16. Blueberry Face

Dindi (Lost Swan Clan)

Dindi and Hadi climbed down a ladder into the kitchen of the main house. Miskymew and Puddlepaws weren’t invited, but the neko and the kitten scrambled down after them anyway.

Smoke made the whitewashed walls look grey. The air smelled spicy. Dindi looked around for the important guest.

In the corner across from the ladder stood three ovens shaped like beehives. Each one had its own ash pit next to it. The ashes, mixed with lard and soaproot, would be used to wash clothes in the stream. That reminded Dindi of the chores she had let the fae do for her. She felt a small knot of guilt.

Near the ovens were stones for grinding corn. Beyond the grinding stones was a deep, cool pit where they stored jugs of milk and water.

Two walls near the cooking area were lined with shelves above and jars below. The shelves were full of spices, dried fruit, cheese, and tools made from chert.

Most of the room was taken up by a wide clay platform, about knee high. This was where everyone ate. When she was little, Dindi used to dance on that platform, pretending to be a Tavaedi. Her family had laughed and cheered.

She never stopped dancing. They had stopped cheering.

By the time she was five, the same aunties who once praised her grace now called her clumsy. Lazy, even. They said little girls should keep the platform clean with fresh whitewash and reed mats—not dance on it.

The clan sat in a rough square around the edge of the platform. Small children sat on laps. Hands passed bowls of food back and forth. The clay dishes held flat triangle bread, bean mash, melted goat cheese, crushed chili peppers, and lemon juice. Everyone made pishas by wrapping the beans and cheese in the bread with their fingers.

The warriors sat closest to the door. The maidens sat near the ovens. Great Aunt Sullana, Mama, and the other aunts sat by the wall. The matriarchs were calm islands in the noisy sea of the family. Only the matriarchs knew how to eat pishas with melted cheese without getting sticky fingers.

Zavaedi Abiono, leader of the Tavaedi troop, sat in the place of honor—between the warriors and the aunties. He gave Dindi a nod. Her heart started beating faster.

“Why, here’s Lost Swan Clan’s very own lost baby swan!” Papa cried. He was a big man with a round belly and a sly smile. Papa and Uncle Lubo led the cheers and whistles.

Dindi’s face turned red.

“There you are at last, girl,” said Great Aunt Sullana. “Your hair looks like beavers built a dam there. Your face is smudged. Did you roll in the dust all morning? Never mind. Zavaedi Abiono is doing us the great honor of a visit. Comb your hair and wash your face before you join us. This is a kitchen, not a bear’s cave.”

Flustered, Dindi picked up her basket of soap and went to the cistern. Deep clay pots had been sunk into the earth to hold water. It was the darkest corner of the kitchen, and it smelled like dry dirt and old caves. A single Blue nixie floated on his back in one of the jugs. He winked at Dindi. Puddlepaws reached out a paw to try to catch him and almost fell in.

Dindi took a lump of soap and splashed water on her face. She rubbed up a quick lather. The soap didn’t lather well, but she didn’t bother trying harder. She rinsed off, ran her fingers through her messy hair, and hurried to the eating platform.

She squeezed between her cousins Jensi and Tibi. She looked at Great Aunt Sullana, at Zavaedi Abiono, at Mama, at Papa—trying to guess the real reason for the visit.

Everyone stared at her in surprise.

“Yes, I can see why you asked about Dindi,” Papa said to Zavaedi Abiono.

“Oh, Dindi,” her mother sighed.

Uncle Lubo slapped his thigh and burst out laughing. In moments, the whole clan joined in.

“For mercy’s sake, girl,” said Great Aunt Sullana. “Did you smear blueberries on your face?”

Dindi’s hands flew to her cheeks. They felt sticky.

Horrified, she looked back at the pile of soap lumps she had left near the cistern.

The lumps were blue.

Blue soap.

Blueberry soap.

The fae had mixed blueberries—not soaproot—with the ashes and lard.

Oh no. Her whole face must be stained with dark, sticky, blue juice!