BELA from Hunter Valley Grammar School started writing ‘Yarrow’ when she was experimenting with new genres and narrative voices for her Year 11 English class. She had been exploring darker genres and wanted to try something a little lighter, through this she found a clear link between her love of literature and the natural world.

Read on for her short story.

Yarrow

Mara’s gaze was fixed on the moon. She was trying to will it to reverse its course, granting her a few more moments before the ceremony began. Sadly, it wouldn’t listen to her plea, and she began to tremble even harder.

Many would take such shaking as a sign of excitement, but for Mara it was caused by a looming terror. She knew that no matter what happened, rejection or acceptance, the night would not end well.

The moon rose to its apex, the church bell tolled, and the maidens’ flower crowns set on their course down river. The petals that fell from Mara’s crown looked like sparks of sunlight as they drifted lazily over the mirrored surface. Each maiden’s crown was flowered with their wishes for the future; roses for passion, baby’s breath for fertility, hydrangeas for wealth. Among such common flowers, Mara’s unique crown of yellow yarrow floated down with no wish behind it. She found it beautiful, regardless.

She observed how a cluster of nearby boats jostled against each other and thought how fear did the same to her churning stomach. Against this backdrop, the full moon illuminated the flower crowns – little jewels floating down the river, waiting to be snatched from the water by the hands of a future husband. As she took one nauseating step after another, she wondered what was more terrifying, the crown sinking or the hands.

When the small pond came into view so did the eager boys waving the crowns, trying to find the maidens who meticulously crafted them. Once connected, the pairings shared secret kisses, all they could hope for before their wedding night.

For Mara, this full moon was the same as the last, her yarrow crown again stolen by the depths.

For Mara alone, this brought relief. Every muscle seemed to relax. Yet her reprieve was tempered by loud whispers… ‘bad luck’, ‘cursed’, ‘spinster’. Her father would be worst. He would heap scorn on her for coming home husbandless once more. He was disgusted by her failings, but he would hate her for the relief she felt.

It was well after midnight before she could sneak out. Her father would have even more reason to be disappointed. He always told her it was improper to be alone, wandering at night, especially for something as silly as yarrow flowers.

The depthless black eyes, so shocking only seconds earlier, now seemed to exude a watchful tenderness.

It was under the fading moon that she weaved fresh stems into a crown. It was under such light that the most beautiful flowers bloomed. Once formed, she threw the crown into the stream where it too was swallowed by the dark flow.

‘Worthless girl,’ her father would spit if he saw her now. Sobs racked through her; she cried until she felt she couldn’t breathe, her soft wails drifting through the cold darkness.

Then, seemingly in reply, a splash echoed across the water.

In a frantic motion, Mara wiped away tears. She watched as a form rose from the middle of the stream, at the epicentre of broad, cresting ripples. Mara was frozen, stunned by the creature’s arrival. Its shape curved like a woman, but it was taller than anyone Mara had met. Something like hair flowed down its bare body, like an ebony river against gold-flecked skin. But it was the eyes that demanded attention. They were darker than the sky above and aimed directly at Mara’s soul.

The strange figure crawled or slithered – Mara couldn’t be sure – towards her, until they were mere inches apart. Mara covered her face and braced for the inevitable.

But it never came.

Instead, Mara opened her eyes and was greeted by a warm glow. The gold flecks on the creature’s face, eerily luminescent, seemed to move of their own accord. It wasn’t until her eyes adjusted that Mara realised it wasn’t the flecks that were glowing, but a crown of yarrow, perched precariously amongst the sea of ebony hair.

The depthless black eyes, so shocking only seconds earlier, now seemed to exude a watchful tenderness. Long arms raised a gift in return to Mara: a crown of water lilies. In the absence of words, her intentions were clear.

For the first time in her life, Mara wasn’t afraid.

Claiming her gift gently, Mara softly squeezed the dark hands and returned her gaze. This creature – this woman – closed her eyes and leaned in towards her, pausing halfway, seemingly hesitant. Mara didn’t share the sentiment; she had spent her whole life in hesitation. This was the first thing she had ever been sure about.

She pressed her lips against those of the ethereal woman.

She couldn’t know what to expect, but this was no desperate kiss from the drunken village fool during yule; rabid slobbering that felt like they were sucking the air from her lungs. This kiss felt like she was giving life, filling her body with warmth. Mara feared that she would float away if she let go of her hands.

The kiss felt like it lasted forever but it still ended too soon for Mara’s liking. As the sun began to crest over the horizon, the woman let go and slid back below the cold surface. The void of her absence left her stunned, but she realised it wasn’t a goodbye: simply a see you later.

With a newfound giddiness, Mara began to weave a new circlet of flowers, a fresh gift for her yarrow queen. •