 |
Web Hosting by Netfirms | Free Domain Names by Netfirms |
|
|
|
The Bard
By
"Needs must they die in any case; and since they must, I will slay them--I, the mother that bore them. O heart of mine, steel thyself. Why do I hesitate when the awful deed must be done?"
Dramatic pause. The bard thrust her hands wide, her face a mask of tragedy. Drops of rainwater hissed as they dripped off the ends of the her cloak and splattered on the hot hearthstones. It was the only sound in the hushed silence of the inn.
Villagers, round-eyed, some with fists stuffed into their mouths, others just gaping openly, sat in a semi-circle around the woman. Even those who had professed boredom at the beginning of the bard's tale now sat hunched forward, eager for her every word.
This was the moment the bard liked best, cupping them all in the palm of her hand and holding them there in agonized suspense. She lived for that tiny charge of power, the thrill of seeing their awed, expectant faces caught up in the story to such a degree that they would have begged, groveled even, to hear the conclusion.
Silently she savored it, this attention.
In that one moment, her meagre existence alchemized into something far more grand, more exciting than the cruel reality of nights spent alone, cold and huddled by the side of the dusty roads waiting for a cart to come along to carry her to the next village. It transcended the gnawing hunger barely sated by the scant offerings of the innkeepers. In those moments, deprivations became secondary to the magic of the words as they carried everyone that heard them off into the glorious expanses of her imagination. Like the greatest storyteller, Scheherezad herself, the bard had the power to enthrall with her throaty voice, sweeter than mulled wine.
Before she opened her mouth to speak, anyone that looked on her would think she was just another ordinary woman. She was short in stature with cropped golden hair, a little hardened around the inscrutable green eyes and the edges of her mouth, a little too old to be alone and unmarried, a little too muscular and dirty to be respectable, but a normal woman just the same. But when her voice, like a deep, mellow chiming of bells, carried through the stillness, she became taller, more striking, and even lovely. Men and women alike desired her when her voice caressed their ears.
It was a problem actually. The bard never lingered after earning her bread and board. Once the tale was told, she would retreat to the privacy of her room, or if the inn did not have space for her, the quiet of the fields outside the village. It saved her from having to fend off unwanted advances. She preferred her solitary existence. Demons from her past were her only companions now. The solace of the tales she told, that was her only reason for continuing day after day, night after empty night.
Now, standing with her back to the fire in the dimly lit public room, the bard continued the tale of poor ill-fated Medea. It was one of her favorite stories.
'If only we could all get such revenge on those who have wronged us,' she thought, carrying the tale of craftiness and carnage to its heartrending conclusion as personal memories of similar color played out in her mind. How much blood had she seen in her own lifetime? How much loss? Tones of pathos, fury, and bloody vengeance seared the hearts of everyone present as she spoke the final words of the tale.
Exclamations of praise, cries of satisfaction, these the bard also accepted as her due. She was one of the best and she knew it. The villagers crowded her, offering their thanks and congratulations on a tale well told. The bard accepted the praise lightly, but with sincere gratitude, and, as was her habit, ignored the press of flushed and awed faces peering closely at her But one in particular she could not ingnore. A young girl near the edge of the small crowd caught and held the bard's attention.
By the gods, she is so young! Was I ever that young?
Like a little golden flame, she stood out among the coarse villagers. The bard knew the look in the girl's eyes, recognized the adoration, the wonder. She panicked, a tiny jolt of alarm made her spine stiffen and still she could not turn away. Wide eyed, the girl made her way slowly through the press of people now intent upon ale and food instead of stories, her gaze never wavering from the bard even though it was plain that she was very shy about approaching.
Bemusement somewhat allaying her impulse to flee; the bard did not take her leave as was her custom but stood her ground and waited.
The closer the girl came, the more difficult it became for the bard to breathe. She was lovely, small but perfectly formed with the blush of womanhood newly upon her. Her face still held the girlish roundness of childhood. Her mouth, a rosebud, sweet and beguiling, curled into a smile as she sidled next to the bard, sitting down hesitantly on the edge of the hearth. The bard found that she was holding her breath, her fists clenched at her sides. She exhaled slowly and fixed a tepid smile upon her sun-browned and seamed face. The girl saw this and relaxed. Her smile dawned radiance, full white teeth carelessly beaming her dazzling innocence onto everyone. The bard felt something within her contract and twist... her conscience.
A smile like that could kill someone...
"It was a glorious story," the girl said and sighed as her gaze lifted to the dusty rafters above, her mind far away, lost in the poetry of the words that the bard had spoken. "And so beautiful! Well, except for the parts where they're murdering each other... that wasn't beautiful. Oh, but the way you told it was! It was almost as if I could feel myself being lifted up out of my body. I could see Medea with the knife in her hand!"
Youthful fervor and exuberance took hold, producing a kind of shining rapture. Green eyes glowed. Her mouth smiled dreamily. The bard caught herself half returning the smile but said nothing, only stared at that mouth, so soft and perfect.
"I tell stories..." the girl continued, a blush coloring her fair cheeks.
By all that is holy, she is temptation personified... I have to get out of here! I can't listen to this!
"...well, not as good as you," the girl rattled on. "Some people think I'm pretty good. Of course my parents think it's silly. They'd kill me if they knew I was here now. But I had to come listen! I've always wanted to learn... I mean... I've always wanted to be a bard. I think it would be so exciting. Can you teach me? You know, show me some things? I could travel with you for awhile?"
Her eyes pleaded far better than her words. There was something about her, the bard noted in the back of her mind. She does remind me... But no, I was a fool then.
"No."
Stricken, the girl ceased her nattering.
"I... I could pay you. I don't have much but..."
Frowning as the girl drew closer, her round, young body pressing almost full against the lean, muscular length of the storyteller, the bard had to suppress a moan.
"No. I can't. You don't want this life, trust me." The bard cast a nervous glance to the other patrons, but thankfully the villagers didn't seem to notice the intimate conversation taking place between the bard and the young girl.
The girl's shining eyes fluttered in surprise. "Oh but I do! I want to learn everything you know! I'm not cut out for village life; trust me. Please?"
The girl's soft hands reached out for the bard's rough fingers, pulling them to her breast in a gesture of supplication. A rapid heartbeat thrummed under that softly rounded flesh. A sharp pang of desire caused the bard's mouth to go dry. And suddenly, an overwhelming yearning overpowered her better judgment. She wanted to taste such innocence again, to hear the soft cries of pleasure that had so long been denied her, to feel flesh as soft and as smooth as her own had once been.
Meeting those bright green eyes, she allowed her naked desire to be seen, plainly written upon her face. The girl didn't flinch, didn't look disgusted or turn away. Instead, her smile deepened, taking on a mature, seductive quality that sat quite well upon her, a promise of the formidable woman she would become.
"I can't take you with me," the bard said. She felt she must be honest with someone so young, so impressionable.
But again, the girl did not seem to mind. "Then teach me what you can," she whispered, her girlish voice lowering, intensifying as the need within her became evident.
In all the long years she had spent alone, the bard had let no one close to her, had shared nothing with anyone. She had loved once, had given her entire soul, only to have it lost irrevocably when the recipient had passed into the realms beyond this world. Since then, no one had stirred her heart... until now. It was plain to her that this girl was not meant for village life as she had so readily confessed. The world called to her like a siren's song.
The same song that lured me so many years ago.
"I'm camped outside of the village," the bard said in a tight, urgent voice, "in the hollow by the stream. You can meet me there. Let me leave first and then you can follow. I... I will... teach you what I know."
And with another flash of radiance, the girl smiled her joy, giving the bard's hands a small squeeze before she let them go.
"You won't be sorry."
I don't know about that.
The bard gathered her wet cloak around her, preparing to venture into the misty night. A sudden thought made her stop a few paces away and glance over her shoulder.
"What is your name, young one?" the storyteller asked tenderly.
The girl dipped her head, the shyness returning. "Gabrielle," she replied.
The End