The Beginning... Of Hestra's Story

• Vicki Stegink, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

A woman’s high keening pierced the unnatural stillness of the balmy afternoon.
The entire population of the small village, all one hundred and twelve of them, had come to witness the sad spectacle.
A young girl, not yet twelve years old, clung to her wailing mother in the middle of the village square. Her mother clung to her just as hard in return.
A tall, white-haired woman in a flowing silk robe stood in front of them. She held herself straight and tall, and radiated a grave confidence. Only the lines upon her face betrayed her age.
The wise old High Priestess spoke with slow solemnity as she condemned the child before her.
“By all the power and goodwill of the almighty spirits that watch over us, let this girl become sacrifice to you, great spirits, and let her endanger us no more! Protect us! Let her be gone from our peaceful village, and be punished for her sins! Let the spirits of fate determine what becomes of her, and guard us from the black luck she has brought down upon us! Shield us from the forbidden magic of yours that she has meddled in!”
The High Priestess paused, inhaled deeply, and called clearly to all the assembled villagers, “Hestra is one of us no more! Her name shall not be spoken again for three twelve-moons from this day – she is the property of the eternal spirits henceforth. Great spirits, protect us!”
With that the aging woman cast a cloud of red ochre over the girl, still cowering by her mother at the High Priestess’ feet.
The heartbroken woman broke her daughter’s grip and stumbled away quickly, before the magical ochre could touch her and include her in the curse. She collapsed in a heap at the fringe of the crowd, sobbing and crying out for her lost daughter.
The girl still stood there in the middle of the square, covered in red powder and staring numbly at the people surrounding her, her mind not willing to comprehend that what she had been dreading all this time had actually happened.
Slowly people began to turn their backs and return to their homes. Hestra was already banished, untouchable, to the villagers now. Even the High Priestess turned away, and no one saw the dampness in her eyes and the pain clear on her face.
Tears ran silently down Hestra’s face too, creating smudgy rivulets in the bright dust there.
A wordless cry escaped her lips, and she ran through the familiar streets of the place that had been her home, kept running, until she was well outside the borders of the village. She did not stop until she collapsed, black spots clouding her vision.
Gasping and shuddering, she cried herself to sleep in the wilderness.