Tower

The tower lay on its side, stretched out for a half a mile along the desert floor, half buried by wind and sand, only the windows on the upper half still visible, like implacable black eyes. No one knew when it had fallen, but all the legends spoke of the time when it had pointed straight up to the stars, a long metal tube, its purpose, surely, to talk with the heavens.

A town had grown up, long ago, sustained in the barren dryness by the magic from the tower: the lake. No-one knew how this gift worked, but they knew the great ancestors had discovered the secret of endless water, pouring into the lake. Water was taken by the townsfolk and water must be given, a mantra every child learned at their mother’s knee. All wastewater was siphoned back to the tower, emerging, like a miracle, into clean lake water. Blessed Water. Not a drop was spilled, to knock over a glass of water was a dreadful act, to spit was a sin.

Later, the town was moved, and the palace was built on the shores of the lake, along with the merchant houses, men made rich by the caravan route that passed through the town, an oasis in a world of deserts. 

Did anyone go into the tower? Of course, for the great miracle of the water needed tending to continue, but this was the job of the priests, men who braved the interior, for the heat inside the metal tower was ferocious, and at night when the sun had sunk, the heat rolled off the tower’s sides in blistering waves, as it cooled. Then the shaven-headed priests would enter the tower, dressed only in loin cloths, through the base and work their prayers to keep the life-giving water flowing.

Melissa had lived in the town near the tower base for all her twenty-four years, and she could not imagine any other life, for she had never heard tell of another way, except the stories she loved, passed on by the caravan traders, whispered and contorted by each mouth they passed through until they became wild tales, of fact and fiction melted in the same pot until one was indistinguishable from the other; stories of far off cities with unbelievable wonders, metal carts that powered themselves, towers almost as tall as their fallen one, where people lived in the clouds, or, even stranger, of places with lakes so big their far shores were invisible. So much water, but in a cruel twist, the gods had salted it. Her mother scoffed at these tales, ‘stories for children’ she said, rolling her eyes. But she believed the one about the giant lakes, because the undrinkable water was proof, in her eyes, that the gods punished the sinners. Melissa knew her mother was fond of stories of retribution and punishment by the gods.

Melissa swept the dust through the doorway and into the street, covered by a roof of palm wood which filtered the sun’s searing heat to bearable levels, but allowed through a soft light and breeze.  As she turned back into the white daub house, she closed the door firmly, to keep the cool air in. Her mother would soon complain if it got too hot. She leant against the wall for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sun in the thick stones, but it was pleasant, not fierce, and it would warm them later in the cold night. She had swept the rooms, beaten the carpets and now had to prepare food. She washed lentils, picking out small stones and as she finished pouring water into a bowl, for the beans, she stopped, listening. She could hear her mother’s voice in the small courtyard, with her friend and neighbour, Berine, and she knew they’d be chewing over the same subjects as they always did; the leniency allowed to young girls today; the scandalous prices in the market, or the fecklessness of husbands, especially ones that wandered into the desert and were lost. This was a loosely veiled story of Melissa’s father, who had disappeared, long ago after travelling into the deep desert with a trader, supposedly looking for riches.  Melissa listened to the murmuring for another minute, satisfied that they were deep in conversation, and she could slip out unnoticed. If her mother knew she’d finished her duties, she would find more, anything to stop Melissa going into the town.  

 She knew she was a disappointment to her mother; her lack of marriage prospects a constant reminder that her mother would never have grandchildren, but it wasn’t all her fault. Melissa was not beautiful and never would be, she thought, her hand stroking the scar tissue that covered half her face, the legacy of an accident when Melisssa was small, the hot water from the stove spilling over her, her skin blistering in an instant and then falling off in sheets. She had been too young to remember the details, but she had overheard her mother many times telling Berine the story, either weeping that Melissa would never have a husband and babies with her ruined face; or condemning herself for having turned her back for an instant, allowing a young Melissa to pull the pan over herself, imagining in the retelling a different outcome, one where she had turned back in time, and all was different. But a moment later she would rage at fate for delivering this curse upon her, a daughter that could never marry. Unlike Melissa’s closest (and only) friend, Lenora, a renowned beauty who had just become engaged to one of the wealthiest merchants in the town.

She sometimes fantasised about having smooth, unblemished skin, which would of inevitably led to a handsome and kind husband and a jolly, bouncing baby, one following the other with the predictability of a morning sunrise. It was hard to hear her mother mourning her scars, when she had, however accidentally, partly caused them and hard too to watch as her mother’s eyes skittered away from the burns, to fix on a point above her unblemished left eyebrow whenever they spoke.

Now Melissa crept out of the house and pulled the door shut softly behind her, she didn’t want to incur her mother’s dark temper by telling her she was meeting Lenora, buoyant with wedding plans.  She pulled the scarf across her face to hide the scars, in an unconscious gesture made a hundred times a day whenever she was outside, and she hurried down the twisting lanes, the frequent turns designed to thwart the desert winds from whipping through the town. They were meeting in a café off the market square, and Melissa hurried along the shaded walkways that. She knew Lenora would be full of the wedding and Hugo, her rich merchant and she was happy for her, -mostly- even though this marriage would mean losing her friend, and therefore probably her sanity too.  She tried not to think of the rest of her life, just her mother and herself in that small house. She shook her head, for that was not happening today, and the future was a week or so away.  

As she got closer to the market, she became aware of its noise and bustle, but it seemed louder today and some of the shouts were angry and excited. She wondered what was happening and hoped it wasn’t another ‘inspection’ by the city guards, an excuse that everyone knew was stealing by another name, taking honest traders’ goods from under their noses, in the name of law and order.

She rounded the corner and saw a crush of people, more than usual for the time of day. Half the town must be here, she thought. She stood on tip toes and tried to see what was going on, but whatever it was, it was in the centre of the market. She pushed through the crowds, towards the cafe where she was meeting Lenora, squeezing through the tight press of people and popped through the doorway into the cooler interior. Lenora had a table and two iced teas before her, and was unconcernedly sipping water, whilst some men at a nearby table sent furtively admiring glances.  Melissa was used to this reaction wherever they went, Lenora’s long hair, caramel skin and eyes like a sleek cat’s seeming to attract attention like flies to honey. She was also used to the glances that slid from Lenora’s beauty, to herself, with the expectation of perhaps a similar loveliness and the hastily covered looks of shock as they beheld the part-covered ravaged face. She readjusted her scarf. 

‘Blessed Water, you made it!’ Lenora cried.

They kissed cheeks and Melissa asked, ‘What is going on out there?’ She sat and took a sip of the delicious coolness of the tea.

‘What do you think? Guess! No, you couldn’t guess it, if we sat here ‘til next week. I’ll tell you anyway’ Lenora paused for dramatic effect, ‘The rumour is they’ve caught a Faerie’.

‘What?’ Melissa said scornfully ‘there’s no such thing’.

‘I know, but that’s what everyone is saying. I wanted to look, but you can’t get close. Anyway, it’ll probably be a desert rat like last time, do you remember? You were so upset, what a fraud that man was, we should have got our money back’.

The circus caravans came to the town every year or so, and the town was electrified with excitement at the promise of the exotic entertainment on offer; acrobatics, animals and freaks of nature, including a ‘Genuine Faerie’, which had turned out to be, to Melissa’s deep disappointment, a rather sad looking black rat with some wings sewn onto its back.

They settled down and drank their tea, Lenora talking of the wedding clothes, the lace that had been ordered from afar that the traders would bring next month, but Melissa listened with only half an ear. Her mind kept drifting back to the Faerie, thinking maybe this time it would be real. Like many of the town’s residents, as a youngster she had slipped away to loiter around the trader camps in the evening, crowding closer and closer to the old trader women as they sat around their fires, to catch tales of outlandish things, and the tales of the Faerie.

The stories said that once, when the tower had been new and upright, it was peopled by the Faerie, small black creatures no higher than a man’s knee, delicately boned, with soft hair over body and head, with wings like a bat, that flew in and out of the tower.

The tower was their home and they kept to themselves, rarely concerning themselves with the world of men. Of course, that didn’t mean the world of men didn’t want to trouble them, for the tales also told of Faerie magics, and even (here the children had squirmed in mingled fright and excitement, for this was blasphemy) that the Faeries were the source of the never-ending fresh water. Of course, these were children’s tales, and the Church taught the truth, that the priests communicated with the gods to keep the life-giving water flowing, the Blessed Water. Still, men had tried to bargain for magics with the Faerie and the Faerie had refused. The men had become rightly angry at this greed, for magics should be shared, and a war had ensued. Naturally, men had triumphed over the duplicitous Faerie, but the tower had fallen, and the Faerie had fled.

‘…and then I shall have the whole church filled with flowers and ribbons and….are you listening to me?’ Melissa heard Lenora’s indignant tones and jerked out of her daydream.

‘Of course I am! Lots of flowers, it will be gorgeous, it sounds wonderful’. Melissa watched as Lenora’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘Hmmm. I don’t believe you, but never mind, I know I have been going on a while, I am sorry’ Lenora looked thoughtful, ‘Shall we try and see this Faerie? I know you’ve always wanted to see one’. Melissa looked at her and smiled. Yes, she would very much like to see what was happening, even another black rat with wings.

They exited the café, noticing the crowds had thinned somewhat, and Lenora asked a woman laden with bags of vegetables what was happening. ‘Lot of nonsense, people should know better. Faerie indeed’ she had snorted. ‘They’ve taken whatever it was to the mayor’s office. Some of us have better things to do’ with which she had stalked off, still muttering under her breath.

‘Well, that’s that, then’ Melissa said, ‘We won’t see anything now, not even a desert rat’.  

‘Oh, how disappointing’ Lenora had been sad for all of a few seconds, before announcing, ‘Come on, let us go to the Emporium!’

Melissa had laughed, if there was one thing Lenora was good at, it was shopping, and she had a generous sum to purchase articles for her wedding trousseau, although what could possibly be left to buy, Melissa couldn’t imagine. Still, Melissa had no money to spare, so was content to live vicariously through Lenora, as close to shopping for a wedding that she would ever get.

Later that evening, Melissa let herself into the house, opening the door quietly, hoping to slip in unnoticed, but her mother could sense a moth taking wing, and called out, ‘Melissa! Where have you been?’ as she came into the hallway, arms crossed over her generous bosom. Melissa sighed, said,

‘With Lenora, mother. I did all the housework, and you were busy with Berine, so I slipped out’. She wondered why she still felt the need to justify herself to her mother, even though she was a full-grown woman. Her mother’s lips thinned in disapproval,

‘Always out, always with that one. She will have a shock when her husband gets the management of her’ her mother said with grim satisfaction. ‘She’ll have to mind her ways and behave more modestly. She won’t be so carefree when she has babies to look after. She’ll be too busy to go to shopping then.’ Melissa turned away to hide her resigned expression, at this evidence of jealousy in her mother, and the unmistakeable pleasure in her mother’s voice at the thought of Lenora’s married life of restriction and drudgery.  The bitterness soured the atmosphere and she felt herself becoming angry.

 ‘I won’t see her for much longer, mother, because as you say, once she is married, she will no longer care for, or have time, for old friendships. And so, don’t worry, I will be here, all the time – to listen to you, to do all the housework, cook the food, and to listen to you complain to Berine of what a bitter disappointment I am.’ She stopped on a sob, shocked that she had given voice to her mother’s feelings towards her. She waited for her mother to berate her, but her mother just folded her lips tightly and walked out of the room.  

After a silent dinner, Melissa cleaned the dishes and her mother retired early to bed. Melissa climbed the stairs and looked in on her mother, as she snored lightly under the blanket. She held her lamp high so the soft light just illuminated her mother’s face, with its sleep-softened expression, the deep frown lines smoothed out, and Melissa could glimpse something of the young girl she must have been, untroubled, before life had worn her down with its disappointments, her unreliable husband and her unsightly unmarriageable daughter.

She sighed and crept to her room, a simple square, sparsely furnished, with a bed, a chair, and an old bedside table to hold her lamp and a couple of ancient and well-read books. The room felt warmer than it should, and she glanced to the window with its shutters which were always closed in the day to keep the heat out. They were slightly ajar.  She felt a sudden weight to the air, as if she wasn’t alone and she held still, listening, but could only hear the soft snores from the other room. She shook herself, don’t be silly, she thought, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. As she moved towards the bed, she saw a shape and almost screamed, her hand coming up to clamp over her mouth, for the lamplight had illuminated something sitting on the table. A small creature.

It was a Faerie.

Her mind refused to assimilate the fact, and she thought, it’s Lenora! Lenora has played a trick on me, I’ll murder her when I see her again, giving me such a fright. But…it looked so real, much more realistic than the poor rats the circus passed off as Faerie and more than that, it seemed to be watching her, it’s eyes warily regarding her. She noticed it had small hands, one of which seemed to be clutching its side, as if it was hurt. She stepped forward and was shocked to see it try to scrabble backwards on spindly bird-like legs, until it was flat against the wall, and she could see its lightly furred belly rising and falling in quick panting breaths. Suddenly, the fear left her, and she felt only empathy, it was scared and wounded, and she wanted to help.

She held her hands in a calming gesture and spoke, softly ‘Its ok, I won’t hurt you. I want to help’ she looked at it, for signs of understanding. It continued to eye her warily. She thought back to the tales, did they speak our language?

‘You’re hurt. Let me see. Let me help,’ she stepped closer, and the Faerie suddenly leapt towards the window, unfurling black wings of skin, like a bats, exactly as the tales had it, but it seemed unable to fly properly, beating against the shutters and flopping back on the bed. It had tried to fly! One part of her brain was still struggling to catch up with the fact of a Faerie, a real Faerie, in her room, but again her instinct to help overcame her fear and she walked towards it, speaking softly. ‘It’s ok, it’s really ok, I only want to help’. The Faerie was panting hard, and as she came closer, it tried once more to fly out the window, but with a cry of pain, it fell on the bed, unconscious.

The Faerie groaned, and started to wake, then became as still as stone as it became aware of Melissa’s attentions, her soft cleansing of the wound in its side, the water in a bowl beside it, stained red. It suddenly sat up, giving a small yelp of pain and Melissa sat back ‘It’s ok’ she said, ‘I’m just washing your wound. Luckily it doesn’t seem to have gone too deep, although there is a lot of blood.’

 The Faerie’s black eyes regarded her suspiciously, but seemed to accept that Melissa was trying to help. After all, if Melisssa had meant it harm, she could have done it by now. Melissa saw it relax a little. ‘Can you understand me?’ Melissa asked. There was no response and Melissa was about to give up, when the Faerie reluctantly nodded. Melissa’s eyes widened; it could understand her! ‘Do you speak my language?’ she asked.

The Faerie nodded again, then croaked ‘I can’. Melissa was so shocked that again, she had to clamp her hand over her mouth; this was like hearing a cat talk. Then she scolded herself, this wasn’t a pet, it was a… a person. Questions pushed themselves forward all at once, where had it come from, what did it want, who was it, what was it? Finally, she settled on ‘Do you have a name?’

The Faerie gave a small smile and said, ‘You may call me Bagot’.

‘I am Melissa’ she said, ‘Pleased to meet you’.

Bagot laughed, coughed, then winced as the wound obviously hurt. ‘I am pleased I met you, Melissa, out of all your kind. The others were not so friendly.’ He indicated his wound.

‘Was that you? Earlier? In the market square?’ Bagot inclined his head in confirmation. ‘I thought you were made up.’ Bagot, looked at her, questioningly.  ‘I mean, I don’t believe in…I didn’t believe in…in …you,’ she stammered to a halt; it seemed foolish telling the Faerie in front of you that you didn’t believe in him.  ‘How did you come to be in the market?’ she asked.

Bagot’s face might be small, but the expressions were easily human enough for her to see his annoyance ‘I was trapped,’ he spat out. ‘Stupidity. Mine.’ The conversation seemed to remind him of his situation, and he sat up, ‘I must go. I need to return…home’.

‘You can’t,’ Melissa protested, ‘You’re injured,’ She pointed to Bagot’s wound which was still seeping blood. Bagot fell back on the bed, groaning. ‘I must return. Have to. We are being hunted’.

‘What do you mean?’ Melissa couldn’t understand, hunting was what people did for food.

‘Hunted. Hunted down. Captured. You know what this word means.’

‘Yes of course, but why…’

‘We are being hunted by men, by your kind, by humans’, Bagot almost spat the words out.  ‘Again. We cannot escape you. We try to live in peace, but again humans come and try to take us.’

 Bagot’s breath was coming faster as he spoke, the urgency and frustration, clear.  

‘When we left the tower, we escaped far into the desert, and we found a new home, somewhere safe, but now… now men are come again, and we are discovered,’ Bagot tried to stand and cried out again as he fell. So, it was true, Melissa thought, it was real, it was all real, the tower, and the Faeries.

‘I must get back, to warn them’. Bagot was holding his side again.

‘But, how?’ melissa asked, ‘you can’t fly, and,’ she pointed to his side, ‘you’re bleeding again!’

She picked up s cloth and went to clean Bagot’s side. ‘No,’ Bagot said, ‘I will do it.’ Melissa smarted at this rejection but, she reflected, it seemed he had little cause to trust humans. ‘Please let me help. At least let me bandage you up’. Bagot stared at her, an internal struggle seeming to take place, before he finally nodded. ‘It seems I must accept your help, once more,’ he said.

Melissa worked quickly, wrapping his small body in the bandage. His body felt strange to her, its size, smaller than a human toddler’s, making her unconsciously expect to feel the soft outlines of a baby, but his torso was corded with muscle under the fur. He might be small, but he was stronger than he looked.

‘There,’ Melissa said, siting back to examine the bandage. ‘I think that will hold.’

‘Thank you,’ Bagot said and moved back from her. It seemed talk of being hunted had destroyed the small understanding between them. ‘I must go’, Bagot hopped down from the bed and limped to the door.

‘What are you doing? You’re can’t walk?’

‘There is no other way, if I cannot fly, I must walk,’ Bagot said with implacable logic.

‘And how long will that take?’ Melisia asked.

‘Many, many days, maybe weeks,’ Bagot said, sounding despondent, ‘but it must be done’.

‘But that’s ridiculous, there must be another way.’ Melissa said.

‘I suppose you think I should hire one of your human wagons? Or join a caravan? Perhaps hire a camel from the friendly men that captured, and tortured me?’ He eyed her stonily.

Melissa thought of the crowds in the marketplace, the shouting, braying, jostling mob, which had been hard enough for her to navigate, and then looked at Bagot, small and vulnerable, holding his side in pain.

The thoughts from earlier crowded in: Lenora leaving for a life with Hugo in their merchant’s house, on the shores of the lake; and her own unchanging life in this house, year after year after year, as she grew older and greyer, bent over the broom, forever sweeping the dust. She would live and die here without seeing anything of the world.  In her mind, as alternative image started to appear, of her riding into the deep desert.

But no, she shook her head, she couldn’t leave, she couldn’t do it to her mother, not after her father had disappeared, her mother’s heart would break, because despite their arguments, she knew they loved one another. But…but, she countered her own arguments again, as she remembered her mother’s resentment, where I am only a constant reminder of a curse; and she thought of Berine, the one person her mother seemed happy to be with. She knew Berine would look after her mother. And she thought of her father, heading into the desert, trying to make something more of himself, and the tales of far-flung places, such as the city where Lenora’s lace was made, a city she would never see, unless…

She looked a Bagot, a living, breathing Faerie, something that should not exist outside the fireside tales of traders, who made their living spinning stories, and she made up her mind.

She stood up. ‘I’ll take you,’ she said to Bagot. ‘I’ll hire a camel and I will take you’.

Bagot’s mouth dropped open and he seemed, to Melissa’s deep satisfaction, to be unable to speak. Again, she had that sense of a fierce internal battle raging, against accepting her help, a human’s help, and the need to get back to his people.

 Then, he bowed ironically to Melissa and said, ‘So be it’.