Not Her Father's Daughter

Chapter One

Emilyn sat on the wooden bench, gazing into the depths of the pond. The sun glinted off the scales of the koi fish as they swam in lazy circles. Wisps of her shoulder-length brown hair drifted in front of her eyes in the cool breeze, but she stared right past them. She had no idea how long she had sat there, trying to memorize the peaceful garden scene that surrounded her. Though the silky fabric of her yukata was already free of folds, her slender fingers continued to smooth the skirt against her thigh. She traced circles on the cloth. Circles were supposed to be the essence of calm and wisdom, according to the Mahru. That's why all but the main streets radiated outwards from the Palace like ripples in the pond and how the City of Circles earned its name.

The wind stirred the branches of the cherry trees. The circles she traced on her thigh were doing nothing to settle her whirling thoughts. She only had one cycle left before her fifteenth birthday. Only seven days before this beautiful sight would be lost to her.

The day she turned fifteen she would be blinded. Acid would be dripped into her eyes, turning them pearly white. It was supposed to be a rite of passage, the transformation from child to adult. It was supposed to symbolize a person's complete faith in the Gods. The ceremony showed that they were willing to give up their vision to let the Gods guide them and give them True Sight. It was the final step in the development of a person's Mantra; a form of divine guidance that would become the person's eyes once theirs were blinded. After the ceremony, the person would be able to see far better than they had on their own. Some people even said that their Mantra allowed them to see the patterns on a leaf from twenty feet away. Everyone who had been granted True Sight raved about it. There was always someone watching over them, keeping them safe. There was only one problem; the Gods hadn't come to Emi yet.

The signs began to show when a child turned ten; a feeling of lightness, divine voices and enhanced vision. So far, the only voices in Emilyn's head were her own, asking over and over what have I done wrong?

A man walking along the path turned and glanced at Emilyn, then looked away. There were few people who would make eye contact with her, the girl who had witnessed death. Most of the servants at the palace avoided Emilyn like the plague-- her and the blind boy in the stables. Emilyn had heard rumours about him. He was sixteen now, apparently, and his Mantra still had not surfaced. She hadn't wanted visit the stables and find out for herself. Death was supposed to be a holy thing that symbolized the ascent of the deceased’s Mantra back into the sky. It was not supposed to be dirtied by human sight. Only those who had been granted True Sight could be in the presence of the dying. Some people said that a child who witnessed death with their own eyes would be punished by the Gods, cursed with a lifetime of impurity without a Mantra.

Emilyn could still remember the day her brother died. She'd be able to see the scene play out even after she was blinded. She had been only six years old, and Kato had been only three. Their nanny had watched them as they collected fallen cherry blossoms to toss into the pond. Suddenly Kato stood up. His leg began to twitch. The seizure lasted for two minutes, and then it was all over.

Her mother said Emilyn had never been the same since. Emi didn't speak for two months after her brother's death, and even now her words were as sparse as coins in a poor man's pocket. She no longer danced down the garden paths, singing songs to which she only knew half the lyrics and making up the rest as she went along. Her father still blamed her for not saving his precious son. Emilyn blamed herself, too.

The gong signalling that it was time for dinner saved her from the whirlpool of her thoughts. She must have been sitting there for hours; mid meal had come and gone without her noticing. Her stomach growled louder than the palace guard dogs.

The walk through the palace gardens to her family's rooms took longer than it should have because her knees ached. They hadn't liked sitting still for so long. Outside the little bubble of calm that surrounded the pond, the palace was crowded. Boys and girls who studied under the watchful eye of the Mahru were rushing off to supper after class. The Mahru themselves who had been off doing errands or gathered at the Temple for prayer ambled to their dining hall.

Emilyn's father, being the member of the God's Council in charge of law and order, had his own rooms in the palace in which he and his family stayed. The entrance was a set of double doors off the covered walkway that encircled the palace gardens.

Already she was late; her mother would not be pleased. She fumbled for the key in the pocket under the sash at the small of her back. As soon as she pushed the door open, her mother called out.

“Emilyn, there you are. Quick, go wash up. Dinner's already on the table!” Emi's mother, Leisha, was one of the few who still cooked their own meals, despite the team of cooks who were assigned to do it for her. The kitchen was the servants' place, the cooks said. Her mother paid no heed to the knives in their eyes and hands as they tried to lay claim to their territory.

Emilyn turned the tap on and scrubbed the grime out from under her fingernails. Her family was lucky they had running water to wash with. A pipe ran up through the wall and onto the roof, where it was connected to a bucket that collected rainwater. Once it was used, the water ran into another bucket under the sink basin that had to be emptied by a servant a few times a day. It hadn't rained in a while, so the water running from the tap was little more than a drip.

Emilyn used the last of the water to wipe her face. Her brown eyes gazed back at her as she studied her reflection in the mirror. A dusting of freckles was the only mark on her honey-coloured skin. Her dark brown hair was a tangled mess.

“Come along, Emilyn! The rice is getting cold!” She didn't have time to brush it now. Everyone had already taken a seat on the pillows that surrounded the low table.

“Finally Emi! I'm starved!” Her younger sister, Willow, bounced in her chair. Her father gave the little girl a stern glance and she stopped, meekly asking for him to pass the rice.

Emilyn spooned some stir-fried vegetables on top of her rice, then passed the bowl to her sister. She picked up her chopsticks and began to eat, one wilted leaf of bok choy or mouthful of rice at a time. Maybe if she ate slowly, keeping her mouth full until the end of the meal, her father wouldn't bother her.

No such luck. “Any progress today, Emilyn?” her father's fingers were laced into a steeple, his food untouched. He had asked that question everyday for what seemed like forever, though the answer was always the same.

“No.”

Weeks ago her father's steepled fingers would have pressed against each other so hard they'd have turned white when he heard Emilyn's answer. He tried everything in his attempts to force her Mantra out of her: intensive one on one spiritual tutoring with Mahri Hamilton, three-hour art lessons six days a week, involuntary solitary visits to the temple. Today, he just took Emi's answer in stride. She could tell by the smirk on his face that he had a plan, and he was convinced it would work. As the days until her fifteenth birthday grew fewer, he became more and more confident in his belief that the blinding would bring her Mantra to the surface. No daughter of Master Niko Koril would be deemed unworthy of the Gods' guidance. He seemed to think he was a God himself.

The silence stretched on. A candle in a sconce on the wall flickered and went out. Emilyn swore she could see the dying rays of sun move across the floor as the minutes ticked by. The only sound was the click of wooden chopsticks as they ate. Willow could no longer contain herself and began babbling on about her day at school.

“We read a story about Brinstome, that guy who gave the gold to the poor man even though he'd lost two fingers in a bet to get it -”

“You mean Brimstone?” her mother interrupted. Her glossy hair was pulled back in its usual neat bun, her fingers holding the chopsticks daintily as she ate.

“Yeah, and how Brim's Day is actually Brimstone's Day and it's named after him. Isn't that interesting?” The rest of the family smiled and nodded. Yes Willow, that's very interesting.

The rest of the meal dragged on. Willow nattered on about the days in a cycle being named after people who had demonstrated one of the seven Virtues, and how she wanted to have a day named after her when she grew up. Her father liked that. He would expect nothing less.

...

The days came and went. Only six days until her birthday, then five, then four. Emilyn spent most her time wandering the palace, trying to drink in all the sights so she would remember them once she was blind. She painted pictures of her spot by the pond, and of the cherry trees where she had lost her brother. Her well-loved paint set had been untouched since her father had forced her to take lessons with Mahra Aika. Now that her father had given her freedom for her last few days before she was given True Sight, her love of art had come back. However, along with it came sadness. There would be nothing to paint after she was blinded; just the blackness of the prison her mind would become without sight. She would become like the boy who hid in the stables, just sitting there. He was sixteen and his Mantra still hadn't come to him.

Emi brought her focus back to her work. Her hand had drawn a jagged black line across the cherry tree she had worked so hard to depict. A single tear fell, rolling down the canvas and smudging the painting further.

She wiped her eyes and gathered her brushes. Crying is only going to make it worse, she told herself. You need a plan.

Chapter Two

The final three days leading up to her birthday were painful. Despite his claims to give Emilyn freedom before the ceremony, Master Koril sent his daughter to a succession of Mahru, the holy men and women who studied all things religious, for “preparation”. It gave her little time to collect all the things she needed. Finally, Emi arranged the gathered gear across her bedspread: two blankets, a box of matches she'd found in a drawer in the hutch, her hair comb, a pen knife her father had given her for her tenth birthday, a few of her brushes and pots of paint, all the lei she had saved up and some she had “borrowed” from the money pot in the hall, and a spool of string. Her grandfather had always kept a length of rope in his pocket.

She tucked everything away in a leather sack, and hid it under her bed. Hopefully the servants wouldn't come round to clean today. She bent down to push the bag farther back. When she stood up once again, her eyes came to rest on a family portrait she had painted. The portrait was mounted on the wall, so Emilyn had to stand to examine it closer. She might never see her family again if she left. If she stayed, she wouldn't see them either.

Emilyn shivered. She'd heard the horror stories about what happened when the City of Circles was supposed to be asleep. It sounded like a lot of the citizens were doing anything but sleeping.

Her last day before the True Sight ceremony was a blur. Emilyn stood in the fitting room of the palace seamstress, waiting patiently as the elderly woman tied the bow of her obi. The traditional white silk kimono finally fit Emilyn like it was supposed to, after countless adjustments. She'd grown at least an inch in the past few months. She barely recognized herself in the mirror. The dress showed off her height and slim figure much better than the cotton yukata dresses she usually wore. Too bad she would never get to wear it again.

When she emerged from behind the curtain, Emilyn's mother clasped her hands to her heart.

“You look gorgeous dear,” she sighed, and Emilyn felt a twinge of guilt.

...

“Has anyone seen the matches?” her mother called out from the dining room. “I swear they were right here in this drawer!” Emilyn looked down at her feet.

The dinner gong rang just as her mother finished lighting the candles standing guard at the table. The room was filled with the whisper of silk as the family seated themselves. Emilyn forced herself to meet her parents' eyes. She hoped that they would attribute her fidgeting to excitement and not to the worry that was growing inside her like a weed.

The servants had prepared a special feast for Emilyn's last night as a child. They brought out platter after platter of food: sushi, pork fried rice, gyoza dumplings, shrimp tempura and okonomiyaki pancakes with all of her favourite toppings. Her taste buds danced to the delicious smells that wafted upwards from the steaming array of delicacies, but the weed in her stomach had grown so large there wasn't much room for food left.

“Big day tomorrow,” Leisha said to break the silence. Emilyn was finding it difficult to keep hold of her chopsticks just thinking about it. “I can't wait until you see the dress, Niko. Emilyn looks absolutely stunning!”

“I'm sure,” Master Koril tried to sound interested, but his mind was not on his daughter's appearance. “How was your session with Mahri Tureo?”

Tureo was the chief of the Mahru. He was a kind and gentle man; he had actually asked Emi how she felt prior to her big day.

“Good, father. I think I'm ready now,” Emilyn smiled sweetly, hoping she wasn't piling the sugar on too thick. She was never going to be ready. If all went as planned, she wouldn't have to be.

The little of the feast Emilyn had eaten was delicious, but nonetheless she was happy when dessert was served at the end of the meal. She feared that her parents were beginning to see through her charade.

A servant brought out a plate of daifuku cakes, piled up in a pyramid. Willow grabbed one as soon as the woman had set it down.

“Willow! Manners!” her mother scolded, but Willow had already taken a bite. Niko emerged from his thoughts and picked up one of the cakes. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger before looking at Emi.

“Tomorrow is a fresh start for you, Emilyn.”

“Yes, father. I-”

“It's about time you did something with your life,” he took a bite of his daifuku. Leisha opened her mouth to scold him, too, but decided against it. The conversation was over before it began. Silence descended like a blanket; the heavy wool kind that would suffocate you as you slept. Even Willow was quiet. Emilyn could take it no longer. She stood up; her chair clattering to the floor, and ran to her room.

Emilyn lay sprawled out on her bed, her face buried deep in her pillow to try and hold back her tears. The sinkhole of her father's disappointment was tugging her down deeper and she struggled to fight it. No matter how hard she tried to please him, Emilyn was never enough to break loose. This was her last chance. Balling her fists, Emi straightened up. She gasped for air. With every lungful she took in, she felt the sinkhole loosening around her. She would escape. She was going to leave and start her own life, away from her father. Her whole life the sinkhole had been sucking her farther into her father's world, and if she waited any longer she would be stuck for good.

Wilfully avoiding the True Sight ceremony was a serious offence. It was a smack at the Gods, saying that you put more faith in your own guidance than in theirs. People convicted were chained to a tree deep in the Forest of Sins, with no food or water for the rest of their short lives. Unless, that is, the Gods decided to liberate them, and the Gods were seldom forgiving to those who had snubbed them.

It was certain that she would be hunted down for committing such a crime, and by none other than her own father, the Council member in charge of law and order. In short, there was little chance she would get away unscathed. Her father wasn't the sort to make exceptions. As soon as he had attained his post as overseer of the law, he had turned his father in for polluting the Temple with his cough. Needless to say, Master Niko Koril's family relations were rocky after that.

But that would only happen if she was caught. She would just have to make certain she wasn't. She'd run away into the country if she had to; the bears would be more forgiving than her father. At least they wouldn't judge her. Emi wiped the tears from her eyes. The last rays of sun were peeking through her window. It was still too early to make her escape, as her mother might come in and check on her, like she usually did before bed. She would probably come in soon to make sure Emilyn was alright.

Sighing, Emilyn changed into her night robe. She may as well get a little sleep before she made a break for it. If her mother came in and saw her fully clothed, her plan would be revealed.

An owl hooting outside woke Emilyn up several hours later. The moonlight trickled in her window only made the corners of her room look darker. Emilyn fumbled around under her bed for her pack, drawing it out by one worn leather strap. She made a few last minute preparations, stuffing a worn old dress in the pack, along with some loose-legged zubon pants and tunics. The silk kimonos and tailored cotton yukatas her mother bought for her would be a beacon to pick pockets on the City streets.

She only had one thing left to do. The hall was deserted, but she could hear voices coming from her parent's bedroom. Emilyn had planned to creep toward the kitchen service door in the dining room, but her curiosity got the better of her.

She didn't have to go anywhere near their room to hear what they were arguing about. Emilyn could breathe easily, knowing they wouldn't hear her over their shouting match.

“Don't you think that was a bit harsh?” yelled her mother's voice.

“She has to know what I expect of her,” Emilyn could tell her father was trying keep his voice down so as not to wake Willow, but he was failing.

“Well maybe you expect too much!”

“Someday she'll be glad I-” Emi turned back toward the dining room. Her hurried steps echoed down the long hallway, but her parents were too busy yelling to notice. At last she reached the dining room and slipped into the kitchen through the service door. She froze, anticipating having to allow her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the kitchen's dark interior, then realized she didn't have to. A lit candle was mounted in a wall sconce. She wasn't alone.

Chapter Three

“Emilyn, dear! What are you doing up so late?” Iona, the cook, stood on the far side of the room, a candle in one hand and a knife in the other. She hastily replaced the blade in the knife block.

Emilyn dropped her leather bag to the floor behind a counter where Iona couldn't see it, glad she hadn't changed out of her night gown yet.

“Sorry to trouble you, but I woke up hungry. Do you mind if I have a snack?”

“Of course my dear! I remember when I was your age; growing like a weed and always hungry,” Iona smiled at Emilyn, who forced a laugh. “Would you like me to fix something for you darling or would you rather do it yourself?”

“Thank you, Iona. I can manage,” the last thing Emi wanted was the cook hanging over her shoulder while she pilfered dry goods from the kitchen stores.

“Alright dear. Here, I'll light you another candle. Good night,” Iona left the kitchen through the front door and out on to the covered walkway outside. Emi got to work.

The pantry was full of dried foodstuffs, as well as a quarter wheel of smoked cheese. Emilyn filled the remaining empty space in her sack with paper packets of noodles, nori, dried apricots, a few anpan buns, a hunk of cheese wrapped in wax paper, and several mutsu apples. The last thing she threw in was a water skin, filled to the brim. The less she had to buy out in the City, the better.

Emilyn blew out the candle before creeping outside to the moon-lit palace gardens. Her night gown offered little protection from the cold, but it shielded her from prying eyes. It was much easier to believe that a girl wearing a night robe was restless and went out for a stroll than one garbed like a burglar. The palace gardens were empty except for a few Mahru meditating under the cherry trees, but they were too focused on their breath to notice Emi padding across the grass in her sandals. Nonetheless, she kept to the shadows.

Finally she reached the palace gates. She told herself she was looking back to make sure the coast was clear, not because it could be the last time she ever saw of her childhood home. She had to keep moving.

The guards were posted at the gates, as always, but Emilyn wasn't concerned about them. They often dozed off during the night shift, and she knew another way around, anyway. To the left of the gates was a market place where citizens could come to sell their goods. The Mahru used a little-known passage to come in and out of the palace as they pleased, avoiding the queue of villagers coming to the temple in the morning. Glancing over her shoulder to confirm no one was watching, Emi slipped inside.

She took the opportunity to change her clothes. The reinforced zubon pants she had packed were perfect for riding, and hopefully in the dark people would mistake her for a boy. The passage opened up behind a copse of maple trees and shrubs that shielded the entrance from passersby on the road. The stables lay just up ahead.

Emilyn hated riding and she never felt comfortable perched a top a horse, but she had no choice tonight if she wanted to get away quickly. A lone person riding away at top speed in the middle of the night was sure to arouse suspicion, but by the time the stable boys had organized themselves and plucked up the courage to sound the alarm, she would be long gone.

The stable smelled sweet, like hay and oats. Emilyn walked down the aisle, examining the sleeping horses on either side, looking for one that looked calm enough for her to saddle and ride. She had just decided on a sleepy bay mare when she heard her father's voice.

“No, thank you. I'll ride bareback tonight,” his footsteps drew nearer. Emilyn was about to duck into a stall to hide when she saw a ladder leading to the hay loft. She clambered up and nestled herself in among the hay bales. The smell was overpowering, tickling her nose. She dared not breathe in case she sneezed.

“Here, Martyr. I brought an apple for you,” her father cooed to his beloved horse. He never spoke like that to anyone else, not even Willow.

Emilyn could hear the spoiled gelding munching on an apple and the scrape of the curry comb against Martyr's coat in the stall directly beneath her. Of course! Her father always went for a ride after an argument to calm himself down. Emi cursed herself silently for being so forgetful.

Buckles clanked as Master Koril arranged the bridle on his horse's muzzle. Emilyn's muscles were beginning to cramp from crouching there, unmoving, and her head was starting to spin from the lack of oxygen.

“Martyr has no water, boy. Are you going to fill it and keep it filled, or do I have to pound this bucket over your head so you remember?”

“Yes sir, right away sir!” the stable boy tripped over a broom in his rush to obey, not wanting to lose his job. Emilyn's face was turning a startling crimson colour. Hurry up! She willed her father to leave before she collapsed, gasping like a koi out of water. Finally the click of horse shoes on the stone floor signalled they had left. Emi waited a few moments more for the stable boy to finish sloshing water into the bucket and scurry back to his post before she began gulping air. She sat down and stretched, reaching her arms out to the sides.

Her fingers brushed against something warm and soft. If she hadn't been so out of breath she wouldn't have been able to stifle her scream.