Chapter 26: Tale 3, Ch 5: A Terrible Song and Dance

“Naturally,” Tane said. “My tone is neither musical nor having any rhythm to it. I can imagine my pragmatic and simple speech pattern can be annoying to such a poetic people. But if you—”

“I meant you’re not being very nice,” Mish said. “Lael, gather the rice with a haste.”

Lael nodded and went off.

“Simple enough for you?” Mish asked.

Tane did not like the obvious slight.

“No, Lael, I’ll do it,” Cory said.

“It’s alright. I know where it is,” Lael said, and walked off again.

Cory was amazed at how calmly Lael took serving his wife’s killer. He realized he had a lot to learn about this culture.

“While he is away, I’d like someone to call the baron of this group to my tent, as it seems I am not allowed to wander,” Tane said, and made her captive state seem like a position of honor.

“You’re right. You’re not allowed to wander. But as for Baron Sonoforn, he’s busy right now. He will bother with you tomorrow,” Mish said calmly. “Lael should be back with your food soon, and after that I advise—”

“I advise that you bring me this Sonoforn as soon as possible. He must know the gravity of what you have done,” Tane said with confidence, and showed no anger, only queen-like strength and impatience.

“Do you even know the gravity of your own situation, Tane Sevens Prophet of White?” Mish asked.

“Whoa, okay, okay, let’s just stop right there,” Cory said, and stepped between the two women, holding his hands up for peace. “How about I go ask Meln if he’ll talk with her? There’s no harm in asking, right?” Cory smiled at Tane, but got no response.

“That will do. And Cory, look into Captain Jesson’s condition. I don’t need my bracer to deduce that he’s been injured. It’s time you took responsibility for your actions and found out if he’ll survive this or not,” Tane said, and turned back to her tent.

Mish scowled at the closed tent flap.

“She’s just set in her ways,” Cory said, trying to ease Mish’s anger. “It is alright that I ask Meln, right?”

“Yes, it should be fine,” Mish replied.

Cory nodded, realizing he couldn’t do much to help Mish’s mood, and walked toward the center of camp.

He didn’t really want to talk to Meln. But Cory felt responsible for Tane being in the position she was. As he passed Lael, carrying Tane’s rice, he realized he felt responsible for his predicament as well. He felt responsible for everything.

As he walked through the now fully set up camp, Cory approached the central tent, the pointed one where Meln was. There were no guards around it. Meln had no fear of anyone.

Cory felt awkward as he approached the tent, not knowing what to do. “Okay, what’s the protocol here?” Cory asked the air. “Do I knock on the tent? Do I—”

“Enter,” Meln said from inside.

Cory cursed his lack of inner monologue again, and went into the tent.

Inside, Meln was talking to a woman seated across from him with some hot drink on a table between them. “Do all you can for him. See that he is comfortable and kept warm. Other than that, we can only hope he lives,” Meln said, and saw that Cory had walked in. He stood and the woman turned her head. Both wore neutral expressions. “Ah, The Red Prophet Cory.”

“You don’t need to stand. I just came in to ask you something,” Cory said.

“Just a moment. Reid, tell your sister we’re all sorry for her loss. I will miss Rike’s music dearly,” Meln said, taking Reid’s hand for a moment.

“Thank you,” Reid said, and walked out, not acknowledging Cory’s presence.

Cory still didn’t know what to make of that. Everyone seemed passive about him and he wondered if they were angry at all.

“Cory, come sit down and tell me what it is you need to ask,” Meln said and sat down, gesturing to the wooden folding chair across from the small table holding the warm drinks.

“I just wanted to see if you’d visit Tane sometime soon. She’s irritated about something,” Cory said, still standing by the tent flap.

“She’s been taken captive. Such a state can lead to irritation. But come and sit down, Cory, don’t make me drink alone.”

Cory felt obligated, and sat down on a low pad as Meln poured him a drink into a small cup of dark, polished wood. The large man began to laugh. Cory thought this strange, but didn’t say anything as the man smiled and sat down across from him.

“Don’t let the taste bother you. It gets better the more you have,” Meln cautioned.

Cory looked at the amber liquid in his cup, and cautiously took a sip. It was warm and extremely bitter. Meln took a long, satisfying sip and they both placed down their cups. Cory sucked on his cheeks, unintentionally, as a sweet aftertaste covered his tongue. He blinked in surprise.

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“The aftertaste, however, stays sweet no matter how much you have,” Meln said with a broad smile.

Cory took another, bitter drink and said, “I’m sorry to intrude, but Tane really wants to meet with you.”

Meln sighed, and peered into his cup. “The Prophet is very confident in her power. I had no doubt that when that was taken away, she’d be no less strident.” He looked up and saw how stiffly Cory was sitting. “You seem tense, my friend. After such a heroic act this afternoon, you should be pleased with yourself.”

“I stood still is what I did,” Cory said, and exhaled heavily. “Not very heroic.” Meln was right, the drink tasted less bitter with each sip, but only a little.

“Don’t downgrade your actions. You sound as though you regret what you’ve done.”

Cory shrugged. “I guess. Not that I wanted to kill your people, not at all.” Cory hoped that wasn’t too awkward a thing to say. Meln’s eyes betrayed nothing as he drank. “It just seems like everything I’ve done today has led to something bad. Anyway, we all have regrets.”

“Yes, we do,” Meln said, and stood up. He walked over to his bed, where a long, straight-bladed sword leaned against it.

“You were talking about looking after an injured person before, someone who was about to die. Who, who was it?” Cory asked, fearing the answer.

“I spoke concerning the only surviving United soldier. We do all we can for him, but he may not live through the night,” Meln said.

Cory felt bad that he was relieved it wasn’t Jesson. He made a note to visit this soldier, to reconcile his mind. He wasn’t looking forward to it, though. “I don’t want to sound relieved or anything, but I thought it might have been Captain Jesson. I wanted to look in on him.”

Meln tilted his head suddenly. “Jesson… Mills?” he asked, also fearing what he might hear.

“Yes, do you know him?” Cory asked.

Meln’s mouth tightened in anguish, and he began to pace the tent floor. “You said we all have our regrets, Cory. I am no different.” Meln laughed again, a quiet, reserved laugh, and Cory began to wonder if Meln was feeling alright.

“You fought Jesson before?” Cory asked and then regretted it. “I’m sorry. I don’t need to know.” Thoughts of regrets made him think of home, and the night. “I’ll tell Tane you won’t see her then.” Cory stood up.

A somber mood came over Meln again, as if he was accepting something inevitable. “We all have regrets, powers outside our control forcing our hands, making us do things we’d never do. And we have to live with the pain of it. No, it’s fine. I’ll see the Prophet shortly. And I imagine you’ll see Mills shortly as well. When you do, tell him… I’m sorry for Middleton.” Meln smiled a small, fatherly smile.

Cory didn’t know what to do. He stood there and licked his lips. “Thanks for the drink,” he said. Cory bumped the table as he edged away from it and walked out the tent, Meln bending down to take another long drink behind him.

Tane wasn’t too happy about the news. She nearly sulked with impatience and Cory did not want to stay around for that. So he decided to visit the wounded soldier first.

On the way, he saw a commotion going on near the middle of the camp. A large fire had been built and several airy instruments played lively. Flutes made of a red wood erupted all over, sending a cascade of music across the camp in dozens of harmonious tones. A dance had just started and people, finished with their meals, gathered to swing merrily in a circle. Cory couldn’t help but smile at the display, and realized that Mish was running over to join in, smiling.

The people cheered when they saw her, and she kicked her heels together and people laughed. Cory wondered what was going on, and edged closer. Someone brought a small table and Mish jumped on top of it, spun around a few times, got cheered, and began singing.

“And the sun was down on the pretty little town and my heart did quickly sigh, as a pretty little missy with a pretty little fissy went around with a great big cry,” she sang, and the dancing folk joined in with the chorus.

“And around and around his life did turn till they all did up and die!” the dancers sang gaily. Several others came by and began clapping. Cory couldn’t help himself, and clapped along.

“She passed away just the other winter day and I felt my heart would cry, till I found another love in a pretty little dove who in two weeks she did die,” Mish sang.

“And around and around his life did turn till they all did up and die!” the chorus went.

Cory soon caught on to the tune and even the somewhat strange lyrics. On and on the song went, and each verse contained a new series of tragic loves that this one man seemed to get into. Cory sang the chorus occasionally, but stopped after he realized the people were laughing at this man’s torment.

“In his old age did he press his wage with one last fatal wife, till she took his lucky ring and he took a little sting when she pressed him with a knife,” Mish sang, apparently the final verse.

“And around and around his life did turn till they all did up and die!” the people sang, and cheered as the instruments went up in a loud and triumphal ending.

Cory felt surprisingly light-hearted as he applauded Mish. She really had a beautiful voice. She hopped down and came over to him as a new song started up, another singer with a great beard and a booming voice taking Mish’s spot on the table.

“Did you like it?” Mish asked Cory, sweat on her brow.

“You have a wonderful voice, but…” Cory said, cautiously.

“But what? You don’t think I’m a bad dancer do you?” Mish gave him a devious smile.

For the first time, Cory realized how stunning she looked. She had removed one of the layers of her clothing to dance and as she wrapped it around herself again, she gave Cory a wink.

“No, no it’s not that. It’s just, the lyrics,” Cory said, and made a half-successful attempt at a smile. “If you changed the tune, it would be a very sad song. It seems like you’re all laughing at this man’s bad luck.”

Mish roared with laughter. “That’s the idea,” she said.

Cory tilted his eyebrows.

“Life’s hard. What better joke than to laugh about sorrow?” Mish asked.

“But you just had a battle, where people died. In all the battles I’ve seen or been in, people either sing tunes of victory or of sadness,” Cory said as the bearded man jumped off the table and was carried away by his laughing, singing friends.

“Battles are silly,” said the vicious Mish. “The reasons they start are silly, and they get out of control. I personally hate them. Why would we want to be reminded of it so soon after it happened?” Now the song made sense to Cory. “We try to bring happiness back as soon as possible.”

“You people have a strange look on life,” Cory said as another song sprang up, sung by a man pretending to have a very high-pitched voice. Everyone laughed and applauded.

Mish put her arm around Cory’s, and Cory found himself surprised at how soft she was. “Do you want to dance?” she asked, and they exchanged another smile.

“I’d love to, but…” Cory began, and gulped before going on. “I told myself I’d visit the other member of our group. Do you know where he is?”

Mish seemed a little disappointed. Cory was too.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just, well, it’s kind of my fault he’s there,” he said.

Mish nodded quickly. “He and the captain are being held in the tent three rows down from your left. Tell the guards I gave you permission to enter. But promise me you’ll come back to dance as soon as you’re done?” she asked, and grinned devilishly.

Cory laughed and said, “I don’t think we have the same style of dancing.”

Mish roared with laughter again. “I always like seeing new things, Prophet, and look forward to your style.”

Cory smiled and bowed a little, then walked toward the tent he’d been directed to as Mish joined in by the fires.

Truth be told, he hadn’t danced since… “No,” Cory said. “Not the time to think about that.”