The Tales of Tarya, Books 1-3

Chapter 1 - The Players Arrive-5

‘You were such a bright little thing,’ he told her. ‘I used to tell you stories, and you’d listen and learn them all off by heart. Tales I’d heard growing up. But you were hungry for more tales than I had. Then you started spending all your time with Paolo. Paolo knew different stories because he talked to travellers in the market a lot. But you wore out all his tales too. Then you started telling all the tales you’d learned to those stupid fountain children. And you remembered every tale you’d ever heard.’

Papa fell silent.

‘Then what, Papa?’ Mina asked, though an uneasy feeling in her stomach told her she almost remembered the answer.

‘I stopped you,’ he said, and his voice was quieter than Mina had ever heard it. ‘I found you telling a story you’d made up. I made you stop. I … I hit you. I was afraid.’

‘Afraid of what?’ Mina asked.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Papa said.

Mina met Papa’s eyes. She knew what he was thinking. ‘So like her mother.’ He said it to her often. Papa loved her, she knew, but it was often hard for him to show her. Now she knew why her stories were gone. He had silenced her the day he’d hit her. There’d been no more stories. She felt no anger, just sadness. She had lost something, and not even remembered why.

‘They say it’s wrong,’ Papa began again. ‘Like Tonio’s paintings. He showed one to someone once, and they came and burned them all. I didn’t know he’d done more. I never understood what was so wrong. Especially with your storytelling. Story tellers are blessed by the Creator, and the Creator can bring stories into being, so why shouldn’t you?’

He stood up, and looked away, hiding his expression from Mina.

‘You should find your stories again,’ he muttered. ‘You were happier then.’

He squeezed her shoulder, still not looking at her directly, then left the room, leaving Tonio’s portrait broken on the floor.

Mina knelt and picked up the two pieces, wrapped them in their rag and, removing the skirting board once more, tucked them back inside the wall. She put the skirting board back carefully, her mind whirling. She’d locked her tales away for so long she’d come to believe what they said in the divina, that only the Creator made up new tales. Story tellers told the sacred tales of Tarya, passed down over innumerable years. The only new tales ever told were the tales of people’s lives, and they weren’t made up. Not really. Just re-told.

Yet Papa was telling her she had made up stories in her head and now she realised she still had snippets of them, like the tale she had created for little Tonio at the fountain, to explain why he always seemed so sad. He’d lost a friend, a girl called Ana, who died and went away to the heavenly realms of Tarya forever.

But there were no new stories in her head now, merely the tracings of long lost tales, and she wondered if her gift was gone forever.

~

Mina and her parents shared a solemn lunch, speaking in subdued voices of the successful harvest and Papa’s upcoming trip to the coastal city of Male to sell the season’s best apricots and figs. After lunch, when it came time to seek out the players, Mina hugged her mother, shouldered her bag, and walked with her father to the square. He stopped when he saw the player wagon. The expression on his face made Mina shiver. She might have named it as fear if she didn’t know Papa never felt such things.

She’d hoped he would stay and help her speak to the players, but he muttered an excuse, gave her a brusque hug, and hurried off, leaving her standing alone by the fountain. She moved to the edge of the square so she could see the rear of the wagon, where the players were setting up for another performance. Though she hadn’t known the memory was still there, she was transported once more back to her childhood. The sight of the players had unlocked so much. She had watched the players as a child, she realised, feeling distant and excluded, knowing Paolo was about to leave with them. She had been fearful for her brother because in the performance she had seen some players wore dark, sinister masks that disturbed her.

It was different now. As a child everything looks mysterious or strange, Mina told herself. She watched the players unpacking their masks from wooden boxes lined with fabric. Her long ago memories told her these masks had changed, with the players, into Something Else, once the playing began. She had thought she had seen something like that yesterday too. But it must have been the heat, and the strangeness of it all. They were just masks. These people were no different to anyone else who set up in the market, plying their wares. They were selling their entertainments. All this noise and fury as they set up was a trick to captivate people. No doubt they used the same techniques Mina had learned to part people from their precious coin when selling her father’s fruit. Proffered friendship, a tale for a purchase, a feeling of obligation.

Despite Harlequin’s offer, Mina felt she would have to prove her worth before they would take her in. Doubt crept up on her. She wasn’t of their kind, nor was she a gifted player, or even an experienced one. Twice Mina started to cross over to the players’ wagon, and twice she turned back, chewing the ends of her hair. Her indecision didn’t go unnoticed, however. As she looked across at the busy group, several of whom were making great show of polishing the gilt and paintwork on the wagon, a tall, thin man with silvery hair waved from amongst them. Mina wasn’t sure if he was beckoning to her. He gestured again.

When she still hesitated, he crossed the square to her with a quick, smooth gait. Up close, it was very hard to tell his age. His eyes sparkled and his hair still had traces of black amongst the silver. He spoke with a confident, deep voice.

‘Greetings, beautiful lass. I could not help but see you watching us humble players. Might I enquire as to your interest?’

His tone sounded mocking, but his eyes were sincere. Mina found it difficult to decide what colour they were. As he spoke, the player waved slender hands with unnaturally long fingers through the air.

‘Do not be shy, young lady. Whatever stories you have heard are undoubtedly true, but for all that we are not bad sorts. I could see even from far across the square that you were eager to come over, yet something stopped you. Tell me, what is your dream? Why do you watch the players with such interest?’

‘You … you invited me to travel with you.’

Mina cursed herself for the hesitancy in her own voice after the player’s smooth speech. He turned his head to one side, looking at her with one eye like a bird of prey. His pupil seemed to grow huge. Then he swooped in a great bow, an imaginary cloak passing before him.

‘Ah, fair one. Of course. How could I forget? And I stand by my offer. It would be a great honour. But we must discuss terms. Are we to see you safe to another town then? We can promise pleasing company, plenteous food … well, depending on the generosity of your good townsfolk, so a word from you would not go amiss …’

‘No. No, I’d like to join you. I’d like to learn to be a player.’

The man blinked twice. Mina took a breath and waited for the questions, or laughter, to follow, but there was only silence. He leaned in close to Mina, his pupils expanding to huge black orbs. Then he sniffed the air, as though taking in her scent. He licked his lips and took a deep breath.

‘I think we might be able to find a place,’ he said, his voice deep in his chest. The thought of finding Paolo was all that kept Mina from running away. The player’s scrutiny had a sinister edge to it. Then his look ended. A decision had been made. He burst into light laughter, nodding.

Abruptly, he stopped laughing and scrutinised Mina. He became stock still, his elaborate gestures and florid speech gone in an instant.

‘You can join us immediately if you wish. We shall need to discover your talent before you receive training. Stay with us tonight, for we leave early in the morning for Clusone. We get two good performances at most out of a place this small. My name is Uberto. And yours?’

‘Mina.’

He bowed, flaring an imaginary cloak again. Mina realised with shock that his eyes were grey, like her own. A minute ago she had thought they were green. There was laughter in the lines on his face and his eyes, though strange, were kind. Still, Mina felt uneasy. His dark once-over, though gone now, still lingered in her thoughts.

‘Well, fetch your things and come back to the wagon. We’ll sort out the sleeping arrangements. We leave at first light.’

‘Oh, then I’ll stay with my parents tonight,’ Mina said. ‘I may not see them for a long time.’

Uberto looked down his nose at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Might I suggest that once you move forward, it is best not to go back?’

Mina thought of Mama and Papa. She thought of how hard it had been to get to this point. Papa’s eyes had been sad at lunch, despite his cheerful words. If she went home, perhaps she wouldn’t leave in the morning. Perhaps she wouldn’t have the courage a second time.

‘I’ll come with you now,’ she decided, swinging her bag onto her shoulder.

Chapter 2