Mataya lie blissful with anticipation.  However, she found herself at the mercy of time, and time was behaving very rudely.  It enjoyed making her wait.  It taunted her, enjoying her restlessness.  Being the ultimate ruler of all things, time tended to be arrogant, forcing all to play by its rules.  And if Mataya managed to distract herself, there was always the tick-tocking of the grandfather clock to remind her.

Mataya pretended to be fast sleep so as not to attract unwanted attention.  As part of the charade, she extinguished all of her candles and lamps.  There she lie in suffocating darkness, alone within a vacuum of deprivation, her mind unable to occupy itself.  She couldn’t even read.  She had recently discovered a system of writing developed for the blind that used the sensitive touch of fingers rather than eyes.  If she could acquire the skill, she could read in the dark.  So, she decided to learn.  Someday.  She had placed on her to-do list which was already quite extensive.  Impossibly large some might say.  But she was young and had her whole life ahead of her.  So, reluctantly added yet another daunting task to her list.  The only question being where in the que to place such an ambitious goal.

Mataya lie, as still and silently as she could under the circumstances, tracing words across her pillow while listening attentively for secret communique.  The message would be cloaked in an unbreakable code so ingenious that it was virtuously impossible for anyone to decipher.  The wisest scholars and the most brilliant mathematicians could devote their entire academic lives and would be left frustrated and befuddled.  The utter brilliance of the secret code?  Its utter simplicity.  It was a code that Mataya and Aurea spent countless hours perfecting, lest their undercover operations be discovered.  The consequences of being caught were unthinkable.  The punishment would be diabolically cruel and inhumane.  There could be no margin for error.  They were engaging in a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse

At one time, Mataya rose to be the leader of the most powerful and inclusive clique.  However, in time, she became disillusioned by acts of betrayal and hypocrisy.  Gradually, the number of classmates whom she felt she considered part of her inner circle.  Now, she could count on one hand those whom she felt she could trust.  Perhaps her suspicions had turned to paranoia.  In any case, she trust only Aurea with the enigma of the secret code.

As Mataya lie on her side with one ear submerged inside the depths of her downy soft pillow, she could hear nothing other than the sound of her own beating heart.  It reminded of her of when she was a small child, terrified in the belief that the earth was shaking under the weight of a famished giant, Brobdingnag, who hunted down and ate little girls who disobeyed their parents and go to sleep.  Eventually, of course, she realized that it was a myth, perhaps a deliberate and cruel trick used by adults to control small children by manipulating their vivid imaginations.  Mataya could still remember the cackling taunt of her nurse:

The naughtier the girl, the tastier them bones!

Then the nurse would place a crust of dried bread or a handful of dried noodles into her mouth and crunch it loudly with her mouth open, grinding her molars side-to-side, mimicking the bone-crunching sound of a naughty little girl being eaten alive.  The dreadful memories of sleepless nights of her childhood did not help pass the time.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  Mataya grew increasingly anxious.  She had been very literal in her communiqué with Aurea regarding her neurotic tendency to count heartbeats as she waited.

ONE … two … three …
TWO … two … three …
THREE … two … three …
FOUR … two … three …

Mataya listened with such intensity that her perception of sound warped.  She understood quite well how sensory deprivation can dramatically affect the mind.  She was well aware of the symptoms which included auditory hallucinations, often quite vivid, capable of rendering a secret agent psychologically and emotionally unfit.  It was a well known technique to brain-wash.  So when Mataya first detected the sound of a slippery echo coming from the corridor, she initially dismissed it as a manifestation of her own wishful thinking, that it was an nothing more than an auditory oasis.  However, as the sound persisted and grew louder, she concluded that it was in fact not a figment of her imagination, but real.  Aurea had finally arrived.  It had to be her.  If so, soon she would hear the unmistakable sound of their secret code.  Sitting up quietly and moving to the edge of her bed, Mataya closed her eyes, held her breath, and focused her concentration.

“Meow … meow … meow.  Ack!” 

Eureka!  The impregnable code of the sacred sisterhood.  What made the code so difficult for an enemy agent to fake lie in mastering the throaty croak of a cat choking on a hairball.  Aurea had finally arrived.  Mataya felt her fingers and toes tingle with excitement.  She jumped out of bed, inserted her feet into her panda-bear slippers and shuffled towards her desk.  Fumbling in darkness, she swept the surface with her fingertips and located an lamp.  She gently rotated the striped pin at the base of the lamp and turned the lamp on-and-off three times as a signal that the coast was clear.  The lamp’s warm orange glow exposed the cluttered but familiar geometry of her confined space, revealing the whereabouts of furniture and other obstacles so that Aurea could successfully navigate lest she stub her toe.

Mataya opened the top drawer and retrieved an iron key with large sharp teeth that extended symmetrically in both directions.  The key hung attached to a finely woven brass chain which in turn passed through a hole drilled into a carving of a large wooden eagle.  The disproportionately large carving made the key easier to find and less likely to be misplaced.  The one visible eye of the eagle’s profile had been grossly enlarged for symbolic purposes.  With the wooden eagle in hand, Mataya glided towards the main door, careful not to let her heels collide with the floor.  Then, she inserted the iron key into the iron lock, turning it ever so delicately until the bolt snapped into place with a gratifying thunk.

Anticipating danger was a core principle of spy work.  Without so much as a squeak or a squawk, the thick wooden door silently rotated about the vertical axis created by three iron hinges mightily forged and perfectly alignment.  Unlike civilians who need not worry about such matters, Mataya had arranged for the hinges and the bolt to be lubricated weekly. When Lady Stælweorth had inquired as to the need for such unprecedented maintenance for a mere student, Mataya replied that the creaking sound made by rusty hinge could trigger violent seizures, seizures which could potentially render her permanent disabled or fatally wounded.  Most of all, Mataya that if left undiscovered that she may bight off her own tongue.  Despite her reservations of the veracity of such claims, Lady Stælweorth uncharacteristically acquiesced.

The thick wooden door rotated slowly and silently.  A hand with unusually long fingers covered and ghostly pale skin darted through the gap, feeling about for something or someone to grasp.  Mataya moved quickly, snatched pale-skinned wrist and with an uncharacteristic lack of professionalism, yanked Aurea through the doorway with such force that she nearly dislocated Aurea’s shoulder.

Ow!  Aurea protested with exaggerated eyes and spoke tacitly with puffed cheeks and pursed lips.

“Shush!”

“You shush!”  Aurea massaged then presented the wounds on her wrist to Mataya.  Then, she manipulated her shoulder as if it had been dislocated and required adjustment.

Standard protocol dictated verification that Aurea had not been followed.  Mataya pulled Aurea (gently this time) further inside and switched places.  Mataya popped her head outside into the corridor.  Her head darted rapidly side-to-side like a bird, scanning left, then right, then left again.   After failing to detect potential threats, she pulled her head back inside,  carefully closed the door, then bolted the door, cringing at the sound of the metallic collision.   She turned and exhaled through her nose with one hand covering her mouth and the other her chest.  She removed both hands and sighed deeply.  “The coast is clear,” she whispered.

They stared at each other grimly.  Then, joy and glee erupted, so much so that both girls stifled the sound of their laughter with two hands.  Mataya, with a red-faced smile, doubled over, held her aching stomach, then stood up and rested against door.  There they stood, together.  Sisters at heart, and the two most important undercover operatives in their sacred order.  They had succeeded thus far, and thankfully so, as theirs was meeting of vital import with a critical agenda necessitated by special set of circumstances.

“Mistress Duenna?” Mataya enquired with raised brow and inquisitive eyes.

Aurea pantomimed drinking from a large heavy bottle, lifting it vertically above her head so as to drain every last drop. Then, with her eyes crossed sufficiently to focus on the tip of her nose, she collapsed to the floor, feigning an intoxicated state of unconsciousness.  Showing off her natural talent for drama, Aurea lie still on the floor, continuing her impersonation of a hopelessly perennial lush.  Mataya had always believed her to be a natural-born thespian.

Mataya’s intense giggle degenerated into coughing, and chocking.  She seized a nearby goblet and took several sips of warm milk.  Aurea, always the clever one, could not contain herself.  She sat up, pulled her ears out wide, stuck out her tongue, and crossed her eyes.  Parallel jets of milk came shooting out of Mataya’s nostrils.  The two sisters erupted in laughter, shushed each other, then managed to achieve silence after catching their breath.  A fiery red blush spread from Aurea’s cheeks down to her neck and upper chest.  Mataya, cradled on the floor, compressed her stomach with both hands to relieve her cramped aching muscles.   Eventually, they calmed, and order restored.

Confident that their outburst had gone unnoticed, Mataya welcomed Aurea with her most endearing greeting.  First, she kissed Aurea on each cheek, and then to complete the mystic geometry, kissed her on the forehead, the tip of her nose, and then the cleft of chin — a facial feature which Mataya found exceedingly striking and attractive.  Mataya then hummed a children’s prayer as she kissed each finger in turn on each hand.  Mataya referred to Aurea’s fingers as her precious children, for Aurea was the most talented musician in the entire school, perhaps in all the territories west of the Eyrie.   Aurea’s two favorite instruments: the forte piano and the grand harp.  Mataya suggested that Aurea’s fingers were worth a million dollars each and should be properly insured for that amount.  To Mataya, Aurea’s fingers were miracles.  They were the gateway that allowed her soul to shine brighter than any precious metal or gemstone.  The outlet for her creativity and the source of her beauty and vitality.  She was blessed with the gift of sharing her emotions with her audience.  Her talent was inextricably intertwined with her identity and self-worth.  It was the window through which she engaged with the outside world.  Performance was indispensable for clearing her mind, cleansing her thoughts, and pacifying her innermost feelings of angst.  Through her instruments, she sang with a voice that laid bare her soul, exposing both her sadness and her joy.

After kissing each finger, Mataya kissed the back of each hand, held them tightly, then gazed into Aurea’s sparkling eyes.  Mataya never shared with Aurea the reason for this endearing albeit excessive ritual.  The fact was that Mataya, while admiring her gift, was afraid for Aurea.  As a child, Mataya had heard the tragic story of a musician considered one of the most gifted who had ever lived.

He was a child prodigy whose talent was considered genius.  At the age of five, he composed his first melody, at age ten, his first piano concerto.  Just shy of his sixteenth birthday, he composed and performed in his first symphony.  He enjoyed celebrity status, adored by thousands of zealous fans and several exceedingly wealthy benefactors.  Then, one tragic day, he injured his hands, damaging them beyond repair.  The precise circumstance of the accident was never made public, but it hardly mattered.  Without the use of his hands, he had lost the ability to perform.  It was as if his physical body remained alive while his soul had perished.  Distraught, he exhausted his fortune, seeking medical treatment from the finest healers and most expensive doctors.  Time after time, treatment proved ineffective.  A cure was never found.  Eventually, he exhausted his resources.  Penniless, with no means of financial support, he was reduced to begging on the streets for food.  Occasionally, a cruel passersby spat on him, berated him, and encouraged children to taunt him and steel from him what little money he had.  Finally, bereft of all hope, he hurled himself off of a river bridge, plunging himself into a watery grave.  His body was never recovered and therefore did not receive a proper burial.  In his memory, thousands of his former admirers gathered to create a shrine and pay their respects to the man once revered as the greatest there ever was.  

The thought of her most beloved sister suffering a similar fate haunted Mataya.  And so she did the only thing that she could do, and that was to pray and to begift Aurea with blessing and prayer.  To avoid even the possibility of jinx, Mataya never spoke her prayers aloud.  Instead, she kept them locked inside her heart.

Mataya gazed into Aurea’s sparkling blue and gold eyes before inspecting her from top to bottom.  She wore a white silk gown trimmed and embroidered with golden thread.  Her long strawberry blonde hair was braided into a geometrically complex pattern, her own natural hair interwoven with equally fine strands of gold which matched Aurea’s own natural color and luster.  Tiny braids were woven into larger braids, and those woven into braids larger still.  Thousands of tiny gems were sprinkled around the perimeter of her crown, radiating an aura of sparkling blue light perfectly matching the color of her eyes.  The result was a circle of light that appeared to float above her head like a halo above an angel or a princess wearing a crown of jewels.

The effort was extravagant and the effect deliberate.  This hair style, made famous by an actual princess on the day of her assassination, was aptly named The Corona.  A similar hair style which formed only a half circle centered above the forehead was called The Tiara.  Very few girls possessed the natural beauty to dare wear such a hairstyle, and very few of them pulled it off.  On Aurea, it seemed perfectly natural, as if she were born that way.  It was extravagant.  Even for Aurea.  Mataya estimated that it must have taken at least four maidens an entire day to create what could be considered as nothing less than a genuine work of art.

Naturally, the Headmistress stood against such obvious displays of wealth and privilege.  However, given that Aurea’s parents were generous benefactors of the school, Lady Stælweorth had but no choice to bow to their wishes.  She felt the sting of shame that had allowed herself to be blackmailed by those with power and influence.  Nonetheless, she frequently expressed her opinion that such displays were bound to sow discord animosity amongst the other students.  

Aurea’s jewelry was equally glamorous.  She wore a gold chain around her neck with an ivory pendent given to her by her father.  She treasured so, never taking it off.  She fondled it whenever she felt nervous or suffered anxiety.  In the vernacular of the spy, this was known as a tell.  Mataya often warned Aurea that her habit of stroking her pendant while fibbing or engaging in deceit was a giveaway and that if she failed to cure herself of the dangerous habit, someday it would be their undoing.

The rest of her Aurea’s body, her ears, her wrists, her ankles, especially her eyelids, were decorated with a glitter made from crystal dust.  Her fingernail polish was imbued with real gold and decorated with tiny diamonds.  It was rumored that just one of Aurea’s manicures cost more than the yearly salary of the Headmistress.

Everything was designed to compliment Aurea’s unusually fair skin.  Mataya frequently teased Aurea’s that she was so pale that her heart was visible through her translucent skin.  The reference had a dual meaning as it was often used to praise someone who was unusually kind and gentle, which Aurea certainly was.  Despite her kind nature and naivete, most of the other girls resented Aurea for one reason or another, fabricating faults that didn’t exist and propagating vindictive rumors that were untrue.  Amongst the spiteful, insulting Aurea had escalated to genuine sport.  But Aurea’s soul was far too pure to take such petite torments to heart.  If anyone attempted to mock or insult her, she would reply with laughter and and a smile as she perceived any attention as desirable and preferable to the alternative of being shunned.  She sought out the good in others, even when there was none to be found.

As a spy, Aurea’s looks and reputation often worked to her advantage.  For why on earth would someone who comes from such wealth and privilege risk their position in life for social and political issues that to her kind were of no concern?

While looks were important to those who engage in espionage and sedition, functionality was paramount.  The most important part of Aurea’s attire was her footwear.  An essential part of any spy’s wardrobe and one often overlooked.  A student of ballet, Aurea typically wore beige satin slippers especially well suited for clandestine operations.  Her footwear and natural grace combined with elite training enabled Aurea to move virtually undetected across any surface.  Except of course, by Mataya.

 

“Come,” Mataya whispered, picking Aurea up and leading her by the hand.  “Sit beside me!  I have such news to share with you.  It is beyond belief.  Truly!”  Once settled, she gripped both of Aurea’s hands tightly.  Mataya took a deep breath, held it in until as long as she could, then let the words come gushing out like water and steam from a geyser, tainted with a such of sulfur.  “I am to travel to the Eyrie.”  Mataya paused and held her breath, uncertain as to Aurea’s response.  Would she break down in tears of sorrow or jump with joy?  Mataya bit her lower lip and increased the pressure of her grip.  “Father has sent for me.”  She squinted her eyes and looked at Aurea with trepidation.

Aurea’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Oh, No.  Mataya prepared for the worst.

Then Aurea’s eyes burst open as wide and round as sapphires.  She was speechless.  With her tongue tied, her jaw dropped as she searched through her vocabulary,  unable to conjure up words to express her powerful mixture of conflicting emotions.   As she sat deciding whether to be happy or sad, her feelings got the better of her.  She burst into tears, both happy, and sad.  It was her best friend’s deepest desire.  But for her, at best it meant losing her best friend.  At worst, she was being abandoned by a friend whom she cherished above all else.  She was in a state of momentary shock as her brain struggled to process this shocking turn of events.  Soon, although perhaps if only subconsciously, she realized that she had known all along.  What else could have made Mataya so happy?  Part her hoped that it was nothing more than a tease, but she didn’t believe Mataya so cruel as to joke about something so serious.  She feared that if her reaction was anything less than ecstatic, then she would appear selfish and narcissistic.  For if she truly loved Mataya, which she did, shouldn’t she be happy for her?  Still, she had already begun to sense the pain of her future loneliness.  She had experienced it before.  Ultimately, it would be fear the triggered Aurea’s outburst of tears.

Aurea let go of Mataya’s hands, using the need to wipe away her tears as an excuse.  Aurea wiped away her the tears in each one with her sleeves.  First, the left, then the right, then the left, until she finally broke her silence and began rattling off a litany of questions, starting with those most the trivial.
“How long will you be gone?”
“What about your exams?”
“How will you be traveling?”
“Will you be introduced to the King?”
“Has the Headmistress given her approval?”
“When did you find out?”
“Did you get a letter from your father?”
“How is the weather at the Eyrie this time of year?”
“It will be freezing won’t it?”
“What clothes will you pack?”
“Won’t you need new clothes?”
“Have you started packing yet?”
“Who else have you shared the news with?”
“Can you take me with you?!”
“Oh my gosh.  When are you coming back?!  Are you coming back?!”

Then, the subject of the inquisition abruptly changed to the most extreme of all superficial subjects: the availability of young noble men of the royal city.  Aurea hesitated, afraid such questions crass and undignified.  It was the type of question that Carnelia would ask as each and every thought in her brain revolved around her hunt for cultured and wealthy young men.  Aurea took a breath, prepared to question Mataya further, but then paused as an alarming thought surfaced through noise of chaotic thought.  “Wait!  Who is going to look after Pierre?  And what about poor Diablo?  Who will take care of Diablo?  What will become of poor Diablo?”

Mataya smiled wryly, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged her shoulders.

Then, the lightbulb went off inside of Aurea’s head.  She figured out the obvious answer to her question.  Radiant light beamed from her blue eyes.  The light was so bright, it seemed to illuminate every inch of the room and transform it into the royal colors of blue and gold.  Of course.  Naturally, Aurea, being Mataya’s best friend, would surely volunteer.  Aurea lowered her head and sighed.  Then, she lifted her head, took Mataya’s hands, and nodded in the affirmative. 

With the preliminary questions out of the way, the girls mood grew pensive.  The only remaining topic was a very sensitive one indeed.  Aurea hesitated.  Finally, after a long and awkward pause, Mataya began to answer the obvious question that she knew Aurea was preparing to ask.

“I haven’t seen him in five years,” Mataya confided.  “I haven’t gotten a single letter from him in almost two.”

Aurea stroked the back of Mataya’s hand.  “Are you angry at him?  What will you say to him?  Are you nervous?  Of course you are.  I’m sorry.  That was a stupid question.  But why now?  Has something happened?  Oh, I hope that everything is all right.”  She squeezed Mataya’s hands and leaned towards her and pressed her forehead against Mataya’s.

Most of the girls at the boarding school had separated from their families for one reason or another.  Or, they had no family at all.  It was normal for a girl her age.  Yet despite this, Aurea knew all to well that the absence of Mataya’s father in her life was a source of profound sadness.  Many of the girls were in a similar position, but none felt the pain of being separated from their family more deeply than Mataya.  After the death of her mother, Mataya’s father had become her whole world.  Aurea had heard the stories of how Mataya cried for a month straight when she first arrived.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, some of the cruel older girls taunted her, claiming that her father didn’t love her and just wanted to get rid of her.  But their taunts were merely a projection of their own pain.  The truth was that Mataya had no reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed.  Everyone knew Mataya’s father to be a very brilliant and important man, and the service of the brilliant, especially those called upon to work beside the king, is mandatory.  It was understood that, despite the love they felt for one another, their separation was a sacrifice necessitated by the greater good.  And was it not more appropriate for a girl to be in a structured environment?  One that provided a superior education and exposure to her peers so that she may develop proper social skills?  Mataya was outspoken in her belief that young women required peers if there was any hope of mastering the quirky ins-and-outs of proper social etiquette.

This at least, was the opinion Mataya shared publicly.  Aurea was one of the few, perhaps the only, who understood the depth of Mataya’s pain.  And while much of his vacancy in Mataya’s life could be explained away by the rigorous demands of his important works, not all of it.  He had been conspicuously absent and this created an emotional vacuum, a void within Mataya’s heart that could not be filled by anything or anyone else.  She did the best she could, finding solace in her love of animals, her love of reading, and her close friends.

Naturally, Mataya put on a brave and proud face for all to see.  Exposing weakness was unwise.  So she hid behind a mask of smiles and regaled splendid tales of the fond memories of her adventurous childhood.  Truth be told, Mataya’s repertoire of clever anecdotes was limited.  She had perhaps three or four happy memories, each of which Aurea had heard a thousand times, yet each time pretending to hear it for the firsts time.

Mataya’s favorite story was the time her father convinced her that she would grow up to be tall and beautiful if only she spent the entire day hopping up-and-down on one foot.  After a grueling day of hopping, her face red, her hair drenched in sweat, and her right leg fully numb, a servant finally entered her room and asked her what on earth she was doing.  When young Mataya explained, the servant laughed, and laughed.  At the time, Mataya did not understand what was so funny.  After all, growing up tall and beautiful was serious business.  As she grew older, Mataya realized that her father had simply tricked her so that he could slip away into the privacy of his den and spend the day attending to his work.

It was a cute story, and Mataya always added her distinctive and energetic style as she reminisced, then laughed exuberantly at the story’s cheeky punchline. She raised up her chin, pulled back her shoulders, and tossed back her auburn hair several times.  Well, it did work after all, didn’t it?

Following her light-hearted anecdotes, she would inevitably brag.  After all, he is a genius you know.  How could he not be?  I taught him everything he knows.  Well.
Almost everything.

Underneath the exterior of what appeared to be a carefree and gregarious adolescent girl was a deep undercurrent of grief.  Mataya allowed no one to see this side of her personality except Aurea.  During camping trips and sleepovers, Mataya always paired with Aurea.  At night, as Mataya slept and dreamt, Aurea could hear Mataya cry out in her sleep as she relived her most painful memories.  Don’t leave me father!  I’ll be a good girl.  I promise.  I will be a good girl.  Take me with you!  Please, Father.  Take me with you.  Aurea debated whether or not to wake Mataya from her horrid nightmares.  Most often, she would not.  Rather, she would herself lie awake and weep.

And during the exceptionally bad days while forced to remain within the company of others, when tears created dark stains across Mataya’s cheeks and her eyes puffy and bloodshot, only Aurea understood.  As was the way of her own mother and her mother before her, Aurea assumed half of Mataya’s burden and claimed it as her own.  It was Aurea who would give Mataya a discrete hug and whisper in her ear sweet words of comfort and hope, reminding Mataya that she would never abandon her duties as best friend, that Mataya would never be alone. 

I will always be there for you.  Always!

And thus, the symbiosis of Mataya’s pain and Aurea’s empathy drew the girls together like the polar opposite ends of two magnets.  They knew each other’s innermost thoughts and feelings so intimately they could carry on elaborate conversations and communicate complex concepts without uttering a single word.  They had developed an entire vocabulary of body language.  Gestures, facial expressions, and occasionally, if circumstances warranted it, grunts, groans, and snorts.  They invented words that they could use to secretly communicate with each other in total confidence while in close proximity to others.  They were kindred spirits.  Soul twins.

Yet now, at this watershed moment in the their friendship, they were entering uncharted territory.  Neither knew what to say or not to say.  So, they spoke in fits and starts and filled the long gaps by sitting side-by-side, holding each other’s hands, crying, and praying.  Mostly crying.

“You will take good care of Pierre and Diablo for me, won’t you?”

Aurea gave her that look, then nodded, and sniffled.  “Of course.  Absolutely.”  While holding one hand at a all times, they wiped away the tears from each other’s cheeks.  Then, they blew their noses into the hem of each other’s gown, a time-honored gesture of sisterly love.  For what could be more sacred then sharing snot.  “Oh, my.  I always knew this day would come.  I have always wanted the best for you, but now that the time has come, I can hardly believe it.  It is too soon.  Is this real?”

“Yes.  But do not worry.  I have a plan.”

Aurea laughed.  “Of course you do.”

“Starting this very day, or perhaps tomorrow, we will both keep daily journals so that when I return we can read each other’s thoughts.  That way, it will be like I never left at all.  Hmm?  Yes?  Good?”

“Yes.  That is good.  That is very good.”  Aurea nodded.  It was a good plan.

Mataya put on a serious face.  “Remember that Pierre is quite sensitive.  His feelings are easily ruffled.  And he must be complimented no less than ten times per day or he may fall into a deep depression, and once he becomes sullen, it is dreadfully hard to reanimate him.  It is best in the end to tend to him daily.   He is quite needy.  Most importantly of all: he must be commended for his bravery, at least once per day.  Twice is even better.  This is very important.  You must not forget.”

“I shall pay him no less than twenty complements every day and refer to his bravery a minimum of thrice per day.”

“He can be difficult to read sometimes so pay close attention to how much he is eating,” Mataya added.  “And Diablo.  Don’t forget that cakes, candy, and sugary sweets go inside your left jacket pocket while rubber balls and other toys are to be placed inside your right jacket pocket.  You must not get them confused.  This is very important.  Unless you enjoy being assailed by massive mules.”

Aurea snorted.  “Candy left.  Toys right.  Got it.”

“And remember,” Mataya said sternly, “be vigilant! Diablo can be most ferocious.  If provoked.  Of course his ferocity is the loving kind.  Deep down, he has the heart of a kitten.”

“A kitten who once lay six men flat on their back.”

“Ah.  They had it coming.  They were men after all.  But seriously.  I do love him so.  I can’t bear the thought of him suffering.  I need to know that someone is taking care of him.  You know how cruel those men can be.  Please.   Grant me peace of mind!  Please.”

“Oui, mon capitana.”

“Thank you.  But please do be careful.  After all, they don’t call him Diablo for nothing.  Do not take your eyes off of his tongue, not for a single moment.  And don’t wear any dress that you do not wish to be permanently stained with Donkey saliva.”

“Please don’t make my laugh when I’m trying to cry.”

And with that, their official business concluded.  They silently sat, meditating the moment, holding each other’s hands, stroking each other’s hair, each making a memory that would last a lifetime.  Such memories requires the inclusion of as many senses as possible, so they touched, sniffed, and purred.  Mataya pulled out a box of chocolates and they fed each other a single piece.  After the chocolate melted in their mouths, they kissed.  It was a moment of intimacy that would taste for a very time. 

And then, as if an alarm had gone off, their time was up.  Their covert operation successfully completed.  It would be their farewell.  Not final.  Just for now.  One last hug.  A comprehensive array of pecks and cheeks and chins and rubs and tips of noses.  Prayers and blessings.  Gratitude and grief.  The beginning of the end and the end of the beginning.  And just like that, Mataya closed the door as Aurea disappeared back into the darkness from whence she came.

It all felt surreal.  Was that really goodbye?  Was she really leaving?  Would she really be reunited with Father?  Was she really traveling to see the most magnificent city, the city in the sky?  Was this to be the beginning of the adventures she had dreamed of for so long?  Is this really what she wants?  To leave behind everyone she loves and cares for?

Mataya extinguished the lamp and crawled into bed, squeezing her pillow so hard it nearly burst.  How could she possibly sleep?  She threw off the covers, put on her slippers, turned on the lamp back on, and took a seat in the chair behind her desk.  She grabbed the notebook purchased for her journey and began to write across the first pristine unspoiled page.

 

 

I am officially writing the first entry in my journal which shall record the sum total of all of my life’s adventures, and although I have yet to live them, I am positively certain that they shall be nothing less than thrilling, daring, and shall earn me fame, fortune, and a firm place in the historical future of great women.

Furthermore,  I shall hope that this journal shall become standard reading for a new generation of adventurous young maidens so that they too shall be emboldened and inspired to live their lives to the utmost, for what this world desperately needs is more strength, more bravery, more honor, and more dignity.  The world needs heroes, and, more heroines.  I pledge myself to this cause, as well I should.  It is my duty, for who amongst us given the gift of life should settle for nothing short of the complete and total conquest of this world and the entire universe?  Who could possible abide life within a world which one cannot change?  To do so would be to throw away the gift which we have all received. 

I, however, am not naïve.  Nothing so important could possible be easy.  Is it not the struggle that grants us our eternal reward?  Yet nothing in life worth having comes freely.  Adventure and glory is often bitter-sweet as it demands from us a steep price.  In this I am certain.  To be separated from those whom we love is perhaps the cruelest of all tortures, and despite my infinite bravery, I now find myself unable to stop crying even as my tears have begun to smear the ink of these pages.  I did not think my body capable of producing such large quantities of salt and tears.  It is as if my entire body is nothing more than a hollow vessel filled with this salty clear liquid.

To my dearest friends: I shall pray every day and write whenever possible.  I write to Aurea, my dearest sister for whom I would without hesitation lay down my life.  To my beloved compadres, Pierre, and Diablo, who I shall perhaps miss most of all.  Even Lady Stælweorth, for whom I have recently developed feelings of affection in addition to those pre-existing feelings of respect and admiration, for she is a powerful force of nature who never betrays her fear in the face of her opponents who quite often are men of considerable wealth, position, and influence.  And to Mistress Duenna, the perennial thorn that keeps me on my toes and has hardened me and driven me to great heights of cleverness, resourcefulness, and 

KNOCK  KNOCK  KNOCK
knock … knock
KNOCK  KNOCK  KNOCK

Someone at the door.  The hair on the back of Mataya’s neck and on her arms stiffened.  Mataya was so startled that she jumped in her seat spilling ink onto her journal.  She cursed as she set down her pen and listened.

KNOCK  KNOCK  KNOCK
knock … knock
KNOCK  KNOCK  KNOCK

Who could it be?  At this time of night?!  Whoever it was there was not using the secret code, but the semi-secret code given to minions of the cause, a code which could have easily fallen into enemy hands.  That could be bad.  Had they been discovered?  Had their luck finally run out?  Perhaps a messenger bearing bad news?  Perhaps her trip to the Eyrie had been cancelled?  Mataya felt a mix of contradictory thoughts and opposing emotions.

With trepidation and a pounding heart, Mataya moved across the room to once again open the outer door to her chambers.  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust
to the darkness of the corridor before she recognized the face.  Mataya sighed with a mixture of relief and disappointment.  It was the young boy from the kitchen, her sweet pet whom she had used to pass communiqués to-and-from Aurea.

The room spun around Mataya’s head several times.  Her vision was blurred with sparkles of light.  She simultaneously swooned and grabbed her boy-pet be the wrist and swiftly pulled him inside.  For the second time in a single evening, she scanned the corridor to verify that an unauthorized visitor had not been detected and/or followed.  She closed the door behind him, then slid her hand down and gripped his hand, then reached for his other hand as well.  His hands were soft, hot, and wet.  He was several years younger, but quite tall for his age.  Mataya had to tilt her head back to regard him.  His face was as soft and smooth as a boy not old enough to shave.  His cheekbones were circular and splotched with patches of dark red as if they had been haphazardly painted onto his face.  The stillness of his visage and the absence of any expression resembled that of a marionette.  He wasn’t even breathing.

Timidly, the young lad pulled one of his hands free, reached across his body into a small pocket hidden within his sleeve.  He fumbled before finally retrieving a tiny rolled up parchment and handed it to Mataya.  It damp from the moisture of his touch.  Puzzled, Mataya unrolled it, examined it, and began whispered its contents.

Sweet sister.
I shall arrive tonight as per your instructions.
The necessary arrangements have been carried out with the utmost care and precision.
Viva la revolución!
Aurea.
P.S. Our new acolyte has indeed proven himself brave and trustworthy.
Please compensate him accordingly.

Mataya smiled, rolled up the tiny parchment, placed a hand on his chest to still him, then walked across the room and placed the note inside a lacquered box in the top drawer of her dresser where she collected trinkets of sentimental value.

Mataya returned and stood directly before the new recruit.  She casually examined the features of his face, and then inspected him from top to bottom.  Despite his calm demeanor, Mataya sensed his discomfort.  It was cute.  It was sweet.  A sweet boy.  A novelty.  Mataya moved closer.  His chest swelled.  She moved even closer.  They were almost touching.  Then, she took another small step closer.  He gasped.

Mataya examined his eyes, staring deeply inside them.  His pupils were dark, and wide, so large that she was unable to determine the color of his eyes.

Mataya inspected one of his hands.  His fingernails were scraggly, soft, and slightly dirty.  It seemed unthinkably primitive, but it appeared as if this poor creature had never received a single manicure in his entire life.

Mataya placed her hands on his hips and stepped up onto his feet.  He gasped, his lungs nearly exploding through his boyish chest.  Then, slowly, she guided him, one step at a time, backwards until his back was up against the wall.  He was thin. Poor thing.  She could feel his ribs through his vest.  Was he not being properly fed?  Surely kitchen servants had access to an abundance of food.  How could one who works in a kitchen surrounded by food all day long be so lean?

He was trembling.  The redness in his cheeks had swelled across his face and neck.  Mataya put her hands on his shoulders, pressing down and squeezing the back of his arms hoping to release some of the tension.  Then she placed her right ear to his chest and listened.  His heart was beating like a race horse.

Mataya stood up on her toes and played with his hair.  It was uneven.  One ear was exposed while the other was covered.  Apparently, whoever had cut his hair had carelessly tilted the bowl slightly to one side.  She placed her hands on each side of his face, and guided it, tilting it slightly to the left and down. With her right hand, she brushed back his hair and checked behind his ear.  It was grimy.  Did they now allow him to bathe?  Or had they worked him to the bone that day?  Boys are like children.  Perhaps he doesn’t know how to properly wash.

She looked at his mouth and lips.  They were dark red and shiny.  Fine hair, fuzz actually, grew unshaven just above his upper lip.  She touched his lips with her index finger.  They were very soft.  His breath was hot.  She could feel him.  Gods, he is so cute.

Mataya stepped up onto her toes, and tilted her head to the right.  She leaned in, and as she closed her eyes, his opened wide.  She kissed him gently on the lips, pulled back to study his expression, then kissed him again.  Just as he began to kiss back, she pulled away.  “You are such a dear.  Thank you.”  She kissed him again, and once more, as he attempted to kiss her back, she withdrew.  He’s never kissed a girl before.  He’s so cute!

She wrapped here arms around his waist, pushed against the small of his back, and gently pressed against him.  She could feel him, and he could feel that she could feel him.  His blushed deepened.  His hands moved around to her back.  He kissed her on top of her head.  Then, he lowered his face to try and get underneath hers.  She turned her head to the side, denying him access.  Like a young gentlemen, he withdrew his hands and his lips.  He sighed with a mixture of ecstasy and frustration. 

“Thank you,” Mataya said, speaking from deep within her throat.  She raised herself up on her toes, kissed him on both cheeks, then kissed him softly on his lips.  She stood back down and laid her head into his chest to listen to his heart.  It was fluttering like the heartbeat of a bird.  “Thank you.”  She opened her eyes and looked into his.  He had an odd expression on his face.  His eyes were dull and his face appeared lifeless.  His face was no longer red.  Instead, it was pail as if all of the blood had drained from his head.  His breathing was shallow and erratic.  And then, as if a switch within his brain had flipped off, he slid down the surface of the wall and collapsed.  He lie on the floor, unconscious.

Oh, dear,  Mataya thought to herself.
Oh, dear.