Calliope sat in the woods, tears burning her eyes and blurring her vision. She felt like a twig under someone’s foot, about to snap. Why did her master have to be so cruel? A hot tear rolled off her cheek and onto the forest floor. The forest floor. She grasped at the dead leaves and twigs like they were the last stone in the middle of the ocean. Eventually the crying stopped, and she was just sitting, under the trees. The forest was always so beautiful. Suddenly she remembered why she had come in the first place.
She pulled out the panpipes she had hidden under her tunic. She had been working on them in secret ever since she had first seen them, at a feast. She thought it must be a miracle straight from the gods, that a simple tube, when blown across, could make such a beautiful noise. She picked up a jagged rock and began scraping it across a twig, the last one she would add to her pipes. Soon the scale would be complete, and she could add another cow-leather binding to her masterpiece. . .
Suddenly she whirled around, shaking. Footsteps. Someone’s huge sandals were crashing through the forest! Her forest! No one ever came here! Who. . . Stop shaking! She ordered herself. She quickly hid her panpipes under a pile of leaves, and her own slim profile behind a tree. She watched as about ten men ran by quickly. Her master! She stopped breathing. She waited until he was long gone, and his shouts of “Find her!” had faded into the distance. Then she blew out a deep breath and slid down the tree she leaned up against. She knew this would happen someday, but she wished it hadn’t been now. She wondered why her master had taken such a special interest in her.
She waited until the forest had been silent for a long time. Then she pulled out her pipes, gazing at the 11 perfect tubes, in order. She put her lips to F#. Her favorite key. She began a simple tune, improvising as she played. The tune relaxed her, and soon she was playing with her eyes closed. You could hardly tell there was a note missing, she thought. Then she stopped abruptly. The footsteps were back, crashing through the woods. She knew there was no chance they hadn’t heard her. Her best option was to run.
Calliope was fast. She could beat all her brothers and sisters in a foot race. She picked up her pipes and jumped, cat-like, to her feet. At the sound of close feet, she launched her feet forward. They beat steadily against the forest floor, making an almost imperceptible crunch-crunch-crunch.
After a while, she could no longer hear the crashing brush of her follower. Whoever it was would be lost, while she knew exactly where she was. Breathing hard, Calliope settled down behind another tree. How long, she wondered, would she have to run in fear?
Chapter 1
Calliope crashed through the woods, free as a bird. She was so happy! She was free! Wave after warm wave of ecstatic, pure joy shook her body, went straight down her spine, and ran right out of her feet, which were pounding against the hard soil like never before. Freedom felt unbelievable!
No more would she have to look over her shoulder for anyone. She was fourteen, not a scared eight-year-old running in the small patch of trees near her house. Her prison, she reminded herself. No longer was she there! Ha! She stopped, just because she could, and climbed a small tree. Victorious! She laughed out loud. The laughter got hysterical, but she didn’t mind. It beat crying by a lot! She kept giggling, until she snorted like a pig, which just made her laugh more. She remembered her fellow slave, Monia, teaching her about “a lady’s manners,” and started to laugh even harder, picturing Monia’s strict, fat face. With a squeal, she fell out of her tree and onto her back. The laughter was so hard it made her stomach hurt. She gave one last laugh and curled into a warm, blissful, shivering ball. Free!
• • •
Calliope woke to complete darkness, She looked up and saw silver stars, through the rustling summer foliage. Where was she? In the forest. She relaxed, then tensed. There were footsteps behind her. Quick ones.
She thought for a minute, too groggy to be scared. If it were a human, she could. jump up and kick him hard. An animal? She had a bow and arrows in her pack. Whatever it was, it probably thought it was still asleep. That gave her a head start of about a second.
In the name of Jupiter, had she become a total fool!? She should have slept in a tree, or at least with a weapon. These were the woods, not a safe house! She resumed sleep breathing, but was quickly startled out of it by a feral growl of surprise. A wolf! Hardly daring to breathe, she thought for a minute. Then before she lost what she knew was her last, fleeting moment of bravery; she flung herself up and sprinted to the tree she had climbed before, just as fleetingly. She grabbed her bag, pulled out the bow, strung it, and shot in one fluid motion. It flew into the wolf’s throat. As the wolf slowly snarled its way to death, Cally’s heart slowed. Shaking, she lowered the bow. She wrapped her arms around herself.
Just thirty heartbeats ago, she was sleeping peacefully, a free woman. Now, she was just a runaway slave who had killed an animal, an innocent animal, who had just wanted food. Should she have given it some of hers? Was she right to kill it? What was right, and wrong? That didn’t matter now, she reminded herself. She didn’t have to follow anyone’s orders but her own. She would live out here, alone, just like this wolf.
She realized it had been completely unnecessary to kill the wolf. It probably wasn’t even going to hurt her, just passing through. Guilt and shame welled up inside of her like the happiness had earlier that day. She had to make up for it somehow. She walked over to where the wolf lay. It felt like approaching something private, sorrowful, like barging in on a funeral. Was that the heather gray fur that this wolf’s cubs had seen every day? That they would never see again? She stroked it, her long brown hair, having come loose from its braid, brushed the fur. It was still warm.
A wolf like this could provide good food for her. Its pelt could easily keep her warm. She might even use its teeth as a weapon, as she had once seen her master’s friend do. But she knew she could not do any of these things. She would give this wolf a proper burial.
Calliope took her knife from her bag and made a furrow in the ground. In a short time, she had made a ditch deep enough. She glanced at the unmoving gray shape that would soon occupy the hole. It seemed smaller, somehow. Perhaps it was death, or perhaps it was that the wolf wasn’t as big in the first place. She dragged the wolf’s body into the hole and covered it with soil. She looked around, and found an oak seed. She placed it on top of the mound of soil. There. She stepped back and surveyed it. Perfect.
Chapter 2
Calliope woke again.
It was winter now, and she woke up every morning to frost on her hair. She slept warm beneath her animal-skin blankets, but the strands of her hair always seemed to escape. She pulled them apart. What an odd feeling.
She sat up to see that her fire had gone out in the night. She wriggled out of bed with a shiver. She quickly rolled up her bedding, and stored it in a tree hollow. Fast as a blizzard, she started up her fire again, and she warmed her hands in no time. She looked around, and her eyes fell upon the half-finished panpipes she had been working on last night. The joy of being free had all but worn off, and she needed some way to pass the days. Panpipes were as good as anything else, and she had now made five sets, each with its own personality, scale, binding, and material. She was proud of them.
She picked up her least favorite, the grass-bound ones, and began playing. She had been trying to perfect them for a while. She lost herself in the music, loving the notes at last, none of them flat or sharp. She loved playing. She played every day, making up her own tunes. It was her haven.
Suddenly she heard rustling. She whirled around and grabbed her bow. She strung it apprehensively, cocking an ear. Living here had warned her of the dangers of the forest. Homeless people like her, wolves, animals . . . But just as she thought the rustling was gone, a head poked around the tree trunk right in front of her.
She pulled back the arrow so fast she could easily have taken this person out before his head was fully around the trunk. But she didn’t. He was young, about her age. Why would she? She remembered the wolf on her first night in the woods. She had vowed she would never kill again if it weren’t absolutely necessary. That wasn’t going to change in the face of a human. She called out, “Who’s there?”, her voice hoarse and accented from two seasons in the woods.
The boy came out from behind the tree with a grin and both hands up. “I surrender!” He had dark brown hair, was tan, tall and sturdily built. Almost handsome, she thought, then shook herself.
“Who are you?” she asked warily.
“My name is Callo,” he answered.
A pause. “What brings you here?” she asked, still doubtful.
“Your beautiful playing?” He was still grinning. How odd.
“Why are you here?” she hissed, not lowering the bow.
He seemed to realize she was very serious. “Just passing through,” he answered. He seemed almost hurt. Calliope couldn’t imagine why. He must have understood her apprehension, right? They were two teenagers in the woods, each not knowing anything about the other one. They weren’t exactly going to hug like family! But perhaps she had been too harsh. She lowered her bow. He obviously meant no harm.
“Where did you come from?” she asked, trying to be gentle.
“The city,” he answered, still with that ridiculous grin. Cally wondered if it would ever leave his face. She decided probably not.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Why are you in the woods?”
“Why do you want to know?”
They stared into each other’s eyes. She guessed he wasn’t used to such an inquisitive woman. She felt almost proud.
“My turn,” he said softly. She didn’t flinch.
“Where did you come from?
“That’s not important.”
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen”
“I’m guessing you’re not married.”
“You guessed right.”
He grinned, and this time, so did she.
“Well, I’d best be going. Have to hunt, you know.”
“Good luck. I’ll see you around, I think.”
“I think you shall also.” He gave her one last dazzling grin and disappeared into the trees almost as quietly as Cally could. But he was back a heartbeat later. “What’s your name?”
She paused. “Cally.”
He laughed. “You must be joking.”
“No. I named myself.”
He stopped laughing. “Well, Cally, I hope to see you again. Those really are beautiful panpipes. I hope to hear them again soon, that way I can see you. It gets lonely out here.”
Cally blushed. “The same to you, Callo. Just don’t get in the way of my hunting and we will both be happy.”
He bowed his head in agreement.
Chapter 3
It was three days later, and Cally was faring even better with the memory of Callo to keep her happy. Sometimes she thought she heard him while she was hunting, saw his smile between trees. She hoped to run into him soon.
She was chasing his face through the forest. Running through the forest was like breathing to her now; she didn’t realize how much it had become second nature. Music was playing in the background. It was so wonderful.
Suddenly she woke up. What a wonderful dream. But – the music wasn’t stopping. What? She pulled out the knife she slept with, just to be sure, when she realized men surrounded her. Full-grown men. She immediately jumped up, yelling, with a knife in her hand. “Get away!” she yelled. They turned around, and started toward her. She darted to one of them, and in an instant, she was on his back, her knife poised across his throat. He yelled in surprise and threw up his hands. Through the commotion, she realized the music had stopped. Had she imagined it? But before she could debate the possibility of insanity, a familiar sound reached her ears. Laughter. Callo’s laugh, she would know it anywhere. She dropped off the man’s back, and spun around, surveying her campsite. Three men and Callo surrounded her, one of them with her panpipes in his hand. They all looked friendly enough. She sunk to her knees in a sign of apology. That was one thing she had learned in her days as a slave. She stood back up, knife still readied, but relaxed.
“I told you she’d react like this,” laughed Callo. The men were laughing too, but not in a derogatory way. They didn’t seem to mean her any harm.
“My apologies,” she said cautiously. “What brings you here, Callo? Who are these people?”
“They came to see you,” he replied. “I told them about you, and they need instruments. Panpipes, to be specific. They are professional musicians, and they lost their instruments in a fire. They are willing to pay for new ones, and these are the best I’ve ever seen.” He gave her a grin. She had missed his grin.
“Of course,” she said, not at all wary. She trusted these men if Callo did. “Take your pick.”
“We wondered if you could make new ones for us,” proposed one of the men. He was the one she had attacked. To Cally’s relief, he didn’t seem indignant at all. “If that is possible, my lady.”
Lady! “I wouldn’t mind at all,” she replied. “How many?”
“Three, if possible.”
“That is fine! Come back in three days.”
“Gladly, my lady. We appreciate the favor.” They bowed their heads and one of them pulled out his satchel. He placed it in front of her, and they filed out of the clearing, Callo giving her a wink before departing.
Cally bent down and opened the satchel. Money! Lots of it! She was shocked. What would she do with money? She put it away for now. She had better get going on those panpipes. She walked through the forest, gathering twigs and thinking of Callo.
That night, he came by her fire.
“I appreciate what you’re doing,” he began. “My friends do too. I hope it’s not too much pressure.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “I have to find some way to pass the days. You are right, it gets lonely out here.” She was obviously thinking of something else.
“What’s on your mind?” asked Callo. He knew her already.
“Nothing. It is just. . . well, I was wondering where you lived, out here.“
“Want me to show you?”
“Sure!”
They ran together to Callo’s sleeping place. Once they were there, it seemed obvious what should be done. Callo rolled up his sleeping furs, erased all traces of his fire, and slung his pack over his shoulder. They exchanged a long look, in which they seemed to more words than could be spoken. Then they both turned around and started running to Cally’s camp. Cally won.
• • •
“Callo,” Calliope sang.
He sat up from sleeping. “Yes, Cally,” he sang back groggily.
“Look what I’ve got!”
He sat up, and saw that she grasped in her hand a fur filled with new spring berries. “Those are wonderful! Where did they come from?”
“A clearing I had no cause to visit until now,” she replied. “Are they not perfect?”
They sat down and had a good breakfast of berries. Cally worked on her panpipes. The word had spread - she was making them for many people now. They were paying her huge amounts of money, both for the panpipes and for discretion. They didn’t want anyone knowing a fifteen-year-old girl was making them higher quality panpipes than they were.
“You know, Cally, I’ve been thinking.” Callo stopped eating.
“I did not know you were capable of such a feat,” she joked, her mouth full. But he was obviously serious. “My apologies. Please go on.”
“What are we doing? I mean, why are we here? Shouldn’t we be in society, living, instead of just surviving?”
Cally kept her eyes down. She had been thinking the same thing. But she had a job now. It was no problem to stay in the woods. “What’s wrong with here?”
“Nothing. It’s just that. . . I need to be doing something. I need to have a purpose. You already do.”
“So just stay with me.”
“No,” he said frustrated. “You don’t understand. You shouldn’t stay in here. You should take all your money and live somewhere else. Somewhere nice!” A pause.
“I will go get more berries,” she muttered. She ran off.
When she came back, he was gone. She waited until it was late at night, but no one came to occupy his sleeping furs.
She sobbed and sobbed. How could he leave her? Never mind. She would get along fine without him. But still, nothing could comfort her right now. She cried until she had no more tears.
Chapter 4
Calliope sat in her shop. It was a slow day, which was unfortunate. She really needed money. She had spent all her money from the woods on this building, and it had almost run out. Still, her musical instruments were good quality, and many people would pay for them.
She thought of Callo. She liked to pretend she had forgotten about him, and it was true she could no longer remember his face. But she still felt betrayed.
She walked over to close the shop. It was late. But just as she got to the door, a man opened it. He nodded at her. He seemed familiar...
“I am closed,” she said, but he didn’t turn away.
“No you’re not,” he said walking forward. How rude! “How much would it be to buy your whole shop, my lady?” He grinned.
“Callo!” she shrieked. She rushed into his arms. Was she dreaming?
“Cally, Cally, Cally.” He whispered.
• • •
They sat and ate dinner, and caught up. But there was still a barrier of betrayal between them. As far as Cally was concerned, it would never heal.
“You know, I didn’t mean to leave,” he brought up at the end of the meal. Cally stayed silent. “I was chased by a rouge into a cave. I couldn’t leave. I swear it.”
How selfish she was being. “Even if that is not true, I am glad to have you back,” she amended.
“It’s true. But thank you.” He stared at her. “Am I forgiven?” She nodded.
Suddenly they leaned over and kissed.
Chapter 5
Cally sat with Callo and their children in the shop. She was truly happy, the first time in a while. More people came to her shop, now she had a husband. She was thirty now, not a little girl living in the woods. That had been a good time, but she was grown now. Grown and married. She remembered when she thought she would live in the forest forever. She still visited from time to time, but it would never again be her home.
Her children were so beautiful. She was so happy with Callo. Music was still her passion, but she had more to her life now. She looked off to where her twins and Callo were playing one of Callo’s harps. At her request, he had learned to make them, and they both ran the business now. “Mother!” shrieked one of them. “Look at me! I can play!”
“So you can,” She laughed. They would grow up to run the shop one day.
Her life was great.
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