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[Cricket]

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My eyes opened. I was awake. Possessed with the most unbearable sense of dread, I wondered where I was. Disoriented, I could not tell if the light emanating through the tattered curtain was that of dusk or dawn. How long had I been asleep? What day was this? Where am I?

I lay motionless on the mattress stuffed with hay, gathering my senses slowly. I dragged a weak hand from under the woolen blanket and wiped my brow. My head and neck were drenched in sweat. It had been so dastardly a dream. Yet, my room was empty, my sisters no where about.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked around. I blew a stray lock of black hair back over my brow. It teetered, slithered, then fell right back down into my face. As I prepared to blow at it again, I heard the wooden handle of the bedroom door lift. I fell back down into the mattress, pulling the cover about my head to hide. I measured every breath, listening intently for what came.

Inside my chest my heart beat rapidly. “Be still, my heart,” I exclaimed within myself. “Be still I beg you!”

Light footfalls, as if a creature creeping lightly neared my bed where I cowered. I focused intently to discern what manner of spirit neared my makeshift shelter. After all the dreams, I neared the end of me even yet.

“Kaaaal Aaaaam Poooooor! Kaaaal Aaaaam Pooooor!” came a chant from a diminutive, childlike voice.

My mouth dropped and my eyes opened wide. Snapping my arms straight at the elbows, the covers jerked from over my head and down to my waist. I turned my head to the side to behold my little sister Salem playing at my bedside to the middle of our sleep loft. She had one leg forward and was bending back and forth at the waist, hands held above her head, repeating a strange chant. “Kaaaal Aaaam Pooooor! Kaaaal Aaaaam Pooooor!”

“What are you doing?” I asked with a tone denoting a slight irritation.

Salem turned to face me. She stood in her ruffled grey nightshirt, barefoot, the tips of her fingers wiggling an itch in her nose. An old, weathered, conical straw hat rested upon her head. Another of her many “treasures” she had found in the fields beyond our farm. “Stormie says its time to get up…its time to get up now, Cricket.” It was all said in one breath.

Salem turned around, peering down at her hands as she twirled her fingers about one another as she held them before her chest. In her play only she knew the secrets of this mysterious childlike ritual. Taking a few steps toward her sleep place, she muttered sounds that I could not discern.

I raised from my bed. Dangling my legs over the side, I held to the mattress, both hands to my side as I steadied myself. I felt exhausted. I lifted my head up, and for a moment or two, observed Salem in her play. Again she went into a lunge, bent over at the waist as she rocked, hands held above her head, and repeating, “Kaaaaal Aaaaam Poooor! Kaaaal Ammm Poooor!”

Again I asked, slightly perturbed, “Saaaaalem, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to be a powerful sorceress like Grizelda.” she answered matter of factly.

“Salem,” I answered, “Grizelda is a hag.”

With hands at both sides, Salem stood motionless, her face without expression as she stared at me. It was if she could not comprehend the difference.

I struggled to my feet, climbed into my brown cotton long pants, then tucked in my nightshirt. Slipping into my boots, I made my way to the door and down the ladder to the kitchen. As I opened the door to the outside, the sun blinded me with its brilliance.

I patted each of the goats as they strolled up to greet me, then made my way to the well to the center of the yard. With a few cranks the water was flowing, from which I cupped my hands and began splashing my face to revive myself. Reaching for a bottle of vinegar, I took a quick gulp, washing out my mouth. Using my index finger, I began running it across my front teeth back and forth to remove the bitter taste and gather a shine before the day. As I did so, I squatted down to greet Binx, our black cat, who raised his nose but a slither of space from mine as he gave me the most frail smell and kiss. Then he turned his back on me in his normally aloof manner and paced away, continuing his prow.

“Hail, Lady Cricket,” bellowed the voice of her older sister, Stormie. “Bad dreams again, eh?”

I said nothing in reply. Picking up a bowl of green beans, I moved to the table by the house and began to string.

Stormie picked up our youngest sister Piper and held her on her lap. She leaned back against the wall, propping her feet upon a crate. “So, been leaving that window open again. I told you, if, you keep doing that, those gargoyles slip in at night from the swamp and whisper sweet nothings below your window that get your dreams a-crawling.”

I shrugged. Blowing again at that stray black lock dangling up over my brow, I continued stringing the green beans as if not bothered by her questionable concern.

“Kaaaal Aaaam Poooor! Kaaal Aaaaam Poooor!” came the voice of Salem from behind me.

Stormie took off her helmut, the golden sheen gleaming against the mid-morning sun. She peered up at the clear blue sky as if to sun herself, then gathered a breath of fresh air from the slight breeze blowing off of Cove Bay.

“Kaaaal Aaaaam Pooor! Kaaal Aaaam Pooor!” Echoed the voice of Salem from behind me again.

Stormie opened her eyes. Staring past me, Stormie asked their younger sister, “Salem? What in the name of Lord British are you doing?” Piper climbed down from her lap, holding her stuffed bear, thumb in mouth as she sucked, then scurried beside Salem.

“I’m going to Moonglow, I’m leaving now.” Salem answered.

“Ha!” Stormie bellowed, revealing how long she had served as an archer in the service of the local bandit lord that protected these lands. “Moonglow?”

Salem peered at her, discomforted by her tone. “I’m going to be a great mage like Savannah.”

“A great mage? Our older sister is a pot stirrer for Chyloth the magician in the mage shop. Ha-ha!”

Salem stood motionless, a frown on her face. With Piper standing beside her, clutching her stuffed bear, sucking her thumb, Salem extend out her arm in an accusatory manner. In her hand was another of her many “treasure" finds, a rusty, battered gold wand found in the far fields where many battles once raged. “We want our sister back,” she commanded, waving her wand. “You are not Stormie! We want our sister back! Bring Stormie back now!” To which Piper, extracting her thumb from her mouth, began to join in chorus, chanting, “Bring back, Stormie. Bring back, Stormie.”

Stormie grasped one breast of her violet courage armor, feigning a pain. She rose from her bench, staggering. She shuttled forth, as if overcome by some unseen force. Then, in a burst of speed, she darted after Salem and Piper as they screamed, sprinting around the barn.

I chuckled, continuing to string beans. My feet played about the grass, moving here and there in self-stimulation. One toe bumped along Stormie’s bag, and it flopped open, revealing a red scarf. My head turned to look, then turned again in sudden familiarity. My eyes caught the revelation with such start, that I held my breath. The writing upon it was in blood, and of Stormie’s name. Stormie was not just a warrior archer in service to the local bandit lord. She was in fact now a murderer. She was one of the Bloodnames.

With my big toe I quickly covered the bag back up as I heard Stormie return, her booted footfalls heavy behind me. I continued my stringing, pretending to be oblivious to the play and my new discovery. I now knew that Stormie had not abandoned them. She had done the only thing she could to in fact protect them and their way of life.

Grabbing up her helmut and gear, she hoped the gate, then mounted her war horse. “Keep doing what you do best, Cricket!” Then she laughed loudly, sarcastically. “I’ll be seeing you.” Turning her head about as she pulled the reigns rightward, spurring her mount, she added, “See you, squirts!”

I dashed to the wooden fence, climbing the railing, yelling, “Not if I see you first!” Holding to the top post with both hands, I stood, motionless. One day, I thought, I would go places as well. I closed my eyes, unknowing that I muttered well above a whisper, “Kaaaal Aaaam Pooor! Kaaal Aaaam Pooor!”

Beside me, Salem had climbed the fence. “You will, Cricket. One day, you will.” Salem said reassuredly.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to face her. Salem extended her arm out as she held one hand to the top railing. Waving the wand above my head, Salem added, “No more bad dreams, Cricket. No more bad dreams. I heal you.”

I felt seized, frozen. My eyes closed as I swayed for a moment. Opening my eyes again, I vaguely discerned an ethereal veil of colorful red, yellow, and blue lights swimming about me, within me, ebbing and flowing as if a spring rain. I felt a rush of euphoria sweep over me, as if comforted by a great, unseen force.

Salem and I gawked at each other for a long span of time, motionless. “What’s happening?” she uttered.

Dumbfounded, all I could find myself saying and doing was, “You just gained one point in skill.” Then I let loose one hand from the top rail where I sturdied myself, licked my finger, and marked the symbol for one in the air above her head.

A wet popping sound stole our attention as Piper pulled out her thumb from her mouth. We peered down at her as she stood before the wheelbarrel. Drawing up the toy bear in her arms, the side of which was torn and needing mending, she held it up towards Salem as if to ask, “Heal, please.”

Without thinking, Salem leaned forward, a solitary hand holding to the fence rail. With the other, she reached out, the rusty old wand twirling above the head of Piper's stuffed doll.
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