Young Adult / Maelie (working title)

I lay on my back in the cool grass and felt the gentle warmth of the sun on my face. Yet simultaneously, so faint as to be almost imperceptible, I could feel the hard grain of a chair beneath me and the gravel of the road on my bare feet. The dew of the grass was wet against my cheek, but my skin remained dry. It was easy to ignore such distant sensations in the presence of the vividness of my surroundings.
Colors were heightened beyond their usual vivacity. They were somehow more full of life than their ordinary counterparts, as though the everyday versions were mere imitations of the real colors which now surrounded me. The air, too, was purer, sweeter than it had ever tasted, not poisoned with foul odors, as if the very concept of such a thing couldn’t even exist in the same world as that air.
Music filled the air around me, but it was subtle, perhaps because it simply was the grass, the air, the sky. It was woven into their very being; it somehow defined them. The music itself was sweet, but not strong enough to make it unbearably so. It was calm, but full of intensity, emotion, beauty.
I loved it. I thought nothing could ever more pleasant than the world in which I lay. The music began to fade, as I knew it must, and I sighed, a mixture of enjoyment and disappointment. It was the worst aspect to anything wonderful: it always had to end.
As the notes grew further apart and gradually decrescendoed into nothing, the world around me appeared to sag in disappointment mirroring my own. The colors became mundane, common colors, and the air began to gain smells of smoke, waste, and unwashed bodies. The lovely softness of the grass beneath my back was gradually replaced by the smooth hardness of the chair and the small stones determined to leave their mark on my feet.
I blinked, and the world around me had completely transformed. Gone was the meadow and the clear sky, replaced by a simple town square. A large well occupied the center of the square, and at its base tiny flowers showed the first evidence of spring. The clouds were few and the sun had finally begun to warm the chill winter air, a warmth that was wonderfully pleasant even after the pervasive warmth of the illusion.
As the well was a central meeting place for the town folk, the town square was always busy with people meeting to gossip and take a few minutes from their work as they drew their water. Today, however, it was a good deal more interesting than its usual state: it was overflowing with jugglers, acrobats, magicians, and merchants, all equipped with something intended for no other purpose than to delight the festival goers. None of these, in my mind, however, compared to the minstrels.
The troupe that had just finished playing was receiving a loud and enthusiastic round of applause. I was still caught up in the vestiges of the magic left by the music, but I reluctantly shook it off, and joined in. It had been a truly excellent performance, the best of any at the Spring Festival so far as I could remember.
The minstrels were wiping down their instruments and lovingly placing them into their cases. I made a face – there would be no more music today - and turned to look at the girl sitting next to me. She had pulled a hairpin from the centaur’s knot on her head, and was using it to clean the dirt from under her fingernails.
I rolled my eyes at her, amused and exasperated. “Oh, come on, then, you can’t find it that tedious, Raven.”
Raven gave an exaggerated sigh and slowly slid the hairpin back into its proper place in the black hair that was her namesake. Her given name was Mara, but I'd never heard anyone call her that.
“You’re lucky that I’m such a devoted, selfless friend, Maelie, to come and sit through these dull displays.” Raven remarked with her natural flair for the dramatic. “You know I care nothing for music.”
I fought the impulse to roll my eyes again. “You enjoy it just as much as the next person, Raven, and you know it.”
“True, true,” she agreed, inspecting her newly cleaned fingernails, and apparently unaware she had contradicted herself. “Now can we please go look at the merchants’ wares? There isn't much time left before the picnic, and we've wasted so much time already.”
I tried to imitate Raven’s melodramatic sigh. “If we must. I suppose it’s now my turn to be the devoted, selfless friend.” I tried to hold a serious, resigned expression, but a giggle burst free.
Raven only watched me, grinning, amused as ever when I tried to imitate her. I had always thought Raven was wasted as an innkeeper’s daughter; she would have taken like a duck to water in a player’s troupe.
I stood from my chair and smoothed my skirts, the fabric far softer and cleaner than I was accustomed to, for I always saved my sole nice gown for festival days to prevent it from being sullied like my other gowns.
Raven rose as well, and I followed her away from the stage set up in the corner of the square and into the throng. I didn't mind in the least looking at the merchants’ wares, any more than Raven minded listening to the minstrels. While merchant caravans often came through our small town on the way to the capital, they usually carried only mundane items for the household. It was now, at the yearly Spring Festival, that the true wonders were displayed.
We approached a merchant's stall which sold cheap magical trinkets that were fascinating nonetheless: small figurines of dancers who actually moved, slowly repeating their graceful movements time and again; a ball that whistled cheerfully whenever it was thrown in the air; a device that would tell you when your meat had heated sufficiently; a small light for reading that burned without oil or wood.
It was simple, commonplace magic that, I supposed, those in large cities probably never thought twice about. It was rarely seen in my village, and so something of a novelty, but even so it could never compare to the deep set magic wrought by music, which even the most learned magician had yet to fully understand.
“Come on,” said Raven, impatiently, and I realized I’d been lost in thought. “I think I see Gavyn.”
I looked up from the table of magical oddities and, sure enough, striding towards us was a young man, grinning widely. “I just succeeded in selling the last of my grain to one of the merchants,” he informed us, a rather smug smile on his face.
Raven tsked at him. “Only a farmer would even think of working on a festival day. It’s our one time of year to really relax, Gavyn, enjoy it!”
Gavyn scoffed. “So says the innkeeper’s daughter who will surely have to help wait tables tonight because of all the surplus guests.”
Raven could not be fazed so easily. “Ah, but that is not until this evening, and all of the enjoyment is to be had now,” she retorted.
“She’s right, you know, Gavyn,” I said, “While you’ve been off selling grain, we’ve been listening to music, and –”
Gavyn’s groan cut me off mid-sentence. “Don’t say it. Shopping.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You don’t think I picked this time to work by accident, do you?” He winked conspiratorially at me. Raven cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.
“Oh, stop, shopping with us is not that bad.”
“Of course not,” he said mildly, raising one brow. “But, see, now I’ve managed to avoid it and sell all my wheat. A day of many accomplishments if I do say so.” The smug smile was back.
“Don’t,” I said, and Gavyn chuckled.
“Let’s just go and enjoy the picnic, shall we? Since Raven is so put out that I’ve missed all the fun, we’d better not miss this part.”
The picnic at the annual Spring Festival was a old, outdated (in my mind) tradition that dated back who knew how many generations, and it was not one I was particularly fond of. Each young lady made a picnic basket, decorated in spring colors, and filled with a homemade picnic supper. It would then be auctioned off to the highest bidder, who would win not only the basket and the food within, but also the company of the young woman who made it.
For those like Raven, whose simple beauty seemed to come naturally and without effort, there was never any shortage of young men falling over each other – and themselves – to bid on their baskets. For those like myself, however – well, I liked to believe my beauty lay within, and the young men were just too daft to see it. But despite telling myself this repeatedly every year, I could never quite overcome the sting of hurt and embarrassment that always ensued when no one bid on my basket, trying with little success to convince myself I didn’t care, when even Gavyn bid on whichever girl he was sweet on. I had few hopes that this year would be any different.
I forced a smile for the sake of my friends. They truly enjoyed the auction and picnic, and I didn’t want to ruin it for them with my whining.
The auctioneer, a skinny reed of a man who, for the remainder of the year, ran the only mercantile in town, stood on the stage where the minstrels had performed, arranging the baskets on the stage in a manner pleasing to the eye. I eyed my basket, wondering what my mother had fixed this year. Typically the lady in question was to do the cooking for her own basket, but my skills at the cooking fire were so dismal that my mother took pity on me.
The magicians, jugglers, and acrobats had all finished their performances; the merchants were closing their stalls. The local villagers and the strangers from neighboring villages were all crowding in around the stage in anticipation of the auction.
I resisted the urge to sigh. I would prefer the minstrels to come back instead.
“All right, then, ladies and gentlemen.” The auctioneer’s voice was magnified by another of those magical trinkets, and it carried easily over the crowd. “Let’s begin with this lovely little basket right here. Do I hear five coppers?”
I looked around for the owner of the basket, and spotted the blacksmith’s daughter, clearly trying not to look self-conscious, but blushing furiously. Traditionally no one was to know which girl made each basket, but everyone always knew.
The basket was quickly purchased by a young man blushing equally as furiously, and from there time raced on. Raven’s basket, as usual, went for an outrageous sum of money, and the young man who bought it had a look on his face suggesting he couldn't quite believe his luck. I shook my head fondly, and glanced at Gavyn standing next to me. He smiled, then reverted his attention back to the stage. I wondered why he hadn’t bid yet – several young ladies’ baskets which he had bid on in years past had come and gone, and he hadn’t bid a single copper. I mentally shrugged. Perhaps he had newfound interest in someone else and hadn’t yet told Raven or me about it.
Several more baskets had been sold while I was pondering this, and I suppressed a groan as the auctioneer pulled mine from atop the pile.
“Well, here we have a quaint little basket, and from the smells issuing from it, a delectable meal. Five coppers! Anyone?”
For one agonizing moment, silence spread over the square. I tried not to squirm and to ignore the eyes covertly – and overtly – trained on me. I was just wishing that I could melt into the ground when a gravelly voice called out, “Five coppers!”
I glanced, startled, at Gavyn beside me, who hastily tried to disguise his surprised look. I searched the crowd, trying to locate the speaker, and finally spotting him near the front.
The man stood with his back to me, facing the stage, his arm in the air to make his bid. I couldn’t tell much about him, except that he seemed to be about my age and was definitely no one I recognized.
The auctioneer cleared his throat. “Five coppers, then, do I hear ten coppers?”
“Fifteen!” said a new voice to my left. I stared in shock – the voice had come from Gavyn. He stared resolutely at the stage, refusing to meet my gaze. I didn’t know whether to be touched, embarrassed, or outraged. I frowned – outrage was the easiest. I wasn’t at all sure which was worse – being bid on out of pity or having no bids at all.
The stranger seemed quite determined to win my basket – was it possible he didn’t realize who it belonged to? – but he eventually gave in when Gavyn forced the price up to an entire silver. A silver! Did Gavyn even possess an entire silver?
I stood dazed through the remainder of the auction, aware that Gavyn stood next to me, my basket held lightly in his hands, and for all I could tell completely at ease. I shook myself out of it when the auction ended and people began to disperse, families and couples alike heading out to enjoy their picnics.
Gavyn glanced at me and gestured that I follow, ignoring what I’m sure was a myriad of emotions on my face, and strode off into the crowd.
I hurried to catch up. My anger had faded, leaving only a trace of embarrassment. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know.”
He chuckled. “It was worth it just to see the look on your face.”
I glared good-naturedly at him. “I didn’t want your pity bid.”
Gavyn’s expression morphed from amused to serious in a heartbeat, with a glint in his eye I couldn’t quite identify. Hurt? “It wasn’t a pity bid, Maelie. How could you think that? We’re friends. We’ve always been friends, ever since our mothers changed our diapers together.”
“But you’ve never done it before,” I pointed out softly. “You’ve always bid on someone you’re sweet on.”
“Which is why I thought it was high time I did. Besides, you and I don’t get much quality time together, just us two.”” He winked, his serious expression gone.
I gave him a smile in return as we settled under a tree to enjoy the picnic. We had gone a fair ways from the center of town, but I could still catch glimpses of other couples sharing their baskets, often shyly glancing at each other. I flushed, and stared at the ground to hide it.
“Well, thank you, Gavyn,” I said, thinking about how unsettling it was having the picnic with a young man instead of my family, even if that young man was someone I had been in diapers with, as Gavyn had been so kind as to mention.
“You’re welcome.” His gaze was on the basket.
Trying unsuccessfully to shake off the awkwardness of the moment, I reached into the basket to discover what my mother had packed. My stomach growled in anticipation: meat pies, soft bread with actual butter, a true luxury, dried fruit and nuts, and a bottle of rice wine. I spent a few moments arranging it all, casting around for something intelligent to say.
“Did you really work all day?” was what I finally came up with. Not exactly the witty statement I'd been looking for.
Gavyn chuckled, and I glanced up to meet his eyes.
“Ah, Maelie, 'he who neglects his work today only has more to do tomorrow.'” Gavyn quoted the common proverb and tried to look virtuous.
I snorted. “Of course, you only worked on festival day for your own benefit, admit it!”
Gavyn wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Well, it was either work, or be subjected to hours upon hours of Raven analyzing every ware for sale. I prefer work to torture.”
I laughed, and stuffed a pastry into his mouth.