"Snow" by Jessica Warner

Snow

In the shade of a drooping tree, the Queen sat, preparing dinner. It was late afternoon, and the children were out again, playing their clapping games, feet pounding on the sand. But the Queen tried not to hear them.

  She shuffled back on the low bench, the logs creaking slightly. She had a big white wading bird to pluck for her King’s meal. She pushed a braid out of her eyes, and began again.

  The sun still beat down boldly, and a cricket could be heard in the nearby scrub. A lizard skittered across a bare patch of sand to safety in the yellow grass, and fell still.

  But the Queen only had eyes for her task, and began to hum softly to keep the rhythmic sound of children clapping out of her ears. She roughly pulled out handfuls and handfuls of white feathers, dropping them into an ebony bowl between her feet. They fell, crumpled, from between her fingers, floating wonkily to the ground. The smaller ones twirled, the larger ones dropped point first, some missing the bowl. Perhaps the King would like them for a pillow.

  Nearby one of the King’s thin yellow dogs rolled over in the sun. Men shouted cheerfully to each other from down the path. A woman walked past, carrying a basket of bananas on her head, and her baby wrapped in blue and red cloth on her back. Distracted again, the Queen watched them pass. Her own son was now too big to be carried like that. Her only son. Her only child in fact. If she had a daughter, her daughter could help her here, talk to her, keep her company.

  Now what had distracted her this time? Oh yes. Falling feathers. They covered the dark bowl like a white blanket. She was reminded of a story her grandmother’s friend had told, about how in the farthest north, and the farthest south, sometimes things fell from the sky, and not water, like rain. Little white things, like bits of feather, colder than the coldest you’ve ever felt. And they fell over all the land, and only the sun could destroy it. They called it snow. She had heard of it from someone who had travelled, who had heard it from someone who heard it from someone who travelled further, and so on.

  A land covered in the coldest cold…and people live there?

  She grabbed another handful of feathers, and ripped. Then she went back, plucking out any stray ones between thumb and finger. A sharp barb caught on her skin, making a small slice down her hand. With a wince she dropped the feather into the bowl, shaking a few drops of blood after it, before pinching the small cut together.

   The blood had spotted the white feathers in the ebony bowl. Red and white and darkest brown. The Queen looked down for a long time, now listening to the clapping and chanting of the children.

  ‘That’s what I want,’ she said aloud. ‘I want a daughter, who is red and white and blackest brown. May her skin and eyes be dark, her lips red, and her palms white. And may her beauty be talked about all over this tribe.’

  She prayed to the old gods. And the old gods heard. And agreed, in part…

  A child was born to the King and Queen who had been crafted by the old gods. Her skin was the colour of ebony, and smooth as that wood when polished. But her eyes were white. Her irises were paler than the whites of her eyes, and only her pupils were dark as they should be. Her hair was dark red, as no child’s hair had ever been. The colour of blood, they said, because she killed her mother in her birth. The elders didn’t like it, and muttered…

  ‘No,’ said the King firmly. ‘Women die in childbirth, this we know. What colour my daughter is doesn’t matter. She will not be harmed, because she is my daughter.’

  The muttering stopped, at least, where he could see it. In corners, it increased. Like the myth of “snow”, so the myth of the Princess spread. And from before she was old enough to remember, people called her Snow.

  After the death of his wife, the King took up his hunting spear, and left with two men. They were gone a month, and in that time the King’s brother ruled the tribe, and the village, as he had the first time the King had sought a wife.

  When the King had brought his Queen home that day, thick, bountiful clouds had formed, and soft rain had fallen on the thirsty crops. The people had danced long into the night. But when the King brought his second wife home, the day was humid and breathless. The dogs lay around in the shade, and the children stayed indoors, tired and restless because it was too hot to play. The cruel sun shrivelled trees, and dried up crops.

  The new Queen was the most beautiful woman that had ever walked into the village, this nobody denied. She was tall for a woman, but not as tall as the King. Her braided hair was as long as she was tall, hanging straight and proud to her ankles. Her face was smooth, free of any line in her skin made by an expression. Her eyes were deep, but unreadable. She brought a large dowry too, mainly of animals, but also one personal item. A mask of her ancestors, painted red and black and white, which she hung on the wall inside her house. Some children said she spoke to it when alone, but they were ignored. As if their sensible new Queen would talk to a mask! No, said the children, you don’t understand. It talks back to her…

***

Ayubu straightened, stretching and feeling the bones in his neck click. He had been carrying mud blocks on his head for hours, and the sun was cruel this morning. Perhaps it was time for a moment’s rest.

  Leaning against the low wall of the house they were repairing, he looked across the scrub. He could see the well from here, and further on, the King’s house.

  Behind him, a man cursed, and dropped a block on a scorpion. ‘Big one,’ he remarked, hefting the block back onto his head.

  Ayubu’s sister was at the well alone, fetching water. It was a strange time to be fetching water, he thought. Hadn’t she done it early this morning? What could they want more water for so soon?

  She looked up, and although she was over a hundred paces away, he was sure her white eyes met his. He frowned, causing a bead of sweat to trickle into his eyes.

  Very deliberately, Snow turned to stare at the King’s house. Just as a shape walked past the window. So…the Queen had shut herself in there again…

  ‘Hey Ayubu! You’re not the King yet, get back to work!’ his friend Hanisi called. Ayubu nodded absently.

  ‘I will, I will.’ Not that there was any rush. He kept his eyes locked on Snow. She turned around, and again they shared a grim look.

  Nearby, the children had noticed the closed door, and stopped their games. They stood in a group, whispering.

  Placing the full bucket on her head, Snow walked unhurriedly back towards the house. She knew what her Stepmother was doing, and was in no hurry to interrupt her. She had only just left childhood herself, and had seen the truth with her own eyes a long time ago.

She had covered her head in black material, but if the Queen had looked her way, she couldn’t fail to recognise a pair of white eyes.

  She peered between the bars on the window that held the mosquito net in place – carefully woven by the Queen herself, extremely thin, only the King’s house could afford them – and prayed the Queen wouldn’t see her.

  The Queen had reverently brought out the black and red mask. She stroked it with a long smooth hand, and crooned softly.

  Snow was rarely surprised, and could usually tell when people were being insincere. They were a lot of the time. But the children who had told her this story weren’t.

  The mask’s mouth expanded, and Snow wasn’t surprised.

  ‘Old spirit,’ the Queen crooned. ‘Old, older, oldest spirit. Look upon me with your eyes.’ She stroked around the eye holes, and the eyes immediately widened. ‘Speak to me with your mouth.’

  What would you have me tell you?

  This was not a voice, because it wasn’t a sound. But it was words. And it was ancient.

  ‘Tell me, Old Spirit. Am I still the greatest woman in Africa?’

  Define greatest, lady, for it is a word of many meanings.

  The Queen smiled in the way of one going through a familiar ritual.

  ‘The woman whose name is on more lips than any through out the land.’

  It is your name, Lady.

  ‘And what do they say?’

  They say “Beautiful”.

  The Queen crooned some more, and stroked the mask back to sleep. But Snow had ducked down from the window.

She approached the house now hesitantly, knowing that if she got too close to the walls she’d be able to sense the voice. Not hear, but sense.

  She set the bucket down carelessly, and waited. They didn’t need more water.

  A heavily pregnant goat was resting in the shade of the house wall, her ears twitching to dislodge flies. She struggled up hastily as the Queen’s voice cut the air.

  ‘What?’

 Snow blinked. That wasn’t part of the ritual.

  ‘Then…who, who is?’ the Queen was demanding.

  For a second, Snow was undecided. Then curiosity drove her forward, and she pressed herself against the house wall. At once, the voice was there.

  They say Snow.

  ‘Snow??? How can it be Snow, why would they talk about her more than me?’

  They say red, white and blackest brown. They say touched by old gods. They say a unique appearance.

  ‘A unique appearance…the girl is ugly! She’s been touched by something but nothing as great as you!’

  By your definition of greatness, lady, Snow is greater than you.

  Snow froze up, imagining the look of cold fury on her stepmother’s face.

  There was silence inside the house.

  ‘Old spirit, I would not have you served by any but the greatest. Only the greatest woman should serve you, yes…now sleep. Sleep.’

  Snow knew that the Queen was not about to give her the mask.

  She ducked beneath the window, grabbed her bucket, and ran down the path.

  She took a deep drink upon reaching the well. She would need some food, and a waterskin; they couldn’t refuse the King’s daughter.

  With a jolt she realised she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to her brother Ayubu. That troubled her more than the thought of leaving her home forever, more than the thought of what her stepmother might send after her.

  She gathered her supplies, and set out, this time away from the track, out where the hunters went, out where the gazelle came from, out where the lions lived.

Snow had been walking for a long time when she saw the hunter in the distance. She sighed, knowing she could never outrun his long legs. Badru was the finest hunter in the village. Well, it was best he caught up with her before nightfall anyway. The lions would be here at night. She knew that they wouldn’t trouble her in the day, but at night when she couldn’t see and they could...

  Yes. Better he caught her while there was still light in the sky.

  She squatted in the shade of an old termite mound, and watched Badru run towards her, over the scrub grass, through the heat haze.

  He carried a long spear. He could just have been running, but for that. And he came alone. He could just have been hunting, but for that. Snow sighed deeply, and took a drink of water.

  Badru finally reached her after a long wait, and slowed to catch his breath. His torso gleamed with sweat.

  ‘Long way out, Badru.’

  ‘Long way out, Snow.’

  ‘The Queen sent you to kill me.’ Said Snow matter-of-factly. Badru frowned.

  ‘Hw can you know that?’

  ‘I listen.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have been left alive after your curse killed the first Queen.’

  Snow eyed his spear. ‘Will it be done quickly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you throw hard?’

  ‘I won’t need to. But I will.’

  ‘Why did the Queen say she wanted me dead?’

  ‘She said…you already know. You know more than one your age should. You have devil’s wisdom.’ Badru shook his head.

  ‘It’s because I’m more beautiful than she, and she’s jealous.’ Said Snow. Badru’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘Don’t you think so?’ She stood up, and walked over to him. ‘I know my eyes and hair are strange, but aren’t they attractive too?’

  Badru’s grip on his spear tightened, then relaxed.

  ‘Would you really kill one as young and beautiful as me, Badru?’ She asked.

  ‘You mean nothing to me.’ He said uncertainly.

  Snow took a deep breath, and began to talk. She reminded Badru of the many times he had hunted with her father – and how her father cared for her. She reminded him of her mother – her real mother – and how she had helped Badru’s sister through a difficult childbirth. Although the child didn’t survive, his sister was still alive today. She reminded him of her brother, how Ayubu respected him, and how the light would go out of his eyes if his little sister was killed. Snow wasn’t very good at talking. But she knew that now she was talking for her life, and so Snow talked.

  Badru shook his head angrily when she could talk no more. ‘Your only good use was that you’re quiet, girl.’

  ‘I will be quiet. Turn around, go back, and say you killed me. You’ll never hear of me again. That quiet.’

  ‘You’d rather be killed by lions than me? Lions are messy killers.’

  Snow looked into his face uncertainly. She didn’t know if he was telling the truth. She’d never seen a lion kill: few people had.

  ‘And,’ he continued, gripping his spear tighter, ‘how would that stop your brother thinking you were dead? No, Snow. You got to die. For real.’

  Snow tore her eyes away from the spear, and locked her gaze on Badru’s.

  He looked away.

  ‘Turn around,’ he instructed.

  ‘You’ll strike me in the back?’

  ‘I don’t want you looking at me.’

  ‘You could cut my throat instead,’ Snow suggested, hoping he’d put the spear down. ‘I’ve been told I got a nice throat.’

  ‘I won’t cut your throat. Turn around.’

  ‘You do think I got a nice throat then?’ She lifted her head up.

  ‘Turn around girl!’

  ‘My back isn’t so nice. At least, nobody’s really told me. Nobody’s seen it.’

  ‘I bet you’ve showed everything you’ve got to every last man in the village.’ Badru snorted.

  ‘Haven’t showed you, have I? No. Nobody yet.’

  ‘Really nobody?’ He asked doubtfully.

  ‘Really nobody.’ She cast her eyes down to the sand.

  He was looking at her now, and Snow both wanted him to stop looking, and keep looking. He gripped his spear again where his grip had gone lax.

  ‘But I got to kill you, Snow.’

  ‘Then…you’ll kill me straight away?’ Snow fixed her eyes on his, then turned them downward again. She took a step towards him.

  ‘Maybe not straight away…’ He murmured. ‘But don’t think I’ll let you live. You can’t, you’re cursed.’

  ‘Preserve my cursed life for just a few more moments, Badru.’

  He reached out to touch her arm, and she forced herself not to shudder. Instead she took a step closer.

  ‘Just a moment,’ he agreed, also stepping closer. He dropped the spear, and put his other hand on her waist.

  The spear hit the ground with a dull thump. Snow leaned forward, and reached around the hunter…there was a sharp knife in his leather belt. Ignoring his caresses, she drew it in a flash, and drove it deep into the back of his knee.

  A scream erupted right by her ear where his hot breath had been a second before, and she pulled back quickly, as the man writhed and dropped to the ground, blood making the dust into sticky paste over his calves. She kicked the spear away, and unhurriedly picked up her bag.

  ‘Can’t run after me now, Badru,’ she commented, wiping the knife clean. He stared up at her in fury and fear, spitting curses. ‘You’re not too far from the village, you can get back.’

  ‘And say a woman beat me?’

  ‘You can phrase it like that if you wish.’ Said Snow, entirely unperturbed. ‘Or you can remain here until a hyena smells the blood.’ She walked over and picked up the spear. Then paused.

  ‘Don’t kill me…’ He begged.

  Snow said nothing, just looked at him, down in the dust and begging for his life. Then she turned and headed out, off the track.

***

Night fell, but Snow couldn’t stop. She told herself it made no sense to spend all her strength, she would need it. She told herself she should find shelter, so wild things couldn’t stalk her. But the thought of her stepmother forced her feet to keep walking. Snow didn’t often get scared, but the image of the spear plunging through her wouldn’t go away. During the confrontation, her emotions had fled leaving only logic. But now they had returned.

  I should be dead. I should never have escaped Badru so easily…

  And the Queen can do far worse. More than just speaking to a mask. Snow had no idea how deep her skills went. So she tried to stop, but found she couldn’t. And so she travelled on.