Shadows of the Scriptures

SIX: Of Minstrels' Mageic

"Sayle laughs, at Belraed and at the gods. 'Aeomar isn't yours, son,' says he. 'She is, has always been, will evermore be mine. Cupar and Roteb, they are the yield of my soil. Every crater on them carries my blood.' Belraed's angry silence rings clamor in the courtroom. He carries his-self to the throne wordlessly. He unsheathes his sword and strikes true. Sayle falls, and so falls House Niyardele. The Holder proclaims this just. But one of the anointed gods corners a broken Belraed. Who, pray tell, can this be?"

"Joe Esper!" hummed the audience in scattered tones, as did Aeri, when the minstrel took a pause.

"Indeed," agreed the minstrel, obliged to elaborate. "Belraed, as is known by monk and bandit alike, is Ser Joe Esper's apprentice. Sworn to live a life of no violence. Sayle Niyardele's slaughter has had him break his word, and so Ser Esper thrusts his fist and a bar of light so pure, so white as never seen before nor after, irradiates Belraed. He does all he can, but the light seeps into him and becomes a part of his-self. Till date, Belraed stands on the horizon, shedding life as 'the usurped son,' or simply the 'sun.' "

Some of the listeners cheered. Addie smiled, watching Aeri clap cheerfully.

Belraed and Mooch Aeomar, the sun and the moon - a love story no child ever went without hearing tens of times, and then ten times more as an adult. But the minstrel had a manner of storytelling which kept the recital from seeming stale. He ran a hand through his hair, flourishing the other romantically at a chance to expand.

"Now, Belraed loves Aeomar still. He cares naught if she was deflowered by his fiend. He raises Cupar, violet and vile, as though he are his own kin. He raises Roteb, scarlet and seething, as though he, too, are his own kin. Tragedy has it that the sun heralds day, fair Aeomar as moon does night. Is aught amiss?"

"Aye!" roared the crowd in union, forgetting for a while they might likely never see their homes again.

"I ask you, little lady, is aught amiss?" Eyes turned to look at Aeri, at whom the minstrel was pointing. But Addie could swear the man's own black eyes were pasted on her.

"Aye!" chirped Aeri.

"I ask all of you, is aught amiss?" said the minstrel, branching his ear out like a mule deer.

"Aye!" Great was Addie's astonishment in finding herself involved. Strangely enough, she felt her heartrate ratchet down.

"Aye, aught amiss is when Roteb and Cupar, lovingly brought up by broken Belraed and woeful Aeomar, serve their duty in the sky at night - the sun and the white moon then can stay together, be it once every two maes or nil.

"That is what this next song is about."

With a brilliant sleight of hand, the minstrel made a flute - or maybe it was a clarinet, or some other woodwind instrument - appear in his hands. Aeri gasped, and the showman began to play The Sword Of Belraed.

Addie's stomach gave a lurch. It would not be patient any longer. "Aeri," said she, "stay right here. Don't move. Anyone tries to talk to you, go back to where the old man is. Aye?"

A grin split the girl's face. Her eyes never left the minstrel, his flute singing pleasantly. "Aye," muttered Aeri hypnotically.

Addie traced a hand over the jagged lines on her forehead, gentle as a lamb. They were nearly running down the side of her cheek now. She glanced at Master Harl, who was adding the tincture into the -pestle. The ointment would be prepared sooner than one could clap.

So she crept away. A portion of her brain grumbled at the fading music, but her belly was grumbling louder. Addie joined the hungry file leading up to the wagon. She stood between a tall, gangly boy and a tall, gangly man. There were about fifteen people ahead of her, so she prepared herself for a long wait. Here, the smell of food was both incredibly repelling and undeniably magnetic. Quality mattered not now; anything edible to pacify the gerbils in her stomach would do.