The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 10 - Vigil-2

Dario shook his head rapidly and covered his face with his hands. His voice came through, muffled. ‘I’ve only done it once.’ He took his hands away. ‘No more excuses. I knew when I did it that it was wrong. I didn’t want to make someone sick for my playing. None of us do.’

Mina looked up at the man she was falling in love with and took a deep breath. ‘It think it’s even worse than Uberto’s told you, Dario. When I go to Tarya, it’s different for me than for the rest of you. I go to places beyond the Place of Dreams. I’ve been to a place, a sea, where I can create things. But between the Place of Dreams and the sea is the River of Light.’

Dario nodded. ‘It’s the barrier stopping us from going beyond this world into the heavenly realms.’

‘What?’ Mina was astonished to hear this.

‘The upper reaches of Tarya are where the Creator resides. You know that?’

‘Of course.’

‘And we can’t reach those upper reaches while we’re alive.’

‘Right.’

‘Well the River of Light marks the boundary between the lower reaches and the upper. We can only pass through it when we die.’

‘But I have!’ Mina knew the Tales of Tarya. She knew about the great sparkling river over which the dead must cross to reach the realms of the Creator.

‘It can’t be that river! I’ve crossed it. Uberto has too! I spoke to him there.’

‘You must be wrong. None of us can pass through the river. None of us can even enter it. And think about it. It fits the stories. You and Uberto must have been somewhere else.’

Mina struggled with this new thought. If it really was the river that divided the heavenly realms of Tarya from the earthly realms, it could explain the trapped souls. Severed from their bodies, they couldn’t return to them, but they couldn’t pass into the heavenly realms because they weren’t really dead. Mina set aside the question of how she, alive, could pass beyond the river. That was a question for later.

‘Dario, there are people in the river. I’ve … communicated with them. They’re trapped there because when their threads were severed, they couldn’t return to their bodies.’

Dario became completely still, staring at Mina. It took a full minute before he could speak again.

‘You mean, when we harvest the gold threads we’re not just making them ill, we’re actually killing them?’

‘No. No, Dario. It’s worse than that. If they were dead, they’d be able to move beyond the river, from what you’ve just said. But they’re caught, between living and dying.’

‘Oh Great Creator! Mina … what have I done? What did we all do?’

Mina suddenly realised they’d been in the maze a long time. ‘We’d better go back. But Dario, I have to stop this from happening.’

Dario nodded, taking her hands.

She continued. ‘I just don’t know how. That’s why I was asking about the Council of Muses. If they knew the truth, what would they do?’

‘I’d guess they’d ban players from harvesting the gold threads, then call a meeting with the heads of the troupes to find new ways to create characters.’

‘Then I have to talk to the Council.’

Dario nodded. ‘The Council meets with the king and queen at the end of the competition to decide the winners, but we won’t be allowed to attend. Straight afterwards they announce the winners of the competition at the masked ball. But the Council has a meeting for general artisan business the next day. You can talk to them then, and I’ll be beside you.’

Mina and Dario kissed again, a lingering kiss that told Mina she wasn’t alone. Both wanted more, but they couldn’t risk someone coming in search of them.

‘And Mina,’ Dario said softly, ‘I vow by the gifts of the Creator himself I’ll never break another gold thread.’

Mina nodded. She and Dario gathered up the dropped costumes, then followed the trail of sparkling garments pointing their ghostly way out of the maze, back to the door to the artisan’s wing. With a deep breath, Mina led the way up the spiral staircase.

The artisans’ feasting hall was crowded with equipment and noisy with people. A small troupe of cirquers had come to Andon four years ago, doing acrobatics and tricks with fire. Now the trickster folk were everywhere, carrying hoops and sticks and balls and strange items Mina couldn’t put a name to, their hair spiked and coloured even when their clothes were ordinary. Yet the strangest thing was to see costumes that were almost identical to the players’ own hanging around the hall: the zanni’s servant garb, the military wear of Il Capitano, Harlequin’s diamond patched suit, and the long white shirt of Pierrot.

Some troupes were small, and their costumes plain but one troupe was ostentatious in its wellbeing, making great show of sorting piles of elaborately decorated costumes in lavish fabrics. There seemed no end to the players in that troupe, busy polishing masks and sorting tunics and dresses on long racks that took up an entire corner of the hall. Props and scenery rolls were stacked high in that corner.

Mina joined Lisette and Isabella, who relieved her of costumes and began hanging them. Isabella glanced sideways at Mina as she picked yet another piece of shrubbery off one of the Inamorata dresses. Before she could say a word, Vincenzo’s booming voice caught their attention.

‘I will give you that courtesy if you give me the same courtesy!’

Vincenzo faced a much smaller man, who was so shrivelled with age he had difficulty lifting his head enough to see Vincenzo. The other man said something the girls couldn’t hear, but Vincenzo’s reply was audible throughout the feasting hall.

‘I’m no longer part of your troupe, as you’re well aware, so I do not follow your orders. Nevertheless, in my own best interests I’ll keep well away from you, do not fear!’

‘That must be someone from the Archiari troupe,’ Mina said.

Isabella nodded. ‘Tito Archiari himself. Trained from an infant to run the troupe. Well now, this just gives us a mystery to solve. It doesn’t look like Vincenzo left under happy circumstances.’

Vincenzo strode their way. The girls smiled at him, and he broke stride to give a deep bow.

‘Ladies, professional jealousy!’

Without further explanation, Vincenzo dropped an armful of hats and strode away again. The girls finished hanging the costumes, props, headgear, and masks by character, so each player could easily find their own items. The activity helped Mina calm her nerves at the thought of what lay ahead. The anxiety of playing before the king and queen was a lesser concern now than her task at festival’s end, talking to the Council of Muses.

Glancing around at other artisans, Mina saw many concerned faces and heard anxious whispers. Lisette looked around the room. What she saw made her frown, and Mina, catching her expression, wondered whether there was more to the undercurrent of tension in the room than competition fears.

That night there was no feasting. Servants brought in baskets and jugs. Uberto summoned the players together and Mama Tina passed out bread, cheese, and dried fruit.

‘Tonight we begin vigil. We enter the divina as the sun dies and remain there until dawn, contemplating the works of the Creator, and dedicating our talents to him. Not a word is to be spoken. Now take your mask and follow the other artisans. Vigil begins.’

As the others moved to take their masks, Mina approached Uberto.

‘What do I do? I still don’t have a mask of my own. I’ve only ever borrowed masks.’

Making your own mask was a critical step in becoming a player, and some part of the making aided transformation, Mina knew, because the others always had more difficulty reaching Tarya if they wore a borrowed mask. Even those players who didn’t play with a mask had made one. All except Mina. Yet in the rush to reach Aurea, and all the rehearsing, Uberto hadn’t had Mina make a mask. She didn’t even know how, though Ciro had once offered to teach her. But that had been before Aldo’s death, before he had become a hollow shell. Like all his offers, she’d rebuffed it.

‘We are still learning how your gift works,’ Uberto said, ‘but I suspect a mask is not critical to your transformations.’

He looked at Mina sideways, his pupils flaring, and Mina felt deeply uneasy. He couldn’t possibly know what had happened on the wagon this morning. Could he?

‘You go to Tarya with an ease other players have never experienced,’ Uberto continued. ‘Understand, Mina, for the others it may look easy, but that is because they are very experienced and can immerse themselves in the playing. We reach Tarya when our playing takes us beyond the ordinary world, when we become so much a part of the tale that for a brief, brief time we forget hunger, the hardship of travel, grief or bitterness, our isolation from the real community … we forget all that because while we are playing, for an eternal instant, we touch the Divine.

‘And because we do that, we become part of the whole story of humanity, touching what it is to be human. No player ever fails to appreciate the wonder of that. Nor do they forget it is not easy. If real life impedes too much they cannot reach that place where the playing comes easily, and where tales are played out with truth. Yet you, unlike anyone amongst us, can reach that place with ease. You do not need a mask in the playing, so you will not take a mask to vigil. Whatever helps you to immerse yourself in Tarya, it is within you, not without. And if I am to be honest, little bird, I envy you.’

Uberto leaned forward and kissed Mina on the forehead. The kiss burned her skin and she almost flinched, wondering suddenly if Uberto had severed her brother’s thread and banished him to the lonely beauty of the River of Lights. Placing a finger on his lips, Uberto took Mina’s hand and led her out of the hall, eerily silent now after the day’s business.

~

A sea of artisans flowed from the artisans’ wing, through the great exhibition hall and down the massive spiral staircase. No one spoke. Only their footsteps, muffled by the immensity of the palace rooms, broke the heavy silence. In the main reception hall, the wave of people turned to the right and passed through immense doors that had been concealed this morning behind two faded but exquisite hanging tapestries.

These doors were incredible. Hundreds of pieces of coloured glass were fused together with shining silver bands. Behind the doors, which reached to the distant ceiling, candles flickered, making the glass pictures glow.

In the centre of the door the Creator stood, robed in a many-layered tunic of ancient design. Seven arms stretched out to seven smaller figures, each representing an artisan group. Players were represented by a figure in a mask and primitive-looking Harlequin costume. Other figures represented music makers, sculptors, cirquers, artists, dancers, and of course story tellers. The Creator’s gaze fell benevolently upon a man in peasant robes standing at the bottom of the image.

The story teller stood on the Creator’s right, the only figure the Creator’s outstretched arm actually touched, bestowing a blessing with a lightly placed hand on the story teller’s head. Then Mina noticed more, and wondered at the skill that had built these doors. For once she stood directly in front of them, the placement of the candles matched perfectly with the figures’ heads and hands. Each face shone with the light of inspiration and creativity. Each pair of hands—carrying the tools of trade: mask, brush, harp, juggling balls, moulded clay, veil and book—glimmered gently.