Worlds Unseen - Rachel Starr Thomson (beach books .txt) 📗

The question derailed Nicolas for half a second. He made a comical picture, posed dramatically with the fire raging behind him, quite unsure of what to say.

“What match?” he asked.

“The one you lit before you fell,” the boy prompted.

“Oh, the match. The match had fallen from my fingers when the mast gave way beneath me. It flew down through the tangle of rigging and landed in the midst of the ropes. As I swung back over the ship, I was greeted by the terrifying sight of flames licking up the wood.”

“But you weren’t afraid?” came the voice again.

“Of course not!” Nicolas frowned at the boy. “Where was I?”

“Swinging over the terrifying flames,” Maggie spoke up. Nicolas turned to her, noticing her for the first time. Maggie smiled.

“We assume you mean that the flames were terrifying to the beast… since you, as you said, were not afraid,” she said. To her surprise, a brilliant smile lit Nicolas’s face. He laughed.

“Come up here, Maggie,” he said. “Come on!”

Voices rose in general accord. Maggie removed the little one from her lap, stood, and joined Nicolas in front of the fire where she waited self-consciously as Nicolas picked up the narrative. In less than a minute her attention had gone from the audience back to Nicolas, as the heat of the fire brought back the memories. For a moment her mind left the Gypsy camp altogether and returned to the little wooden boat out on the sea. She felt the hot wind of the explosion on her face, heard the deafening silence that overwhelmed all noise for a split second afterwards; and then she heard the cries of the seagulls and the voice calling to her from the water.

Pieces of Nicolas’s retelling pulled her back to the present, but now she had no fear of the audience.

“The black waters washed over my head,” he said. “As I fought my way to the surface I heard a sound.”

Maggie cut him off, and he fell silent before her. “The ship exploded like a dying star,” she said. “In the moments that followed, all that could be heard was silence. The waves still moved, and the sea gulls still cried, but I could hear nothing.”

“I swam through the waters,” Nicolas said, quietly.

“… and I thought of how my friend must have perished. I bowed my head and cried, and the gulls sang a mourning song over my head. And then a new sound broke through my silence. I heard my name being called.”

“She reached for me and dragged me into the boat,” Nicolas finished.

“We let the waves carry us as we watched the last burning remnants of the ship,” Maggie said.

“And that,” Nicolas said with a flourish, “is how I-we-defeated the shadow creature.”

Maggie was delighted when the audience clapped in appreciation. The Major jumped to his feet and put his arm around Nicolas’s shoulders.

“Well,” he said. “Who knew we had such heroes among us? And such good storytellers. They are welcome by our fire any day!” Maggie saw the respect in his eyes as he looked at her.

Nicolas and Maggie returned to their places in the circle. Someone slapped Nicolas on the back, and the little boy climbed back into Maggie’s lap.

“And now we shall have another story!” the Major said. “Peter! Will you tell us the story of the apple barrels?”

The pipe-smoking boy shook his head in amusement. “No, sir, Major,” he said. “I will let that story rest until it becomes new again… or until a new story comes my way!”

The Major chuckled. “All right, then. Marja! Tell us a tale of the old days.”

This request was met with a chorus of encouragement.

“Yes, Marja!”

“Tell us of the birds, Marja.”

The Major sat down. A tall, willowy girl rose from the audience to take her place before the bonfire. She wore a long, crimson skirt that ended just above her bare feet. A red scarf adorned her head, tying at the nape of her neck and trailing down her back along with her black hair, which curled and fell nearly to her waist. Maggie didn’t think she could be more than seventeen years old, but the smile that played on her face spoke of confidence and beauty and a half-hidden strangeness that intrigued all who looked on it.

She moved with the bewitching grace of a dancer as she spoke. Maggie cast a glance at Nicolas and saw that he was watching with rapt attention.

“Long ago,” Marja began, “when every man in the world was a wanderer, and all peoples of the earth were free, there was one who called himself Rinco. He was the father of my own people, who are called the People of the Sky because of their friendship with the birds. This friendship began with Rinco, and this was the way of it.

“It came about that as Rinco wandered in the green forests of the earth, he saw a great flock flying overhead, toward the southern reaches of the world. It was not his way to let any pass by without sharing with him what news they had, so he determined to speak with the birds. He climbed up into the highest tree and called to them by name:

“‘Ho eagle! Ho dove! Ho nightingale and wild goose! Won’t you wait and speak with me? I wish to know where you fly, and what is the news that carries you so far from your homes?’

“But the birds paid him no heed: all except the raven, who was angered that Rinco would try to stop him in flight. He screamed at Rinco and flew in his face, and scratched him from his eyebrow to his jaw, so that Rinco was blinded in one eye. For this reason the People of the Sky have no friendship with the raven, though they respect him. He is one of the lords of the sky although he is cruel.

“At last it came to Rinco to try and call to the birds in their own language, and so he listened closely for their cries and tried to imitate them. But the best he could do was to whistle, long and low, and he clung to the top of the tree and whistled, while the flock of birds darkened the sky with their numbers.

“Near the end of this great flock flew the sparrows, innocent children among the lords of the sky. The sparrows heard the whistle and took pity on Rinco, for they saw that the raven had marked him. And so three of them stopped their flying, and lighted in the tree where Rinco waited to talk with them.

“‘Where do you fly in such great numbers?’ Rinco asked.

“‘We fly to the southernmost part of the world,” the smallest sparrow answered.

“‘And what news carries you so far from your homes?’ Rinco asked.

“‘News of the King,’ said the next to oldest sparrow.

“‘Tell me of this king,’ Rinco said, ‘for I have never heard his name spoken before. Is he of the lords of the sky-a bird, as you are?’

“‘Nay, son of men,’ said the oldest sparrow. ‘He is surely a lord of the sky, as he is the lord of all the earth, and all the stars above it. But he is not like us. He is the Heart of the World. There is none like him, in earth or in heaven.’

“‘He is the sunking, and the moon-king, and all-the-stars-king, and he shines like them all together,’ said the next to oldest sparrow.

“‘Has he sent for you?’ Rinco asked.

“The youngest sparrow shook its head sadly. ‘No one has spoken to the King in many years,’ it said. ‘But we have heard a rumour that he has come to the deepest south, and so we go there to meet him.’

“‘And must I stay here while such a man is waiting to be met?’ cried Rinco in dismay. ‘Take me with you, dear friends, and I will do whatever you ask.’

“The oldest sparrow thought for a long moment. Then he said, ‘We sparrows are not the wisest of the birds. Yet you spoke with us, and not with Master Owl. Nor are we the grandest, but you were not ashamed to be seen with us while Master Eagle flew by. And we are not the most valiant, not bold or strong like Master Raven, and yet you ask us for favour. And so we will grant it, because you have honoured us. We ask only that you promise us your friendship forever, and the friendship of your children to ours.’

“‘I grant your request with all of my heart,’ Rinco answered.

“‘Then we will take you with us,’ said the sparrows. ‘In a few moments you will see us again. When you do, whistle for us as you did before.’

“Then the sparrows lifted up into the air and were lost in the great flock overhead. Rinco saw them soon returning, a great number of strong birds with them. So he whistled, as they had said, and the birds flew down and took hold of him and lifted him up. They flew over the green forests of the earth, and over the southern sea, into the deepest south. There at last their flight was ended. They came to rest on an ice island at the edge of the earth, where the sun shone only dimly.

“There they waited for the King to come, but alas, the rumours were false. Long they waited. Rinco was kept warm by the feathers of the geese and fed by the skill of the fisher hawks, until at last the birds determined to make their journey home. So they lifted Rinco up once more and flew back over the southern sea, over the green forests of the earth, and they set him down in the top of the tree where first they had met him.

“Rinco climbed down and began once more to wander, as his people always had done and would do forever after. The time came when he took a wife who bore him children, and he taught them to greet the birds whenever they met. Some say it is the People of the Sky who have kept the Gypsies free, for whenever they witness the flight of the birds, they cannot bear the thought of bondage under the Empire. So they keep all the Gypsies longing to wander.

“Every year the birds fly south, for they remember that once the King was to meet them there, and they hope that one day he will come. All of Rinco’s life he would climb to the top of the tallest tree in the season of the great flight. He would watch the birds fly past, and he would greet them and dream of the deepest south and the time he spent there.

“And when he came down from the tree, his children would sometimes hear him say, ‘He is the sunking, and the moon-king, and all-the-stars king, and he shines like them all together.’”

The little boy had fallen asleep in Maggie’s lap. She carried him to his caravan thoughtfully and retired to her own bed full of thoughts of birds, and of Gypsies, and of a king who shone like the stars.

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