"Alas, alack! My breaking heart!" wailed the first, sniffing into her handkerchief to hide her giggles.
"Kippen has a sweeting!" piped the youngest of them. "And Lara's going to die."
"Kippen has a sweeting," the others cried, taking up the chant and dancing about them both.
"What's her name, Kippen?" one called. "Or are we to call her 'Kippen's Sweeting'?"
"Oh, no," Kaela told them, gathering her wits. "I am called —" she remembered the baron just in time, "— called Kaeli," she improvised. "And I'm really not Kippen's sweetheart, just a chance-met traveler, a vagabond teller of tales."
"Ha!" said Lara, emerging from her handkerchief. "Kaeli? You're a storyteller? So much the better. Come along, both of you."
Before either of them had caught their breath, they were being herded off amid the swirl of silks toward the palace.
Kaela shot a fearful glance over her shoulder and saw to her dismay that Stafgrym was watching her with an expression of triumph. She shuddered and allowed herself to be swept along by the tide—not, she noticed, through the great front gates, using rather a small entrance to the garden. From there, they were swept into the palace and up a narrow flight of stairs. Under normal conditions, Kaela would have liked to look about, but the ladies-in-waiting were in too great a hurry, and she was too rattled. Almost before she knew it, the troop had entered a large parlor.
"Princess!" called Lara. "Princess Amana!"
"Lara," a voice replied, "where are your manners?"
The princess entered then, a stately girl, tall with green eyes and a languid, bored smile. She was dressed in a gown adorned with seed pearls and feathers, and she carried an embroidery frame and a box of silks. Kaela noticed that the work on the frame was indifferent at best and remembered her own single encounter with a needle and a square of linen. She smiled sympathetically at the princess.
"Oh, Princess!" cried Lara, unable to contain herself. "We brought Kippenl And his sweetheart, Kaeli, a storyteller."
"Indeed?" said Princess Amana indifferently. "Is that reason enough for this unmannerly interruption?"
"Yes," Lara stated firmly and for an instant Kaela forgot her pounding heart and smiled.
The princess glared at Lara, then at Kippen. "I will not be mocked, Lara," she said coldly.
Lara looked puzzled. "I'm not, Lady Princess, truly. It's just that we all know how you hate your embroidery and I thought —"
"Lara!" the princess interrupted sharply. "Do not say such things in front of strangers. Will you never learn?"
Kaela smiled. "I promise I shan't repeat it, Lady Princess. You need have no fear for your reputation."
The princess tossed her head.
"Would you like to hear a tune?" Kippen asked, smiling winningly.
"Oh, yes!" cried the ladies-in-waiting, but the princess was sulkily silent. Kippen looked at her quizzically, but she would not meet his gaze.
"Lady Princess?" he asked. "Have I offended you? I am sorry."
She was silent.
Kippen laid his flute in his lap. "Two can play at that, Lady Princess," he told her mildly. "I have apologized as best I know how, and I find your silence rude and ungracious."
The room was tense and hushed for a moment until suddenly Princess Amana melted and smiled at them all. "Oh! I'm being so silly. It's no use trying to be stern and forbidding. I'm an utter hoyden, and you all know it. Kippen, I'm sorry I've been so rude but why have you been so long away?"
He smiled. "There is no way to hurry the wanderlust, lady. You know I never stay anywhere long."
"Except away," she retorted, laughing. "May I have my tune, please? And after that," she added, glancing shyly at Kaela, "perhaps a tale?"
Kaela's heart lurched at that, for her mind seemed empty of all but her fear of Stafgrym, lurking, waiting. Kippen had begun to play, and she had barely noticed, but suddenly, the melody changed and the flute's voice claimed her attention. It was not that the sound was loud or urgent, but rather it seemed to her delicate, a bittersweet melody that spoke to her fear and eased it. The melody did not relinquish its hold on her, and it seemed to her that the story she built was woven about the thread of the flute's voice. As the last note dispersed into the silence, Kaela spoke, her words taking up where the song had left off.
"I shall tell the tale of 'The Colors of the Wind,' " she said softly and began.
The Colors of the Wind
Once, a good while after the sun and stars were kindled in the heavens, there lived a girl named Malni. She had lived all her life in the mountains until her twelfth year, when her parents decided it was time for her to see more of the world. She did not want to go, being content with her home and her lot. But her parents insisted. They declared it would be a good chance to learn how other people lived, as well as an opportunity to meet her Aunt Vana, who had moved to the lowlands to be married long before Malni had been born, and what with one thing or another, had never returned. Aunt Vana's husband had died six years ago, leaving her with one small son, and a substantial inheritance.
So Malni went to Fragde, a city at the foot of the mountains, where she was met by Aunt Vana and her son Mavran. It had been arranged that Vana would take the two children on a tour of some of the more interesting lowland places on the way to her home. From the first, the trip went badly. Mavran, who had grown up an only child with a doting mother, was not in the least willing to welcome his cousin. In fact, he hated her before he had even met her, and did not endear himself to her by calling her such names as Bumpkin or (his favorite) Savage, and he constantly endeavored to use her quick temper to get her into trouble.
Nor, truth to tell, was Malni easy to get along with. From the start she hated the lowlands, where the very air seemed to her damp and warm and unmoving, the land flat and lazy and tame. The wide fields and pasturelands, neatly fenced with everything in its place, all seemed so predictable and ordered. She found she missed the winding paths and steep cliffs, the winter-scented winds of her home. Time and time again, she wished that she were astride Safra, her shaggy pony, in the free, cool air, instead of settled lavishly among the satins and velvets of her aunt's traveling carriage. Every jounce and bump she felt in her aching bones took her farther from home. When her aunt proudly showed Malni the cities she so loved, the girl saw only stench and misery. The laces and bangles Aunt Vana gave her were uncomfortable and made her itch and complain. Her trip had barely begun, but she felt doomed to nearly a fortnight more with her Aunt Vana and Mavran. When Aunt Vana asked gently whether anything troubled her, Malni smiled and shook her head, dutifully, for though she thought her aunt rather silly and frivolous, she knew her to have a kind heart and did not wish to worry her.
Malni was a pretty child, small but sturdy, with a mane of thick, tawny hair and the golden skin common among the mountain people. Her eyes were dark and expressive, but there were the hints of shadows beneath them. She did not resemble her aunt, nor her cousin, who both had dark hair and pale skin. Vana was lovely; her face was dominated by blue eyes which held a gentleness in them that even her flighty mannerisms could not hide. Mavran, though a striking lad, was not so appealing. He had a mocking smile, and his eyes held the seeds of cruelty in them. He looked with frank scorn upon Malni, and though they were the same age, whenever he addressed her directly, which was seldom, he always spoke slowly as though to a foreigner or an imbecile.
After a few minutes, Aunt Vana tapped Malni's shoulder gently, telling her proudly that they were now on her land, and that the horses in the roadside pasture belonged to them. Young Malni stared, for the beasts were unlike any she had seen. Tall and magnificent, their coats shining in the late afternoon sunlight, the animals were proud and aloof as lords, princes among the breed of horses, so unlike the wild, shaggy, sturdy ponies of her people. She asked, almost timidly, whether she could ride one of the beautiful animals, and while Vana considered, Mavran snickered loudly. Malni felt the blood rush to her cheeks and longed again to box her cous
in's ears, but she restrained herself and retreated into silence, watching for another glimpse of the majestic herd. Suddenly, a flash of colors in the grasses caught her eye. She saw it was a figure wrapped in a many-colored cloak, seated beneath a large maple.
"Who's that?" she asked, pointing. "Is it your horseherd? I've heard of shepherds and goatherds, even swineherds, but I didn't know horses needed—"
"Stupid Savage," snorted Mavran. "A horseherd indeed!"
"Oh, no, dear," Aunt Vana interposed gently. "That is Chala. She doesn't herd anything, unless she is trying to herd her wits back together. But you mustn't point. 'Tis unladylike."
"What do you mean, aunt?" Malni persisted, worrying the question like a hound with a bone. "How do you mean 'herd her wits back together'?"
"Chala isn't—isn't completely in her right mind, Malni," Vana told her. "She's—she's odd. She talks a little wildly at times and —"
"She's a witch!" Mavran interrupted. "And she's mad as well. She steals little mountain savages at night and casts spells on them, so you'd better be careful, Malni."
"I don't believe you," Malni snapped. "She isn't a witch."
"You can tell from a single glance, I suppose?" he sneered.
"Children," Vana chided gently. "Do not bicker. I don't know whether Chala is a witch or not, but I do know that people are suspicious and wary of her. I think you should keep your distance from her. Don't go courting her attention; it could bring trouble."
Malni nodded absently and returned her gaze to the window. They completed the journey in silence. Soon the huge coach swept up to the door of the great brick mansion. Without waiting for the coachman to open the door and help her down, Malni clambered out and started off across the lawn. She badly needed to be alone, away from Mavran, and a walk would give her a chance to stretch her legs as well.
"I'll be back before it gets dark," she called to her astonished aunt, hoping that Vana would think it unladylike to shout after her niece. Very likely trouble will come of this, Malni thought, but trouble's bound to come late or soon.
The grass was soft and lush beneath her feet, and her walk felt blessedly smooth after the constant jarring of the past days. Malni barely noticed when she climbed the split-rail fence that enclosed the pastureland, so intent was she on the scent of the meadows and the unfamiliar birdcalls. The ground rose gently beneath her feet, but she paid no heed, used as she was to the steep mountain paths of her homeland.
Quite suddenly, Malni found herself at the crest of the hill. The pastureland rolled away from her feet like a green velvet carpet. Here and there trees stood upright and solid like staid pieces of furniture, and far away down the hill the wonderful herd of horses grazed.
But strangely, the horses now held little fascination for the girl. Malni found herself looking at the bright patch of colors; something in her was drawn to Chala—perhaps it was that Mavran scorned them both—but somehow the bright colors and the maple tree drew her forward, in spite of her aunt's advice.
As she neared the tree, Malni strained her eyes to study Chala. The colorful cloak that had twice caught Malni's attention seemed at closer quarters to be sewn from scraps of a rainbow. Materials of every imaginable hue were roughly stitched together into a garment that resembled a blanket more than a proper cloak. It was lined with an old gray fleece and fastened with a piece of trumpery jewelry.
Even without the fantastic cloak draped about her broad shoulders, Chala would have been a striking figure, for, Malni guessed, she would stand taller than most men. Chala's hair was wild and long, the color of brightly burnished copper, where the sun caught it through the tree shadows, but most striking of all was the woman's tenseness, as though Chala's every nerve and muscle were taut with watching and listening.
"What are you watching?" Malni asked softly, half afraid to disturb such concentration. But Chala's intent face showed not the faintest sign that she had heard.
Malni stared at Chala, fascinated and curious at what could hold such a person so enthralled. Chala's face was striking; her eyes, set at a slant in her strong face, were as green as any cat's. Indeed, there was such concentration, such intensity, such presence in those green eyes that Malni felt she was in the company of a wise woman, rather than a mad one.
Malni seated herself at Chala's feet, staring into the bright eyes that did not see her. "You're not a witch," she said softly. Then Malni's heart leapt, for it seemed to her that Chala had stirred, as though her words had broken the trance.
"My name is Malni," she said quietly. "And I know your name—Chala—unless you have something you'd rather be called." Part of her hoped that nothing would happen, that she could go home and forget about this strange woman and her many-colored cloak.
Then Chala blinked. Her strange eyes focused on the girl and Malni found she could not drop her gaze, could not pull away from the woman's deep, searching stare. Malni felt that Chala could read every thought in her mind, every feeling in her heart. She felt terribly afraid, but at the same time, part of her rejoiced.
After a time, Chala released her and smiled, a curious, sad smile that made Malni apprehensive.
"An eagle, Malni," the woman said, speaking slowly, as if unused to her own voice. "That is your spirit; proud, free, courageous. But you must be careful, for eagles can be cruel and harsh, too proud. And yet," she added almost to herself, "it is there."
"What—?" Malni began, then thought better of it and changed her question. "What do you see, Chala, when you stare so intently into space?"
The woman looked vaguely puzzled. "Space?" she repeated, shaking her head. "No, child, I watch the colors of the wind."
"The—the colors of the wind? I do not know what you mean. The wind is swift and cool, it whispers or roars, but it has no colors."
"No colors?" Chala sighed sadly. "And the moon? Does it not sing?"
Malni shook her head.
"But you can look into another's heart, and hear the voices of his soul?"
"No," Malni said, bowing her head, "not clearly."
"Ah," said Chala, and it seemed to Malni there was satisfaction in the tone. "But you are young. There is time for it to grow. It is there: I saw it. Of that I am sure."
Malni could bear it no longer. "What?"
Chala shook her head. "I cannot define it well. Call it—sight? Vision? Dreams? It is a piece of the soaring part of your soul, the part that wants silences and heights."
The girl was puzzled, and out of her puzzlement came another question. "Chala," she began tentatively, "I don't understand all you say, but I think the fault lies with me. Is this why people call you mad, because they do not understand?"
"Yes. And no," she replied. "What is madness, after all, but seeing things others do not see, believing things others do not believe? I see things and hear things and understand things the townspeople do not and cannot believe in. Therefore, I am mad."
"But I do not believe you to be mad, Chala; you are—different. Wise."
"Yes, different," she agreed sadly. "Bards and artists are different from the common man, because they see past the shell of the matter, into its heart. Who but a sculptor can see a figure in a block of stone? Who but a bard can spin a ballad from his experience and imaginings? Each walks a path close to madness, yet men call them sane, for they both see into the heart, but only glimpse it; they still see its shell. I, I am mad, for I cannot see the shell."
Chala hesitated, looking deep into Malni's eyes. "Little one, you are the only person, in all my long years here, who has ever taken me seriously. Sometimes others listen, but they go away and laugh, tell their friends how peculiar I am and then forget. I do not mind that they ridicule me, for as long as they can laugh, I am harmless in their eyes. But if they came to know that someone listened to what I said and did not laugh, then they would fear. And that would make them dangerous, child, for what they fear," she shook her head, "they kill."
"But if that is true, then I am a danger to you!" Alarm was bright and wild in
her dark eyes. "Should I go away and ridicule you as the others do? Would that safeguard you?"
Chala smiled gently. "Perhaps it would; but I will not ask it of you. When first I saw you, I knew you would not laugh, and I thought you might understand; and I spoke, knowing full well what could follow. I chose to take the chance because, child, there can be no gain without risk, no victory without loss. In you I see a wild spirit, a heart that listens to silences as well as to sounds; in you I see one who can hear but who has never been called. And that is a rare thing."
"I do not understand."
"No. But you may, one day. You must go now, Malni. They will be looking for you."
Malni rose to her feet. "If I am a danger to you, Chala, I will not seek you out again. I thank you for what you have told me; I do not understand, but I will think upon it."
Chala smiled up at the girl. "If you begin to understand, Malni, I do not think you will be able to stay away. Do not be afraid or ashamed if you must look for me. Be proud, rather. For to hear the moon's singing is rare indeed—and to see the colors of the wind is rarer still. I will be glad to speak with you again, Malni, for even I get lonely. Remember that."
"Yes," said Malni, a little doubtfully, then she turned and walked back toward her aunt's house.
The next day, Aunt Vana had the seamstress in. Malni wanted only to be left alone to think, but she could not possibly explain that to her aunt without hurting her.
"Look at this, Malni," Vana said, holding out a bolt of sea green silk. "With a square neckline and lace, belled sleeves and perhaps a darker shade for a bodice, you'd be stunning. Or this," she held out a piece of sprigged muslin, "for everyday. With short, belled sleeves, maybe a little lace, and—Malni! What is wrong?"
Silently, Malni cursed herself for allowing her attention to wander. "I was just thinking, Aunt Vana. Could I have maybe a dress of this?" She touched a bolt of evening colored silk. "A—a tunic-waisted one with long—long sleeves and a sash?"
Vana frowned, considering. "It just might be the thing. In fact, I'm sure it would."
A Necklace of Fallen Stars Page 12
