Harmindon's Finest

Chapter 12 - Ramyahani

My blankets were uncomfortable and scratchy, the air was hot and stuffy, my hair was in my face and I could not sleep. Late at night had long past and it was now early in the morning, too early to get up, and for some unknown reason I had taken a fit of insomnia and could not sleep no matter how hard I tried. I rolled over yet again, pulling the corner of a blanket over my head. How I was supposed to fall asleep in the awkward position I was in, arms and legs tangled up in old, itchy blankets, was unknown even to me but I stayed stubbornly where I was, trying not to suffocate as I breathed shallowly, face down in my little nest of blankets.

Finally I could not stand it and stood up rather quickly, almost falling back down as the blood rushed to my head. I leaned against the cool wall to regain my equilibrium, and breathed slowly. I envied my grandmother and sister with a passion at that moment, both lying completely still on the rickety narrow bed with peaceful expressions as their chests rose and fell in regular unison. Miarka was curled in a little ball like a cat, and I leaned over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly.

I was now completely awake, much to my annoyance. I wound a shawl around my shoulders and stepped outside, careful not to shut the door too loudly.

Though we could not afford windows, the inside of our house was rather musty at night with the curtains drawn, the lingering smell of smoke from last night's fire and the rich scent of candlewax not helping this. Every morning I would draw the curtains and hope the breeze would make the air a little fresher. It was a relief, then, to step outside into the street and breathe in the cool air, almost shivering with the shock of it.

No sign of dawn was there, no streaks of pink or orange on the horizon, though if I squinted slightly there was a definite greyness to the black of the night sky to the east. Stars twinkled comfortingly as I strode through the streets, making no sound in my bare feet - I had forgotten to slip on shoes. The houses and stalls that were so familiar were shrouded in an eerie sort of shadow, and it was all so quiet that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a small, scruffy dog dashed across my path, chasing a small creature that looked suspiciously like a rat, barely paying me any heed.

I had no set destination in mind, but I found myself in front of Mother's stall. My stall, I corrected myself vehemently. Even in the dim starlight - the moon was such a mere sliver that it was hardy visible - the golden embroidery on the awning looked majestic, out of the ordinary, compared to the dull oranges and beiges of its neighbours.

In a way it reminded my of Lady Túrien. She stood out without even trying - I had seen her mother and sisters firsthand, they were all so different and yet so astonishingly alike, so beautiful it almost hurt. I sighed, suddenly tired, and trailed home, deep in thought.

•●•●•●•

"Good morning!" Thekla's voice rang out cheerfully some hours later as I stood on tiptoe, arranging my displays.

"Oh, hello, Thekla. You're up early," I remarked, careful not to lean too hard against the stall as I turned around to smile at her, squinting in the sunlight. I tiptoed gingerly around it and stayed standing - the only high stool I owned had been taken apart to repair the stall. As Thekla began her usual spiel of gossip I began mentally preparing myself for a long day of standing on cool, shaded flagstones while squinting into the bright, sunlit square. Little pieces of grit managed to wedge themselves into the gaps between the soles of my flimsy leather sandals, and I sat down carefully to remove them, the high table entirely obscuring me from view.

Thekla's disembodied voice suddenly stopped abruptly, and I hopped up, wondering what the matter was. There, in front of my stall, stood a customer - the sight was so rare I would have been delighted even if it was a young girl, grubby and barefoot, even poorer than me wanting a cheap shawl after her only one had been worn to literal rags. But there she stood, Lady Túrien, the very same woman who had flown among Mûmakil and was now married to our Ramyah's son, like a fierce storm in all its glory.