The Poet’s Daughter
One
The Festival of the Crieda, six days of parades, feasting and superstitious traditions, was coming to a culmination. In the small homes of Sali Reala, fires burned brightly like small suns, and the satisfying aroma of roasting meat wafted over the city. The sounds of thousands of families, chattering and settling down for a final, sumptuous meal rose, soft murmurs on the wind. I could hear, see and smell it all as I stood on the small balcony that led from my rooms to what I figured was one of the most beautiful views in the whole city. Below me was the palatial garden, which during the day enchanted me with the smell of roses, my favorite flower. The sun had begun to set and the roses had hidden their scent from me until tomorrow. However, the garden did not make the view; no, it was rather the entire city, spread before me. The palace had been built years ago upon the highest point of the city, and streets radiated from it, leading to the high, white walls that served as our guard, which put together, made a view that in my opinion made it perfect.
Finished with my gazing, I slid back inside my room, letting the sheer blue curtain fall back into place behind me. My room was small, but comfortable, I had been in the rooms of the princesses and they were too large for my taste. My room was warm and cozy, with my chaise bed tucked in the corner, spread with a large emerald cushion and the deep blue pillow and matching sheet, embroidered with gold thread in a rose pattern, a gift from my father at my sixteenth birthday. At the foot of the bed was my chest, made of dark wood carved with many symbols, meant to give beauty, good health and good fortune. The chest was carved shortly before my birth, to bring luck to the new child. It was to the chest that I headed, raising the lid to rummage through the many fabrics that lay inside. I pulled out a light beige cloth and a sheer, light violet silk. I rummaged for a little longer, finally finding a white cloth, wide as my hand, and a darker violet silk. I threw the cloth onto my bed and turned towards my mirror. I combed out my long, dark hair, still damp from my bath. A cascade of curls danced over my shoulders with every stroke. I slid my arms out of the simple cotton robe, and then proceeded to wrap the beige cloth around myself, finally knotting it in the back. I slid the violet cloth over my head, tying it tight around my body and then attached two gold trinkets that gathered the cloth at my shoulders, exposing the soft skin of my arms. I inhaled; smelling the sweet perfumed scent of the lavender that scented my chest and all that was inside. I took the white strip of cloth and wrapped it around my head, knotting it under my hair. The cloth held my hair out of the way, symbolizing my purity and my eligibility for marriage, even though I had no wish to be wed. Over the white cloth, I put the deep violet cloth, wrapping it carefully around my neck and shoulders. Only a sliver of white could be seen and all of my hair was covered; another symbol of my unmarried status. I stared once more into the mirror. My thin lips are the palest of pinks, and I pursed them in a vain attempt to make them look fuller, but to no avail. My long, black eyelashes were feathers, becoming the perfect outline for my eyes, one of the few features I liked about my face. My eyes were the grey-blue of a stormy sky, scattered with flecks of gold and copper, like sun breaking through the clouds. I could not help but have my eyes dart to the shape of my face, absent of the narrowness and high cheekbones of the elegant ladies of the Peshe’s court. My face was rounder, its one advantage being the sharp jaw line it produced. My face had none of the elegance of the other women; and I could feel the difference, especially when it came to the looks the men gave. The men of the Peshe’s court craved what was different, and as I said, I had no wish to become married to any of the men whose eyes followed me, the court Poet’s daughter.
The soft tinkling of the bell that stood by my doorway called my attention.
“Who is it?” I called, sliding a thin, engraved gold band onto my wrist.
“Your mother,” a melodic voice responded, “who wishes to see her daughter off to her first night as a lady of the court.”
I smiled, then stood and parted the curtain that led from my room to the hall.
“Drea, my child. You look beautiful.” My mother stood there, a full head shorter than I. Even as she grew older, she maintained the grace and beauty that had followed her throughout her life. We had the same eyes, nose and hair, but our features varied greatly. She had the thin courtly face that matched the other women, and had the full lips that the others wished for. She was dressed simply, in rich red and black. She did not wear the scarf I did; as a married woman, she did not have to wear one.
“Thank you mother.” I turned to the small table under my mirror and slid a thin gold ring onto my finger.
The bell rang again
“Come in.” I said.
My father entered the room, everything my mother was not. He was tall, with long graying hair and a carefully trimmed beard. What my mother did not give me, my father did, particularly his gift as Poet.
The court role as Poet was one of the few positions that could be given to women, though most were male. As my father’s only child, and as inheritor of his storytelling talent, I had been formally training to take his position since I was six, but I had an obsession with stories for my entire life. Father had been telling me the stories for a long time, and I knew them all by heart. I had even discovered that I had the ability to add something new to the stories, which had been highly encouraged by my father.
“Are you ready?” He asked me.
I nodded. Tonight would be my first performance for the Peshe’s court, and I could not help but notice the fact that my stomach felt like it was being wrung out like a newly washed robe. My mother bowed to my father, then kissed me on my forehead.
“Make me proud.” She said, then disappeared out the door to go help the Peshea prepare for the feast.
My father offered me his arm, and I took it. He gently began to lead me out of the room.
“You look more like your mother every day Drea.” He said softly, making me blush to my embarrassment. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes.” I said simply.
“Don’t be. You will to more than fine. I have heard you.” My father paused, dramatic as always. “The Peshe will enjoy it, and so will the rest, even if their opinions do not matter in his mind.”
“Does the Peshe listen to anyone?”
“Only when he wants to. And to me of course, he can never resist a story.” My father smiled. “And because he listens to me he will listen to you.”
Father led me down the long stone hallway to the top of the main staircase. Below me, I could see long tables laid out with every delicacy imaginable, silver plates glinting against the blood red tablecloth. Small groups of people paraded around the room, dressed in their finest. Women bled jewelry and men with cloth draped over proud chests were everywhere eying the food and each other. Whispers of gossip passed from person to person. Mothers and fathers alike matched their children up against each other, pairing and repairing. I was led down the stairs in a dream. I was unable to think past the meal, past my time to stand and tell a tale. My father lead me to his seat near the Peshe’s and the Peshea’s thrones. The royal couple was not there, they were to make their entrance just before the feast would begin. Father showed me a cushion next to his at the low table.
“This is where you will sit,” said Father, then he disappeared to speak to one of his many friends.
I took the seat that I had been showed, quickly glancing around. Next to me sat a man, the same height as I was. His head was bowed, and his red-brown curls spilled over his forehead, ears and neck. He stirred as I moved to sit.
“Hello” he said as soon as I sat down and arranged myself: feet tucked under my skirts. As he glanced over at me, it was then that I noticed that his left eye was clouded over. Both eyes were a bright green, but the left one was foggy and slowly followed where the other darted.
“Hello.” I said nodding my head in a simple greeting.
“You are the Poet’s daughter, Drea, are you not?” He asked, giving me a gentle half-smile.
“Yes.” I paused, searching for the man’s identity. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” The man must be important to be sitting so close to the Peshe.
“No, it is I who should be sorry. My name is Oren.”
Oren. The name struck me; I was sitting next to one of the sons of the Peshe. Suddenly it made sense: Oren was known for his blind eye, but was still one of the Peshe’s favorites even though he was unable to fight because of his disability.
“Pleasure to meet you Pesheito Oren.” I gave a bow hands pressed together in front of me, as was proper.
“Don’t bother with the formalities. I have no importance in the court; my title is an empty one.”
“But you are the Peshe’s son are you not? And one of his favorites, no less?”
“Yes, but I don’t like all the bowing and titles and ‘oh I am here to please you’” said Oren with a grimace.
“I’m sorry; I did not mean to offend.”
“No, I am not offended, I would just like to explain,” said Oren. “Though few listen to my requests.”
“I will try to, Pe- Oren. I am just afraid to make a mistake. It’s my first night as a full member of the court.”
“I don’t blame you. The court has never been a forgiving place, has it.”
“I suppose not.”
“So what makes tonight so different? You have eaten with the court before.”
“I am to present a tale tonight, to introduce me as my father’s successor.” I paused, “How did you know I have been with the court before?”
“I have spent my time learning. I study and learn about the members of the court at mealtimes and those sorts of events. The Poet’s daughter would have to be a subject of interest, seeing that you would take his place.”
“And what do you do when you are not studying the court?”
“I study other subjects. Math, history, and the sciences mostly, though I am a great supporter of the arts. I enjoy reading, and use it to learn everything I know.” Oren smiled his half-smile again. “I even read up on fighting and battle techniques one time when I was feeling particularly left out on my brothers’ activities.”
Oren fascinated me, he was educated on every subject I could think of, and could discuss it in depth. He held my interest while people began to drift to their seats, including my father, who seemed pleased that I had found someone to talk to. I knew that my shyness in new situations worried him, so my new friend pleased him.
A muscular man sat down across from Oren and me. The newcomer had short-cropped pale brown hair and deep brown eyes. He wore a cloth that was brilliant yellow, standing out in comparison to the pale blue one Oren wore.
“Oren, my brother!” said the man loudly, and I instantly recognized Reeay, the Peshe’s oldest son, decorated war hero and heir to the throne. I bowed deeply to him. “Who is this tasty young morsel next to you?”
I could feel my father tense up next to me. I blushed at Reeay’s brash remark, but it was Oren, not my father, who came to my rescue.
“This is Poet Drea, the Poet Droye’s daughter. She will be performing for us tonight, so I would advise you to not agitate her, else she may tell some rather unappealing story about you.” Reeay’s pride was as well known as his unruly behavior and at Oren’s comment his face turned as red as the tablecloth.
“I will keep that in mind my half-blind brother.” Oren did not seem irked by Reeay’s comments, and watched as his brother stood and took his place at his father’s throne’s right. The large kettledrum at the far end of the hall began to boom, sending vibrations through the hall. My face turned toward the curtain at the head of the table. Two servants pulled the curtain back to let the royal procession through. My mother, one of the Peshea’s ladies in waiting, was part of it. At the end of the procession was the Peshe and Peshea, arm in arm, both dressed in gold and deep blue. The entire room rose as they entered and reseated themselves after the royal couple did.
“Let us feast,” said the Peshe simply, and the feast began. Dancing girls swirled around us with exotic, billowing costumes in every color. Tiny bells had been woven into the edges of the fabric, and more were fastened around their wrists and ankles. I searched for my friend Lisse, who I knew was dancing tonight. I spotted her near the end of our table, dressed in a bright orange dress that made her tanned skin stand out, and her straight, black hair shone as it swirled around her. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I tuned from my friend to the food spread before me. I helped myself to roasted meat and fresh vegetables, but I found that I could not eat much. Even my favorite dish, eggs topped with cracklings and dollops of fresh cream, could not stimulate my appetite. Oren and my father ate heartily on either side of me, and between bites, Oren peppered me with questions about my life in the palace, and my training to become Poet.
Finally, the plates and dishes were cleared, and I saw the Peshe speak to my father. He nodded, and the Peshe rose and called for the attention of the court.
“My friends,” he boomed, “I have a treat for you before we taste the sweets of our dessert. Poet Droye would like to treat the court to the voice of his daughter, Drea, who is his successor. Please, enjoy.”
My father gave my arm a squeeze and I stood, slowly, and walked with my head high to the Peshe’s side, bowing before him then turning to take my place facing the members of the court. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared back at me. I inhaled deeply and began.
“Listen as I weave a tale
A story of a hero’s love
The story of Leidro
And his three great tasks.
His love would not go scorned
Nor would he find it given
Through his dedication,
He would win it,
Through three great feats.
Hear my prayer, Maeda,
Lover of the Poets.
Lend me the thread,
To weave a fine tale.”
Finished with the opening, which began with the Poet’s signature line and ended with a call to Maeda, goddess of the Poets and arts, I began the story of Leidro, one of the most famous heroes of our legends. The story I told tonight was one of the earliest Leidro stories. Leidro had seen the Peshe’s daughter, Vene, walking the streets with her maids. The hero became smitten at once, and went to the palace to ask for her hand in marriage. These were the days before Leidro’s fame, and the Peshe did not wish to give his beloved daughter. The Peshe decided to give Leidro five impossible tasks, but Vene saw Leidro make his case and begged him to reconsider. The Peshe declared that Leidro would undertake three tasks to win his daughter’s hand. Leidro’s first task was to find the ghost tiger and bring back his skin. The tiger was pure white and was attacking small villages on the northern border of the Peshedom. No one was able to kill the tiger, and he was rarely seen, though he attacked almost every night. Leidro stood watch all night in one of the villages but fell asleep again and again. The fourth night, a woman who hid her face came to him as he was falling asleep and gave him a drink, which allowed him to stay awake. The tiger carried magic, which made everyone he came near fall asleep, but the potion protected Leidro. Leidro faced the ghost tiger and slew him with his sword.
When Leidro returned to the Peshe’s palace, the Peshe was surprised. He took the tiger’s skin and gave it to his daughter as a cloak. Then he sent Leidro to fetch the feather of the rare Ki’lia bird. The Ki’lia birds are the said to be the most beautiful of birds, but they were well disguised. Some said that a feather from a Ki’lia bird would turn into a jewel when plucked from the live bird’s body. This was the test the Peshe gave to Leidro. Leidro set off to the mountains, the rumored homeland of the bird. He searched the trees for the bird, but to no avail. On the second day of searching, Leidro fell over a root, and saw a Ki’lia bird before him. Leidro followed the bird for a day, keeping his distance so he would not scare it away, but he could find no way to grab a feather. The bird could not fly, but it could move quickly through the forest. The bird had come to a rest in a clearing, and Leidro came to a rest too. He was tired and hungry, but he could not stop for fear of losing the bird. The cloaked woman who had given him the potion appeared beside him and gave him a small reed whistle. Leidro blew the whistle and the bird walked towards him and allowed him to pull a feather. The feather instantly turned into a brilliant green jewel with a feather etched inside of it. The hero turned to thank the woman, but she had gone. Leidro brought the jewel back to the Peshe, who made it into a necklace for Vene.
Leidro’s final task was to find his way into the labyrinth of Cae’drila and retrieve the horn of the monster that lived there. Leidro sailed to the island and found the abandoned palace that housed the labyrinth. He searched through the palace and found the labyrinth, but he was afraid that he would lose his way in the twists and turns. Once again, the cloaked woman appeared and gave the hero a spool of yarn, but she would not answer his questions about who she was. Leidro used the yarn to mark his way and discovered the beast that he was to kill. The monster had the body of an oversized dog, with the head of a horse and the horns of a ram. Leidro slew the creature and brought the horn to the Peshe. The Peshe became angry at Leidro’s accomplishments, and threw him onto the streets.
The cloaked woman had come to Leidro again as he lay in the street before the palace. She covered him in the skin of the ghost tiger and helped him to stand. When she removed her cloak, Leidro saw that it was Vene, who was also wearing the necklace with the Ki’lia stone. She reminded her father of his promise and the happy couple was married.
The tale was a long one, but I was surprised that no one had fallen asleep during the performance, as I had seen them do to my father so many times before. I told the story in great detail; in the prose form I had been taught. When I had finished, I was greeted with great applause, which I responded to with a graceful bow. The Peshe stood and offered me his hand, which I held while touching my forehead to it reverently. A smile spread across the royal face, and I was relieved to find that I had found approval. Oren offered me his congratulations as I sat back down.
“Your father has taught you well.” He said, and Father beamed with pride.
“There was no need to be nervous, now was there.” Father said in my ear, and I had to agree.
As the dessert course appeared, I realized how hungry I was. I ate several small cakes made of sweet cheese and topped with cream, along with pastries and other sugary delicacies, all while sipping the chocolate drink that I was offered, which had been flavored with pepper and vanilla liquor. Slowly people rose from the tables and they were moved for dancing.
Several drummers and a reed flute player settled themselves in the corner. They began playing a wild beat that was a men’s dance. They leapt through the air, clothing billowing as the stomped their feet in time to the music. My father stood off to one side, unwilling to dance. I caught a glimpse of Oren, whose sinewy form was surprisingly agile with the dance, though he seemed frighteningly thin compared to the muscular men who surrounded him.
Lisse hurried up to me and threw her arms around me.
“Oh, Drea, you were wonderful!” she exclaimed. “It felt like the story came to life. I could practically see Leidro fighting the tiger in front of me.”
“Thank you.” I smiled. “You were amazing, as usual.” Lisse grinned.
“Drea, I just discovered the most wonderful news!”
“What?”
“I’m going to be married!” she said, green eyes aglow. “To Avred.”
Avered was the son of Seral and Greida. Grieda was the Peshe’s oldest daughter, and it was well known that Avered was fond of Lisse, and reciprocally.
“Lisse, that’s great!” Though I was not interested in marriage for myself, I knew that the marriage was something my friend wanted, and I would not stop her. “When will you be married?”
“In a month. Oh, Drea, I’m so happy.”
“And I am happy for you. What a match!”
“Isn’t it?”
Then Avered came for his future bride. The men’s dance had ended, and another song had begun with the slower tempo of a couple’s dance, Avered desired a dance with my friend. More people had descended upon me to offer their compliments, and I fielded them gratefully. The crowd began to clear and as I shook the hand of the last person, I came face-to-face with Reeay.
“I underestimated you, Drea.” He said with a smile, neglecting to use my proper title, which I felt insulted by. “Your voice is just as beautiful as your looks.”
I groaned under my breath. “Thank you.” I said as politely as I could.
“Dance with me.” He commanded.
As the Peshe's son I had no choice but to accept, as much as a loathed to.Reeay led me to the open floor rather eagerly as if I was a prize to be shown off. Several of his friends, equally rude, ogled at me and made rude noises. I was furious by the time the dance began. Reeay may have been graceful on the battlefield and training ground, he was a clumsy dancer. He followed the steps as if he was a clockwork machine, not as a living human being. And, because he was leading, I appeared clumsy as well.
“I am surprised that a pretty morsel like you isn’t married yet.” He said, leaning closer than was necessary as we stumbled around the floor. His breath smelled of wine. “What makes you so unmarriageable?”
“I don’t want to.” I responded to curtly. Reeay laughed
“You are entertaining Drea! Really, what’s your little secret, I promise not to tell.”
“I don’t want to get married.” I said slowly.
“You just haven’t found the right man.” said Reeay smiling. “I could fix that for you.”
“I doubt it.”
“I think I could. Every girl wants a strong, handsome man who can take care of her right. And I know someone who would be perfect for you.”
“If you are referring to yourself, forget it.”
“What’s wrong with me? I could have my choice of girls.”
“Then marry one of them. I already told you: I will not marry you or anyone else.”
“I don’t want to marry anyone else. I want to marry you. I’ve been watching you, you’re very pretty and I’m sure you’d learn to like me.” Reeay paused. “I will marry you Drea.”
The song had ended and I began to back away from Reeay
“I think not.” I said before disappearing into the crowd. I ran up the grand staircase and headed to my room. I glanced back only once, and saw that Reeay had not given pursuit, but stood on the main floor watching me flee. His arms were across his chest and he had a very amused expression on his face. I prayed to the gods that tonight Reeay had drunk too much to remember his promises.
