Читать книгу The Stringless - Alisha Walkerden - Страница 6

One late spring day, Serie noticed that the city square of Kalan was filled with unusual activity. Brightly coloured lanterns were strung across the square, hanging over the boxy wooden tables sitting neatly around the edges. Nearby, a small group of women were placing vases of fresh cut flowers on each table.

To her horror, Serie remembered that the annual pairing was to take place that evening, and she was among the group of girls to be paired with the man who would soon become her husband.

Her eyes were drawn to the vases; the red and purple petals matched those of the flowers in the woods. The woods she may never enter again if she married a man from the city. Tristian couldn’t very well slip into her room with her husband sleeping right next to her. She couldn’t imagine herself with a husband, when she was so close to being free from her strings.

She would be twenty-one that year, and it was time for her to move from her parents’ home and start a family. Her brother, Silas, had moved out three years earlier, already married, and his wife, Lena, about to have their first child.

She missed her walks to Kalan with Silas. Though neither of them had ever said anything to the other on their way to school, she was fascinated by the way that Silas would hum a song to himself. Music was a rarity in Kalan, so Silas defying his strings to do such a simple task was something unexpected. When he finished school, he moved into the city to start work as a carpenter. His visits were a rare occurrence, and once she was paired, she was uncertain if she would see her family much either.

Serie was determined that she would be free of her strings before her wedding in three weeks’ time. Her contempt for her strings had started to become difficult to hide.

Serie walked to the change room in the late afternoon sun, feeling the beginnings of summer in the air. Fifty young women were crammed into the room, pulling on dresses and styling their long swathes of hair. She slipped on the pink silk dress that was given to her and tamed the stray hairs that were escaping her braid.

The girls around her were flushed in the cheeks, their breath wispy with hints of nerves mixed in. Was it their strings that dictated this behaviour? Or were they truly nervous about who Maître would pair them with? Though no one said anything as they put on lipstick or plucked a stray hair from their brow.

As Serie watched the action around the room, she saw a pattern in their movements. Each girl was doing something different, but the strings had a rhythm to how one girl would brush her hair on the same beat that another would blush their cheeks. It was the first time that Serie had paid attention to it. Such actions had been normal all her life, but now it was unnerving.

There was no resistance to the strings’ actions, no hand off beat, except Serie’s. Her figure was still and watching amongst the controlled and oblivious movements of those around her. It was then that Serie became aware of how isolated she had become, as she no longer fit into that pattern of their behaviour.

There was a part of her that wanted to point out what was happening, but then how could she explain her thinking? This was the behaviour they had always known. It was expected of them to let the strings control them. Even if she did say something, how would this realisation help them when they were about to go meet their future partners?

She joined the line of girls waiting to go into the square. The low music hummed through the doorway as they approached the crowd of onlookers. They stood in line, facing the group of young men in simple grey suits. Serie eyed the men across from her, wondering which one Maître had chosen for her. Only a few months ago, this was the moment Serie had waited for. A glimmer of excitement in an otherwise mundane existence. She felt pity for the man that she was about to be paired with, as she did not intend to stay in Kalan for long. She had come too far already.

Maître stood on the stage, his voice booming over the already silent crowd. The music halted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I warmly welcome you to this year’s pairing. After careful consideration, I have decided who to appropriately match each of these fine young women and men with. It is without further ado that I will announce each pairing.”

Each pair walked up towards the stage to meet each other and stood in front of Maître. She wondered what was going through their minds. Did they have reservations about their new life partner? Or would it be someone they would have chosen themselves? She heard Maître call her name.

“Serie Aubrey is given to Flynn Canlin.”

Serie stepped forward, reaching Flynn in a few short steps. She studied him surreptitiously. He was tall with sandy blond hair and a slender, but toned, figure. She had a vague recollection of seeing him from her time at school. They bowed to each other before walking to the stage. Serie watched a glint of excitement flicker on Flynn’s otherwise placid face. She wondered if he had a voice in the back of his mind that told him to defy his strings.

Maître walked along the stage, assessing his new pairings. “These fine young men and women will join the proud tradition of bringing a family into the world, raising them to respect and appreciate the gift that I have given them. For there is no fear, nor desolation for those who obey their strings.”

Serie rolled her eyes, dropping her head slightly to hide from Maître’s gaze.

“In three weeks from today, we will witness the marriage of these couples. But tonight, we celebrate their pairing. We shall start with a dance.”

Flynn offered his hand to Serie. Her hand moved of its own accord, landing softly in his rough palm. The slow waltz commenced. Each step was in time with the music. The strings moved their bodies in perfect synchronicity. As Serie tilted her head, the whirling pink and grey of her fellow dancers blurred past her. The candlelight flickered off the strings. She felt like she was in a strange dream. She looked back to Flynn, his blue eyes filled with the usual glaze of a puppet. He smiled at her. The same glint that flicked through before was quickly replaced with a hollow look.

It took a few seconds for Serie to realise she had stopped dancing. The violins had ceased their simpering sounds and faded into the background. Flynn let go of one of Serie’s hands, keeping the other loosely clasped. He led her to their little table, supper already on the plates. Serie started to eat, when Flynn interrupted with the polite conversation that the other tables had started.

“It is lovely to meet you, Serie. I have been looking forward to meeting you for a long time,” he said, as a hint of excitement crept into his eyes again.

“Thank you, Flynn,” Serie replied, as she struggled to hold back the response that her strings wanted her to give. “What do you do, Flynn?” Serie asked before he could react to her lack of reciprocation.

“I’m training to be a knight in Lord Maître’s army. You’re one of his maids, aren’t you? I’ve seen you around the palace.”

Serie had never noticed him before. Even with her increased strength against her strings, she was often too caught up in her own thoughts and tasks to take the time to notice what was happening around her.

Serie nodded. “How is your training progressing?”

“My training is almost complete. I’ve been learning so much. It’s a great honour to be able to serve our Lord Maître. I hope I can make our family proud.”

Serie’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. She would be the wife of a knight. That was considered an honour to the citizens of Kalan. Maître’s army would protect Kalan from any dangers.

Maître having an army was always something that Serie never fully understood. If the strings had brought about peace, then there would be no more war. But then, Tristian and his band of Stringless would be a threat to Maître’s utopia.

Flynn changed topics, his plate still untouched. “Where in Kalan do you live?”

“I don’t live in the city, I live on the other side of the woods.”

“I hear those woods can be dangerous,” Flynn said with awe.

“They”re not. I enjoy walking through them every morning.”

“There is no safer place for you than within the city walls, and with me by your side.”

Serie held back a snort of laughter, especially when she noticed that Maître was looking at their table. She forced a weak smile, letting the strings say their intended words under the eye of their Master.

“It’s a comforting thought that I won’t have to go through the woods any more.”

Her stomach dropped as the words left her mouth.

“Have I said something to offend you?” Flynn asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

“What do you mean?” Serie asked, her eyes flicking over to Maître to make sure that he wasn’t watching them. Maître seemed to be more interested in his dinner than listening to the idle conversations of his puppets.

“I mean, you seem to be indifferent to meeting me. Am I not what you expected?”

Serie stared at Flynn, her tongue failing to find the words to Flynn’s out of the blue question. How was he observant to her lack of interest in him? Her understanding of the perfect behaviour of a puppet was one who never questioned why.

“I apologise, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m overwhelmed with so many things.”

“How. . .how can you be overwhelmed?”

“I just meant that. . .” Serie trailed off when she realised she didn’t have an appropriate response to cover her slip of the tongue. She wasn’t meant to feel overwhelmed. Her life was simple, and straight forward, she had nothing that she needed to ponder. She couldn’t come out to Flynn and say that there were other things in her life that were more important in her mind than who Maître had paired her with.

Though Flynn had some weird idiosyncrasies too, such as the fact that he could pick up that her indifference was not the strings’ doing. He somehow knew that her own behaviour was emerging at the wrong moment. Flynn was a knight, and by the sounds of it a loyal one, who would probably admit to Maître that his soon-to-be spouse had said things that a loyal puppet does not say. His wife had entertained thoughts that she shouldn’t. She had to do something to fix it. She reached her hand over to Flynn’s, lightly touching it before she withdrew.

“I’m sorry, Flynn. My behaviour is a bit off tonight. I think I’m coming down with something, the change in season and everything.”

“I thought that could be it,” Flynn perked up a little bit. “Make sure you drink lots of water and rest. When we are married, I will take the best care of you.”

Serie nodded, forcing a small smile on her face, while pushing back her apathy. Flynn was nice, but as she sat there talking to him, she could not see herself marrying him. She didn’t reciprocate the glint of feeling he seemed to have for her. Imagining some form of a life with him meant staying captive to the strings, and that was something she did not want to happen.