Chương 49: Chapter 44 ~ Tsininokha (Act One)

15/11/1111 EotTS 21: 20 Gysel flipped past the rest of the introduction, and the cast list, and stopped on 'Act One.' Marking the first line with her thumb, she looked up just in time to see the lights swirl about before blooming, and illuminating the whole stage.

The stage was set with a large background painted as a road with a view of clear blue sea and tiny islands, both big and small, covered in trees and mountains scattered on the horizon; it scrolled from left to right, as the same five gulls appeared and disappeared from view, never getting to where they wanted to go.

Slowly, from stage right, an ox languidly clopped onto stage (the ox was certainly two men in a suit who had some sort of wooden bowl tied to their shoes with the opening facing down to mimic the sound of hooves), dragging behind it a four-wheeled wooden cart, filled with seven men (three on each side, and one at the front).

Each man wore a dark, inky-blue robe, with the hoods pulled up to shroud their faces, and the man at the front had waves embroidered in gold along the hem of his hood: he must have been the one in charge of this mysterious menagerie of men.

"Oh, how quaint," spoke the man with golden waves.

"This trader's village by the ocean's shore." Gysel looked to the program to see who said the line: it was the 'Leader of the Devotees'; the other devotees were just labeled one through six.

"We must stop there; towns like this are always worth the try!" said Devotee One.

"Why must finding a successor always be a chore!" whined Devotee Four, placing his hooded head into his hands.

"Hush." The Leader put a finger to where his lips should have been.

"Speak not of the maiden, for surely I shall cry..." Devotee Two stood up and pointed at a painted wooden board slowly coming out of stage left, exclaiming, "There! the agora! Quick, stop the cart, what can we find!"

"Pray, a maiden, demure, with the sea in both an eye!" Devotee Three jumped over the side of the cart, and mimicked running alongside it.

"Oh yes," said Devotee Five, as he leaned over the side to speak to Devotee Three.

"She must be soft of voice, curious and kind!" The background stopped moving, and a series of wooden stalls and building facades slid in from both stage left and stage right, but they did not make a sound; perhaps they were on tracks. Extras dressed in the brightly colored clothes of the peasants of old started walking out from all directions, some even meandering among the floor seats.

Snickering, Wyohla planted an elbow on the balcony of the box and watched some of the extras as they got up from chairs and walked around. The six men still in the cart hurriedly evacuated it and pushed through the peasants, getting grunts and grievances as they went. Upon coming to a vendor's stand covered in seashells, the seven men climbed atop it, and as they struggled for footing, they knocked the shells off and onto the stage below.

Eventually they all got their footing, and the Leader of the Devotees raised his hands high above his head in the shape of a 'V', and the other six posed in mirrored positions similar to the women in Wyohla's cabinet.

"Fair people, hear me now!" harked the Leader of the Devotees.

"We wish to speak to this town!" The townsfolk slowed, and slowly coagulated around the stand, muttering to each other.

"Yes," the Leader continued, "gather together, bring all, a mass is forming! Worry not about our darken robs, and somber gowns; A maiden we loved has just passed, we are in mourning." A woman, flailing her arms in the air, appeared from stage left, pushing her way through the crowd: this woman, according to the program, was the titular Tsininokha. The Leader lowered his arms.

"What is that? Who is this maiden who pushes through the crowd? Her cheeks flushed red like the daybreak sky before storming. What is it? Silence, Silence! She must not speak too loud." If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Tsininokha was clad in a simple blue dress and white apron. Once she was free from the crowd, and before the devotees, she tied her long brown hair into a messy bun, and began to wag her finger.

"Robed Travelers," yelled Tsininokha, "get down from there! My stand! My stand, you harm my wares! Why are you here causing troubles! Do not lie, for my rage bubbles."

"Oh," the Leader said, as he placed a hand in front of his heart.

"Breathe slow and calm now, Maiden with eyes of aqua. We will tell you all, but first please speak your holy name."

"My name you ask?" Tsininokha proclaimed, proudly patting her chest.

"Father yclept me: Tsininokha!" All seven of the devotees gasped, with the two on the edges of the stall falling off, and rolling on the ground. Once they all had collected themselves, and the two who fell had stood back up, the Leader pointed to Tsininokha.

"That name: Lady of the Ocean!" he exclaimed.

"You are why we came! Yes! Yes! Down we come, but you will be leaving with us! Please do not struggle; we wish not to bring you any shame; come quietly away, refrain from causing a fuss." Gysel looked down at her program, and scrunched her face: Tsininokha meant 'The Lady of the Vast Blue', not 'Lady of the Ocean.' Shrugging at the poetic license, she looked back to the play. Two of the Devotees grabbed Tsininokha, as the others climbed down and pushed towards her.

The crowd split, leaving the scene in the center of the stage visible, and after some struggling, the devotees had Tsininokha by the hands and feet.

"Woe! help me!" Tsininokha cried as she was carried away to the cart.

"They take me away! What was done, for what do I pay! They stuff me into ox-drawn cart! Away from home, away my heart!" But as soon as Tsininokha was loaded into the cart, she fell silent. A din erupted from the extras as the devotees climbed back into their cart.

"What cloaks of mystery veil these robed men?" asked a woman in brown carrying a basket.

"I am privy: the death of a Priestess!" answered a man dressed like a sailor.

"They all must worship the summer tempests!" cried another woman; six other women faux-fainted as soon as she was done with her lines, each with exaggerated gasps.

"Devotees of the God of the Ocean!" exclaimed the whole crowd. An older woman with grey-streaked hair, in a dress and apron identical to Tsininokha's, ran into the center of the stage and covered her eyes: this was Tsininokha's Mother.

"Woe, Woe, for in the arms of men, my daughter leaves!" Her voice choked and broke as she cried.

"First my husband, shipwrecked, lost to the sea, now fair Tsininokha, taken from me! A pious woman I am, so why must I grieve!" All seven of the devotees looked back towards Tsininokha's Mother, and the leader placed his foot on the side of the cart. They all began to speak in chorus: "Bereft Mother, the bell of pity, your words have rung.

While we cry for your sorrow, your plight, with a whole heart, and we believe your devotion from only your tongue; we must take this girl away to the temple by cart, for ahead of her there lie many perilous tests; some of which are many, many a moon past their start. If all past, she will be revered as High Priestess!" The crowd began to clear as the cart moved to the left, and slowly off stage.

Tsininokha's Mother collapsed to her knees, beating the stage with a fist and wailing (something which was completely unrealistic; mothers never stayed long enough to see their daughter depart by carriage) some of the townspeople tried to console her, but it did nothing to calm her cries.

"Damn you! Damn you!" she shrieked.

"Can you not hear her cry! How great my grief, no words will ever tame; for my Daughter stolen by a wretch same, as he who had doomed my husband to die!" Two loud thuds (from what was likely sandbags) reverberated throughout the hall, and the curtains swung shut with a heavy rustling, ending the first act, and the theater erupted in applause, with Gysel joining in after a few seconds.

Wyohla, however, offered only ten claps, and not even the faintest motion of more, before turning back to the private server, and asking: "When is my wine going to arrive?"

"Our apologies, dhera'Syrlwaer. We sent someone as soon as we heard; he should be back soon. If it is not here by the end of the second act, I will refund you for one of the bottles."

"Dhera? Dhera!" Wyohla took a sharp breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out slowly.

"Where in the Gods did you get that from?"

"I..." The server stumbled over his tongue.

"My sincerest apologies. I just assumed that a woman, who presents herself as you do, purchasing wine like this, was married and here on a night out with her friend on her husband's coin. A—are you a noble or are you a widow? I am very sorry."

"I am neither; I am simply a woman who wants to enjoy a play and fine wine, without her marital status being speculated on."

"I will speak to the manager about my mistake. I am sorry; I will see to it that you are reimbursed for something of your choosing." Wyohla dismissed the comment with the wave of a hand.

"I don't care about the cost of it; I don't have a husband to explain my tastes to as his cheque-book fills with the names of whores. Just bring me my wine. And if you have to address me, address me as mera'Syrlwaer. And tell the manager that if he insists on his staff using old world honorifics, they need to get them right."

"Yes, yes, of course, mera'Syrlwaer." Head hung low, the server backed out of the box, and a sigh came muffled through the curtain.

"Can you seriously believe that he thought I was some nobleman's show-piece?" Wyohla asked. Gysel looked Wyohla up and down.

"Yes. I very much can." Planting her left elbow on the arm of the chair, Wyohla set her chin in her hand.

"They better hurry up with my wine..." She muttered as the stage lights returned.