Day #9

Platting: Plaited strips of bark, cane, straw etc. used for making hats or the like

Water soldier: A submerged aquatic plant with serrated, brittle leaves that break easily when handled.

Geophagist: One who eats earth as dirt clay chalk, etc.

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Her slight, nimble fingers danced over the wicker canes, threading the silvery strips of birch bark under and over, under and over. The action reminded Ahn-weh of the way she used to braid her daughter’s hair, under and over, under and over, then tied in a knot – perfection. It would not be long until she saw her again, at least this was what Ahn-weh hoped.

But could you really trust the words that slithered from the lips of man who had killed untold thousands and forced a young girl into marriage against her will?

Genghis. The word pounded like a metronome as Ahn-weh wove the pale grey platting, under and over, under and over, circling round in loop after loop. She was slowly nearing the end of her task now. Genghis. Under and over. Genghis. Under and over.

The warlord, the self-proclaimed God-King, had offered this token task to Ahn-weh at the behest of her daughter; a vain attempt by the young girl to have her mother spared.

He had grinned, stringing words to his tongue like arrows to a bow, ‘they say you are an artist Mother, then let us see how great you are. Craft me a crown fit for a God-King and I shall let you and your daughter live.’

Ahn-weh could still smell his fetid breath, sticky and thick with spilt blood, musky like oxen that spent all day chewing rotting cud.

So Ahn-weh worked. Genghis. She stripped the bark from birch trees until her nails were bloody and raw. Genghis. She tempered the thin bands of silver in the midday heat. Genghis. She wove the circlets under and over until the crown began to gain form. Genghis. A shimmering star fallen from Heaven to Earth. Genghis. The crown of a God-King.

But Ahn-weh knew it was a futile task. She knew that her daily rations were poisoned; of course He wouldn’t play fair. He had no intention of letting her live, or of finishing the crown, which would result in the death of her daughter too. A cruel God-King.

This was why, at the break of every dawn, Ahn-weh slipped past her snoring guard, slumped awkwardly in a drunken stupor. She crept down to the river, alert like a deer and aware of every single glinting red reflection rippling and flashing as fish plucked early morning insects from the water’s surface.

Pushing aside the water soldiers, their brittle leaves flaking away at the slightest touch, Ahn-weh dug deep amongst their roots, burying her hands in the dirt, under and over. The thick, wet clay that she cupped in her palms tasted peaty when she drank it.

It was unpleasant and thick, clogging her throat and making her gag, but it would slow the poison in her body, she knew this; Ahn-weh the geophagist knew this. And she clung to this as she wove the silver birch bark into a crown for a God-King, fingers nimbly working under and over, over and over.