The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 11 - Council Intervenes-3

The sweetmeats were a winter-frosted beauty, their natural colours muted by the sugar shell. Mina had never seen their like and was reluctant to try one. Sweets at home were mainly boiled sugar and milk, set into delicious squares and flavoured with cardamom or fruit. Carefully she moved aside a frosted violet to reach for a plum.

Luka spoke quietly. ‘You can eat the flowers.’

Mina looked at him with disbelief. He nodded and placed one in his own mouth. Had it been Jal or Roberto, she would have laughed at them, mistrusting, but Luka was different. Though she barely knew him, Mina already sensed that he only ever spoke what was in his heart. She picked up a flower and tasted it. The sugar melted on her tongue. The taste was incredible, the scent of the garden given form with unbelievable sweetness.

‘Now try a plum!’ Isabella laughed, reaching for another fruit then turning to flirt with a nearby artisan.

Dario held out a perfectly shaped plum to Mina. Again an explosion of sweetness overwhelmed her as the plum melted in her mouth in a ball of juice. Strangely Ciro, who had been carefully avoiding her for weeks, spoke next.

‘They take three days to make. My mother worked in a nobleman’s kitchen. Hard work, hot and tiring, but we did get plenty of food. It was my job to stir the syrup as it was reheating each day.’

Ciro’s eyes slid away from Mina’s again. Lisette passed her the carafe of water. It had a tart, lemony taste.

‘Cuts down the sweetness,’ Vincenzo said, then nodded toward the stage. ‘Now we will see some playing.’

A masked player was looking out from the curtains and nodding, signalling to someone. The steward’s staff banged once again, and the audience quieted, resuming their seats.

Mina reached for a crystallised apricot as the tinny sound of a whistle began piping, muffled by the green curtains. She savoured the taste.

The curtains parted.

Onstage stood a single man, dressed in the costume of a zanni, one of the servants. He played the whistle, its music louder now, trying bravely to fill the vast space of the ballroom. The stage was set in a familiar manner, the common street scene, with a house at either end of the stage, each with a door below and a balcony above.

‘Money, vengeance, or love?’ Isabella whispered.

‘Two silver says it’s vengeance,’ Roberto replied.

Vincenzo gave a low, bitter chuckle. ‘It’s the Archiari troupe. I have five silver their canovaccio will be about money.’

‘Done!’ Roberto declared, a little too loudly, and ducked his head as others turned toward the noise with a frown.

Harlequin informed the audience he’d come to Aurea with his master, who sought revenge upon a fool of a captain who had stolen from him. Roberto, still watching the stage, reached out a hand to Vincenzo, demanding his winnings. Vincenzo held up one hand, signalling for Roberto to wait, a slight smile playing around his mouth. Harlequin informed his master, Lelio, of Il Capitano’s whereabouts, and Lelio went to confront him. Il Capitano, the usual show-off fool, begged for time to restore the fortune he’d mistakenly stolen, and went to Il Dottore, who owed him gambling debts. Il Dottore sought out his daughter, Vittoria, who had a magnificent dowry. But she’d lent this to her servant, Ricciolina, who kept it in a box in order to entice her would-be lover, Harlequin, and didn’t wish to return it as she would lose his attentions.

Much confusion and humour ensued in the brief time of the playing, until Harlequin realised he was at the centre of the seemingly impossible circle. By declaring his somewhat less than respectable intentions for Ricciolina all could be resolved, he could gain a wife, and his master the treasure owed to him. Of course, in the midst of all the confusion, his master also obtained the hand of Vittoria.

The playing was superb. Each performer transformed behind a grotesque mask, the leather softening to become human features. Mina had, of course, seen transformations at close proximity during rehearsal, but she was still staggered by it. One moment the players’ faces were hidden behind darkened leather, with bulbous or overly long noses and craggy foreheads. The next, the leather melted away and a new face emerged, the features a little too sharply defined, the eyes a little too large, giving away their otherworldly origins. It was impossible to tell what the players really looked like, other than the lovers, who only wore face make-up. As with Isabella and Jal, when they transformed, their faces became exaggerations of their own features, with the faintest shadow of another’s face over the top.

Not only were the transformations seamless, but the characters were hilarious, with bold movements and unique vocal styles. At different points in the short playing, each pulled out an instrument of some sort and played a musical accompaniment to the action. Harlequin, Il Capitano, and Ricciolina in particular undertook pratfalls, little dances and by-plays of physical comedy.

The entire audience stood at the end of the playing.

Under their rapturous applause Isabella muttered. ‘We’ll be better. We must be! These artisans must be provincials, to be impressed by such poor lazzi!’

Onstage, the players removed their masks to bow, revealing their faces. Mina recognised their Harlequin as the guild master, Tito Archiari. During the performance he had seemed young and agile. Now he hunched and blinked his pale eyes at the audience, and Mina wondered how he had managed to dance around the stage with so much energy.

‘I won’t pay,’ Roberto hissed to Vincenzo. ‘This was your troupe. You knew what was to come!’

‘No, Roberto. How many canovaccio begin with a zanni walking down the street?’

‘Most of them!’ Jal replied, with a laugh.

‘So how could I know?’ Vincenzo asked.

‘It was your troupe!’ Roberto insisted.

‘Don’t be a bad loser,’ Dario said.

Uberto leaned over to the arguing men. ‘Vincenzo may have had an idea what his troupe would prefer, as you would with us, but he could not be certain unless he spoke with a member of the troupe. And I can assure you with great certainty that would not occur!’

Flashing a frown at Uberto, Roberto reached into his pocket and pulled out five coins.

‘Later, my friend, later,’ Vincenzo said quickly, closing Roberto’s hand over the coins.

Mama Tina looked horrified. ‘We can’t be seen to gamble at a festival performance!’ she hissed. ‘You will both be fined for that show of silver!’

Roberto and Vincenzo both began to protest, but the banging of the steward’s staff silenced them.

One of the palace staff brought in a low stool and placed it at the front of the performance space. A woman followed behind, her long hair like a river of silk. Mina recognised her as the person from Rien Lisette had spoken with. She sat and placed a wooden instrument in her lap. Across the frame, many strings of differing lengths looped around each other. The overall effect was very like the cobweb that made up the great gates of Aurea. Another palace servant placed a gold stand, also hung with a gold cobweb, in place in front of her. In the centre a spider sat, its body of indigo coloured stone. The musician placed some sheets of paper on the stand.

‘Curious,’ Dario whispered from behind Mina.

‘What’s the instrument?’ Mina asked softly, as silence fell.

‘A harp,’ came Dario’s almost silent reply. ‘I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one. She must have travelled a long way to be here …’

His voice trailed off as music floated from the filigree strings of the instrument. It sang the gentle melody of a river, winding its gentle way through green fields, but there was a terrible sadness in the song. Before Mina could even form a thought, she was in Tarya. Somehow the music, or her own thoughts, called forth the flowing water she’d heard in the song an instant ago, but it wasn’t a river. Instead, Mina sat on the edge of the fountain in Andon, the place where she’d waited so many years for Paolo. Only a blur of indigo on the horizon gave away that this was not real. Yet the water of the fountain felt cool when she dipped her hand in. She wondered how this could be when she knew it had been conjured by the music of the harp, or perhaps by her own memories.

Still, Mina tried to return to her own body. She couldn’t risk exposure for a little time in the place dearest to her in the world. She found her gold thread and would have followed it, but a voice spoke, deep and familiar.

‘Wait.’

Mina stood and turned toward the voice, the ground under her feet as solid and real as though she really were home. She saw a shadowy waterfall that didn’t seem as real as the fountain. Yet the misty spray was real enough, landing in fragmented sparkles on her clothes. The current of water parted, like a curtain, and Uncle Tonio stepped through, reaching his arms out to her. He was faded, almost not there in the bright sunlight.

‘Mina. I only have while the music lasts. Darling child, thank you for caring for me in life. I knew what you did, though it might not have seemed so.’

‘How … how …?’ Mina stammered.

‘Sometimes the higher levels of Tarya touch this world, when artists create something that transcends. I reached for you, knowing this was my only chance. Though this world proclaims that it reveres creators, real creativity has been banished.’

Mina stood, and rushed into her uncle’s arms. They felt real enough, but frail, as though he might melt beneath the warmth of her living body. He was completely dry, despite the waterfall spray.

‘The music finishes,’ Uncle Tonio said, and his voice became urgent. ‘Time is almost gone. Know Tarya, my lovely girl. Know it well and you will learn your power … you can restore the enchantment.’

A bright shaft of sunlight broke Uncle Tonio’s form apart, and Mina stood alone by the fountain of her hometown, the waterfall gone, her arms reaching out to a sky that shattered as she looked at it. She caught a last glimpse of the little stone boy with his book on the edge of the fountain, before a sickening lurch returned her to her body, seated in the palace ballroom. There was complete silence. A fine mist seemed to linger in the air, then it vanished with the last notes of music.

Terrified, Mina was sure she’d said or done something to cause the silence, but she quickly realised the audience were transfixed by the harpist’s music. A few artisans nearby were feeling their clothes with surprise. It was so subtle she would hardly have noticed were it not for her vision of the waterfall, but her own clothes were slightly damp.

Looking around again, it dawned on Mina the expressions on everyone’s faces were strange, given the beauty and wonder of what the musician had just wrought. Many looked disapproving, some were shocked and some even seemed fearful.

A noise from the royal balcony made the entire audience look upward. One of the Council of Muses spoke with the king and queen, gesticulating energetically. The king was nodding, his face grim. He turned and nodded to the herald by his side, raising one finger. The herald hurried off. A low, anxious murmur swept through the audience. Mina looked back at the harpist, who had stood and now looked around, confused. A steward came to where she was and picked up her golden music stand, and she offered him a small, uncertain bow. Then there was a huge bang as the doors at the rear of the hall swung open, and half a dozen men strode into the hall.

Artisans drew back out of their way as the men walked toward the harpist. Each wore a black tabard, adorned with a crown crossed by a sword. When they reached the harpist, realisation flickered across her face and she backed away, shaking her head. The audience talked openly now, and at first they didn’t hear the banging of the herald’s staff. He repeated the motion several times to still the crowd. Finally all eyes were upon him. But it was the Muse Council member representing the Creator who stepped to the edge of the balcony and spoke. His face was invisible, hidden by his cloak. His voice rasped with age, yet it rang out through the hall with great power.

‘The Council of Muses has observed this performance and declare that Giselle Auteuil, harpist of Rien, has today, before this gathering, used Arcani. Such practices were banished from our kingdom at the time of the End of Darkness, three hundred years past, for good reason, and remain an offence against king and council. For this reason, Giselle Auteuil is disqualified from the competition. As she is not from our kingdom, mercy will be shown. She will be exiled from Litonya.’

All eyes were on the herald, but a whimper caused Mina to look to the grand rear doors of the hall. Three men, all far larger than she, dragged the harpist through the doors. A fourth carried the harp, away from his body, as though it burned him. The final two men closed the rear doors behind the party.

Shock swept through the crowd in angry bursts of sound. It took several bangs from the Herald’s staff to quiet them down. Swiftly the king, the queen, and all their retinue left their box. After their departure, the nobles also left their seats. The cloaked figures of the Council of Muses clustered together, and even from a distance an observer could tell they argued fiercely. Eventually one signalled to the others and they left the hall swiftly. Some artisans also left, but most stayed, whispering about what had just occurred. Mina was stunned. The musician had been the best performer they’d seen, and Mina didn’t understand what she stood accused of. She had simply touched Tarya with her music. What could be wrong with that?

Just then a steward spoke quietly to Mama Tina, who stood and gestured to the troupe urgently.

‘Come quickly, we must prepare!’

‘What about lunch?’ Jal protested. Another steward passed him, staggering with a huge basket.

‘You can eat backstage,’ Mama Tina replied without sympathy. ‘You play after the meal break. There’ll be three acts before you. Hurry!’

They hurried up the stage steps and through the green curtain. The wings on either side of the stage were small. An intricate system of pulleys and ropes held backdrops and scenic elements in the space above the stage. Two small dressing rooms backstage held chairs and tables. After the curtained darkness of the great hall it was a relief that light streamed in from several windows overhead. The players found their costumes hung on a rail, and their mask box sat near the door.

‘Eat first,’ Mama Tina urged as Isabella sat at one of the tables and reached for the white face paint already sitting there.

Mina was suddenly gripped by fear as she realised she was about to play for royalty.

Chapter 12