Chapter 2 - Harvest

“Ouch!”

Mom leans over and inspects my finger. “I don’t understand why you refuse to use the thimble. This has to be the thousandth time you’ve stabbed yourself.”

“It’s harder to sew with the thimble on, and you don’t use one.” I suck off the drop of blood.

“That’s because I’ve been sewing my whole life. Come on, let’s clean the wound.”

Mom dabs the pinprick with a napkin dipped in alcohol. I clench my teeth in pain.

“Mom, when is Dad coming home?”

“It’s only been a few months. He’ll probably be gone much longer.”

“Is his side winning?”

“I don’t know. There hasn’t been any word. We just have to believe in him. There, all better.”

The alcohol stings, but I know it’s better than it getting infected. That happened once, and I had to go to Pastor Blackwood to have the sickness purified with his magic. Mom said it cost a lot of money. I don’t want to be a burden like that ever again. I need to protect her. I promised.

I work hard all day learning how to sew. Mom is an expert seamstress, and she sews pretty clothes for all the people of the village. Whenever a lady wants to get married, she comes to Mom to get a special dress. Mom also makes church robes and other ceremonial clothing. I am learning how to make dresses so I can help Mom with her work. Once I’m as good as she is we’ll be able to make twice as many dresses. My dresses aren’t as good as hers yet though, so I have to work with cheaper fabric to practice, and I constantly make mistakes that I have to fix.

When we’re done for the day, Mom gives me a copper coin for helping her. “Thanks Mom!”

I run out of the house and go to the market, and I buy a fish from Mr. Fisher.

“Luna! Do you want your fish?” I say, walking along the border of the southern forest. She is my best friend. I give her fish every day.

I told her about how I’m not supposed to go into the northern forest, so she agreed to meet me here instead. We used to meet by my house, but Luna refuses to talk unless we’re in private.

I see a flash of her fur, and follow it into the woods. I find her at one of the usual places, a big mossy boulder next to some pollarded willows.

As always, I toss the fish to her, and she snatches it out of the air, immediately devouring it with obvious satisfaction.

“How is your sewing coming along?” Luna asks.

“I stabbed myself again today.”

“It’s always amusing how clumsy you humans are. You can’t even jump half your height!”

“Can too!” I jump up as high as I can, bringing my knees up to my chest. I manage to leap on top of the boulder where Luna is eating.

“Hmm, I suppose that was half your height. I stand corrected.” She takes her fish and jumps way up onto the highest branch of one of the willows.

“Show off,” I say.

Her tail flicks. “I simply felt obliged to remind you of your inadequacy.”

“You know, you’re kinda mean sometimes Luna. I think it’s cute, but most people will feel hurt if you’re mean to them.”

“I do not converse with those who have weak spirits.”

“See? That’s mean.”

“You humans must earn the privilege to bask in my presence. You are like ants, living and dying by the whims of forces far greater than you can possibly imagine. You pitifully struggle in an inane exercise of failure. If I allow myself to become attached to the bugs in the hive, to live and bleed among you, then it will only be me who is hurt in the end.”

I stand up. “What? No, that’s terrible! You can’t think that way!”

“A mere child dares to claim that she knows better than I? I have seen the forests rise and the rivers change. I was here when your village was naught but a hermit in his hovel. What can you possibly say that I have not heard?”

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since the day Dad left. I think I figured it out.”

“Oh?”

“If you’re afraid of failing, then you can’t learn anything new. If you’re afraid of losing people, then you can’t love anyone. If you’re afraid of dying, then you can’t ever change the world.”

“Ha! The pathetic platitudes of mortals, spoken and cursed a thousand times. You know not the value of life. You know not the cost of failure or the pain of loss. You are a child indeed.”

“Ptbbbbbth!” I stick out my tongue and blow a raspberry at her. “Well then you’re just a dumb old granny who likes being miserable!”

“Now who is being mean?” Luna asks teasingly.

“I’m only mean to people who deserve it. As your friend, I can assure you that you deserve it.”

“Who ever said I was your friend?” Her tail twitches.

“Your tail,” I say, giggling. “It wiggles when you’re happy.”

“Nonsense. It wiggles when I am agitated. When I’m happy, I take naps. Now go away, I’ve had enough conversation for today.”

“Oh, are you going to take a nap? Does that mean talking to me made you happy?”

“Shoo, child.”

I laugh and run away, heading back to town.

When I get back home, Mom looks displeased.

“Feeding that cat again?”

“She’s my friend!”

“I know sweetheart, but don’t you know that cats can catch meals by themselves? It feels like a waste of fish.”

“Is it a waste when you give food to me?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“No, but that’s different.”

“It’s not different. I can catch meals by myself too. Probably.”

“Don’t you want to spend your coin on something else? Something for yourself maybe?”

“No. I don’t want anything. I just want to feed Luna.”

Mom sighs, making the face she makes when she realizes the argument is futile.

“Well as long as it makes you happy,” she says, ruffling my hair, but she still seems irritated. “It’s just important to understand that food is precious.”

“Luna is precious too. She’s a very special cat, you know.”

“I know sweetheart.”

“You don’t know. You never believe me when I tell you she can talk.”

“Sweetie, I’m sorry. I just think maybe you should spend more time around people. How about tomorrow we visit your uncle. It’s harvest season though. Everyone will be working hard.”

“Okay. I like Uncle. He’s always so funny.”

Mom smiles. “You’re old enough now. Maybe you can help them pick the wheat.”

“Sure!”

The next day, instead of sewing dresses, we walk to the eastern side of town where a wide swath of forest has been cleared for the wheat farm. The tall golden grass sways with ripples in the wind. Uncle’s house is on the edge of the farm, and there are several young men slowly walking through the dirt, cutting down the dry golden stalks, loading them into wheelbarrows.

Uncle is taking a break in the shade of a big tree, washing his face with water from a pail.

“Uncle!” I run over to him.

“Ack! It’s the hellspawn!” He exclaims.

“Hahaha! You can’t escape from me!” I chase him down, but he’s not fast enough.

I jump up and grab onto him. “Oh no! It got me!” He collapses onto his back and I tickle his bare chest. He cries out in dismay. “Aaah! It’s ticking me, somebody help!”

Mom stifles a laugh.

“Eww, you’re sweaty,” I say, pulling my hands back to look at my sweat-stained fingers.

“Hey. You try harvesting wheat all day.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re harvesting any wheat,” Mom says. “Your kids are doing all the work.”

“Ugh. Why did you two come here exactly? Just to rub in my face how pretty my brother’s wife and daughter are?”

My auntie died a few years ago. Did we remind him? I should cheer him up!

“We wanna harvest wheat!” I say.

“Oh. You should have said so sooner! Here, take this sickle. There’s an empty wheelbarrow right over there. Now get to work, kiddo.”

“Okay! Let’s go, Mom!”

“Me? I was going to stay in the shade with your uncle for a bit.”

“Nope!”

We get to work.

Mom pushes the wheelbarrow, and I cut down the wheat. Once I’ve cut the wheat, Mom helps me bundle up and load the stalks. It’s fun for a while, but I’m exhausted after just one row.

“We can’t stop now,” Mom says, looking just as tired as I am. "We agreed to help for the day. Remember Ayla, once you promise to do something, you can’t back out.”

It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more so than me, so I just keep cutting wheat. Even if I’m tired, I’m still having fun. Besides, all of Uncle’s kids have been doing this every day. If they can do it, so can I.

We harvest wheat until sunset, with only quick breaks for bread, and then we keep harvesting after the moon comes up.

“It’s a harvest moon today!” Uncle says. “You came on the perfect day. You get to work with us all day and all night!”

Mom and I are too tired to respond in any meaningful way. We just keep working.

“Your help is much appreciated though,” he says, cutting wheat beside me. “We need to finish harvesting enough before the trade caravan comes from the south in a few days.”

“Mom has been sewing lots of dresses to sell to them too. I wonder what we’ll get to buy!”

“Hopefully it comes,” Mom says.

Uncle laughs. “Of course it will! This town might be a bit remote, but people need their wheat. Especially in turbulent times like these. I’m more worried about new taxes.”

Mom frowns. She doesn’t look as convinced.

“What happens if the caravan doesn’t come?” I ask.

“We won’t get to buy salt! And we’ll all have plenty of wheat for winter,” Uncle says.

We work late into the night. Mom and I end up being too tired to walk home afterward, so we pass out on the floor of Uncle’s house along with all his kids.

The next morning, Mom and I can barely move, but the work continues. The men thresh the wheat we harvested, beating the grain out of the stalks and packing the wheat into bags.

I can’t help but run my hand through a pile of the golden seeds.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Uncle says, wiping his brow. “A treasure of the earth.”

“Everyone worked so hard for this pile of grain. And it still has to go to the miller,” I say.

“Yes, for every bite of bread, there are a thousand people who worked to make it,” Uncle says.

“Not a thousand. Even if you count the miller and baker and your whole family, it’s like twenty.”

“Well aren’t we good at counting?” He laughs. “But you counted wrong. Who makes the hats and clothes we wear to keep off the sun? Who makes our sickles, sacks, and wheelbarrows? Who forges the blades for our sickles and weaves fabric for our clothes? Who cuts the wood? Who makes our shoes?”

“The whole village makes the bread.” Somehow this simple realization takes my breath away.

“It goes even beyond our village. Bread tastes better with salt, you know,” Uncle says.

All the people of the world work together so that we can all live better. The other day, when I told Mom that I could catch my own meals, I imagined leaping from trees to grab birds out of the air, then roasting them over a fire, but even if I was really good at that, I would never be able to eat bread. Bread can only be made when lots of people help each other.

“Oh no! I just remembered!”

“What is it sweetie?” Mom asks, looking concerned.

“I forgot to feed Luna yesterday!”

Mom sighs.

“Uncle, can I have a coin for helping you yesterday?”

“What? You know you’re supposed to negotiate pay before you do work, kiddo.”

“Please!”

“Fine.” He gives me a copper coin.

I run to the market and buy a fish. Then I head to the southern forest.

“Luna! Are you there? I was so busy yesterday that I forgot to feed you! I’m sorry!”

My stomach clenches. What if she won’t come anymore? I head into the forest, looking for her where we usually talk.

I let out a breath when I finally see her sitting on the boulder by the pollarded willows. She is pointedly ignoring me.

I place the fish down in front of her. “Sorry I didn’t come yesterday. I really was busy.”

“You should be grateful I am such a forgiving and magnanimous feline.”

I frown. “Luna, I don’t think my mom likes me feeding you.”

“She simply cannot comprehend my greatness.”

“No, I think she feels like you aren’t giving anything back, in exchange for the fish I mean.”

“Oh? What would you request of me?”

“Nothing. I just want to be friends.”

“You twist your mind in contradictions.”

“I learned today that the world like is a big circle. Everyone helps everyone, and because of that we get to eat delicious bread. Being friends means that you help each other make bread, do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, but it is boring and childish drivel.”

“Are we really friends, Luna?”

“You enjoy my company, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then we are friends.”

A giant smile forms on my face. “You said it! Ha ha!” I jump up and down for joy.

“However, I disagree with your claim that friendship has anything to do with baking. Though I do of course agree that life has obvious cyclic qualities. Even the mightiest dragon will inevitably die, its corpse becoming sustenance for mere insects and fungi.”

“Are you part of the cycle, Luna? Or are you special?” I ask.

For the first time ever, Luna hesitates to answer. Her confident posture wavers. It’s strange.

“I do not know,” she eventually says.

“Then I guess you get to decide. It’s your life, after all.” Is it really such a hard question?

“Perhaps. Or perhaps the answer is ordained,” Luna says.

“Anyway, I’m going to go back home now. I think Mom was annoyed that I suddenly ran off. Thanks for being my friend!” I turn to leave.

“Ayla?”

I pause. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for the fish.”

With a parting smile, I head back to the village. There is a large crowd of people gathered by the church. Mom is there, as well as Uncle.

My smile fades. They all look worried.

“Is it smoke?” Mr. Fisher asks.

Everyone is looking at a strange dark brown cloud to the southwest. It doesn’t look like any sort of cloud I’ve ever seen before.

“There must have been a fire,” Pastor Blackwood says. “It looks far enough away that we should be alright.”

“The nearest village is in that direction, isn’t it?” Mom says.

A long silence passes as we all stare at the sky. Then suddenly, a young man comes running down the road, covered in blood. I think he’s the lumberjack’s son.

“Solders! Soldiers are coming!”

He’s missing an arm. He collapses on the ground, bleeding out.

“We have to help him!” I run forward, but Pastor Blackwood grabs my wrist.

“No! Women and children into the church! Now!” He shouts.