floor. Her knees refused to bend. Her arms had made great progress as she had gained full fluid movements. Her legs, however, took some convincing to move at first. She could lift them and pull them towards her on the bed. Now that she was off the bed, her legs didn’t know what to do with all the extra weight on top of them. She had never noticed how the strings had made her walk for all those years.
She watched as Tristian almost floated across the floor. There was none of the usual thudding that Serie had become accustomed to. He would stride, as if nothing could hold him back.
She thought of the path that she always crossed on her way to and from work. How it called to her to walk down it and explore the places that it led to. If she could walk, she would follow the path and keep walking until she reached the ends of the earth.
With everything she had, she pushed her legs to move forward, her shaky start supported in Tristian’s hold. She hobbled to the edge of her rug and slid her bare feet onto the smooth timber floor. She circled around the room and Tristian’s hold became lighter as she found her rhythm. The more she walked, the less her shaky legs stumbled. Tristian was beside her the whole time, helping her get back up every time she fell.
“It’s almost sunrise,” Tristian said.
Serie grimaced. “If I keep walking, maybe the strings can’t catch me.”
“It doesn’t work like that. If you aren’t close to where they left you, it will raise alarms. Maître will be alerted so he can punish you.”
Serie sat on the edge of her bed. “This isn’t right.”
Tristian squatted down so he was face to face with her. “No, it isn’t, but the strings won’t be here forever. We will stop them.”
That thought played in her mind. There was a chance that not only her, but everyone could be free of Maître’s curse. Serie smiled, hope filling the empty void that had been in her heart for too long.
Four
One late spring day, Serie noticed that the city square of Kalan was filled with unusual activity. Brightly coloured lanterns were strung across the square, hanging over the boxy wooden tables sitting neatly around the edges. Nearby, a small group of women were placing vases of fresh cut flowers on each table.
To her horror, Serie remembered that the annual pairing was to take place that evening, and she was among the group of girls to be paired with the man who would soon become her husband.
Her eyes were drawn to the vases; the red and purple petals matched those of the flowers in the woods. The woods she may never enter again if she married a man from the city. Tristian couldn’t very well slip into her room with her husband sleeping right next to her. She couldn’t imagine herself with a husband, when she was so close to being free from her strings.
She would be twenty-one that year, and it was time for her to move from her parents’ home and start a family. Her brother, Silas, had moved out three years earlier, already married, and his wife, Lena, about to have their first child.
She missed her walks to Kalan with Silas. Though neither of them had ever said anything to the other on their way to school, she was fascinated by the way that Silas would hum a song to himself. Music was a rarity in Kalan, so Silas defying his strings to do such a simple task was something unexpected. When he finished school, he moved into the city to start work as a carpenter. His visits were a rare occurrence, and once she was paired, she was uncertain if she would see her family much either.
Serie was determined that she would be free of her strings before her wedding in three weeks’ time. Her contempt for her strings had started to become difficult to hide.
Serie walked to the change room in the late afternoon sun, feeling the beginnings of summer in the air. Fifty young women were crammed into the room, pulling on dresses and styling their long swathes of hair. She slipped on the pink silk dress that was given to her and tamed the stray hairs that were escaping her braid.
The girls around her were flushed in the cheeks, their breath wispy with hints of nerves mixed in. Was it their strings that dictated this behaviour? Or were they truly nervous about who Maître would pair them with? Though no one said anything as they put on lipstick or plucked a stray hair from their brow.
As Serie watched the action around the room, she saw a pattern in their movements. Each girl was doing something different, but the strings had a rhythm to how one girl would brush her hair on the same beat that another would blush their cheeks. It was the first time that Serie had paid attention to it. Such actions had been normal all her life, but now it was unnerving.
There was no resistance to the strings’ actions, no hand off beat, except Serie’s. Her figure was still and watching amongst the controlled and oblivious movements of those around her. It was then that Serie became aware of how isolated she had become, as she no longer fit into that pattern of their behaviour.
There was a part of her that wanted to point out what was happening, but then how could she explain her thinking? This was the behaviour they had always known. It was expected of them to let the strings control them. Even if she did say something, how would this realisation help them when they were about to go meet their future partners?
She joined the line of girls waiting to go into the square. The low music hummed through the doorway as they approached the crowd of onlookers. They stood in line, facing the group of young men in simple grey suits. Serie eyed the men across from her, wondering which one Maître had chosen for her. Only a few months ago, this was the moment Serie had waited for. A glimmer of excitement in an otherwise mundane existence. She felt pity for the man that she was about to be paired with, as she did not intend to stay in Kalan for long. She had come too far already.
Maître stood on the stage, his voice booming over the already silent crowd. The music halted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I warmly welcome you to this year’s pairing. After careful consideration, I have decided who to appropriately match each of these fine young women and men with. It is without further ado that I will announce each pairing.”
Each pair walked up towards the stage to meet each other and stood in front of Maître. She wondered what was going through their minds. Did they have reservations about their new life partner? Or would it be someone they would have chosen themselves? She heard Maître call her name.
“Serie Aubrey is given to Flynn Canlin.”
Serie stepped forward, reaching Flynn in a few short steps. She studied him surreptitiously. He was tall with sandy blond hair and a slender, but toned, figure. She had a vague recollection of seeing him from her time at school. They bowed to each other before walking to the stage. Serie watched a glint of excitement flicker on Flynn’s otherwise placid face. She wondered if he had a voice in the back of his mind that told him to defy his strings.
Maître walked along the stage, assessing his new pairings. “These fine young men and women will join the proud tradition of bringing a family into the world, raising them to respect and appreciate the gift that I have given them. For there is no fear, nor desolation for those who obey their strings.”
Serie rolled her eyes, dropping her head slightly to hide from Maître’s gaze.
“In three weeks from today, we will witness the marriage of these couples. But tonight, we celebrate their pairing. We shall start with a dance.”
Flynn offered his hand to Serie. Her hand moved
