The music rose, fell away only to start again, and as it did, I examined the woman, and seeing her kind face, put a tired hand over hers. “There is nothing to forgive. I am the one speaking from another place.”
“Your voice comes from the shores we have left behind. It would be wise to find a new sound to carry with you.”
Beyond her I saw my brother sitting cross-legged, his fox playing in his lap. He seemed peaceful. “I keep staring into the sea, hoping it will take the past from me, but it seems I may never know peace.”
“In time, you shall. Nothing is forever, except the sea.” Adis cast her eyes from my face to the expanse of water surrounding us. “She is our eternal mother and will listen to you forever.”
Behind Adis’s rather mystical analogy, I had a sobering thought. “There is so much uncertainty in the world. I wonder if I have done right. Perhaps I could have done better.”
“You left a land soon to be riddled with illness. This alone made it the wisest decision for you all.”
Her knowing so much of my life discomforted me. “Must everything be told in portents and omens? What of reality? What of truth?”
“Ahh truth. It is a funny thing and varied as the sunlight on the waves. I am a merchant’s wife and have seen much in this world. Men who love men, women who love women, even a man who loved a woman he believed to have been transformed into a goat by the tree witches in the north! The world is wide and there are many lands with many kinds of people. You will see soon enough.”
“I have not heard talk of the tree witches since I played at my mother’s feet. Surely they no longer exist!” I replied, incredulously.
“I cannot say. Who can say if they exist or ever really did?” Adis said.
I sighed resignedly. “I have lived a small life in the court of a small king, and I carry the wounds of that life as sure as I carry the clothes on my back.”
“It is not for me to say what you carry with you, but I can give you a piece of advice not from my daughter, but from my own lips: Stop trying to escape what haunts you, instead think long and hard about it. Every detail, every nightmare, dream and transgression. Leave nothing out. Do this until you have expelled the poison, and when there is no more, you will find yourself exactly where you are supposed to be.”
With these words, Adis left me. I stood alone, listening to the sea, the sound of Seton’s music, the distant cries of the squabbling gulls, and my eyes focused on the unknown horizon.
What led me to find myself on the water, destination unknown? The life I knew was gone, broken, and mercurial as the swirling foam frothing in the ships crushing wake.
I would tell myself the story, if only to steal a glimpse at the unknown ending.
How would my tale end? Beginnings are for children; fairy stories begin with “Once upon a time.”
Once upon a time there was a tailor. He knew string, scissor, and pin. He did not know his heart.
My breath caught.
Oh, my heart. Once upon a time, there was a heart and it was not free…
I was a tailor.
Once…
No, it cannot begin this way.
My heart knew dangerous things, but now it was free and in it’s new freedom I allowed it to teach me the way my story should begin and knew by wild instinct, if I followed it, I would know the ending, a true, and dare I hope, happy ending.
With no one to listen but the dark sea and the wheeling, crying gulls, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts move with the undulating water, its gentle rocking seeming to urge the release of my torment.
The castle, dark and glorious, loomed up in my memory…
Chapter 2
The grand architecture of King Killian’s castle boasted many gardens, some private and filled with rare roses, with others public for feasts and celebrations. Vast halls connected even grander rooms where banquets were held, political treatise decided and artistic orations dispatched. The kitchens were always bustling with activity, drama, and gossip. Many days Duir and I lingered with yeasty slabs of thick bread slathered with salted butter, listening to the petty but always urgent musings of scullery maids and the ranting and roaring of cooks. Duir made an ideal companion in childhood trouble. If we were caught at some mischief, it would often be overlooked because of his princely heritage.
King Killian adored my father, both of whom lost their wives in childbirth. More often than not, my father could be found by Killian’s side. This allowed for my friendship with Duir to grow.
One day, while playing in the gardens, Duir asked if I would be his tailor when he inherited the crown, to which I alleged myself in full and innocent certainty. We were close friends. Why wouldn’t I want to be cherished as my father in such a noble and respected court?
* * * *
When my father was killed by an out of control carriage, King Killian called me to court.
“I am much saddened by the death of your father, Virago. His loyalty and friendship will be missed, but never forgotten.”
I bowed before him, tears stinging my eyes. “My Lord, my brother Sylvain and I are most appreciative of your kindness during this difficult time.”
“His rare talent shall live on in the work he left behind.” He rose
