In Search of a Bride

The 2nd story in The Oracle of Toko-Ri

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Jnetin listened, for the fifth time, to the widow tell the story. He hadn’t been in town, yesterday evening, when she had found the ring, so he had missed the sight of this oh so proper widow running screaming down the street.

But he and pretty much everyone else had gotten to hear the story. Widow would tell it to whoever asked. Right now she had a group of kids on her porch, and Jnetin had stopped to listen.

That evening, laying in his bed, he formed the plan of going to that oracle, himself. He had been wanting to get married, and he couldn’t find a single decent girl. Oh, they looked nice enough, most of them, but looks weren’t everything.

No, he wanted the right wife, and needed to know where to get her. He was going to try this oracle thing.

First thing in the morning, his best clothes on, he marched up the hill. He had left the village off into the woods, not wanting anyone to know where he was going, lest they guess why. Once decently away he found the trail and went up it. Anyone who found him on this trail was no doubt going the same way he was.

But he met no one. He got to the clearing just as the sun fully cleared the horizon and went over to the waterfall to get a drink… and to stare at the cave. It looked boring enough, or would have had he not been up here before and knew it hadn’t been there before.

After his drink and a couple of deep breaths he strode briskly forward and into the cave…

The fog was the same but nothing else. He found himself in an ornate hallway, all pillars and statues and torches. Breathing rapidly he strode forward and, after only a hundred paces or so found a large doorway, both doors fully open, opening into what looked like a throne room.

And, squarely framed in the door way, was a throne. And on the throne a regal looking woman, older than his mother but flawless. Her flawless white and purple robe hung from her left shoulder and cascaded down the throne past her feet. He hair was held in place by a crown of twisted silver, gold, and what looked like holly.

Her eyes were like blue diamonds, and they were focused on him. But she said nothing.

Gulping he forced himself to walk forward until he was directly in front of the throne, her eyes following him intently. He stopped, cleared his throat, and rasped out, “Ma’am, I’ve come…”

“I know why you’ve come!” she said, her voice ringing off the walls. “Go back and get your tools, then build me a fence around my courtyard. When it is finished, you may come back.”

“I…” he started say, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand,

“Go!”

And he turned and, frankly, fled.

Three days later he stood and surveyed his work. He had worked without stopping, the fear of that voice echoing through him. Various villagers had come up, most just to gawk, a few had gone in, and some of the gawkers had given him food and water… none of them speaking to him, probably because of the look on his face.

But now he was finished. He had done a good job. He had worked hard. The fence that he built fit the area. It was a split pole fence that accented the scene without interuppting it. He had rejected one out of four of the poles he had cut as being unworthy, and dragged them out of sight down the hill. He had dug the holes carefully, and removed the dirt that came from them, so that nothing marred the beauty of the grass. He had framed the opening of the trail with a turn on both sides of the fence, not blocking the trail but making it evident where the entrance was.

He had had to work hard to merge the fence with the cliffs on both sides, but he had done it, using holes that were there before and carefully curving the fence so that they meshed.

And now, he was finished. And he almost wished he wasn’t.

He turned toward the cave mouth. It was late afternoon. The sun would go down in an hour or so. But he didn’t dare go home and sleep. He was finished, so now he had to go face her.

His steps toward the cave were not the bold steps he had used when he had first come, but they were not hesitant, either. This needed doing, and he would do it right.

The fog did not take him by surprise, but this time neither did the hall or the door or the throne. And the woman on the throne didn’t take him by surprise, but it wasn’t easy to walk up to her.

He stopped, and waited. She looked at him. There was a long silence, and then she said, “You reek.”

He flushed. Perhaps he should have…

“And your clothes are filthy. Go down to the Bend Pool and wash. Yourself and your clothes. Well.”

She stopped. He had been hoping for instructions on where to go to find his wife but he obviously wasn’t going to get them like this.

The walk to the pool was actually pleasant. He hadn’t been struck by lightning, just asked to wash. And she hadn’t been displeased with his fence. He had somehow gotten that impression from her gaze.

Nor was the pool at all unpleasant. After removing his clothes and wading over to the far side to hang them from some branches preparatory to washing them he was tempted to luxuriate in the water. But delaying his obedience did NOT seem like a good idea, so he contented himself with swimming back and forth a few times and then, picking his shirt off the branch where he had hung it, he started washing it.

“Well, and what are you doing?” he heard a few minutes later and whirled to see Chresteena limping down to the waters edge on the other side of the pool. He thanked his stars that he was deep enough in the water to be decently covered.

“And how is it any of your business?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m known for my curiosity,” she said, finding a rock and sitting on it.

Jnetin didn’t think that was actually true. What she was know for, of course, was her limp. A fire in her house when she was young had burnt her left leg, and since then she had walked painfully with a limp and tended to wear the longest skirts in the village.

He went back to washing his shirt, very aware of her eyes on him.

“Well? What are you doing here?” she asked, again.

He was going to tell her, again, that it was none of her business, but he suddenly remember what the oracle had told the widow about telling the truth.

“I… I went to the oracle and she told me I had to come wash.”

“Probably couldn’t stand your smell,” the girl said, nodding her head. “You seem to always be all over sweat.”

He flushed, but she continued, “And why did you go to the oracle?”

“If you must know,” he said, “I went because I wanted a wife.”

“Our village isn’t exactly short girls,” she said. “Why didn’t you marry one of them?”

“Because… because I have high standards and none of them measured up,” he said, his anger at her persistent questions leading him past the bounds of polilteness.

“Oh, let us hear of these standards you have,” she said, sarcasticaly. “I will allow you three. What would you say were your three qualifications for a wife?”

He scrubbed at his shirt and then looked up, angrily, “The first must be that she is a hard worker!”

“A good quality,” she agreed, and he suddenly realized the other thing that she was known for. Everyone knew that, despite her atrocious limp, she was the hardest working daughter in the village.

“And the second thing?”

“I want children,” he said.

“Well, that’s good,” she said, “but you can’t hardly tell if the filly will be barren before she is bred.”

He flushed. That wasn’t he had meant and she had knew it. But he remembered that there was something else she was known for. She loved children, and children loved her.

He looked at her and there was a pause, then she flushed. “Even me,” she said. “I asked the midwife, once, and she says that there should be no problem for me.”

He looked down. He had never even considered her. She limped. That was all he had seen.

“Well?” she asked, sharply, “What was your third qualification? Beauty, I suppose?”

“No,” he husked out. “No… I… I’m not… I want a girl who will love me.”

“Well, I can see how that would be a problem,” she said, her voice sharp. “You are so picky. Why would any girl…?” Then, when he didn’t respond, she said, “Look at me!”

He looked up.

“Loving her husband is a wife’s job!”

“But… some marriages…”

“Some people don’t do their job well,” she retorted.  “Any job. Cooking, carpentry, running errands.”

“You seem to do your jobs well,” he said.

“But I can’t hardly even walk!” she said.

“You walk more than any other girl I know,” he replied.

“I’m not beautiful!” she said.

There was a long pause, and then he said, “Well, you weren’t. Before.”

“Before what?!”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just… before.”

“And now?” she asked.

There was another long pause, “Can you swim?” he asked, “It seems like a nice evening for a swim. And the sun is just going down, so no one else will see.”

“You will see!”

“I want to see,” he said.

She got up, “I’m not going to start our marriage in some bushes by the side of the stream,” she said. “You can go to my father like any ordinary boy. But don’t be too long,” she added, flouncing her hair back, “I have dozens of suitors.”

As he watched her go he suddenly realised why the oracle had not given him any more instructions.

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