Gathering Blue - Lois Lowry [26]
"Got you a guess?"
Kira shook her head. She couldn't imagine what was in the foul-smelling container or what its origin might be.
Annabella replaced the lid, still laughing. "You save it and age it good," she said. "Then it brings the hue to life and sets it firm.
"It's old piss!" she explained with a satisfied chuckle.
Late in the day, Kira set out for home with Matt and Branch. The bag she carried over her shoulder was filled with colored threads and yarns that Annabella had given to her.
"These'll do for you now," the old dyer had said. "But you must learn to make your own. Say back to me now, those you keep in mind."
Kira closed her eyes, thought, and said them aloud. "Madder for red. Bedstraw for red too, just the roots. Tops of tansy for yellow, and greenwood for yellow too. And yarrow: yellow and gold. Dark hollyhocks, just the petals, for mauve."
"Snotweed," Matt said loudly with a grin and wiped his own runny nose on his dirty sleeve.
"Hush, you," Kira said to him, laughing. "Don't play foolish now. It's important I remember.
"Broom sedge," she added, still remembering. "Goldy yellows and browns. And Saint Johnswort for browns too, but it'll stain my hands.
"And bronze fennel — leaves and flowers; use them fresh — and you can eat it too. Chamomile for tea and for green hues.
"That's all I remember now," Kira said apologetically. There had been so many others.
Annabella nodded in approval. "It's a starting," she said.
"Matt and I must go or it will become dark before we're back," Kira said, turning. Looking at the sky to assess the time, she suddenly remembered something.
"Can you make blue?" she asked.
But Annabella frowned. "You need the woad," she said. "Gather fresh leaves from first year's growth of woad. And soft rainwater; that makes the blue." She shook her head. "I have nought. Others do, but they be far away."
"Who be others?" Matt asked.
The old woman didn't answer the boy. She pointed toward the far edge of her garden, where the woods began and there seemed to be a narrow overgrown path. Then she turned toward her hut. Kira heard her speak in a low voice. "I ne'er could make it," she was saying. "But some have blue yonder."
9
The Singer's robe contained only a few tiny spots of ancient blue, faded almost to white. After her supper, after the oil lamps had been lit, Kira examined it carefully. She lay her threads — the ones from her own small collection and the many others that Annabella had given to her — on the large table, knowing she would have to match the hues carefully in daylight before she began the repairs. It was then that she noticed — with relief because she would not know how to repair it; and with disappointment because the color of sky would have been such a beautiful addition to the pattern — that there was no real blue any more, only a hint that there once had been.
She said the names of the plants over and over aloud, trying to make a chant of them for easier memory. "Hollyhock and tansy; madder and bedstraw..." But they fell into no comfortable rhythm and did not rhyme.
Thomas knocked at her door. Kira greeted him happily, showed him the robe and threads, and told him of her day with the old dyer.
"I can't remember all the names," she said in frustration. "But I'm thinking that if in the morning I go back to where my old cott was, maybe my mother's garden plants, the ones she used for colors, will still be there. And then, seeing them, the names will mean more. I only hope Vandara —"
She paused. She had not told the carver about her enemy, and even saying the name made her apprehensive.
"The woman with the scar?" Thomas asked.
Kira nodded. "Do you know her?"
He shook his head. "But I know who she is," he said. "Everyone does."
He picked up a little skein of the deep crimson. "How did the dyer make this?" he asked curiously.
Kira thought. Madder for red. "Madder," she recalled. "Just the roots."
"Madder,"