Coracle, Chapter 2 (Patreon)

CHAPTER TWO

MARDA’S FIRST CHOICE

The first place Marda went for her birthday was the post office, a little building made of stone and golden wood and bordered on one side in flowerbeds and on the other with the entrance to a corral for the couriers’ horses. This might seem a strange place to go for a birthday, but Marda loved the post office for its glorious map. It was painted on the wall beside the counter, and it took up the entirety of it. Vibrant azures tinted the inland bodies of water, and the same cerulean hues surrounded each island and darkened quickly to the blues and purples of space, dappled with stars, many of them named. The bright greens and sandy browns and golds used for the different parts of the world made her think of rolling plains and deep forests, and all of it seemed mysterious and fascinating.

Passing pilgrims stopped in the post office to touch their fingers to the enchanted dust kept in the glazed pot on the counter. Tapping those dusty fingers to their homes left a residue that glowed in colors as bright as flowers. The glow faded with time, but petting it with a bare hand would activate every fingertip touch that had ever been added to the map, and then it shone like sunlight through the stained glass windows of a church, showing the history of all the people who’d ever visited St. Ermina’s.

“Good morning, Marda,” said Mister Elliet. “There’s no new mail for your family, I’m afraid. Have you come to drop off a package?”

Mister Elliet, the postmaster, was a small man with a round face that suited his merry green eyes, and a deep voice that chuckled like a stream. She’d always liked him. “No, sir. I just came to see the map, and to ask if there’s any letters that need answering.”

“There’s always a letter in need of answering!” He went behind the counter and came back with a basket. “We have two today. One from the Felted Hills and one from Chandelier.”

“Oh!” Marda exclaimed. “May I have the Chandelier letter?”

He handed it over with a smile. “Enjoy it, my dear.”

“I will, thank you!”

Outside, Marda turned the envelope in her hands, feeling the softness of the paper. No one knew who’d started the custom of dandelion letters, named for the puffy seeds that floated on the breeze to land wherever they might. People wrote them and mailed them to other islands, and then an interested person could read them and write back. Good fortune was said to visit people who answered a dandelion letter, and while Marda wasn’t sure she believed in luck, today she felt like anything was possible. She tucked the letter in her bag and went next door, to the general store.

Mama’s list wasn’t too long. Flour for the cake, and extra sugar and butter. A package of needles, a bottle of lamp oil. It didn’t take long to fulfill Mama’s requests, and then it was her turn.

The fabric was in the back, far from the windows so the sun wouldn’t bleach the colors. Marda spent what felt like forever deciding what her new dress should look like. In the end, she chose a happy spring green color, and an embroidered ribbon that had a paler green, cream, and a lavender that went well with her skin. She brought her choices to the back of the store to pay for them… and stopped. There was a new stand there, and on it were rows of dolls.

Marda’s last doll was now Susen’s, a battered but much beloved toy that Susen had learned to sew in order to dress. Neither of her siblings minded playing with old toys because, like Marda, they’d preferred playing outside with whatever they could find to being cooped up inside. But these dolls! They were modeled after the Savior’s companions, and each one had accessories, separate ones, not sewed on. Aldren the Knight had a red cloak held on with a tiny pin, shaped like a dove. Sinja the Scholar wore layered robes in gold and brown and ivory that could be peeled off, one by one. Muse Keely’s curls could be brushed and came with little beaded ornaments.

Marda had never seen such beautiful dolls. She checked their prices and winced. Of course they were expensive. But how she would have liked to play with one when she was younger! She thought of Susen’s doll, and that Patric didn’t have any doll at all, then looked at her ribbon trim. Having a new dress with ribbon was like getting two presents, and more presents were better than fewer. But giving presents was a present in itself, and Marda couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to give gifts quite as exciting as these dolls.

When she left the store, she did so with Mama’s items, her dress fabric, and two of the dolls. The Scout for her brother, who loved exploring and climbing trees, just like Scout Toby had, and Hearthkeeper Lira for her sister, because the tall, delicate doll would be a lot of fun to sew clothes for—appropriately, since Hearthkeepers did a lot of mending along with their other saintly tasks.

Patches had fallen asleep in the sunlight, just as she’d expected. She giggled and fuzzled his cheeks. “Hey, wake up, silly.” The pony snorted, lipped the corner of her wrap near her wrist. “I’m not food,” she said, and hugged his neck. He leaned his head against her and shook himself as she packed all her purchases into his panniers. “Come on, let’s go home.”

***

Her gifts met with all the enthusiasm she could have wished. Patric clutched his, wide-eyed, and ran quickly away to pose it outside… then rushed back and hugged her with a hurried, “Thank you thank you Marda you are the best sister” and vanished again. Susen accepted hers with an open mouth and then had to sit with Marda so they could share the discovery of all its delights, from the complicated dress and apron, all separate pieces, to the little kit she bore; not only did it open to reveal tiny carved spoon and knife, but it was padded on top so it could be used as a real pincushion. Even Mama had to come look at that, and when Father called from his room, Susen eagerly ran to show him too.

“I bought those instead of the ribbon,” Marda said, bringing the sacks from the general store into the kitchen.

Mama nodded. “You think they’ll enjoy the dolls more than you would have enjoyed the ribbon on your dress?”

Marda laughed. “They’re already enjoying the dolls more than I would the ribbon on my dress! Besides, I should practice my embroidery. I can’t get Susen to do it for me all the time.”

“You are a thoughtful and dutiful girl,” Mama said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Being virtuous is hard work. You obviously should lick the spatula when we finish making the cake batter.”

“I’m not too old to lick the spatula?” Marda asked, brightening.

“No one’s too old to lick a spatula,” Mama said, serenely. “Just don’t tell your father I said so.”

They made the cake together, and the batter was as delicious as Marda had hoped: she had asked for a lemon cake, because they so infrequently had lemons, and it was tart and sweet and made her think of summer. Mama even squeezed lemon juice into the frosting. While the cake was baking, Mama went out to sing to the trees and Marda checked on her father: napping, like Patches, in a pool of sunlight by the window. She smiled and went upstairs to her room, to open her letter and see what it was like to live in Chandelier.