Luminous

3 - Banished

Walking home from the communal pasture took much longer than expected when one was Meya Hild.

The reason? Two words—Marinia Hild.

All seven Hild children were remarkable in some way. Marin's way was beauty. Such was her beauty, the manor's young men created an unofficial class for her, one higher than Gold—Diamond. She could marry any man in Crosset without paying him a single bronze coin.

Being the only Greeneye in Crosset, Meya also had her unofficial class—Dung. It didn't help that she often reeked of pig droppings, either. The lowest class defined by law was Pebble.

Either way, she must work hard to save a large dowry. Who cared if hard work in scorching daylight made a lass less desirable? As opposed to dung, which stank less and no longer squish underfoot once laid out to bake.

Marin should be able to marry early if it weren't for Dad. Like most pretty maidens, Marin was forced to spend her days indoors, helping Mum with housework. If her skin were any fairer, Meya could've scraped lead white off it and sold the powder to rich women in Meriton.

It was difficult for lads of marriageable age to gain purchase on Marin. The solution? Two words—Meya Hild.

Every evening, Meya would saunter through the village, trundling a wheelbarrow of hens, trailing a pig on a leash, receiving letters, flowers, jewelry and food to pass to Marin. For a fee, of course. Perhaps once them knuckleheads had learned to stop calling her attention with "Oi, Dung!" she'd deign to do it for charity.

The inflow of young men trickled to a stop a good dozen paces from Hild Cottage. Dad was armed with a sickle mounted on a broom handle, sharpened for gutting. Suitors knew to give the house a wide berth.

Meya returned Hanna and the chicken to their homes, left the wheelbarrow beside the coop, heaved up the bulging sack, then trudged to the door.

The instant she entered, a confused din of greetings befell her from the family crowded around the pot hanging over the hearth-hole.

"Have you latched the coop door?" Mum asked, as always worrying about every wee thing in the three lands except Meya's wellbeing.

"You alright, Meya?" Maro made no move to hide his concern, which was why Maro would always be her favorite brother.

"Any bullies at the pasture today?" Marin demanded. Meya probably would've gotten along with Marin, too, had her skin not been so white it glowed in the firelight.

"Where's your collar?" Morel, on the other hand, couldn't give less damn.

"Is it true you kicked Gregor Krulstaff in the crotch?" Marcus abandoned his bowl and darted over.

"What's that you got there?" Myron pointed to her sack.

"Show me your hands!" Mistral squealed, eyes sparkling with delight.

Dad made no move to acknowledge Meya's return. Only when Mum made to hand her a bread bowl did he growl between mouthfuls of bread and stew,

"No dinner, Alanna."

"Please, Dad. She was just trying to help." Marcus pleaded.

"Quiet, Marcus."

Dad had told them about the Ice Pillory. Just as well. It saved Meya the trouble. After a deep breath, Meya rattled off answers to their questions,

"Yes, Mum, no sneaky tom would get his paws on a single feather tonight. Mistral, here are me hands. Still intact. Maro, I'm fine, how kind of you to ask. Marin, yes, some tyke pushed me in front of a horse cart. Morel, where I keep me collar is none of your business. Marcus, no, I dinnae kick his crotch—'twas his arse. And Myron, this here—"