Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption Read online

  Then Gwendolyn watched as Reinhardt sat up and stared around the garden. She saw his weary face break into a smile as his eyes focused on the young woman beside him.

  “Miri,” he whispered.

  Gwendolyn breathed a prayer of thanksgiving and walked away, returning to her shop. She had a feeling that her services might be required in the future. In her mind, she saw a vibrant wedding bouquet of white roses.

  Author’s Note

  The system for reading described in this story is historically accurate. Before the mid-nineteenth century, blind individuals read utilizing books with raised print letters. The system began in France in 1771 when Valentin Haüy, a civil servant, founded the Royal Institute for Blind Juveniles in Paris, France, the first school of its kind. To help students learn to read, he commissioned textbooks printed with raised letters. The system was impractical, for the books were cumbersome, and reading was slow. However, the system was the first step toward opening the door of reading and writing for blind individuals.

  A blind student would later attend the institute that Haüy founded. The student was named Louis Braille. He developed his own system, which enabled individuals to read more efficiently.

  In my own personal experience, I am indebted to Haüy and Braille, for God used them to demolish confining walls of ignorance. I look forward to meeting these men one day in order that I might thank them for their tremendous work.

  To learn more about Valentin Haüy and Louis Braille, I recommend the excellent biography, Triumph over Darkness: The Life of Louis Braille, by Lennard Bickel.

  Dedication

  To my Heavenly Brother with inexpressible gratitude.

  You are the Way across the infinite divide between

  Life and Death.

  And to Trent David Burton, the best earthly brother a sister could have. Thank you for your support in all my adventures and for the fun times we share.

  Adopted girl from the Pacmana race will call forth the King’s wondrous grace.

  The Ancient Afendian Scrolls

  “Pointy-Ears! Pointy-Ears!” The ever-increasing multitude of girls danced round and round the huddled form, their jeers growing in volume. Several daring ones gathered stones, preparing to fling them into the young girl’s face. “Your father and mother defied Hungali. You’re no better than a donkey.”

  Faluri struggled to shift her weight, but the baskets strapped to her back prevented movement. She gritted her teeth and snarled in anger as she tried to free herself. Her skeletal frame buckled, and her back screamed in agony. She tried to plead for mercy, but fear and anger made her words emerge as unintelligible gibberish. A few of the girls backed away, their faces growing pale as they stared at her livid visage, the saliva streaming from her mouth, the teeth exposed in a vicious snarl.

  A heavyset girl, her dazzling dress of cloth brocade glinting with jewels, retrieved a stick from the ground. Obviously the ringleader, she thrust the stick forward, jabbing Faluri’s arm. “Get up and finish your task, donkey.”

  Faluri fought to stand, but the burden was simply too heavy. She had already fallen twice, and the girls had continued to strap baskets to her back. Curse her distended belly that constantly groaned with hunger! Curse the fruit seller who had momentarily left his stall! Curse the peach that had tasted of ambrosia!

  How had she been expected to know that the basket of fruit had belonged to a nobleman’s daughter? The glistening fruit had perched upon a shelf unattended, and the sweet scent had driven her mad. She had snatched the peach and started to flee but had been accosted by the heavyset girl, who had been perusing ribbons in a nearby stall.

  “I-I didn’t mean—”

  “What’s that? Bray louder.” The girl laughed, preparing to use her stick for a second assault.

  WHACK! A stone flew through the air, and Faluri cringed, fully expecting the missile to be meant for her. Instead, her tormentor screamed as her weapon sailed from her hands and fell into fragments.

  A broad-shouldered young man emerged from where he had been concealed behind a tree. “Aren’t you a bit old for such childishness, Ariadne?” he murmured. “Why don’t you pick on someone who can fight back?”

  Ariadne glared, her eyes glinting with malice. “Uncle Augustus will hear of this, Randolf,” she hissed. “Father’s already displeased with your disruptions of the counsel.”

  “And he’ll do what, exactly? Send me to the cloisters? The Talmun monks are the only ones who speak the truth.”

  The girls gasped and turned away, quickly sinking to their knees and touching their foreheads to the earth. “Hungali will kill you one day,” one of them said. “The cloisters under the monks’ Talmun trees are accursed. You learn nothing but lies there.”

  “Their scrolls are the true ones,” the man said.

  Ariadne laughed. She flounced to Faluri’s side, removing one of the baskets from her back and sauntering away. The other girls copied her movements. Faluri gasped as the burdens were removed, sighing in relief as her pounding heart subsided.

  The man bent over her and smiled. He was probably no more than eighteen or nineteen, and his hazel eyes shone with kindness. He was not impressive looking, but rather plain. Yet something drew her to him, and she could not turn from his compassionate gaze.

  The man extended his hand, offering to help her stand. Faluri shrank back, her eyes widening and another snarl escaping her lips.

  “Do you bite?” The man grinned at her.

  She could not help but smile, for he—had they called him Randolf?—drew back slightly.

  “I won’t touch you. I just thought you might need help.”

  Faluri struggled to her feet, her head spinning as she tried to get her bearings. She opened her mouth, but fear choked her words.

  Randolf smiled at her. “You’re welcome. Here.” He drew a flask of water from the pocket of his tunic.

  Faluri backed away yet again, her shoulders shaking. How often had she reached out only to receive slaps or worse?

  Randolf shrugged. “You’re so thin. Bet you’re hungry. Come to my house. I’m sure Mother will help you.”

  Faluri turned to run away, but the boy’s next words stopped her in her tracks. “We’re having stuffed goose and apple meringues tonight. They’re my favorite dishes.”

  Faluri turned toward him, her eyes growing wide. Apple meringues? Her mother used to make those. She fell into step beside Randolf, never guessing that these first steps would set into motion such momentous events.

  As she shuffled in his wake, she became aware of the pulsating ground. Was it her imagination, or was Hungali’s heartbeat quickening? Moreover, did the quickening heartbeat signify anger or fear? She did not know, and she did not care.

  She remembered the stories told around the hearth of her home. In the version of the story that everyone knew, there was a mountain kingdom that soared above their valley, the Kingdom of Afendia, the Land of Immortality and Perpetual Abundance. She had heard tell of a creature that had infiltrated the land, bringing poison in his wake. The creature had been as ugly as he was deadly, a creature who claimed to be king and demanded absolute allegiance. One of Afendia’s most gifted inhabitants had resolved to save his land, but the king had forced him to leave. Many had followed him, descending the mountains to the valley below and establishing their own kingdom. Yet the creature often sought to take them away from their home, to force them back into his clutches.

  Faluri thought of this story as she followed Randolf from the market. The canama fields lay just beyond a small hillock, the place that only held shame and misery. Randolf turned to the right, leading her up a winding pathway and away from the place of shame. Her mind continued to ponder the story that all the children knew, even the despised Pacmana race.

  The alternate version of the story was startlingly different. Only a select few knew of it, for the story was sheer blasphemy. The Pacmana nation was the only race where certain individuals believed the sacrilegious tale. In that version
, a benevolent king ruled the mountain land of Afendia, providing for his subjects in every way. He stipulated that his subjects not leave the mountain, for the further a person descended, the thicker the air became. Darkness dwelled below the mountain peak, a lonely, depraved beast craving companionship. Darkness clawed at the ground with tenacious fingers, stuffing itself with emptiness and growing ever hungrier. It keened and wailed, pleading for someone to come. One man heard that cry and responded.

  The man had attempted to usurp the king’s throne. His attempt had failed, and in his anger, he had thrown himself from the mountain peak, darkness enveloping him. As he sank into the cold embrace, he felt his body collapse into a gaping chasm. Above him, he thought he glimpsed a hand reaching down as if to pull him up. He shrank from the proffered hand, dwindling into the chasm’s depths. He was no longer a servant of darkness but darkness itself. His name was Hungali. He keened and thrashed in agony, calling for others to come to him. Many had done so until the land beneath the mountain had become its own settlement.

  Faluri had never believed the latter version of the story, but her mother had done so. “My child, if you look into the night sky, you’ll see a shimmering white star shaped like a hand. The hand is Elumi’s, my child: the Great King who seeks to help us, to bring us home.”

  Faluri had strained her eyes, seeking the hand that her mother constantly claimed to see. Yet the fog that enveloped their land prevented her from seeing anything.

  “Home, Mother? But this is our home. We have all we need.”

  Her mother had frowned and gently tousled her daughter’s carrot-colored hair. “Do we deserve to be treated as animals? The true scrolls say that in Afendia, there is no slavery. One day, child, I will take you with me, and we will cross to Afendia. We will be reunited with your father. His illness robbed us of many years, but he will see you one day, and we will live together again.”

  Yet that day had never come, for her mother had become very ill, with an illness that seemed to come from nowhere. Great spasms coursed through her body, and she burned with fever. She grew increasingly thin until she was little more than a skeleton, her usually rosy cheeks wan. She had called Faluri to her side two weeks after the illness struck.

  Speaking through parched lips, she said, “He reaches for me, and I will go to him. He reaches for you too. He is even now in this land, and he will care for you. I will always be with you.” Then, she lay back on her pillows, her eyes closing in sleep.

  The next morning, she was gone. No trace of her remained, but a scent lingered behind, a scent of cinnamon, cloves, and other spices.

  “Are you all right?”

  Randolf’s soft inquiry jarred Faluri from her reverie. She nodded.

  “You can speak to me if you want to.” He grinned at her.

  Faluri swallowed. “I-I snuck away from the canama fields last night. I-I was hungry. I didn’t mean to steal anything. The overseers will—”

  “You’ll be fine at my home. Mother will want to fatten you up. It’ll be all right.”

  Faluri shuddered, her eyes filling with tears. “Why did you help me?”

  “Because you needed it. Besides, my cousin is spoiled. She needed to be put in her place. Uncle Locmana won’t do anything, so—”

  “B-but I am a Pacmana maiden. They did what was expected.”

  “By whom?”

  Faluri blinked in confusion. “Why, by everyone, of course.”

  “Not by me.” Randolf grinned at her and turned onto a stone pathway.

  Faluri gasped as she beheld a towering mansion, a dwelling made entirely of glittering stone. Ivory gates stood at the dwelling’s entrance.

  “Randolf! Randolf!” A petite girl pelted through the gates as her brother prepared to open them. Her dimpled cheeks were flushed, and she jumped up and down with excitement. “Poppa got me a pony today. Will you teach me to ride?”

  Randolf scooped up the child in his arms, swinging her round and round until she squealed in delight. Depositing her on the ground, he darted across the courtyard, beginning a spontaneous game of tag. The girl chased him, her shrill laughter filling the air. After a few moments, she collapsed in an exhausted heap, giggling and grinning. Randolf plopped down beside her.

  “Yes, I’ll teach you,” he panted, tousling the girl’s hair. “Now, Naolia, meet the young lady I brought home.”

  Naolia gaped, quickly standing and turning to Faluri. “You’re a Pacmana maiden. You have pointed ears. The stories are true.”

  Randolf frowned at his sister. “She has beautiful eyes, Naolia, and her ears are unique.”

  Faluri flushed. No one had ever told her that her eyes were beautiful. And surely what he said was absurd. Pointy ears were a disgrace.

  Naolia’s face fell as she held out her hand. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  In spite of herself, Faluri smiled. “It’s all right.” Tentatively, she clasped the little girl’s hand in hers.

  “Come on,” Randolf said. “We all better go inside.”

  “You are impossible, Randolf!”

  Faluri jerked awake, her full belly groaning with discomfort and her heart pounding. She recognized the voice of Randolf’s father, a burly man with an impassive face.

  “We can’t keep her here. Have you any idea the wrath that will descend upon us?”

  “Augustus, please.” The soft murmurings of Randolf’s mother filled the silence. “You’ll awaken the girl.”

  “The rules are binding, Melinda. He’ll bring trouble upon us by his constant defiance of the counsel.”

  “What rules, Father?” Randolf’s voice was as soft as ever, but a hint of steel permeated it.

  “The counsel’s, of course. The class distinction is unbreachable. I’m sorry about it, but I cannot defy it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I . . .” Augustus’ voice trailed away.

  “Remember the Afendian scrolls, Father? ‘Adopted girl from the Pacmana race will call forth the King’s wondrous grace.’ ”

  “B-but we cannot be the ones to—”

  “Oh come now, Augustus,” Melinda murmured. “How can you, of all people, say that? What kind of people would we be if we turned her out? She obviously has no one.”

  Faluri listened to this exchange in utter confusion, her eyes filling with tears. What was to become of her?

  The next morning, she learned the answer. Tentatively rising from the luxurious canopied bed upon which she’d slept, she made her way to the large dining room. Randolf held out his hand, guiding her to the table upon which sat a lavish breakfast.

  “Welcome home,” he said.

  “You’re a fool, Augustus!” The raspy voice reverberated in the grand hallway, charged with an overpowering anger. “To even have one of them in your home means trouble. Moreover, to express your intention of adopting—”

  “She has no one, Locmana. Randolf brought her here a fortnight ago, the most emaciated child I’d ever seen. How could I turn her away? Melinda feels the same.”

  “You’ll rain down Hungali’s anger upon us! You know the prophecy as well as anyone. The Pacmana race will bring down the foul creature from the mountains of Afendia, and he will devour us all.”

  “I know what the new scrolls say, but the ancient ones extol the Pacmana race as equal to our own.”

  “You dare to reference those blasphemous writings? What has come over you? My own brother listening to the rantings of a foolish young upstart! Randolf has no proof that those writings are genuine. Ever since he returned from his studies, he’s been an outspoken fool. He does not know what he’s saying.”

  “You speak of my son and your own nephew! You may be lord of this land, but you’re also my brother, Locmana. If you cannot respect your own family’s decisions, then I’ll thank you to leave this house!”

  “That animal will ruin you all—you see if she doesn’t!”

  Locmana’s footsteps slammed down the hall as he stormed from the house. Faluri stood stock-sti
ll in the shadows, her mind reeling and her heart pounding. She turned and hurried to the rear entrance of the mansion, her eyes brimming with tears. Was the noble family that had done so much for her truly in danger? What of Randolf, who had been nothing but kind?

  Faluri hurried through a patch of blackberry bushes, journeying to the road that would take her to the marketplace.

  “Oh, it’s the Pacmana donkey!” A familiar, jeering voice emerged from beyond the blackberry hedge. Faluri cringed and tried to retreat, but Ariadne flounced into view. Her face was flushed with triumph.

  “What are you doing out here alone? Is Randolf not holding your hand anymore?”

  “Leave me alone.” Faluri’s voice emerged in a pathetic squeak. Her mind was jerked back to the humiliating day in the marketplace.

  “No. I think you still owe me for that peach you stole. Besides, you don’t belong here.” For the first time, Ariadne’s sneer faltered, a look of fear crossing her face. “My father told me. You’ll ruin everything.”

  Faluri blinked. “Ruin what? I’m doing nothing wrong.”

  “Idiot! Your being born was wrong. You’ll bring that creature from the mountains down upon us. He’ll kill us all.”

  “I don’t under—”

  My pretty one. Come to me.

  A gentle voice suddenly burst upon the girls’ ears. The ground began to pulsate more strongly than ever, a heartbeat of ecstatic anticipation.

  A gentle breeze began to blow, carrying with it a strangely cloying scent unlike anything either girl had smelled before. The blackberry bushes bent beneath the wind’s assault, parting as if to let someone pass.

  You’re so lovely. Come and be mine.

  As the breeze advanced, it grew stronger and stronger. Ariadne gaped and then turned and ran, her face ashen.