The Liar's Needle
It is decidedly springy out. Time to start outdoor adventures and whatnot, and almost time for lilacs, which are my very favorite flowers. They remind me of playing cards with my mom at the kitchen table. When I was little I used to pretend I could tell the future looking through the eye of a needle. I can’t remember if I made this up or read it in a fairy tale…
The Needle
The little girl’s shoulders shook, no sound coming from her mouth.
The other children watched her warily. They could tell she had magic, but they didn’t know what kind. When she was finally able to catch her breath, her laughter rung out eerily in the silent courtyard.
The large angry child towering over the girl sneered and tightened his fists again.
The girl straightened, a smirk spreading across her dirty face. She held something up in the dusty morning light. It was a tapestry needle, long and sharp. The bully laughed.
“What, you’re going to try to stab me with that?” His laughter was echoed nervously by the other children.
The girl didn’t answer the bully, but brought the needle to her lips, and spoke:
“Needle needle, sharp and true,
I shall see the truth in you,
Needle needle in thine eye,
Show me neither fib nor lie.”
Then she shut one eye, and squinted, peering through the gap in the small metal loop. A hush fell over the crowd as the children leaned in. The girl’s eye flicked to the thick white dust on the bully’s pants. He had greasy hair and a split lip on the raw side of healing. His hands were covered in scratches. She cleared her throat.
“Your da cheats his customers by putting sawdust and wood ash in their flour. Your ma says nothing cause she doesn’t want to get beat again.”
The bully took a step back.
“You’re the one that’s been drowning rats in the horse troughs.”
“Liar!” The bully surged forward and shoved the girl hard. She laughed again, even as her body hit the sandstone wall behind her with a thud. She held the needle up again.
“I can see all of your dirty little secrets!” She cackled. The bully set his jaw and raised a fist. The girl kicked him in the stomach and shielded her head for the promised blow, but it never came.
She peeked through her fingers and saw a pair of heavy black boots, highly polished. She risked raising her head to look up a little further. A fierce looking man wearing the livery of the court was standing before her, holding the bully by the scruff of his shirt. The girl shrank back in fear.
“What’s your name, girl?” The man boomed, in a voice that was not to be disobeyed.
“Abby…” The girl stuttered. “Abethula, sir.” She grimaced at the sound of her proper name, awkward and old fashioned. She tried to brush the dust off of her dress and stand up as straight as she could.
“Come with me.” He barked, tossing the bully aside like a wet dishrag. The girl obeyed. Things happened in a wild blur. The walk to the castle. A brief and violent bath. A new, ill-fitting dress. A threatening lesson on basic manners. Abby was poked and prodded and jostled and shoved and finally led down a long corridor where the fierce looking man was waiting for her. Then the doors to the great hall opened, and there she was: The Queen.
Abby stood, frozen in the doorway, her eyes growing large with fright.
The man steered her forward by the shoulders, her feet flapping feebly to keep up, until she was standing in front of the throne. The man bowed low, and spoke.
“Your majesty. The young witch, as requested.” Abby gulped. The Queen fixed her with a stare that was somehow beautiful and terrible at the same time, like an ancient silver wolf.
“They say you can see things in the eye of a needle? Show me, child.” Her voice was smooth and absolute. Abby felt her hand grabbing for her needle before her good sense could even stop it. No no no! she thought, even as her mouth spoke the words of the rhyme.
“Needle needle, sharp and true,
I shall see the truth in you,
Needle needle in thine eye,
Show me neither fib nor lie.”
She held the needle up, shut one eye, and squinted. Her eye darted quickly over the queen, her throne, the contents of the table to her left. Then she cleared her throat and spoke, doing her best to control a voice that shook like a rabbit trying to escape its death.
“I see a… a basket of hazelnuts. A set of golden scissors.” She licked her lips and breathed in through her nose. “A spilled glass of wine.”
Her eyes flicked to the queen’s face. The proud cheekbones, smeared red with blush, the dark circles under her eyes, concealed carefully with powder. “Someone has been lying to you. Their treachery will be revealed soon.”
The Queen’s face stayed as still as stone, but her fingers curled slightly. Abby filled her lungs with one more stuttered breath. “Your plans…your plans to invade…”
The Queen held up her hand suddenly. “Stop!” Her voice remained controlled. “I do not need to hear any more. Give her a place in the mews and bring her to me tomorrow when I will have more time to hear what she has to say. And girl!” She fixed Abby with her terrible stare once more. “Not a word of what you saw to anyone.”
That night, Abby lay awake in a makeshift bed above the stables, listening to the horses below settling in for the night. Her stomach growled with hunger. Her limbs ached with fatigue, and her head throbbed with the tumult of events that had transpired that day, but the pangs in her stomach won. She climbed carefully out of the loft and snuck into the night, darting through shadows until she found her way to the servant’s kitchen at the end of the alleyway.
The kitchen was empty except for an old woman asleep in a chair by the dying embers of the hearth fire. Abby crept past her, found the larder, and began to stuff her pockets with everything her fingers could reach: stale bread, cheese ends, dried fruit.
The old woman stirred and wrapped her shawl around herself tighter. Abby turned and looked at her with an indignant scowl.
“Oh don’t mind me, child. I won’t scold you for filling your belly.” The woman leaned over and reached a crooked hand out to grab a fire iron from the stand. It slipped from her grasp and fell to the hearth with a clatter. Abby, her mouth full of bread and honey, scuttled to the hearth and retrieved the iron. She poked at the glowing bones of the half burnt logs, added a few fresh pieces on top, then hung the iron back on the stand.
Abby had planned to creep back to her loft as soon as she had found something to eat, but found it impossible to tear herself away from the warmth of the fire. She sat on the floor next to the old woman and chewed on her bread in silence, watching the flames burst to life across the added fuel.
“My eyes don’t see much these days, but my ears are still sharp.” The old woman croaked after a few minutes. Abby turned to look at her. The old woman had a mischievous smile, softened by the deep wrinkles that wreathed her eyes and mouth.
“I heard there’s a new witch at the palace. Mhm. One as can see things in the eye of a needle.”
Abby’s back stiffened slightly, but she said nothing.
“Back in my youth, I could see the future in the fire. Yes indeed! Spent many a night watching the fire in the great room. Saw many things. Great and terrible.” She sighed, and her voice grew sad. “Got myself many a beating too, when I displeased them.”
Abby shuffled uncomfortably.
The old woman continued, her voice soft again. “In all my years, I’ve never heard of seeing through the eye of a needle. Seeing in fire, water, wine…even blood…. But never the eye of a needle.” She looked at Abby pointedly.
Abby hung her head and stared at her toes.
“Hmmm.” The woman said to herself, rocking gently in the chair, eyes closed, deep in thought.
“Well who’s to say. Magic is a great mystery. Far be it from me to question the nature of the gifts we are given.” She heaved a sigh. “The real question is how to keep your shoulders from taking a bruising. Do you have any real magic at all, child?”
Abby shuffled her feet and mumbled. “Just a bit of healing magic.”
The old woman nodded and stuck her hand out. “Show us then, love.”
Abby took the offered hand, wrinkled and bent with age. There was a scratch in the old woman’s papery skin, angry and red. Abby screwed her face up in concentration and, with great effort, ran her fingertip over it gently. The scratch faded from dark red to pink, then disappeared completely. The old woman took her hand back and ran a fingertip over the spot where the scratch was. She itched it, and hummed to herself again.
“Look into the fire, girl, tell me what you see.”
Abby turned to the hearth. “Logs, flame, ash…. Some of the bits are kind of blue…”
“No no.” The woman hissed. “Really look. The way you looked at the scratch on my hand.”
Abby got on her hands and knees and bent towards the fire, screwing up her face, getting as close as she dared. After a long while, Abby sighed.
“Nothing. I just see flames. And my face is beginning to burn.”
The old woman sighed and started rocking again, shaking her head. Abby frowned at her, then turned back to the fire and squinted, one eye closed.
“Ok. I think I see…a woman dancing? And… three horses running through a field.”
The old woman smiled and cackled. “You learn fast, love. Now you must sit and listen. I have much to teach you before morning.”
Thank you for reading!
-Astrid
I'm enthralled - morning can't come fast enough!