Songbird

Ch 2

If you spend all of the life you can remember within a five mile radius, you become pretty familiar with.

For me, it is my castle and its immediate surroundings. I had learned who to avoid, who was kind, and the general rhythm. My own rhythm revolved around what I was feeling. When I was sad, I liked playing the flute because it wined like no other instrument. When I was upset, usually directed towards someone specific, I would walk laps around the moat with a focus so intense at the task at hand that I usually lost track of time. On particularly joyful days, I would actually leave the premises of the castle and walk into town for an hour or so. Most of the people don’t recognize me, so if I wear common dresses, I can pass as just a visitor to the fief. When I’m bored, I usually lock myself in my chamber and read.

Even when all of the entertaining material is in a foreign language that takes me weeks to muddle through, if not months, I still enjoy every demanding word.

Right now, for the first time in living memory, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

My thoughts are buzzing and overwhelming. My emotions are even stronger. I am at a crossroads. But instead of the story where the protagonist has to choose between his heart’s right and his head’s right, my heart and head can’t even agree on how to approach the situation.

I love my Grandmother dearly and just wanted to tell her what is really wrong. That is not logical. She already sensed something was wrong, and if she had any real insight on some pre-existing condition I had, she would’ve told me today at the garden.

It is pointless, and I knew that I just had to face my denial. The thought of meeting new people terrifies me.

While my headache had seceded, I know that it was going to come back. Taking advantage of my lapse from the pain, my mind begins to really consider my situation. I feel a multitude of different ways, but there was one prominent emotion that overshadowed the rest.

That was the overall feeling of total confusion. So much so, I do not know what to do.

After intense contemplation that took place after my Grandmother had left me to my thoughts, which looks like basically me staring at the pond for an hour without moving, I had decided what to do.

I did what I do when I’m angry.

I went back to my room, dressed in clothes made for a boy, and then walked out to the archery field, crudely made bow in hand.

I was taught how to shoot nearly 5 years ago. I was eleven and impatient. In my only act of rebellion, I decided I wanted to run away.

I was smart enough to realise that I couldn’t live in the woods wearing a dress, but not smart enough to bring any provisions. By nightfall, I was starving, lost, and that night, there was a rare summer thunderstorm. Dazed, I ended up at the doorstep of a cabin. I looked as pathetic as I felt, and the couple who lived there took pity on me. Then, I never questioned why people as young as them lived in an isolated cabin in the center of the darkest part of the forest. Now, it occurs to me that they were most likely fugitives escaping the hands of justice. I never learned their names.

Either way, I’m eternally grateful for them. They never realised I was the granddaughter of the Duchess, or they didn’t care. They spoke terrible French but still managed to teach me to speak Italian and English. The moment the door opened, the woman recognized that I was a girl despite my tattered masculine clothing. She must have understood my need to look like a boy because she not only supported me but equipped me with more clothes. That was not all they gave me. Her husband insisted that I learned to protect myself, so she taught me the basics of knife throwing. She also taught me how to shoot a bow. He carved the bow I carry today and showed me how to make my own arrows.

I spent two months with them. The day I said goodbye, I knew I’d never see them again.

I was planning to travel south and live in Venice because my Italian was fluent enough, and it was warmer than England. I didn’t make it very far. I walked out of the cabin and stood there for what seemed like an eternity.

Why am I running away? I am the last heir to the fief. My Grandmother wasted so much time and trust on me. I couldn’t possibly let her down now. She would be heartbroken.

Even as a child, I didn’t have enough courage to venture out into the unknown.

They had only taught me the basics of archery, but I didn’t want that skill set to go to waste. So, like a flower, I watered it regularly and helped it grow. I practiced whenever I was angry. That wasn’t often, but it was frequent enough to keep my aim true.

Thwack.

I hit the second ring away from the center. It was an equal distance from the bullseye and a complete miss of the target. I wasn’t usually this careless, this clumsy. My hand starts to shake and my grip on the bow slackens.

I can’t even control the simplest things in my life. I’d always been able to shape the trajectory of the arrow to my wishes, but even that is beyond my reach now.

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time.”

The voice comes from behind me. I am so shocked that anyone actually bothered to come to the archery field that I immediately spin around.

The source is from a boy my age. His clothes are clean, crisp, and made by expert hands, making obvious that he was neither a serf, regular peasant, or a merchant. He has long honey-brown hair that flowed everywhere except in his face. His eyes are an undecided grey-blue color. He is eating an apple and has an easy-going grin plastered onto his face.

It is so out of place, that my jaw reflexively falls in surprise. “Excuse me?”

His smile falters a little.

“I- uh- you are very well with-”

He doesn’t know French. Every word is laced with a painfully obvious English accent. I burst out laughing because he went from oozing confidence to stumbling over his words in a few short moments.

“I speak English,” I manage to get out between chokes of laughter.

A flicker of annoyance flashes across his face, but he doesn’t dare bring down his facade of boyish charm.

“Oh, thank the Lord. I was beginning to wonder if anyone in this country spoke the king’s language,” he says casually, yet his words sting like he slapped me in the face. I could feel the indirect insult to my country.

“We have a king. He speaks French. And you’re here, so I’m sure that it would be more helpful for you to learn French than personally teaching everyone who lives here ‘the king’s language’,” I inform him snidely.

If possible, his smile grows wider. “English is the language of the future. So, those who speak it are going places.”

“Yes, they are going to England. That’s why they learned to speak it in the first place.”

“You’re insufferable, did you know that? Who are you?”

It’s my turn to smile now. “Ah, and the true colors come out. You may not know me, but I know you. You probably had everything you ever wanted handed to you. English blue blood must be the purest, right? Stop thinking that you’re above everyone else unless you want someone to get sick of it and plant an arrow in your head.”

He turns beet red as turn around and make my way back to the castle.

“You’re a brave little girl for telling me off!” he calls my way.

I know that my frustration wasn’t truly caused by him, but by the whole situation that I had somehow managed to stumble into.

I halt in my steps. I turn around slowly and raise my bow. I notch my arrow. Aim. Deep breath.

Thwack.

I miss his face by inches and the arrow finds its mark in the bullseye of the target located behind him. His eyes were closed in terror, but when they open, he looks at me in a new light, almost horrified.

I give to him the sweetest of my smiles and curtsey.