Foreign Tongue

The carrots looked like parsnips and the parsnips looked like peat. Three idlers lopped by and lingered, staring at the stew pot with obvious desire, and then over to Zithia who was placing the kindling onto the fire beneath, to keep it on the boil.

Jon fidgeted with his pa’s little knife in his side pocket, and then saw that one of the trilogy was missing his ears. This could only mean one thing - he was a Jew from the Abrahamic land … most likely on the run from his own - for in their land they often severed body parts in exchange for debts unpaid.

“No wheres to hang my pretty earrings eh Monti?”, said the deformed man to little Zithia - who Jon had given his earring to, with its bright gold glittering in the firelight.

He had done this not long after the market-woman had cut all her hair away and he wanted to win her cheerfulness back.

Jon grew more and more uneasy with the strangers gaping at them so.

The three seated themselves in front of the fire and Zithia gave each a small tin cup. She then sat beside Jon and drew the side of his overcoat protectively around her. The blackness of her skin made her all but concealed save for the earring and her beautiful eyes watching them steadily.

“What business have ye here?” Jon enquired cordially as they helped themselves to the stewing pot. They ignored him completely, speaking in their own tongue to one another.

“Jacob, your mama calls to you - she says that your brothers despair and the money you have hidden from them needs to be returned.”

The man whose name was Jacob appeared dizzy with these words. He broke into English - “How does this child know my Mama? And from where did she learn to speak to me in my own tongue?”

Jon was equally perplexed as this was the very first time he heard Zithia speak. So, she was not a mute after all, but had simply been raised in another land. 

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series