Serrain's Blossom Chapter 1

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Lauzta grumbled as she did her work. She grumbled as she took her

pitch

fork, thrust it into hay, and placed it into a neat pile for the animals.

Lauzta grumbled because her work was hard: It tired her. At the end of

each day, she would collapse upon her hard, uncomfortable bed and sleep

through an uncomfortably warm night.

Lauzta grumbled because she was not rich, because the food she ate was

dry and old and would, more often than not, create sores in her mouth.

More than this, Lauzta grumbled because she was required, by both custom

and by law, to care for her sickly, young

er sister.

This was because her father had taken it upon them to swear that his family

would be cared for. The law held an oath such as her fathers to be binding. For a

man’s word was worth their life.

To break an oath was among the most abominable of

crimes, worthy of

execution.

This particular oath extended that all the family members would share in

this responsibility.

Thus, it fell to Lauzta to also partake in this obligation.

She did not relish this task; rather, it was a constant grievance. For h

er

sister was quite often ill. Her needs kept her family in a state of humble

circumstances.

They had begun well off, able to deal with the situation, but as her health

declined, so did their wealth.

They would pay for healers to visit, and they would com

e, charging their

exorbitant prices. From all different corners of the land would they come.

Lauzta labeled them as witch doctors and heckled them as they left. She

hated them.

The “healers” would come, showing an air of confidence and pride. When

they

could not cure her sister, or find a means by which she was ill, they would

shake their heads, claim it were a demon, or a farce and then leave, taking the

families money with them.

Thus, they were poor.

No matter what Lauzta or her wearied parents did, th

ey could never lift

themselves from their position. They were left to squander in the dirt. To kick

vainly against those that saw them as less than they were. They were left to spiral

consistently downward into increasing squalor and despair.

Lauzta wou

ld glare at the rich men and women as they wandered by,

seeking to buy the forfeited belongings of others in situations similar to her own.

The rich ones would glare back, throwing dust and sand into her face. They would

call her cur, and dog. They woul

d name her mongrel and idiot.

These rich men and women rode upon high steeds, richly ornamented with

rare and precious metals and gems. They were drowned in expensive fragrances

and would reek of pungent perfumes. Many, many, servants would accompany

them, and each, in turn, would sn

eer at her in snide derision.

Lauzta bit back every bit as hard as she was struck. She would swoop by

and snap at the feet of their servants and their steeds with hardened sticks. She

would mock and jeer. The girl’s snipes were as venomous as their stares.

It was no wonder that they

reviled her.

For her own part, Lauzta could see why they disliked her. The girl was dirty,

her hair unkempt. It was unwashed, with dirt and sand messily stirred within.

Her teeth were grimy and yellowed. She smelled like a dog just come in from a

hard

rain.

The girl’s clothes were as dirty, if not more so, as her hair. They were

course and rent here and there and patched as best as they could be by the

wearied fingers of her mother.

There were no shoes upon her feet. Mud caked them instead. The sole

s

were calloused and hard, inelegant. They were unlike the powdered and

pampered feet of the privileged ones who stared down at her from upon their

high horses.

Thus, all the more did the entitled ones look down upon the girl.

Lauzta knew this. Just as

she knew the rich ones disliked her because she

was dirty and poor. She disliked herself for being dirty and poor.

For Lauzta hated her life. She hated her parents for not being more

successful. She hated her sister for being sick, for placing them wit

hin their feeble

means. She hated herself for having to deal with such terrible circumstances.

So, as she was miserably working, hating herself and all those around her,

the beginning of something remarkable began. The great gears of something

much great

er than anything Lauzta could imagine began to turn.

Lauzta thrust her pitchfork deep into the hay and grumbled, annoyed. The

sun was bright above her, and the day was hot. The heat irritated her.

The work was hard, as it ever was, and it too irritated h

er, as it ever did.

Reaching up, she brushed her arm across her brow, wiping off the beads and

trickles of sweat.

As she lowered her arm, she noticed, to her ever present irritation, that the

sweat still remained. Reaching up to sweep it away again, she

found, surprised,

that many more cool drops of water were sprinkling themselves down upon her.

In confusion, and suspicion, she looked about, expecting to see one of the other

miserable children playing a trick upon her.

Instead, she found that the water

was dropping from the sky.

How is this possible?

She thought to herself as she stared upward. As long

as she had lived in the desert city of Stiprumas, never had water such as this fallen

spontaneously from the sky.

Suspiciously, she stared upward, lett

ing the rain fall upon her face,

cautiously allowing the sky

-

sent water to soak her clothes. The sky was blue as it

had ever been, yet, water was coming tumbling down nonetheless.

“Girl.” A rough, gravelly voice called from behind.

Lauzta turned and peer

ed at the grizzled form that was her father. The

man was hunched over and muscle

-

bound. He had a great grey beard that clung

to his chest, even as he moved, and his body was marked with the scars of lashes.

Lauzta’s father did the hard work of the maste

rs who lived in the upper rings of

the city. They were not kind and did not spare the whip upon those that served

them. His job was a thankless one that paid little, but it was all the work that was

able to be found by those of the like of Lauzta’s famil

y.

Lauzta’s father was as hard upon his own kin as his masters were upon him.

Lauzta resented it. Nevertheless, not wanting any lashes of her own, she peered

at her father in what would seem to be a respectful manner.

“What is it, sir?” She asked.

Lauzt

a’s father curved a knotted finger. “Come inside, girl, your mother

and I have a difficult matter to discuss with you.” The large, man turned away

slowly and disappeared within the darkness of their small sandstone hovel.

Cautious of being reprimanded, L

auzta carefully set down her pitchfork into

its proper place and followed her father into the darkness of their home.

Weaving her way through a rough clutter of wooden dishes and many

scraps of clothing that her mother used about the home, she found her wa

y to

where her father was.

The grizzled man was looking at her over his shoulder, expectantly.

Resentfully, he made space for his daughter, and Lauzta entered just as

begrudgingly, into her sister’s room.

Upon the nicest bed of their household, lay the si

ck, spoiled form of her

sister. Lauzta only glanced briefly at her huddled shape before peering away in

disgust.

“Do not look at your sister that way, girl!” Her father demanded, reaching

out and slapping her swiftly.

Lauzta scowled, rubbing her wounded

cheek, and forced herself to look

back to her sister. The girl was two years younger than Lauzta and had always

been shorter and slower than other children her age. She was perpetually thin,

due to her mysterious ailments and was constantly sick. More t

han this, Lauzta’s

sister was so weak, that she was unable to do even the simplest chore.

It frustrated Lauzta. She was left with all of the hard work to do by herself,

while her sister was given the finest beddings, the fattest meat and the most

attentio

n.

The girl looked at her sister in hatred.

The law required her to take care of her sister, as her parents did. It did not

require her to like her. As far as she was concerned her sister was not a member

of her family. She was a leech.

But something was different about her this time. Bending in closer for a

better look, Lauzta studied the sick girl. Her color was paler, her skin more

flushed. Sweat beaded out of her as the rain outside.

“Your sister is dying.” Her father declared.

La

uzta peered at him quizzically. “How can we know this to be sure? Many

a medical man have come and said as much, yet here she continues to lie.”

Her father shook his head. “This is different. This time the sickness runs

deep throughout her, even, to he

r bones.”

Lauzta shrugged, hating herself for what she was about to say. “Then why

not call upon another of the witch doctors to cure her?”

The girl was met with another slap, this time the backhand, from her father.

“Do you think that we have the money for that? Your mother works day and

night, I work day and night so that we might feed you, let alone provide a roof

over your heads. The ot

her, ‘witch doctors’ as you call them, have run us dry.”

“Then why have you called me here?” Lauzta asked, peering down at her

sister, who was shivering in the overwhelming heat.

Her father grabbed her shoulders roughly. “I must stay here, to provide for

your mother, myself and your sister. You are my daughter. You can do what I

cannot. Indeed, you must do what I cannot.”

Lauzta looked apprehensively to her father. “What is it that you would

have me do, sir?”

Without a mote of jest in his eyes, her fa

ther replied, “It is time that you

sacrifice for this family. You must seek out and find Serrain’s Blossom.”

Lauzta wilted backward. It was her father’s strong grip that prevented her

from breaking free and running.

Her father pressed on, clearly, and se

riously. “You must bring that blessed

bud back here, into our house. It is the only thing that may yet cure your sister.”

Cringing away from her father’s piercing eyes, Lauzta despaired. “But why,

father? Serrain’s Blossom does not exist in these days!

Why must I do this?”

She winced to yet another of her father’s blows. “Have you no respect? I

have told you, already. Because I cannot. And it does exist. The legends tell of a

cave, deep within the twisting sands and maze of jagged rock. Within t

hat cave,

you will find the flower.

“You must succeed where others have failed and retrieve it. Then, you

must take the utmost care when returning, treating it with more value than your

life, or it will wilt, and all will be for naught.”

“Father, I cannot

.” Lauzta insisted.

Her father’s eyes grew dark. “You know our customs. I have already

declared before the courts of our city this day, that you will perform such an act.

To disobey is to strike against the law. Do you wish to face death, girl?”

Lauzt

a choked down a sob. “To try and succeed where so many others

before me have failed is death itself.” Her father’s hands still held her shoulders

within their vice of a grip. Fearfully, Lauzta looked up to her father’s eyes. They

were black, and unwink

ing; resolute.

“You will do it, girl, or face justice.”

“It is not fair to ask this of me!”

Her father wrenched her closer, breathing threateningly upon her face.

“You will do it, or I shall take up the blade myself.” Minutes passed but the man

was unyie

lding. So, resigning herself to her fate, averting her eyes from her

father, Lauzta replied in agreement.

Thus, afraid, resentful and with all the wrong reasons, Lauzta agreed to

search out for Serrain’s Bloss

Author's Note

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