The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 10 - Vigil-3

The face of the Creator was a wonder. It wasn’t etched in silver, as with the faces of the other figures, whose features were easily distinguished in lines on the transparent pale rose glass. Instead, the surface of the glass was waved, as though submersed in rippling water. This created the fleeting impression of a face, without the detail. But more extraordinary was the light. As the door swung open again and another group of artisans passed through the door, Mina saw a great chandelier, heavy with candles and dripping with crystals. When the door closed, surprisingly silently, the light from the candles illuminated the watery glass brilliantly, so the Creator’s face was alight with, and yet concealed by, a mystical, dazzling glow. Behind the Creator, in the dark sapphire sky, was a single seven-pointed star, the royal symbol. This too glowed softly from the candlelight.

It was strange to watch real sculptors, music makers, dancers, players, story tellers, cirquers and artists passing through the doors, each carrying her or his real tools, as the glass figures looked down upon them, frozen in time, holding the same tools.

Then it was Mina’s turn. Uberto still had his arm crooked through hers, and she wanted to pull away from him, but stopped herself. She couldn’t risk revealing her new distrust. Instinct told her it could only have been Uberto who harmed Paolo. But as she entered the royal divina she forgot everything.

As with all divinas, it was perfectly round, and today it was almost completely filled with reverential artisans. Each sat on a backless chair carved in an elegant U shape, like a chalice. Mina had seen such a design before, in the divina at home, but there, only the Creator’s seat was shaped this way. The common folk sat on benches. Here, each seat had a cushion of silk, and the cushions were of many colours, scattered at random throughout the room. The seats were arranged in widening circles from close to the Creator’s seat to the very walls of the divina. The circles were broken by seven pathways laid with green carpet, leading to the centre of the room.

A huge and intricately carved seat in the same chalice shape rested at the very centre, beneath the great chandelier. At this distance the detail of the carvings was impossible to make out. On the left and right, two giant tapestries covered fully a quarter of the massive circular wall of the divina. Even from a distance, Mina could make out the images, life depicted in all its detail: the poor, the rich, people going about their daily tasks, people celebrating. But this wasn’t all that made this the most beautiful divina she’d ever seen.

Circling the great chandelier were seven smaller ones, each holding eight thick candles: seven silver and, in the centre, one white. These rested on disks of gold large enough to prevent wax from dripping, yet small enough not to block the light.

Beyond the Creator’s seat and more arching rows of chairs, the final quarter of the circular wall was a wonder. Round windows hung like giant bubbles at different heights, and Mina recognised scenes from the sacred Tales of Tarya, told by all story tellers, in the images they contained. The setting sun cast a glow that illuminated the windows with almost unbearable brilliance, sunset colours of gold, red, and pink mixing with the rainbow of glass to create unexpected hues that fell across the faces of the waiting artisans, making them look strangely fey.

Uberto released Mina’s arm then, leaving her to walk the length of the hall toward the Creator’s chair alone to find a seat. Mina felt anxious that she might walk its entire length without finding a place, until she saw Dario indicating a space next to him at the end of an aisle, a few rows down. As she slipped in beside him, she noticed an unlit candle underneath the seat in front of her.

She was just in time. Eight figures in cloaks emerged from behind the two giant tapestries on the left and right of the hall, and walked to the Creator’s chair. Each cloak was dyed a different colour. Together they formed a muted rainbow. The figures’ faces were invisible. Silently they lined up in a circle around the Creator’s seat. Each carried a tall pillar candle in a colour to match their cloak.

Another figure emerged from behind the tapestry on the right, wearing a cloak woven from every imaginable colour, and stood in front of the chair. This person represented the Creator, and it was impossible to tell if they were male or female. They held a tall candle of purest white in hands enmeshed in looped silver threads, like a spider web. The candle flickered faintly with a long flame of piercing blue.

In complete silence, the first of the eight cloaked figures stepped forward, placing their wick against the shining flame of the white candle. It caught with a fizzing sound and instantly the flame stretched high, with the same eerie blue aura. The figures walked in a tight circle so that the next one stood in front of the Creator and a second candle was lit. This action was repeated until each of them held a lit candle. A strange, sweet smell wafted through the hall. Then the figure in the many-coloured cloak raised the white candle high so the sleeves of the cloak fell down, revealing silver threads looped all the way up both bared arms.

A bell sounded, a deep, ringing tone, and the eight figures turned to face the artisans. Each held their candle outwards, the flames still. Someone stood up then, at the front of the hall, and approached the cloaked figure directly in front of the Creator’s representative. It was a man in the many-hued cloak of a story teller, with a gold chain collar resting across his shoulders. He held a thick, cream-coloured candle. The figure in the dark red cloak lit his candle. A woman stepped up to the second cloaked figure, also wearing a gold chain across her narrow shoulders. Slender and graceful, Mina guessed she represented the cirquers or the dancers, but she could not be sure as neither had ever visited Andon. One by one, seven representative artisans faced a cloaked figure, accepting the proffered flame then stepping back in line. Finally a baker, representing the common folk, had her candle lit by the final cloaked one.

All eight artisan representatives now turned and faced the great hall, a lit candle in their left hand, and the tool of their craft in their right. Representing the players, Mina recognised old Master Archiari from his argument with Vincenzo. As the room watched, his candle flared up and began to give off a thick, curling black smoke. Archiari blinked watery eyes and held the candle away from himself, his wrinkled face crumpling with anxiety. The plume of twisting black rose up in purposeful tendrils. Then the candle went out. Afterwards people swore they’d heard an actual snap, as though invisible hands clapped together over the flame to snuff it out. A collective gasp swept through the hall like a fire, then fearful murmurs invaded the reverential silence. A thin woman seated to the left of Dario muttered to the woman on her left.

‘This bodes ill for the players.’

Behind her Mina heard someone else whisper.

‘They were never blessed by the Creator. Whatever the Council says, their illusions have always been too close to Arcani for my liking. Perhaps now they’re cursed!’

Someone hushed the whisperer frantically.

At the front of the hall, the Creator figure stepped through the line of cloaks and candles to face the muttering artisans. All felt the unspoken rebuke in the figure’s stillness. Silence resumed.

The cloaked story teller re-lit the candle of the master player. With a nod, the figure of the Creator silently ordered the ceremony to resume. Swiftly, each representative stepped down into the hall.

Dario indicated the small candle on the floor in front of Mina. She picked it up with her right hand and held it out just as a man with a pocked face reached her row. A candle burned in his left hand. Mina recognised the stick in his right hand as one used by cirquers for spinning fire.

‘Left hand,’ he hissed, looking disapprovingly at her. Quickly she swapped hands. He lit her candle and moved past. Mina looked to Dario for guidance. Smiling an encouraging smile, he took the candle and passed it to the thin woman on his left. It was passed left hand to left hand down the row, until the last person turned and passed it to the person in the row directly behind. In this way one candle from each row was sent to the back of the divina, having passed through the hands of everyone in the row. Those at the very back placed them in tall standing candelabras near the walls.

By the time the candle ceremony was completed, the stained glass windows had faded to shadowy pictures, the setting sun’s illumination gone. Now the candelabras around the wall circled the worshipful artisans with flame. The silence that fell then was almost a physical presence. After the cloaked figures disappeared behind the tapestries again, the Creator figure remained alone, seated on the great chair.

Mina closed her eyes and excitement surged as it dawned on her that she truly was in Aurea, with the greatest artisans of all Litonya. She might never be a great player, but she had a gift, perhaps a unique gift, if she could discover how to use it. She began a prayer of gratitude, but was distracted by the memory of Paolo, trapped in the River of Light. A new prayer arose, that she might find her brother and restore him.

Time passed, measured out by the slow breathing of many, like a pulse. Thin trails of smoke from the candles carried a faint scent, musky and floral, through the room. No one moved. Most had their heads bowed. Even the candle flames were perfectly, impossibly still, glowing with a deep purple light. It was hours until dawn.

Mina took a deep breath, then another, finding her breathing merging with the pulse of breath around her. At first her thoughts raced as she considered all she had learned and seen since joining the players. Questions about Tarya, and about Paolo, and about the threads battered at her until she was choked with frustration. Despite her discoveries, was she really any closer to any answers?

A tear came unbidden, sliding down her cheek. Without warning frustration gave away to grief for her brother, and the pain she now knew he must have experienced. Mina sobbed silently, struggling to keep silent and still, choking on her tears.

Finally, exhausted, her mind began to drift on the subtle scents and the silence. She began to listen, first to the breathing of the artisans, and then beyond that, hearing the silence itself. In her exhaustion, it almost seemed she could hear the faintest sound within the complete stillness. She strained to listen, and thought she could almost hear a whispering. Almost.

The silver candles melted away with the night. Mina was so tired her eyelids began to droop, and she felt herself slipping toward sleep. She shook herself back into consciousness a few times, but it became harder and harder to remain awake. She didn’t even notice when her head dropped forward and her eyes closed. Then she heard a whisper, from some unknowable distance.

‘Your stories will heal.’

Mina looked up and for a second she thought she saw a slender woman with a shining face amidst the layer of white smoke that now filled the upper half of the divina. Her fatigue, confusion, and emotion dropped away. She straightened her shoulders. She had healed Aldo once. She would heal Paolo, when she found him. Then the smoke broke apart, and doubt clouded her thoughts again as the inevitable question arose. How was she to find him? Now she knew about the deliberately severed threads, who could she possibly ask about him?