The Lost Scribe by Jennifer F. Santucci

Leonor looked at the line of pictographs on the creamy white sheet before her. Guilt warred with curiosity—she didn’t want to betray her guardian Amparo who was also the head scribe of their village. She also couldn’t ignore the need to write down the pictographs. First, she wrote down all the pictographs she knew—an entire page’s worth. If anyone saw this paper with the pictographs, she would be taken from Amparo’s home and brought back to the capital to stand trial for breaking the law.

Leonor decided to record a line of pictographs about what she observed.

Tree. Bird. Sun.

She tried to describe the morning view outside her modest window. She was frustrated because there were no pictographs to describe the softness of the morning light or the coolness of damp air. Nothing to describe the warble of bird song.

At least not until now.

Leonor closed her eyes and listened to the staccato chirps outside her window, letting her impressions guide her pencil on the paper. When she opened her eyes, there was the pictograph for bird, but coming from its beak were three short wavy lines.

She smiled and said, “Bird song.”

She heard the sound of the staccato chirps again. She did not think much of it because she was preoccupied with the new pictograph she created.

But later, in the afternoon, when Leonor fetched water from the well for dinner, the sun was low and the coolness returned to the air from morning. She was reminded of the sweet staccato song.

She pulled up the watering bucket from the well. When it reached the top, she thought it would be nice to hear that bird’s serenade again while preparing dinner.

In a low, soft breath, she said, “Bird song.”

Once the word left her lips, the staccato chirps punctuated the darkening sky. Leonor would not have given it a second thought, but the memory of the song was tattooed in her mind.

Her heart beat against her ribs. She tried to convince herself it was a coincidence—it wasn’t possible for her to make a command for bird song. The idea was reminiscent of ancient times when sorcerers cast spells to create magic.

Leonor shook her head and heaved the water bucket back toward the house. She wanted to say the word again, but fear kept her in check. Leonor didn’t know if it was fear for being caught writing or fear for something else.

*        *        *

It was a month since her first spell. Leonor was too scared to attempt writing again. Her scraps of paper and pencil remained hidden under a loose floorboard near her bed, collecting dust.

Ernesto Del Real, son of the wealthy landowner in the village, came for his afternoon lessons. His father sent him to Amparo for school until he was old enough to go to the capital and attend the university.

Ernesto was also spoiled.

Leonor was happy to leave the house while he was at his lessons. They were the same age, but Ernesto had made it clear, as Amparo’s charity case, she did not make a suitable friend. He was seven years old when he made this decision.

She was ready to leave to help the village apothecary Tia Rosa, when Ernesto showed up early for his lesson. She gave him a civil greeting at the door and turned to leave when Amparo called her back.

“Leonor, will you bring out some refreshments? Today’s lesson will be long,” Amparo said.

Ernesto cringed. “Not again with the ancient language.”

“Your understanding of sentence structure needs work.” Amparo’s eyes narrowed at Leonor who took it as a sign to leave.

Before she left, Ernesto said, “Well, as long as we don’t go over the Book of Spells again, I will practice the ancient language to your heart’s content.”

Leonor stopped at the door at the mention of the Book of Spells.

“Ernesto!” Amparo warned.

Her back straightened and she left the room. Because Ernesto was male, he was taught to read the ancient language and allowed to write too. She could hear Ernesto’s voice carry. “What? I doubt Leonor has the intelligence let alone the understanding to comprehend even the basic alphabet of the ancient language.”

The tops of her ears burned and she felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She would not allow Ernesto’s words to hurt her. Words were just words. They had no power behind them.

Before she brought in the tray, she collected her thoughts and willed herself to calm down. Of course she couldn’t read the ancient language because she had never been given a chance to try! Leonor formed a plan. She would learn the ancient language just to spite Ernesto.

*        *        *

When Leonor had first come to Amparo’s house at the age of five years old, she asked about the books and markings. Amparo told her to forget about the markings. She should just concern herself with pictographs—the female’s language. Leonor was now sixteen years old and glimpsed the ancient language a few times since she was in Amparo’s care. The sacred language was made up of marks called words.

A month after Ernesto’s insults, not only could she read some of the ancient words, but she could write them as well.

She worked in the garden, picking ripe fruits and vegetables for supper. She had created a few spells to help her. So far, Amparo had not noticed the change in the garden. It helped that he never ventured out to see it.

She cast the spell to summon water from the bucket to her watering can. Leonor thought she concealed her ability well, but she had the feeling that someone had been watching her for sometime.

Later, she went to see Tia Rosa, the apothecary of the village, and the only one who knew of Leonor’s ability. “You have to leave!” She threw an old shirt and skirt in a burlap bag. As an after thought, she threw in a bundle of dried fruit and nuts too.

Leonor wrung her hands. “I don’t understand. No one saw.”

“If you’re so sure of that, then why are you here?”

Leonor pulled her hands apart. “I don’t think—It might have been Ernesto.”

Tia Rosa’s shoulders straightened. “Del Real’s son?”

“Yes.” Her feet shifted in her spot. “He’s been following me and his eyes have been lingering longer than usual. I thought he might suspect, but he never said anything.”

Tia Rosa turned, her eyes wide. “You’re not safe.” She reached for the bag and pushed it into Leonor’s hands. “You must find the Sisters of Refuge—the convent—ten miles south of here. Tell them Rosalinda sent you.” She hesitated before she added, “Tell them that you bear a gift—the gift of word weaving.”

Leonor’s brow furrowed and she tried to give back the sack of provisions, but Rosa pushed them back to her. “My child, please go. Ernesto will tell Amparo. As the village scribe, he will send you to the capital to be executed.”

Leonor’s body grew cold. “He’s my guardian. He would never let that happen to me.”

Rosa gripped Leonor’s wrists. “His loyalties are to his duties as a scribe—to guard history and the ancient language.” She squeezed Leonor’s wrists for emphasize. “You threaten both with your gift.”

The coldness in her body thawed. Warmth bubbled in the pit of her stomach. “How am I a threat! I can barely read the ancient language. A few words yes, but hardly a reason to be considered a threat.”

Sorrow crossed her face. “Leonor, the very fact that you have picked up the ancient language so quickly shows how much of a threat you are. It takes years for others to learn it. Think of how much you would have learned if you had more time!” Tia Rosa dragged her to the back of her hovel toward the back entrance. “They will be afraid you will discover the secret.”

Leonor crushed the sack to her chest. “What secret?”

“Women were meant to know the ancient language.”

Leonor’s anger fizzled. Her knees almost gave way. “I don’t understand. I—“

She pushed Leonor on to the dirt pathway. “Go! Don’t turn back! Seek the Sisters of Refuge. They will know what to do.”

“But—“

Tia Rosa returned to the house. Before she shut the door, she said, “Don’t stop writing. Don’t stop reading the ancient language. For our sake and all others, you may be the only hope to restore balance in this realm. Now go!”

She shut the door before Leonor could ask more questions. The sound of horse hooves beating in the distance forced her to run.

Leonor wasn’t sure how she would find the Sisters of Refuge, but she needed more answers and was determined to find them.