Victoria Blake is impatient to continue…

For some reason, Aida was just standing there. She had gone late, empty handed, to the priest, and the smell of his house was still making its way up her nostrils. Now she was about ten paces from his door, hesitating. For some reason.

She wasn’t looking for an excuse; she was a professional excuse maker now. At first her family had been suspicious: they knew she liked to be alone, but they also knew her mortal fear of the priest. So they thought her sudden propensity toward going late was odd. At first she too thought it was odd. Somehow, though, once she realized the priest was deceivable, she was no longer afraid of him. She had thought him omniscient; now she knew he was just a man like anyone else. It was only heredity that gave him the job. Anyone can be born.

Aida was still scared of the woods at night, but she was also still scared of being found out. So she continued dumping her threads in the brook. She never intended to be in open rebellion. She just wanted to perform a private experiment. So sometimes she brought her threads as usual. Besides, she thought, surely hypocrisy is most loathsome to the gods of all.

“Uh. Hello!”

Aida whirled around to face the voice, but whirling around seemed awfully suspicious, so she tried to make it seem natural by hopping a little into the air. It didn’t.

He ignored her weird behavior. “What do you do with the extras?” He looked at her with a half-witted sort of look on his face.

Aida’s breath stopped. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he meant. Extra whats?” She asked.

He blinked. “Extra threads.”

Aida felt the guilt crawling up her face. “I—I don’t always have any. I, uh, didn’t have any tonight.” She paused to regain control. “Besides. How do you know?”

He smiled at her innocently. “Always you’re late, and mostly you don’t have threads.”

“Who are you?”

“And so after a while, I wondered what you did with them.” He spread his hands apologetically. “The extra threads, I mean.”

“Who are you, you little snoop?”

He stood silent for a moment, looking blankly into Aida’s eyes. Then his eyes lit up. “Ah, I know!” He said, “I’ll show you. Come here.” He reached out to grab Aida’s hand.

Aida jerked her hand out of reach. “Where?”

His eyes sparkled, and he tapped his fingertips together. “I will show you. Just follow me.”

Aida came to a conclusion. Either this fellow was a lot younger than he looked, or he was slow in the head. In either case, he probably wouldn’t be dangerous. “All right,” she said, “let’s go.”

He reached out his hand again, and she took it. Then, without warning, he started running. Aida yipped and was forced to run as well or lose her arm. His grip on her hand was like a vice. Once she voluntarily took hold of it, there was no letting go.

She followed him into the forest, and she was amazed at his sure footing. He knew all the trails and paths, and the darkness did not bother him at all. He had obviously spent much time in the forest.

Suddenly, he stopped. He let go of Aida’s hand and turned to look at her. “Close your eyes now,” he said eagerly, “this part is secret.”

After the mad dash through the forest, Aida trusted his guidance. She closed her eyes.

He led her slowly and carefully now, and she had no fear.

“Open your eyes now!”

She opened her eyes and saw him beaming at her.

“Look!” he said.

They were on the edge of some sort of miniature Paradise garden, lit by lanterns. The brook flowed through on the left edge, and there was a bridge over it. The ceiling was formed by arches of trees, and little flower beds were arranged in a geometric pattern in the middle, each bed having little ground cover flowers according to color. The brook sparkled in the lantern light.

“It’s beautiful. Is it yours?”

The boy was in some sort of silent ecstasy, and Aida respected his silence. Finally, he spoke. “Look, look!” he said. He pointed to the flower beds.

Aida looked.

“No, look!” he said, exerting impatience on the second word. Then he left Aida’s side, and ran toward the nearest flower bed. He crouched down and pointed at it. Then he looked at her and smiled. “Come, come!”

Aida came and crouched down next to him. Immediately she stood up again. What she had taken to be ground cover flowers were actually neat piles of threads. Weaving threads.

“How did you come by these?” Her voice quivered. This naïve boy had deceived her. His inquisitive smile now seemed mocking.

“They came down the brook,” he said simply.

Aida looked at him.

Suddenly, his face changed. It lost its happy half-wit look, and in its place came a sober intelligent look. Intelligence, Aida found, was frightening on him.

“I thought it unlikely that there were two,” he said, standing up.

Now Aida was really scared. She had been incredibly foolish to follow him. Now she was alone with him, in the forest, at night, and he was not what he had first seemed to be. “Two what?” she said, shrinking back.

“Two people keeping back their extra resources.”

Aida slowly retreated a safe distance, then got angry. “How dare you accuse me of such things?” But at the end her voice trembled.

His imbecile grin came back, and he came toward her extending his hand. “Don’t be angry. We won’t speak of it anymore. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Aida retreated a step further. She no longer trusted his innocence. And the way he assumed her guilt was uncomfortable. How did he know? How long had he been watching her?

“Look, look!” he was saying again. This time he pointed upward.

Warily, Aida joined him and looked where he was pointing. A thin sliver of moon peeped through the leafy ceiling.

He clapped his fingertips. “Pretty girls should not be out this late. You must go now. Hum?” He cocked his head and looked at her like a bird.

“I don’t know the way home.”

“Oh. She doesn’t know,” he said to himself. “Come, come. I will show you.”

Reluctantly, Aida let him take her hand. She closed her eyes and let him lead her out. Once they were out of the secret place, he began to run. Aida opened her eyes unbidden, and stumbled along behind him.

When they reached the edge of the forest, Aida was panting. She tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, but he held tightly.

“No, no,” he said, “You should not go alone. Not even across the village.”

“I’ll be fine.” Aida was now thoroughly frightened of him, and the last thing she wanted was to give away the location of her home—if he didn’t know already.

His eyes narrowed. “She’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself, assessing the statement. “She’ll be fine…yes, you’ll be fine. Goodnight!”

Before Aida could reply, he had let go of her hand and disappeared into the forest. Aida stood trembling for a moment, then broke out into a terrified run. She did not stop running until she reached her home.

It was dark; apparently her family had given up on her. She let herself in and stole quietly to her bedroom. She flopped on her bed, and lay there breathing heavily. Helena shifted in her sleep.

Finally, Aida climbed fully into bed without changing. She lay facing the wall, staring but not seeing, for a long time. When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were restless and bad.