The Great and the Trickster

It was by far the coldest day of the month, but it did not meant that I could spend all day drowning on pillows and savoring a cup of old tea. I preferred that though, but I had to finish my long list of chores and it would take me quarter of the day to have all done.

     And besides, avocation was strictly forbidden in the convent. I slightly learned the hard way when I chose slumber over my task of feeding old Rufus and his pals.

     As punishment, the sisters made me sleep with them, in the stable that horribly stunk. Little did they knew that was where I had been hanging to not get caught skipping chores. Honestly, I had good sleep that week, but I also reeked of horse.

     “Hurry up Mathilda, you don’t have all day...” Sister Rene sternly said as she eyed me while I scrubbed the grimy floor of the empty sleeping quarter. I swabbed faster, imagining that it was her face I was cleaning. 

     It was disappointing that they named me Mathilda. I wished the sisters named me something joyous like Winifred or Felicity, or, something alluring like Scarlet. But instead they gave me a boring name that I had to wear my whole life.

     Sister Mathilda from Convent of Saint Agatha… Pathetic. But I was glad that the convent kept me, because if not, I would be a fine meal for forest wolves.

     When I was younger, I always bothered the sisters to the point that I would cause havoc, such as putting spiders on my room mates’ bed, stealing Sister Rene’s undergarments, and setting a sister’s head on fire. It was because I wanted to had a moment with Mother Renata, the head of the convent. But instead of being disciplined, I always resorted to be the interrogator, asking questions about my origin.

     Thus, to stopped the mischief, the sisters told me that I was a gift from Saint Agatha. That one day, they found me under the old meadow tree in the fields during spring, singing cries that echoed through the whole field.

     But I was not ignorant, even as a child. I knew that I was an orphan. I was one of those unfortunate infants that were forsook by their parents, and had been adopted by the convent. In my knowledge, it is either my parents were peasants, or, because I am a result of unwed mating, which is illegal and punishable by hanging in our land. Maybe the name Mathilda suited me after all, a plain name for an ill-tempered girl living in a sad convent.  

      The Convent of Saint Agatha was in the far end land of the province of Hemsworth. The compound of towering Victorian architecture was in the middle of acres of forest and an endless angry sea called Courbet.

     The convent was self-sufficient. We have our own field of crops, a barn house full of livestock, a dispensary with Sister Teresa’s own brewed medicine, and workshops where we made our own garments, footwear, and the occasional banned cosmetics.

     The sisters had a mantra that “the life here in the convent is a blessing given by Saint Agatha, the selfless…” so no one dared flee this place, just yet.

     I had been here for long seventeen years now, and unfortunately, I would spend my whole remaining life in this wretched place, cleaning and singing verses of Saint Agatha’s life of selflessness.

     There might be two things that made life here bearable, doing silly tricks and my friendship with my loving sisters. But still, I dreaded living in this convent, for all I see was grey and all I hear were prayers. This was my life though, and I longed for a door out of this place.

     Thankfully, Sister Rene left me to tend to the room alone, so after thoroughly cleaning it, I had the freedom to take off my tight footwear and my wimple that was now sleazily clinging on my skin. I tied my long hair into a messy bun using a yarn, and then decided to rest on the finished bed.

     “This bed reminds me of Sister Rene’s stern face every morning prayer.” I snorted. It was true though.

     “What did you just say Sister Mathilda?” A voice, similar to sister Rene, said.

     I jumped up, surprised, and thought of a hundred reasons to say to not get into trouble, when I saw a grinning familiar face standing on the opening of the room.

     I quickly snatched the feather cushion resting on the now wrinkled bed, and threw it at Hana’s laughing face. “You will be the death of me Hana, don’t ever do that again you silly!”

     Hana was my closest friend, I considered her as one of my true sisters in the convent. We were the exact opposite though, and we looked nothing alike. She was a lady, poised, kind, and smart, I on the other hand was the trickster of the convent, tomboy, hot-tempered, and lazy. She was slim and tall, blue-eyed and blond, while I was short and athletic, and hazel-eyed. The only thing I liked about myself was my long silky auburn hair, but Hana loved my all.

     Hana slowly pushed me aside to fix the wrinkled bed while still laughing gracefully. I loved her laughs, it reminded me of spring.

     “Tilly, you know you will get into trouble if Sister Rene found you doing nothing right? And stop saying awful things about her.” She then pointed at the thrown cushion.

     I picked the cushion, and handed it to her lazily, “Why am I cleaning this room anyway? No one will even use it, and its gross.”.

     “Stop with your fuddling, just help me with the bed please.”

     “Sure mom.” I teased, but I just sat on the floor, crossed leg.

     As she finished tending the bed, Hana knelt in front me. She then put the wimple over my head, and handed me my footwear, “I told you to never take them off during chores.” She said as she unwrinkled my head cloth.

     “And I asked you to help me!” She added.

     And the I asked her the question that kept running on my head, “Do you think we have visitors?” 

     “Yes, I heard Sister Rene and Sister Olga talking. Apparently, He is not just a visitor, but a very important one… So, you Tilly should behave yourself.” She knew me too well for it was a warning for my growing curiosity.

     I rested my head over her shoulders, I could smell excessive sweat and it only meant one thing, “Did you help Abigail with her chores again?” She just laughed.

     “Seriously, Abigail is big as me now, or even bigger, and she is not a baby. Let her do her own task.”

    “She’s not like us Tilly, she grew up being served unlike us who grew up serving the convent.” Her eyes were pleading for understanding, but I returned it with a sliver eye-roll.

     She was always been the type who helped other people, even if it meant that she would do more or would had less. I hated that about her.

     “I don’t care. She has been here for four years now. She has to carry her own weight.” I stood up, and about to storm out the room to slap the crap out of that spoiled little brat when I heard an incessant neighing of horses closing the gate of the convent.

     Hana and I both swiftly went in front of the window, hidden behind the curtains, to see the visitors we were just talking about.    

     There were four ornate carriages parked outside the compound, they were lined perpendicular the gate. The first carriage was different from the others, instead of silver detailing, the carriage was surrounded by gold and it was bigger in size. They did not enter the compound until Mother Renata gracefully walked towards them.

     Then the door of the golden carriage flew open, and an old man with a face sterner than Sister Rene’s went down. He was wearing a red robe, with gold intricate on the middle and on the sleeves, and with a matching almost diamond-like headpiece and a golden staff with an eagle about to take flight on top.

     He was followed by two clerks with similar robes, but in the shade of black and silver. They kept their distance from him, just like how Mother Renata kept hers.

     One by one, all of the men departed their carriages. All of them wore the same black robe that made the old man on the red robe stood out.

     “Stay here, I have to check on Abigail.” I looked at Hana, and groaned as she went to the brat.

     I went back on spying our robe wearing visitors. I stood nearer the glass window to read their mouths, but they were too far.  

     A few minutes had passed, but there was nothing going on. Mother Renata and the older man, assumingly their sovereign, was only speaking and the men around them were just statues.

     I was about to go when I felt a familiar feeling, a burning sensation. I felt it during prayers, during schools, and whenever I was with sister Rene. My eyes roamed to find te source, and then I noticed a set of electric blue eyes watching me. A boy on a robe with blond curly hair, standing in the middle of the crowd, glaring.

     I am not afraid of some flimsy boy, I thought to myself. I let my bored eyes stared back at him as I crossed my arms. We were having a staring competition, and good thing I played this game plenty of times with my sisters, so there was no doubt I would win over this little man. 

     And then unexpectedly, he smiled, and for the first time, I, Mathilda, the great and the trickster, lose.