Marisol's Masquerade Part one

“Mari! Mari!” Tara called “Come on Mari, it is almost noon and we might miss the festival!” Nothing. Stomping upstairs Tara Delores cursed. Anyone who looked at her would have thought her a beauty. Long black hair cascaded over her thin shoulders and purple dress. Soft brown eyes mounted themselves under thin brows in her dark, steady face. Her crimson mouth was now drawn in a thin, frustrated line.
“I won’t wait any longer Marisol. Either come out, dressed before noon or don’t come at all.” She said rapping on a door. A pale face poked itself out as an answer.

“I’m coming” Marisol said yawning.

“You had better.” Tara replied “And SOON!” Mari rolled her eyes and shut the door. Marisol was a street player. Every day she would go out to dance and sing for whoever flipped a coin her way.

She had long reddish-brown hair that just reached past her shoulders when she put it down. Her green eyes and stubborn chin made up for her soft mouth and high cheek bones.

She donned some blue shorts and a long sleeved shirt before pulling on her street player outfit. Acting like a dress it flowed down to just below her knees, except that it was slit on either side so she could move easily in it when she danced. A thin blue belt was clasped about her purple clad waist and her air caught up in a ponytail with some ribbon she had bought only yesterday.

“Mari!” Tara’s voice came through the door. Giving herself one last quick check over Mari ran through the door and down the stairs. The rest of troupe Merrywater was there drinking the tea her friend had put in front of them. Seeing Harry she smiled.

The trickiest and most popular member of their group, he was her best friend and the best fire breather in all Mernfil, at least she thought so. He was skinny and very agile for an eighteen year old. With short bleached brown hair and merry sparkling eyes, it was no wonder that the young girls liked him. He was decked out like her and the rest of their group in purple and blue.

“To the fair!” he called excitedly, and jumped up and out of the door. They all laughed.

Peeking his head back in, he said;
“Come Mari! You can dance and sing to the sound of Davie’s flute and Tara’s drum! Then, once we have preformed, you can tell the children stories!”

“He’s right Mari,” Davie said polishing the flute with his tunic “You always have wonderful stories to tell everyone, so magical, where do you get them?”

“They just come to me,” she said lacing up her dancing shoes and stretching “I like making them up though, its fun.”

“Come troupe, let us stroll into the colored streets of Mernfil and perform for the King!” Tara shouted enthusiastically and began beating a fast and lively beat on her drum. Davie joined in, and soon the whole troupe was swaying down the alley and into the ribbon and flower clad main streets towards the castle.

Merging with the other performers she and Harry swirled around under the brightly colored canopies singing a happy tune. Suddenly out of the castle, a fanfare of trumpets sounded stopping all the spectators in their celebrating.

“All hail their majesties King Demitre and Queen Helena of Cereon and their majesties Prince Jonathan and Princess Damelza.” The herald announced to the crowd. In one single wave, everyone knelt or bowed to the royals. As custom dictated, even though she was in the front, she was not allowed to look upon them until they were seated. The swishes of robes slipped past her until her curiosity got the best of her.

Slowly raising her head she met the eyes of a young man of her age, blond and richly clad, staring back at her. “Oh no!” She thought “It’s Prince Jonathan!” She quickly lowered her head and stared frightened at the ground as he stopped, stood there, and passed. She breathed heavily and nervously.

Then, the trumpets blared yet another fanfare, and she quickly dodged away from the dais and ran to Harry.

Seeing the worried look on her face, Harry put his arm around her shoulders and asked;
“What’s wrong?”

“Harry, I looked,” She answered.

“Looked?”

“At the prince, while he was walking,”

“He hasn’t said or done anything yet, you must have not offended him! Come on, this is no time to worry, we’re on!” Before she could protest he pulled her up and on to the stage.


******

Sitting by the window, Prince Jonathan of Cereon paid no attention to his birthday celebrations. All he could think about was that young street player, who, had defied the custom and had looked him straight in the eye while in the street.

Yet, still he could not forget her eyes, they grew more and more vivid the more he tried to forget them. They became as bright and shining as if he looked at her right now. Nor could he forget the way she had danced for them, almost like one of the fabled faeries who concealed themselves and their mystifying ways to all but their own.

Her stories, oh how she had sung them! Weaving a web of tales like it was cloth that she wished to make into a tapestry, wonderful stories that none had heard or thought of, about saviors and magic, love and happiness, everything that a good story should be.
“Jonathan? Jonathan!” His sister called.

Getting up from his seat, he went to see what she wanted. Eight year old Damelza- known as Elle to her friends- was sitting with a large book of fairy tales on her lap with her maid Sara sitting next to her.

“Jon, isn’t that the girl who told me a story?” she asked jamming her finger on one of the beautiful drawings in the book.

“Don’t be silly;” he said taking it from her. “It can’t be….” He trailed off. The drawing depicted a beautiful young woman in a long, white, flowing dress dancing under a moonlit clearing. A veil hid her hair and mouth, but glowing green eyes lit up in their sockets. He read the subtitle: Losiram… The rest was smudged.

“No, it isn’t Elle,” He replied shutting the book. “It’s just a dancer. Sara, it’s her bed time.” The maid bowed to him, picking up his glaring sister, and left.

Little did he know, that at the opposite edge of town, the player was singing the exact same story that had bewitched him so, to a small crowd of villagers.

“The maiden of the light and dark sings slowly for her broken heart.
Yet in her life she sings a song for all her life and all her love.
But still he arrive naught for like, but of for want of beauty bright.
So away she runs though hither and yon to find her true love of song.
Meeting a player of no stature or game her heart becomes his ultimate gain.
But twist of fate and once again the maiden becomes an unwilling bride.
With lover gone and happiness departed, her heart ceases to beat within her breast.
So passes the story of Imila, the lost.”

As the crowed filtered away to their houses, Mari counted the coins.

“Some song, little Mari.” Harry commented coming out from the inn. She smiled at him. Harry and she had been engaged now for over four years and they were beginning to understand each other’s habits without even communicating. When she had begun to learn how to be a player when she was three she never imagined that she would meet Harry almost two years later. He went over to her and kissed her on her forehead, holding her tight.

“It’s just like when we met,” he said into her hair. “Full moon -quiet street,”
“I remember,” she said snuggling up to him “You were a shivering little boy with long hair and a sallow face. When I hugged you, you wouldn’t let go.”

“Oh come now Mari don’t get too nice or I’ll have to faint!”

“Mari, Harry!” someone called “Its story time!” Sighing they walked inside and seated themselves by the fire.

Tian, Marisol’s best friend, took out the story cup; a cup filled to the top with colored stones which each person in the room took out and told a story according to the color of the stone, which dictated how hard it must be and what genre.

Tian had long dirty blonde hair that she kept back with a red headband. Her stormy blue eyes were set under thin brows in a good natured freckled face. She was the knife thrower in the group along with her smallest sister Gemma. Tian smiled a mischievous smile at Mari as she sat down.

Picking up a light green speckled stone, Mari grinned. Green for realistic but without actual living people, black spots for not so hard. The game was simple, a blue stone was fantasy, red was historical, green was realistic and yellow for your own idea. Black stripes were hard, dots were in between and a circle was easy. There was however a catch, there was only one clear stone that was mixed into the others and that one was the most difficult of all. It dictated that you have to use personal information to make a story that is totally untrue to its character’s but true to its storyline.

So, thinking hard and fast as the others picked up their stones, Mari began the game.



Tired and happy, Mari climbed up the stairs to her room. Before she entered she saw a dirty residue on the door knob, looking closer she saw it was shaped like a hand. Taking her knife from her belt, she kicked down the door and slid on her knees into the room, just in case someone would try a throat cut. Instead she startled the hunched figure sitting quietly on the floor in the corner.

“Don’t hurt me!” the figure screamed. “I was only looking!” Sheathing her weapon Mari could see that it was a young girl- a beggar by the look of her cloak- she was cradling what looked like……

“A dragonet!” Mari whispered in wonderment. Many dragons were known about the realm, but few were tamed and even fewer at a young age.

“Madame Player!” the young girl said looking up at her with brown eyes “Is your name, um, Marisol?”

“Yes, but, who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Dorian brought me here,” She said standing and dropping the dragon “Please, you’ve got to take me in! I want to become one of you, free and able to practice archery without my parents breaking every bow I have!”

“Who are your parents?” Mari asked suspiciously.

“Well, they aren’t exactly my parents, just my caretakers at the orphanage,” She answered drawing back her hood to reveal a mass of black hair “Besides, they don’t care about me,” Lowering her hands Mari noticed bruises on her forearm.

“They beat you didn’t they?” she asked quietly. The girl nodded sadly.

“Well, you can stay here tonight, but on one condition,” she said as the girl nodded eagerly “You must hand over all of your weapons-that means knives and all sharp things- over to me, no questions asked,” She held out her hand and the girl piled a small knife and a few pieces of sharpened obsidian over to her.

“You can sleep on my travel pallet for now- when we decide whether you stay or not tomorrow- we’ll get you one of your own. Uh, your dragon can sleep by the fire, just not too close,”

Slipping off her boots as the girl got into bed she asked;
“What’s your name?”

“Daniela, Daniela Truson.”

“Good night Daniela, may the gods watch over you.” She said yawning
“And you.” Daniela said as a thumping noise came through the door, making her jump.

“Don’t worry about that Daniela, its just Harry-our fire eater- he’s spelling our rooms from attackers, inside and out. You’ll meet him tomorrow. Oh, and don’t even think about trying to stab me or whatever while I’m asleep, your weapon will turn on you- that’s what his spell does.”

“O.K.” Daniela answered shakily climbing into the pallet “Oh, and Marisol?”

“Hm?” Mari mumbled almost asleep.

“Thanks.”