The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 9 - Darkness and Light-1

Darkness and LightThey passed through another town late in the afternoon, although by now there were so many houses along the road it was hard to say where the town actually began.

‘One day all this will probably be Aurea,’ Isabella said. ‘The city will creep out and meet the towns creeping inwards, and it’ll all be one huge city.’

As in previous towns the people ran alongside the wagons, but this time their welcome was entirely friendly as they called out to see playing. Isabella waved endlessly, smiling and enjoying the admiration and excitement.

‘Come and see us in Aurea,’ she called. ‘We play at the festival.’

A young man, tall, with wide-set blue eyes and hair that shone in the late afternoon sun, ran up to the side of the wagon and offered a small bouquet of flowers, begging for a smile from Isabella. Soon other young men copied the lad’s example, and Mina had to slow the wagon to ensure none were caught in the wheels or trodden on by Petruchio.

Isabella soon had an enormous bouquet of all the flowers that were passed to her. She enjoyed the attention, waving and smiling, and looking radiantly beautiful. Mina had never been aware of the power of Isabella’s beauty before now, thinking her just another of the players, but this adoration made her begin to understand Isabella’s self-absorption. The whole world told her she was an extraordinary beauty, and Isabella wasn’t one to argue with such a thing.

Lost in her thoughts Mina nearly realised too late that a hooded figure stood in front of the wagon, holding out a single perfect flower, of the most delicate lilac colour, shaped like an upended bell. The tall figure wore a tunic, pants, and a cloak of plain black wool, patched inside with diamonds of many, many colours. It was a story teller’s cloak, and the diamond patches almost reached the hem, suggesting this was a story teller who had visited many a village and told many a story, for with each telling it was tradition to gift a good story teller with a fine piece of fabric to add to the cloak.

The story teller signalled a stop with their empty hand and Mina halted Petruchio. She could do little else in the face of this commanding figure who blocked the path. The story teller had a deep voice, with a player’s resonance. His voice, or perhaps hers—it was impossible to tell—was his instrument, and he played it with exceptional skill, even in common conversation.

‘Good morrow to you, fair players. It seems I missed the others of your party, but I crave a ride to Aurea for the festival. Would you be so generous as to allow me to venture with you to that great city?’

Mina nodded. ‘Of course! You’d be welcome.’

‘Thank you, dear heart. Allow me to muster my meagre motley and I will return to mar your magnificence.’

Isabella gave a half grin. ‘Must you?’ she replied dryly.

The story teller burst out laughing. ‘Such wit, and such beauty. I will return. And I see I must keep my wits about me.’

As he strode off Isabella turned to Mina. ‘What are you doing?’

‘We have room, and it’s only a short ride to Aurea.’

‘He’s a story teller. Players and story tellers don’t mix. Where do you think the mistreatment of Innaroi comes from? Story tellers have the Creator’s blessing, so we don’t.’

Mina shrugged. ‘He seemed friendly.’

‘He just wants a ride.’

Mina looked at the other girl searchingly. ‘So what about me? I’m more story teller than player.’

Isabella looked stricken. ‘Mina, you’re one of us! You’re part of the troupe. Part of our family. Besides, there’s usually a narrator in the playing.’

‘I know,’ Mina said. ‘But I’ve been wondering if there’s more I could do, if I told my own stories, not the ones Uberto told me.’

‘Ladies,’ the story teller proclaimed as he stepped up to the wagon, his face still in the shadow of his cloak. ‘Would you permit one as humble as myself to sit amongst such beauty?’

Distracted, Mina missed the suspicious look Isabella gave her. A second later, Isabella transformed into the Inamorata, giggling flirtatiously.

‘The seats are built for two,’ she said. ‘Mina, you join Lisette. We couldn’t permit a stranger to travel with her in the wagon.’

‘But I’m driving!’ Mina protested.

Isabella flashed the story teller a flirtatious smile, then gave Mina an overt stage wink. ‘Not anymore!’ She laughed.

~

Lisette was tying coloured scarves at equal distances along the costume rail. The curtain was pushed back so she could work along the entire length of the wagon, sorting male and female garb. All the costumes lay heaped on the floor. Once she’d tied the scarves, Lisette showed Mina how to sort the costumes so all those belonging to one character were between a pair of scarves. Any shared costumes went at the end.

Mina held up costumes now and then for Lisette’s advice on character, but most of the time it was clear whose costume was whose: pale embroidered dresses for the Inamorata, garish army garb for Il Capitano, flour sacks for the servants. The occasional bump in the road reminded them of their travels, but the world inside the wagon was its own secluded space.

Mina admired the beautiful costumes, letting them shift under her fingers. All were well made, their seams straight and strong, and they were well cared for. Some were faded, the fabric brittle, making Mina wonder how old they were really. But all were of exquisite fabric, even those that called for characters to look raggedy and poor. They might be torn and ragged, artfully, but they were of good wools.

Hanging up yet another of the Inamorata’s abandoned dresses, Mina yanked the skirt to straighten it. Why was she cleaning up Isabella’s mess? Had Isabella deliberately blocked her from speaking to the story teller? Despite the promise of her initiation, all she had achieved since was the creation of more scenery, yet she sensed this was not the limit of what was possible in Tarya. But how could she learn more if she was always diverted from the path?

~

They reached the outskirts of Aurea at dusk and decided to stop for the night. Delicate pinks and yellows dusted the sky then flitted away, leaving only the flicker of candlelight in the windows of many buildings. Uberto bartered for the use of a field for the night, and the players were soon encamped in the familiar half circle, a cooking fire blazing in the centre. They shared the field with a number of cows.

Nearby, cultivated fields quickly gave way to houses. Those who had once chosen to live in farmland outside the city boundaries now found themselves inside them as the city expanded its hold on the land. There would be another few hours of travel tomorrow before they reached the palace, where they were to reside for the duration of the competition.

Mina offered to go and fetch bread, but Jal had already gone. It occurred to her for the first time that her tasks had, until now, invariably kept her close to the players’ encampment. She wondered whether this was deliberate, or whether Uberto and Mama Tina were being unconsciously protective of the girl from the small village. Well, things must change now, because in Aurea there was no being kept from anything. Even after seeing Baritz, Mina wasn’t prepared for the size of the city looming in the distance. She wondered how people could live so close to each other, hearing each other’s secrets all the time.

As the players busied themselves with preparations for dinner, and for tomorrow, Dario asked Mina to help him with the horses. They spent some time locked in an embrace in the darkness, hands and mouths exploring each other. But Peppe-Nappa nudged them with his nose, demanding their attention, and they pulled apart reluctantly.

Looking a little dazed, Dario showed Mina how to scrub Peppe-Nappa down with a coarse brush. Peppe-Nappa gave an occasional whinny of delight at her vigorous efforts.

‘You’re nervous, aren’t you?’ Dario asked gently, his voice floating through the night air. Mina nodded.

‘I think everyone’s forgotten how hard this is for you. A few weeks ago you knew nothing about playing and soon we play for the king. This will be like nothing you’ve ever known. The energy of a crowd this size will be incredible. I think Peppe-Nappa is happy now. Give him some oats and start on Petruchio.’

Mina scooped oats into a nose bag, but Peppe-Nappa pulled his head away. Dario smiled and reached for the reins, speaking gently to the horse and stroking his dappled nose until Peppe-Nappa bowed his head. Mina lifted the nose bag slowly, trying not to make any quick movement, and dropped the handle over the caramel coloured mane. Peppe-Nappa snorted, and Mina helped him bury his nose in the oats.

‘He said, “about time”!’ Dario laughed, and kissed Mina on the nose before turning back to Brandino, scrubbing hard with the bristle-brush. Mina picked up her brush again and turned to Petruchio. The two scrubbed the horses in silence for a while.

‘Dario,’ Mina began, then stopped, uncertain how to express her fears. ‘I love being with the players, but I’m certain now there’s more I should be doing. Can do …’

Dario gave Brandino a solid whack, turning the horse around so he could face Mina. He took her in his arms.

‘Mina,’ he said, ‘I was raised by players, and the stories are in my blood, but it took a few years before I could really perform well onstage. It’s a special skill, to know what to say, to make the audience laugh and cry and love. That’s the art of playing, to think on our feet, to know the tricks and the characters. It takes years of rehearsals, and a great deal of experience playing in front of an audience. We’ve rehearsed all this time, on the road, but it’s not the same as playing for a crowd. The laughter, the catcalls, the suggestions, it all helps us reach Tarya, because it adds to the energy that surrounds us. But … it’s also frightening. Sometimes the audience feels so alive they could eat you. But when it works, when it comes together … everything flows. The audience feels it. We feel it. Everything is perfect. Tarya is everywhere, and we’re all part of it.’

Dario had by now given Brandino his nose bag, and he pushed the horse away, stepping close to Mina.

‘You haven’t found your voice yet, Mina. That’s all. Your fears are in the way. Until you step past them you can’t transcend the ordinary. I see it in you, so clearly. You’ll be the best of all of us, holding the audience in thrall, once you find your own voice. And none of us know how to help you because your voice is different. You’re not the Inamorata, though you’re beautiful enough. You’re not the sly servants, though you’re clever enough. There’s something you have that we all feel. Some … power?’

He reached his hand to Mina’s cheek.

‘What you did with Aldo … none of us could have done that. When you can release that power again, the audience will be amazed.’

Dario smiled, and leaned toward her. Mina leaned in to him, lost in his eyes, ready to surrender to him completely.

‘Surely an esteemed player such as yourself doesn’t hold with petty enmities.’ The deep voice of the teller from the road interrupted them.

‘Of course not,’ Uberto’s voice replied. The two were nearby, hidden by the corner of the wagon. ‘However, we must rehearse tonight, and I would prefer we did so in private. You understand how competitive the festival is. At this time a misspoken word about our stories might cause another troupe an unfair advantage.’

‘I assure you,’ the story teller said, ‘I would never dream of passing on professional secrets …’

‘And yet,’ Uberto said, ‘the significance of what you hear may be unknown to you, and thus mentioned in passing. I must also ask, now we are in Aurea, why you remain with us. Players and story tellers have, at best, an uneasy alliance. Surely you wish to seek out your own kind?’