The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 4 - Blood Money-1

Blood Money‘And so it ends. If our playing has pleased you, a token. For we are not wealthy like the duke. We are mere players, who sometimes have empty bellies, though our hearts are full.’

A cheer erupted. Mina removed her mask and looked out over the audience. Their upturned faces, calm and content, glowed in the afternoon sunlight. She realised her final words had been necessary to bring the audience back to the present. The tale had to be ended so their own tales, the stories of their own lives, might begin again.

Aldo took her hand and helped her onto the stage where they joined Ciro, Isabella and Jal in a line. Ciro took her other hand with his cold grasp. As the crowd roared, the players bowed. Mina smiled, enjoying the applause. These people had been changed, somehow, by their playing. She bowed again, releasing the other players’ hands, and stepped backward, still bowing, so the row of players behind could step to the front. This was a simple move they had practised at the end of the rehearsal yesterday, but it was very effective. Harlequin, now in the centre at the front, took a deep breath, drawing in the energy of the crowd to his very core as they clapped and cheered for him.

‘Quick, part them from their coin,’ Isabella said, handing Mina a wooden bowl.

They hurried down the steps, amongst the smiling faces. Townsfolk dropped coin after coin into the players’ bowls, with thanks. Mina noticed Uberto, still in his Harlequin mask, carried no bowl, but shook hands with anyone who crossed his path, a manic grin on his face. Mina smiled too, her whole body on fire, charged with energy. She didn’t notice the young man who stepped into her path until he caught hold of the edge of the bowl she carried.

‘Take your blood money and get out, Innaroi!’

He spat. Shocked, Mina watched as the glob of spit landed right near her shoe, glistening. There were murmurs around her. Two men stepped forward, taking hold of the young man by his elbows. A third man tried to step between the lad and Mina.

‘Come on, Rico, that’s enough.’

‘No, it’s not. Look at you all, worshipping them. You know what they are! You know what they do. My Katriela …’

The older man placed his hands on Rico’s shoulders. ‘She’s my sister as well as your wife, but this won’t help her.’

‘She can’t do it herself, Carlo. She can’t do anything. She doesn’t sew anymore, she doesn’t talk, she doesn’t care.’

He indicated a girl who stood behind him. She might have been very pretty, once, but now she looked ill. Her hair hung lank and greasy, framing a pale face. Deep shadows hollowed out the inner curve of eyes that looked sad and hopeless all at the one time. She watched Rico with no hint of emotion.

‘These damn lying Innaroi,’ he continued.

Mina felt a hand on her arm and was relieved when Aldo stepped in front of her, shielding her from Rico’s anger.

‘It’s an ugly thing to put others down for what they are,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Now, leave us be. We’re just here to entertain.’

‘Thieves,’ Rico spat the word. He lunged forward. The momentum of his sudden movement pushed him past Carlo.

‘You,’ he pointed at Aldo, his finger connecting with the large man’s chest. ‘You Innaroi, with your weird changes. It’s Arcani, that’s what it is!’

A shockwave swept through the crowd. In the silence, Rico continued his rant.

‘Katriela had her fortune told by dirty Innaroi and whatever they told her, it made her give up.’

He punctuated his words by jabbing Aldo’s chest several times. Aldo stood still, a solid wall, but behind his back he beckoned for Mina to leave. She was frozen, fascinated, and confused. What was this man accusing them of? Arcani? Again Rico lunged, and he was very quick. Shoving Aldo aside, he seized Mina, his grip painful on both her arms.

‘Thieves!’ he said, and spat again. This time the spit landed on her chin. ‘Dirty Innaroi.’

His grip hurt so much it felt like it was burning her. Mina froze in disbelief, her stomach lurching. She was no different from a week ago, before she joined the players. Days ago she had been part of the audience herself. Then she had crossed a line, stepping into mysteries that were just beginning to unfold. And with that unfolding came this. Hatred she had done nothing to earn.

In Andon people spoke of Arcani with fear, but also doubt, in their voices. Dark arts that could change reality were blasphemy against the Creator, but most people Mina knew back home weren’t even sure what they might look like.

‘Are you listening to me?’ Rico demanded, calling her back to the immediate problem, and began shaking her. The part of Mina that had been watching this with surprise was now overcome with fear. He meant to hurt her, for who he thought she was. She tried to pull free, but his grip was steel.

‘Stop it,’ she said, trying not to let him see her fear.

Katriela spoke then. ‘Let’s go, Rico. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.’

Then Rico’s grip was torn loose. Aldo had him by the shoulders.

‘We don’t do Arcani, lad. It’s just illusion,’ Aldo said.

Rico pulled away just as Aldo let go of his shoulders, and fell to the ground. His friend Carlo and two others helped him stand, then led him away. Katriela trailed behind, glancing back once. From a distance the deep purple smudges on either side of her nose gave her face a skeletal appearance.

Rico continued to cry out insults as he was led away, his ranting verging on madness. But to Mina he didn’t sound mad in the way of Uncle Tonio. This was a madness fuelled by great rage and hatred. In the distance she heard his voice change. It rose in a desperate wail.

‘Give her back to me.’

Aldo clutched at Mina then, and began sliding to the ground, dragging her down with him. She was horrified to see agony contort his face as he grabbed at his chest and moaned. Mina lifted his head into her lap before it hit the paved ground.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘My chest,’ he panted. His voice was quieter than usual, his gaze unfocussed.

‘Help me,’ Mina pleaded, looking up, but the crowd around her was a blank, unmoving wall. Then an old woman with pocked cheeks pushed through and touched Aldo’s face with crooked fingers.

‘His heart shudders,’ she said. ‘I’ll make a brew. You must calm him down, girl.’

With that, she hurried away. Aldo’s face was puffier than usual and grey. Sweat dappled his forehead.

‘Listen to me, Aldo,’ Mina said. ‘You’ll be fine.’ She stroked his forehead, and a story sprang into her thoughts from nowhere.

‘Just listen to my voice. You’re lying in a boat carved with nymphs and decorated with garlands of flowers. You’re lying on fine silken cushions. Gentle waves rock you.’

As she spoke Mina felt herself slipping into Tarya. She looked down at Aldo and he was lying exactly as she’d said, on an array of silken cushions in reds and oranges and golds. Already he looked a little less grey. She continued to tell of a place of healing.

‘You’re in a beautiful land, Aldo, the land of the Creator, where each of us is young forever. We’re adrift on the Crystal River, and soon we shall reach the Pool of Healing. Can you hear the waterfall in the distance? Once, long ago, the Creator saw the beauty of the rain, falling on the lakes, and wondered what it would be like to see such sparkling drops falling all the time. So he created waterfalls. The one you hear is the first he made, and he was so pleased with it he endowed it with special powers. It falls from the heavens. You can’t see where it begins, because that is a land as far beyond here as this land is beyond our own. But because it comes from such a place, its powers are great. Do you hear its great roar? Open your eyes, Aldo. See the waterfall.’

With great effort, Aldo opened his eyes. He and Mina both looked up at a magnificent waterfall. Countless rivulets ran down over grey-blue rocks, meeting up to become a tremendous force that steamed and roared until it dumped all its wrath into a perfectly still pool. In the indigo depths of the water, just below the reach of the light, shapes flickered, flashing silver when they neared the surface. Neither Mina nor Aldo could see these creatures clearly, but they quickly forgot about them, captivated by way the water sprayed out in momentary stars when it hit the blue stone at the pool’s edge.

‘Why is the pool so still?’ Aldo gasped.

‘That’s its enchantment,’ Mina replied. But then doubt assailed her. How had she created this? As if in response, the waterfall wavered, shimmering like the players’ masks during transformation. Mina pushed her doubts away and looked around, breathing in the wonder. The roaring of the water grew louder again. In the bottom of the boat she noticed a beaker made of deep blue glass, encased in filigree of silver. The boat came to a stop then, though they had barely noticed it was even moving, so smoothly had it glided across the water.

‘Why doesn’t the waterfall push us away?’ Aldo asked.

Mina smiled. ‘The Creator must want you to be healed.’

She reached out and dipped the beaker into the tranquil water. As she did so, one of the swimming creatures broke the surface and leaped over her hand. He looked human, but no more than the length of two hands, with skin tinted a pale aqua like the water, and a fish tail of brightest silver. His hair was jet black with a blue-green sheen, and his eyes deep blue. With a flash of his tail he dove into the pool again.

Mina laughed, happiness welling inside. She felt light, almost giddy.

‘The guardians of the pool bless us,’ she said. She held the beaker for Aldo to sip from. He was trembling. After a second sip, he placed a hand on his chest.

‘The pain’s gone,’ he said with wonder. His colour was normal. His breath was even. ‘How have you …?’ he began.

Mina shook her head as doubt assailed her again.

Then the world around them melted. They were no longer in the boat, but sitting on the stones in the public square in Clusone, surrounded by curious faces. Both blinked, seeing a world too sharp around the edges. Then their vision returned to normal.

The old lady pushed her way through the crowd, holding a clay mug. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Drink this.’

She stopped short, taking in Aldo’s improved condition. ‘How can this …?’ She knelt and placed a hand on Aldo’s chest. ‘What did you do?’ she asked Mina.

Neither Mina nor Aldo could answer.

A woman from the crowd spoke up. ‘She just stroked his forehead and told him a story,’ she said. ‘It was so real I almost thought I could see …’ She shook her head and fell silent, confusion setting into the lines of her face.

The old woman narrowed her eyes, peering at Mina. ‘Seems the Creator has blessed you with the gift of healing. Mmm. It’s long since I’ve had an apprentice, but I’ve not forgotten how to teach.’

Mina was stunned. Healing? It had not been even a passing thought before this day. ‘Are you saying … you would teach me?’

The old woman nodded.

This could be an answer to her mother’s fears. Healers were respected, cared for. But if she stayed in Clusone, how would she find Paolo?

‘I think mine is another path,’ she said.

The old woman shrugged, and staggered away, clutching her unused brew. Dario and Roberto pushed through the curious bystanders then, helping Aldo to stand and half carrying him away. Around them the crowd dispersed, chattering. The palpable excitement from the players’ performance was gone, replaced by a kind of joyous wonder. Uberto, still in his Harlequin mask, was silent, his eyes shadowed. Beneath the mask his expression was grim.

~

For their second performance that evening Roberto took on Aldo’s role, and though he didn’t transform, he gave a passable impression of bumbling old Il Dottore, while Aldo lay in his wagon, exhausted but without pain. Takings for the performance were good enough to purchase a suckling pig, which Mama Tina roasted in small pieces over a glorious fire. Yet there was none of the joking banter Mina had come to expect at dinner time. No one discussed what had happened that day at all.