Chapter 7
I realised that I've not yet put a disclaimer, which, for me is really a 'claimer'. I own ALL characters and places in this story. The idea of magic and such, which has not yet been too prominent, may be reminiscent of other stories by different authors, but I've not the patience to analyse and debate with myself which ones are in here. Suffice to say that while the characters are totally and wholly mine, the different ideas my not be.
OH yes, I didn't receive any reviews for Chapter 6...*wipes tears away* so I just wanted you all to know that even if you don't like a chapter, say so, because I really want to know if ANYONE is reading my fic anymore. I would be most grateful. Now we've that settled:
~~~~~~~~~
A dark shadow separated itself from the other shadows that filled in the sides of the right tower coming into the castle as the Mattensworths' carriage rolled through the gates. The shadow made it's way through the neat lines of trees that bordered the road, carefully avoiding the all-too predictable patrols of guards that marched steadily through the line of trees parallel to the shadow- figure. The person dressed in black smiled to themselves, weaving through the less uniform lines of trees which turned into a true forest as the figure travelled towards their destination.
The figure stopped and sniffed the air. Wood-smoke. From a campfire. Near, too near, and too far into the Royal Forest. The Royal Huntsmen would have caught... ' Who am I trying to fool, the Arulanthian Royal Huntsmen take their ale far more seriously then their duties,' the figure thought in disgust. The black shadow creeped towards the smell of the fire, keeping low and in shadow. The figure peered through the leaves and towards the glow of the fire. As the black- garbed person squinted towards the flames, they shook their head. ' Need to get closer.' The person blended with the shadows of a tall oak, not twenty feet from the fire. The figure plastered themselves to the trunk of the tree and manoeuvred their body to look at the scene infront of them.
A circle of covered caravans surrounded a large, low fire. A long spit covered the diameter of the fire; the spit was being rotated with a glistening animal skewered onto it. The shadowed shape drew back as a young boy jumped out of the nearest caravan. The boy wore, as far as the watching figure could suppose, a loose white shirt with a brown felt vest overtop it. His breeches were loose and the tiny golden bells that tinkled softly from the ends of the braids in his hair confirmed any doubts of the boy's observer. The boy was a gypsy- child. He suddenly turned and stared into the darkness, directly at the shadow- figure. The person could see the boy's bright green eyes glint with curiosity, even in the dark forest.
The boy broke into a smile and ran towards the inner ring of the circle. The figure bit their lip and cursed as they turned from the caravans, hoping to disappear into the trees. The stranger had not gone six feet suddenly there was a brightly, almost blinding to those used to the dark of the forest. The figure dove to the side, somehow trying to escape the light that seemed to be everywhere at once. The light dimmed to an acceptable level the figure found themselves staring at a young man, dressed much the same as the little boy, though the vest was a forest green. His long, deep brown hair brushed the back of his shoulders and the little boy's bells were there also, glinting along with the gold earrings in his ears.
The man lent down and extended a leanly muscled arm to the person on the ground infront of him, holding in his other had a ball of white light. He smirked slightly and said in an accent that almost skipped his 'r's and extended his 's' sounds,
"You might want to be getting' up. You've no need to fear me, but we wonder why a person is watching us. Come with me to the fire, warm yourself," The cornered figure's eyes darted towards any possibly escape routes, but the trees seemed to have grown together, twisting away any spaces large enough to squeeze through. The man's hand was still out as he looked where the person looked. He smiled yet again,
"The trees welcome us here, they confuse those who would do us harm. You found us fine, so I'm assuming that you were just wondering of us, not intending harm." The black- clad person thought of their long dagger, easily accessible in their black leather boot. ' He doesn't seem insincere. Any amount of others could be hiding in the trees, waiting. If we wanted to kill me, he'd just blind me with the light or use gypsy- magic on me. Wouldn't take more than a second or so. I might as well trust him, at least as far as getting up. Wouldn't do any harm, I suppose, so long as I'm not here past twelve.' The figure reached for the extended arm and he pulled them to a standing position.
"Come," The young man turned and walked toward the caravans. The figure hesitated before following. The young man stepped into the circle, pulling the person gently after him. The circle quieted and the visitor gazed around the circle at the gypsies that now surrounded them. Young people's curiosity was displayed on their faces; children hid their faces in their mothers' full skirts or gazed at them in awe. But the adults all wore secretive looks on their faces, from the pot- bellied men holding mugs to the women with grown children.
"I bring a gershom, a guest. He, or she came freely and without a threat to us, so let us be so to them." The young man motioned the figure towards a caravan, where he rummaged for awhile before producing a hunk of seeded, brown bread. The people watched them for a while before returning to previous conversations, glancing only rarely and hardly at all at their visitor. The young man led the person to a secluded area and motioned someone towards them as the visitor began to eat slowly. The young boy the black- clad stranger had first seen stepped forward shyly and the young man said lightly,
"My brother, he does not often speak, but when he does, I listen. Just a few candle- flickers ago he told me a black shadow moved in the trees, behind our fire- circle. I figured I ought to listen, so I gathered my light- ball and crept towards you. You move very fluidly. Smooth, like a cat. A panther, or very liken to one." The figure nodded and continued to eat, the bread was freshly baked and filling. The little boy reached towards the person and touched their masked cheek. The figure darted a look to the young man and he explained,
"He wants to see you face." The person contemplated before shaking their head slowly, hoping they wouldn't offend their hosts. The little boy tapped his own lips and looked questioningly at the two before him,
"I believe he is wondering if you are a mute. Do not take offence, my brother is young and has no etiquette." The guests' dubiety must have been evident because the young man's smile grew larger and he added, "Gypsies do have manners and etiquette, just not much of it. And it doesn't usually require being kind or polite to outsiders." The person nodded and continued to eat. The little boy tugged at the black shirt that the person wore and they looked up from their food.
"He still wants to know if you're a mute." The dark-clad figure coughed and cleared their throat. They spoke is a rusty voice, in a throaty accent,
"I am not a mute, I speak well, just not often." The little boy nodded as his brother said,
"I am called Hershel, which means 'deer' in our language. He nodded towards his brother, "And he is called Mier, which means 'One who gives light'. He was called that because only after he was born was our caravan able to hold our Lights, or in your terms, our magic." The young boy, Meir, pointed at the stranger. Hershel translated,
"Your name, he would have your name." The stranger wracked their brain, and said the first unisex gypsy name that they could find,
"You may call me Yona." The name meant dove, peace. The gypsies would know then that the stranger meant no harm. The two nodded and the one who called themselves Yona eased to their feet.
"I thank you for your hospitality," Hershel nodded and said,
"Our caravan will be ever open to you and your kin, Yona masked one. We plan to stay in this forest until a fortnight has passed, we will then move to the outskirts of the city and do open business with the rest of the Arulanthians." Meir smiled and suddenly hugged Yona's knees. Yona's arms flailed and one grasped the covered cart they had lent up against as they ate. Yona patted the boy's head awkwardly and Meir let go. Nodding to Hershel, Yona slipped into the waiting darkness of the trees, relieved they let them go without any trouble.
I realised that I've not yet put a disclaimer, which, for me is really a 'claimer'. I own ALL characters and places in this story. The idea of magic and such, which has not yet been too prominent, may be reminiscent of other stories by different authors, but I've not the patience to analyse and debate with myself which ones are in here. Suffice to say that while the characters are totally and wholly mine, the different ideas my not be.
OH yes, I didn't receive any reviews for Chapter 6...*wipes tears away* so I just wanted you all to know that even if you don't like a chapter, say so, because I really want to know if ANYONE is reading my fic anymore. I would be most grateful. Now we've that settled:
~~~~~~~~~
A dark shadow separated itself from the other shadows that filled in the sides of the right tower coming into the castle as the Mattensworths' carriage rolled through the gates. The shadow made it's way through the neat lines of trees that bordered the road, carefully avoiding the all-too predictable patrols of guards that marched steadily through the line of trees parallel to the shadow- figure. The person dressed in black smiled to themselves, weaving through the less uniform lines of trees which turned into a true forest as the figure travelled towards their destination.
The figure stopped and sniffed the air. Wood-smoke. From a campfire. Near, too near, and too far into the Royal Forest. The Royal Huntsmen would have caught... ' Who am I trying to fool, the Arulanthian Royal Huntsmen take their ale far more seriously then their duties,' the figure thought in disgust. The black shadow creeped towards the smell of the fire, keeping low and in shadow. The figure peered through the leaves and towards the glow of the fire. As the black- garbed person squinted towards the flames, they shook their head. ' Need to get closer.' The person blended with the shadows of a tall oak, not twenty feet from the fire. The figure plastered themselves to the trunk of the tree and manoeuvred their body to look at the scene infront of them.
A circle of covered caravans surrounded a large, low fire. A long spit covered the diameter of the fire; the spit was being rotated with a glistening animal skewered onto it. The shadowed shape drew back as a young boy jumped out of the nearest caravan. The boy wore, as far as the watching figure could suppose, a loose white shirt with a brown felt vest overtop it. His breeches were loose and the tiny golden bells that tinkled softly from the ends of the braids in his hair confirmed any doubts of the boy's observer. The boy was a gypsy- child. He suddenly turned and stared into the darkness, directly at the shadow- figure. The person could see the boy's bright green eyes glint with curiosity, even in the dark forest.
The boy broke into a smile and ran towards the inner ring of the circle. The figure bit their lip and cursed as they turned from the caravans, hoping to disappear into the trees. The stranger had not gone six feet suddenly there was a brightly, almost blinding to those used to the dark of the forest. The figure dove to the side, somehow trying to escape the light that seemed to be everywhere at once. The light dimmed to an acceptable level the figure found themselves staring at a young man, dressed much the same as the little boy, though the vest was a forest green. His long, deep brown hair brushed the back of his shoulders and the little boy's bells were there also, glinting along with the gold earrings in his ears.
The man lent down and extended a leanly muscled arm to the person on the ground infront of him, holding in his other had a ball of white light. He smirked slightly and said in an accent that almost skipped his 'r's and extended his 's' sounds,
"You might want to be getting' up. You've no need to fear me, but we wonder why a person is watching us. Come with me to the fire, warm yourself," The cornered figure's eyes darted towards any possibly escape routes, but the trees seemed to have grown together, twisting away any spaces large enough to squeeze through. The man's hand was still out as he looked where the person looked. He smiled yet again,
"The trees welcome us here, they confuse those who would do us harm. You found us fine, so I'm assuming that you were just wondering of us, not intending harm." The black- clad person thought of their long dagger, easily accessible in their black leather boot. ' He doesn't seem insincere. Any amount of others could be hiding in the trees, waiting. If we wanted to kill me, he'd just blind me with the light or use gypsy- magic on me. Wouldn't take more than a second or so. I might as well trust him, at least as far as getting up. Wouldn't do any harm, I suppose, so long as I'm not here past twelve.' The figure reached for the extended arm and he pulled them to a standing position.
"Come," The young man turned and walked toward the caravans. The figure hesitated before following. The young man stepped into the circle, pulling the person gently after him. The circle quieted and the visitor gazed around the circle at the gypsies that now surrounded them. Young people's curiosity was displayed on their faces; children hid their faces in their mothers' full skirts or gazed at them in awe. But the adults all wore secretive looks on their faces, from the pot- bellied men holding mugs to the women with grown children.
"I bring a gershom, a guest. He, or she came freely and without a threat to us, so let us be so to them." The young man motioned the figure towards a caravan, where he rummaged for awhile before producing a hunk of seeded, brown bread. The people watched them for a while before returning to previous conversations, glancing only rarely and hardly at all at their visitor. The young man led the person to a secluded area and motioned someone towards them as the visitor began to eat slowly. The young boy the black- clad stranger had first seen stepped forward shyly and the young man said lightly,
"My brother, he does not often speak, but when he does, I listen. Just a few candle- flickers ago he told me a black shadow moved in the trees, behind our fire- circle. I figured I ought to listen, so I gathered my light- ball and crept towards you. You move very fluidly. Smooth, like a cat. A panther, or very liken to one." The figure nodded and continued to eat, the bread was freshly baked and filling. The little boy reached towards the person and touched their masked cheek. The figure darted a look to the young man and he explained,
"He wants to see you face." The person contemplated before shaking their head slowly, hoping they wouldn't offend their hosts. The little boy tapped his own lips and looked questioningly at the two before him,
"I believe he is wondering if you are a mute. Do not take offence, my brother is young and has no etiquette." The guests' dubiety must have been evident because the young man's smile grew larger and he added, "Gypsies do have manners and etiquette, just not much of it. And it doesn't usually require being kind or polite to outsiders." The person nodded and continued to eat. The little boy tugged at the black shirt that the person wore and they looked up from their food.
"He still wants to know if you're a mute." The dark-clad figure coughed and cleared their throat. They spoke is a rusty voice, in a throaty accent,
"I am not a mute, I speak well, just not often." The little boy nodded as his brother said,
"I am called Hershel, which means 'deer' in our language. He nodded towards his brother, "And he is called Mier, which means 'One who gives light'. He was called that because only after he was born was our caravan able to hold our Lights, or in your terms, our magic." The young boy, Meir, pointed at the stranger. Hershel translated,
"Your name, he would have your name." The stranger wracked their brain, and said the first unisex gypsy name that they could find,
"You may call me Yona." The name meant dove, peace. The gypsies would know then that the stranger meant no harm. The two nodded and the one who called themselves Yona eased to their feet.
"I thank you for your hospitality," Hershel nodded and said,
"Our caravan will be ever open to you and your kin, Yona masked one. We plan to stay in this forest until a fortnight has passed, we will then move to the outskirts of the city and do open business with the rest of the Arulanthians." Meir smiled and suddenly hugged Yona's knees. Yona's arms flailed and one grasped the covered cart they had lent up against as they ate. Yona patted the boy's head awkwardly and Meir let go. Nodding to Hershel, Yona slipped into the waiting darkness of the trees, relieved they let them go without any trouble.
