The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 2 - Delays and Distractions-2

‘She’s gone,’ Lisette said. ‘She left his morning. I’m sorry. I cannot help you.’

‘Can’t you do what she can, the healing?’

Lisette shook her head.

‘Can you take me to her?’

‘I do not know where she is gone.’

Carlo walked in a circle, clearly undecided about what to do. He squeezed one hand into a fist, hard, then released it, several times. Perhaps responding to his anger, Katriela looked up. She stared through Lisette with blank eyes.

‘I have to go,’ Lisette said.

Carlo nodded. His eyes were bereft. ‘We’re staying at an inn, The Masque and Music, in the merchants’ quarters. Please, if you find this girl, Mina, can you come and get me? I don’t know if Rico’s crazy or stupid or both, but he’s sure the players made Katriela sick, so he says they have to make her better. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this girl can help us. I hate to see my sister like this.’ He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Taking Katriela’s hand, he led her away.

Shaken, Lisette hurried back to help Luka pack. Laden with armfuls of costumes, they walked the long hallway of the artisans’ quarters, passing Vincenzo, who was on his way back for another load. They navigated the staircase down to the royal stables and forge, straining to find their footing while walking with huge bundles of fabric. Outside, Dario stood by the costume wagon, gently stroking Petruchio. The horse nickered in appreciation. Lisette thought the horse’s belly looked more rounded than before their stay in Aurea. He must have enjoyed the royal hospitality as much as the players.

Dario greeted her in a subdued voice. Lisette instructed Luka to bring the props, which they would transfer to the storage wagon later. She and Dario began loading the costumes.

Lisette had been in the troupe nine years and during that time she and Dario had become as close to friends as Lisette would allow. Since her daughter’s death she had trusted no one. Except Mina, she reminded herself. At first she avoided his eyes, not knowing what to say. Dario might be her friend, but he was clearly dejected because of Mina’s departure, and Mina was her friend too. Loyalties warred inside her. She was not even sure of her own feelings about Mina’s departure yet. But, years ago, Lisette had been a generous, compassionate person, and though grief and bitterness had overcome her gentle side, she could not walk away from Dario now.

‘She wouldn’t leave us without reason,’ she offered. ‘I’m sure she’ll come back.’

Dario tried to smile. She sat on the wagon steps and patted them. He joined her.

‘I betrayed her, Lisette. I didn’t mean to, but I did. She told me she’d found lost souls in Tarya. It seems we do that to them. Whenever we break a gold thread to create a new character, part of the person becomes lost.’

Lisette gasped. ‘What do you mean lost? Uberto always told us it makes them ill but …’

‘… only for a little while. I know. I’ve heard that since I was small, and I believed it. But Mina says it’s not true.’

Dario stood and punched the side of the van.

‘What if we’ve been hurting people all this time? Mina says they’re trapped, caught between living and dying. She found them in the River of Light.’

Lisette looked up at him with incredulity. ‘The River of Light? Where the heavenly realms of Tarya touch the earthly ones? That’s impossible.’

‘It seems to be possible for her. But the worst part is, she doesn’t think they ever recover.’ He slumped down next to Lisette again. ‘I always knew something was wrong. I told myself we didn’t have a choice. Without the gold threads we have no characters. Just as we’d have no scenes if we didn’t take the silver threads of dreams.’

‘We all tell ourselves that,’ Lisette said. A deep despair washed over her. She had only taken a character twice in her time with the players, breaking the golden threads each time, and she had felt, each time, she was doing harm. She had even sensed breaking the silver threads was wrong, had known the dreams they harvested were still connected to the dreamers, not drifting free as player lore suggested.

But after Liliana’s death she had buried any capacity to feel, as deeply as she could, and somehow she had managed to bury the recognition of how wrong this all was. Told herself the players needed characters and scenarios. Experienced players could feel the need that rose from an audience just before the playing began.

‘The show must go on,’ she said bitterly.

Dario nodded. ‘We tell ourselves we’re giving to the audience,’ he said, echoing her thoughts. ‘It’s how we keep going. But everyone’s been right about us all along. We’re worse than thieves.’

Lisette shook off her despair. ‘We can make it better.’ Her eyes were alive for the first time in nine years.

‘I thought I was. I thought if Uberto knew he’d do something. But what he did was try to silence her.’

‘Then we must find another way. I just saw someone who wanted Mina to cure his sister. They think the players made her sick. It seems they’re right. So maybe they’re right that we can heal her. If Mina can pass through the River of Light, maybe she can find a way to restore the threads.’

After years of despairing that those who did harm were far more powerful than those who did good, a spark began burning in Lisette’s heart.

‘We need Mina,’ Dario said.

‘I must go and talk to Carlo again,’ she replied, an idea taking form.

Luka and Jal appeared then, carrying the great trunk gifted to the troupe by the king.

‘Hide my absence,’ Lisette muttered before the others were close enough to hear. And she hurried off to find an inn called The Masque and Music.

~

Once out of Aurea, Sofia and Mina made themselves comfortable in the back of the cart and watched the city diminish in the distance. Despite the speeds they had reached during the panicked run earlier, it was slow going. Balto’s horse was old, and the load of bottles heavy. Mina was wary of Sofia at first. Keeping secrets while travelling with the players had become habit. And if she was honest with herself, she mistrusted her own perceptions after giving her trust to Dario, who had so easily told Uberto everything. She was not likely to trust another easily. Besides, she knew nothing about Sofia, though she was grateful to have an experienced traveller with her. Still, she was deeply curious to learn what Sofia knew about making up stories. She had never heard of a story teller who did anything other than tell ancient and sacred tales passed down through the centuries, or tales derived from life experiences. It was considered Arcani to do what she had done with ease as a child, making up stories in her head—certainly not an act a revered story teller should undertake.

They travelled north-east, through heavily populated areas. The road was straight and wide, passing clusters of houses interspersed with commons and cultivated fields, much like the road the players had taken into Aurea. Eventually they left the houses behind and the fields gave way to tired, yellowing grass; the only living things visible were the birds flying high overhead. In the distance a mountain range appeared, and the road seemed gradually to veer toward it.

‘At the rate we’re going it will take an extra day to reach Pedon,’ Sofia said. ‘Time enough to begin to give you a deeper understanding of storytelling. It will be only the smallest of beginnings, because a storytelling apprenticeship usually takes years. But something tells me we have neither the time, nor the need, for the usual processes. Tell me a tale, Mina.’

Mina looked up at Sofia, startled.

‘You have heard many story tellers in the past. Follow the formula to begin, but tell me a tale of your own.’

Mina nodded.

‘Long ago, when the stars still sang and Tarya was but a breath away …’

Her beginning signalled a tale of enchantment and myth. The Tales of Tarya, legends of the Creator and Muses, began this way. But Sofia wanted to know how her unusual gift worked, so Mina swiftly moved into a story of her own devising. Anxiety tickled at the back of her mind, for though she had made up stories for the stone fountain children when she was a young child, she had spent years hiding her talent after her father told her it was wrong.

Though she had been with the players for the briefest of time, Mina told her tale as though she were a seasoned player of decades, her voice rising and falling musically, with only the occasional slight hesitation.

‘… a young star longed to be human. She looked down on the towns and cities and saw the lives of the people, and wished she could live a human life. Though life in the heavens was peaceful, it was not colourful, and the star longed for colour. Below, she saw seasons of orange and gold, and pink and green. She saw markets with fruit like glowing jewels, and celebrations where people dressed in shimmering finery. More than anything, she wished to be part of it. She begged the Creator to allow her to live a human life. He did his best to persuade her to give up this dream, telling her human existence was brief, and sometimes dark, but still she begged and yearned. Finally, the Creator told her if she became human, she would be unable to return to the sky at her life’s end. Even this did not deter her. Swayed by her passion, the Creator granted her wish. The star was born in human form and lived a human life. All who knew her were dazzled by her passion. She gave generously, loved deeply and lived vigorously. But a star is not made to take human form, for it burns too bright, and though she was still young, her body failed. Despite his warnings, the Creator saw how she had touched and transformed many human lives. On her death he returned her to the heavens. To this day she shines brightest of all the stars in the heavens, made more dazzling because she has experienced what it is to burn with human emotions.’

‘Aye, that were beautiful,’ Balto said unexpectedly when the story was ended. ‘I ain’t never heard that one before. Tell us another.’

Sofia nodded to Mina, who began again, this time using a different beginning to signal a different type of story, of a real life lived.

‘In a time not far gone, in a place like this one …’ she began, and proceeded to tell the tale of a man who lost his wife to a terrible fire. But at the end, when the wife burned to death, she could not finish, her voice stumbling into silence. Sofia decided it was time for instruction to begin.

‘Well done, Mina. But a tale is a gift. Your audience needs something, a little jewel to take home with them. You cannot leave them with only pain. You must find the nugget of hope in every story. It is your story, so you can change it.’

Mina shook her head slowly, a weight in her heart.

‘It’s not my story,’ she admitted. ‘I was telling the tale of my uncle. And it didn’t end with hope, or happiness, or any gift. It ended with so much pain my uncle lost his mind.’

‘You’ve already mastered the skill of turning the happenings of a life into a tale,’ Sofia replied. ‘But even ordinary story tellers, those without your gifts for creation, do not tell mere memories. They craft them, finding the meaning and shape within them. A life lived is a story, and the greatest gift of story tellers is to find the heart of that tale.’