Olan Thorensen - Cast Under an Alien Sun

She saved the best for last: a letter from Anarynd. Maera twirled strands of her long brown hair through her left forefinger, as she read the letter for the fourth time. A smile played across her lips, as she imaged Anarynd’s latest stories and thoughts about her suitors. With blonde hair, an eye-catching figure, and a little-girl-wonder face, Anarynd had drawn male attention since she’d entered puberty. Though her male relatives kept men who were too interested well away, Anarynd was not reticent about enjoying the attention. What was new in this letter was more detail than usual about one specific suitor, a district boyerman’s eldest son from northern Moreland Province. Maera noticed herself frowning at where this new suitor was from. If Anarynd married and moved farther north, Maera would see her even less often. Maera chided herself. The important thing was that Ana, as Maera called her, became happy in a marriage. If it meant she and Maera were farther apart, that was a trivial consideration. Maera knew that was what she was “supposed” to think, and she honestly hoped only happiness for her best friend, but still . . . Ana , please don’t move farther away!

Maera smiled at herself, folded the letter, walked to a cabinet, and placed the letter in the box holding all of Ana’s other letters. As she returned to the table, she saw herself in a mirror. She stopped for a moment. She and Ana might seem like two improbable friends. As attractive and vivacious as Ana was, Maera saw herself as a contrast. Ana always took great care about her clothes and appearance. The young woman in the mirror wore her usual plain smock, this one a purple shade—a deliberate choice, since it helped hide new ink spots—a pair of long stockings, and uncombed hair tied into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. Then there were the shoeless feet. Maera had preferred going shoeless as long as she could remember. Her parents and the family’s station discouraged her being shoeless in public, but when in her own quarters and sometimes in other parts of the family manor, she indulged in being barefoot, if temperatures allowed.

She looked at a bookcase holding her timepiece, an expensive gift from her parents on her twelfth birthday. Time to make the eldest daughter of the Keelan hetman presentable to the world. She washed as much of the ink from her hands as possible, combed her hair and braided it to lay atop her head, changed into a sleeveless full dress with a white undershirt, and donned thin stockings of delicate cloth and well-crafted everyday women’s shoes of the finest gurnel leather.

She was ready to play her roles: dutiful daughter of the hetman, benefactress of orphanages and hospitals, scribe and unofficial advisor to the hetman, and . . . what ? The mirror showed her ready. She saw an average young woman of undistinguished appearance, a little slenderer than most, perhaps shorter than average, and a serious look.

Her thoughts went back to Ana. The first time they’d met was when Maera visited Ana’s family in Moreland Province. It was the custom among the clan leaders’ families for children to go on extended visits to other clans. The plan was to help keep the clans’ future leaders and their wives, in the case of female children, from becoming too insular and to identify potential future marriage partners. How much this helped reduce inter-clan conflicts was uncertain, but the custom was long-standing. Maera’s visit that year had been to the family of Brym Moreland, first cousin to the Moreland Clan Hetman, Gwynfor Moreland. Brym was, in theory, sixth in line to be heir to the Moreland Hetman position, meaning it unlikely he or his family would ever be any closer to the succession, but high enough in the Moreland clan to be a proper site for a visit by a Keelan daughter. Under other circumstances, the visit would have been with the hetman’s family itself, but Culich Keelan and Gwynfor Moreland detested each other, so all parties were satisfied with Maera visiting a secondary branch of the Morelands.

That was how she met Ana—Anarynd Moreland—second daughter of Brym and Gwenda Moreland. Maera was fourteen and Anarynd thirteen. Maera was shorter and slenderer than Anarynd, and they were so different in personalities and interests, it was to general surprise that they developed into steadfast friends. An outside analysis might have speculated the reason was that they complemented areas where each girl thought herself lacking. Anarynd had always been doted on because of her appearance, and she took her attractiveness for granted, whereas Maera had never seen herself as other than ordinary. In reverse, the young Maera always seemed to know she was smarter than anyone else, although contact with scholastic brothers and sisters at abbeys caused her to revise that opinion to “smarter than almost anyone else.” In contrast, Anarynd was never praised for being clever, and by the time the two girls first met, Maera was reading texts most adults couldn’t manage, while Anarynd could hardly read. Education of family girls would never have occurred to Ana’s father or mother as something either desired or useful. Both girls were willful but in different degrees and manners. Anarynd pleaded or pouted to get her way, while Maera resorted to stubbornness and arguing. They were so different and so perfect for each other.

At first, the two girls had little interest in the other. Everything changed the day of the year’s Harvest Festival. The local Moreland version drew from the surrounding twenty miles. Several thousand people engaged in activities scheduled and unscheduled, religious thanksgiving and prayers for the coming harvest, food of all varieties, physical contests for the men, home crafts for the women, games for the young, dancing in the evening, and less respectable activities in darker corners late at night. Anarynd and Maera accompanied Anarynd’s mother and aunts on a tour of the activities, when Maera spotted a group of early teen boys shooting crossbows at improvised targets. Maera asked whether she could watch the boys shoot, and Gwenda Moreland assented, after telling Anarynd to go with Maera so she wouldn’t get lost in the crowd or be subjected to inappropriate behavior by any males not aware of Maera’s standing. Although Anarynd was annoyed at having to shepherd the odd Maera, she was pleased to be out of her mother’s view and to have the opportunity to practice flirting.

After a few minutes watching, Maera’s mouth twisted in disdain. “Most of them can’t shoot worth anything. I’m better than any of them.”

“You’ve shot a crossbow before?” asked a startled Anarynd.

Maera glared sideways at Anarynd. “Well . . . yeah,” as if the answer was obvious.

“I never have,” Anarynd confessed.

Maera turned to face Anarynd. “Why not?”

“It’s . . . just not something women do.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Pretty lame reason, if you ask me. Have you ever wanted to try it?”

“I’ve never thought about it. It’s just one of those things that men do and women don’t.”

“That’s not the way it is in Keelan.”

“All women in Keelan do things like crossbow shooting?” asked an astounded Anarynd.

Maera hesitated. “No. Not all. But any who want to, can.”

Anarynd looked back at the boys occupied with their contests. “I wouldn’t mind trying. Maybe sometime we could sneak out of our estate and go off into the woods to try it,” whispered Anarynd, as if hatching a conspiracy.

“Why wait? There’s plenty of crossbows right here and targets all set up.”

“With the boys,” said Anarynd in a sly voice. “Hmmm . . . that could be fun talking the boys into letting us.”

Maera looked at Anarynd and asked—already expecting the answer, “And how would you go about getting them to let you try?”