a hand between the two bronze knobs. "Clothes," it said simply, and then removed its hand. Fíohra frowned, expecting more.
"That's it?"
"Yes. Open it and see."