The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 11 - Council Intervenes-2

The artisans were facing the back of the hall rather than the stage, watching the arrivals, judging their competitors. When Mina stepped through the door, gasps burst from the crowd like spurts of fire. It hadn’t occurred to her that her costume might represent such a break from convention, but the shock and surprise that swept through the crowd made her wish her curious bodice imparted invisibility. What would they do when they saw how she blended her storytelling with the playing of the troupe?

Then the nobles saw Mina and a noise like busy sparrows twittering and parrots riotously squawking swept across the balconies.

‘Oh Creator! What is she wearing? That’s not …’

‘What is she? A story teller? A player?’

‘Perhaps she’s confused?’

False, high laughter rang out. A murmuring began amongst the artisans now too.

‘Quickly, to our seats,’ Mama Tina urged, turning back from a whispered conversation with a steward, her face set in a half smile and her voice grim. ‘The king and queen are on their way.’

‘Players over here.’ The steward gestured to the left. Dario stood out, tall as ever, waving his arms to attract their attention.

The women had just slipped into place amongst the men of their troupe when there was a loud thump. Dario took Mina’s elbow as she looked around, searching for the source of the noise.

‘Up,’ he said in the quietest of voices.

In the balcony at the back of the hall a steward stood, rigidly upright, holding a long, carved pole, which he banged on the floor a second time. The frenzied chatter apparently caused by Mina’s appearance ceased immediately.

‘Oy ye, oy ye. Be upstanding for their Royal Majesties.’

Immediately all the artisans and the nobles in the boxes stood. Once the rustling movements died away, the steward spoke again.

‘His Most Marvellous Personage, King Udolfi the Second.’

Everyone in the ballroom sank into a bow or curtsey. Mina copied those around her. When the rustling indicated it was time to stand, she looked up, catching her first glimpse of the king. He was far younger than she’d expected, his wavy brown hair crowned with a plain gold circlet set with a large red stone. Even at a distance, it was easy to see the king had the darkest brown eyes, sparkling with laughter. He stood taller even than Dario.

‘Her Most Beauteous Personage, Queen Eleni the Fair.’

Once again all the people in the hall sank into their respectful bow. This time, when Mina was able to look up, she saw the most beautiful woman imaginable. Her hair, so blond it was almost white, flowed down her back in an elaborate braid. She too wore a golden circlet, set with a stone as blue as a storm-darkened sea. Her dress was a deep velvety blue, with detached silver sleeves, in the high-waisted fashion popular in the richer parts of the city. The bodice of the dress was overlaid with silver embroidery. Blue stones sparkled on her sleeves and fingers as the queen waved to the assembled throng. Queen Eleni was nearly as tall as her husband, an extraordinary sight.

Behind the king and queen, a number of personages took their places. Mina was unable to take her eyes from the beautiful pair. She barely caught Isabella’s whisper, a mere tickle of sound.

‘Look Mama, there’s Miranda.’

With a shock, Mina suddenly noticed a woman with lustrous black hair standing behind the queen’s left shoulder. A sickness started in her stomach, washing through her body as she recognised the girl from her dream. This was Miranda, Uberto’s daughter. Mina had dreamt of her, and if the dream had any truth to it, Miranda had lured Paolo away. Mina suddenly remembered what Lisette had said about the girl. She had left the troupe with her lover, then returned without him. Had Miranda stolen Paolo from her family, only to come to hate him so much she had broken his thread to be rid of him?

Behind the king and queen’s retinue, the nine cloaked figures from the vigil now took a seat. At the far right was the figure in the many-coloured cloak. Mina guessed these must be the Council of Muses, who would judge the competition together with the king and queen. Almost as one, eight of them removed their hoods, revealing their faces, as they hadn’t during the vigil. All had white or grey hair, their faces like ancient apples. The figure representing the Creator left their hood up.

Just then the king raised his arms, as though to embrace all the people in the ballroom. ‘Welcome, my beloved people of Aurea.’

His voice was deep, carrying the length of the room with ease.

‘Today we are honoured to have all the greatest artisans of our fair country assembled here for our pleasure. The Festival of Light is a marvellous time for our kingdom, particularly during those years when we are given great pleasure through diverse entertainments. We are a country of such richness because of you, all of you, those who bring joy with your wondrous gifts. It saddens us that at the end of these entertainments we can invite only a small number of you to remain with us as our royal artisans, but our accommodations are so humble I’m sure you will understand. We have so little room.’

An appreciative murmur of laughter bubbled across the crowd.

‘Queen Eleni and I have looked forward to this day for a long time. We know you will give of your best. All the nobles of our court are here to enjoy your entertainments also. Today, we humble ourselves before you, for you are the ones so gifted with marvellous talent that we watch with awe. Please, enjoy yourselves and remember that although few can come to reside in the royal palaces, all of you are considered by us to be royal treasures.’

The crowd cheered. The king waited for the cheer to die away, then held up his hand again, and silence resumed. He gestured to the great windows of the ballroom.

‘Look, the dawn is with us! Now we ask our most beauteous queen to commence the competition.’

As the queen stood, stewards hurried to all the windows, pulling close the curtains so the only light was from the enormous standing candelabras. The queen took a step forward, standing beside a candelabra that made her face glow in the near darkness.

‘This day will be a long one, but know this,’ she spoke, her voice melodic and low, yet resonant enough to carry. ‘We will give you all equal regard, however tired we may become! If you are not to perform until late in the day, do not lose heart, for our excitement will be as great then as it is now.’

The queen turned to Miranda, who passed her a bundle of cloth.

‘Let the entertainment begin.’

With a wide sweep of her arm, Queen Eleni released the cloth into the air beyond the box. Eight swatches of fabric, each a different colour, broke apart from each other and drifted down amongst the artisans, who reached up eagerly to catch them.

The king and queen smiled indulgently at the controlled frenzy, enjoying the entertainment as artisans leaped for the scarves. Mina used the distraction to furtively examine Miranda, who stood tall and beautiful, flicking her braid to her back. And Miranda saw her. Her brilliant green eyes met Mina’s across the vast room full of people. Mina had spent so long keeping her identity as Paolo’s sister a secret from the other players that her heart plummeted. If Miranda recognised her, the players might ask her to leave. Or worse. If they realised she knew Paolo had been harmed deliberately … But Miranda’s look swept away without recognition, and Mina felt a surge of hope. After all, she had been so young when Paolo left. And only Dario knew what she had discovered about the threads. Her heart was still thudding though. There was still a risk Miranda might recognise her if she saw her at close proximity. At least while Mina was onstage playing, she would wear a mask.

The king and queen sat, and the nobles copied their example. Seeing this, artisans hurried to settle onto the cushions and rugs. Mina squeezed in behind Roberto and in front of Dario, who briefly placed his hand on her waist, his thumb stroking her back in a way that sent a familiar thrill down her back. Those who had caught scarves surrounded a pair of stewards at the back of the ballroom. Other stewards walked around the edges of the room, snuffing out candles. In the balcony the nobles had chairs. When performers visited village squares, the audience usually stood, but today was to be such a long day everyone sat.

A woman took up position on the lip of the stage, in front of the curtain, wearing a wispy red outfit liberally sprinkled with gold coins. A man in a flared shirt of the same red sat near her and began tuning a guitar. The steward standing by the king banged his great staff on the ground, and the guitarist began playing soft music, casting a spell of stillness over the rustling crowd. The woman bowed to the audience, holding up the grey scarf that signified her right to go first. Tossing it aside, she began to dance.

Dancers had never come to Andon. The village folk danced their own lively country jigs with energy and enjoyment, but Mina had never seen dancing like this. Moving slowly and sinuously, the dancer twisted her arms as though shaping the air in front of her. Red scarves hung from a solid belt of gold around her waist, swaying with every movement, revealing long, dark legs. As the dance continued the music quickened, and the dancer’s waving movements became almost whip-like, until she was spinning faster than the eye could take in, her skirt flaring out around her, her arms twisting above her head like a candle flame. For an instant she appeared to burst into flame, and the entire audience gasped. Then the music stopped, and the woman with it, her back to the audience, but her head facing the crowd. The impression of flames was gone, if it had ever been. The dancer was completely still, despite the vigour of her spinning an instant before, the only movement her skirts coming to rest. The artisans applauded with appreciation, and the next act began.

The morning went quickly. Mina began to understand how removed Andon was from the world. Players and story tellers and travelling musicians had occasionally visited the small town, but she could remember only one visit from cirquers. Those who juggled, or contorted their bodies, or balanced on brightly painted blocks awed her. The man with the belled hat who had called them to their baths that morning performed with fire, juggling flaming sticks, and even placing them in his mouth then breathing out great spurts of flame. Strangely, the performers of the morning were almost exclusively cirquers or dancers, but Roberto explained this with a wry laugh during the changeover between two of the acts.

‘As usual, the quick ones caught the scarves before the rest of us could!’

Every time an act finished, artisans stood and stretched their arms and legs, sitting quickly when the steward banged his staff to signal the next act. Many of the early acts were quick, being solo performers or a duo. The nobles in the boxes were kept well supplied with drinks and foodstuffs. When they’d seen fourteen performances, the steward called the proceedings to a stop. Carafes of water were passed amongst the artisans together with small baskets containing fruits and flowers encrusted with sugar.

‘Ooh, sugarplums!’ Isabella gushed, taking three. ‘When I live at the palace I’ll eat these whenever I want.’

‘And soon lose your figure, and your exalted position!’ Jal mocked.