The maids quaked silently at the burst of tempestuous gale that buffeted against the burnished walls of the inner palace. It hurled itself from one hapless chaise lounge before flinging its angry arms around a previously immaculate pillow, now bedraggled in the incensed grip of its captor.
Night Wind's normally perfectly-coifed tresses were disheveled and mussed from the constant running of agitated fingers through the ill-fated strands. She was unnaturally flushed. Her pale skin was a bright peach and her breathing was agitated and staccato in rhythm.
Pika bravely stuttered, "Pri ... Princess Night Wind, you do not look well. Please calm yourself with some tea. And perhaps a bath?"
Some of the other maids looked at her in wide-eyed admiration and pitying inevitability.
The wrinkled pillow flew overhead and Pika instinctively shied back as the well-padded missile hit her in the neck and rebounded with a sullen thud on the floor.
"Shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone! Why cannot you leave me alone! I do not want bloody tea and I do not need a bath! Stupid tea and baths! Is that all you have in your brains? Water?"
The ranting girl flung herself out of the chaise lounge and every single person in the room cringed. She had been on the rampage for the last hour and they wondered that she did not tire. Some of them were wilting just from holding their breaths in fear of exhaling too loudly and calling attention to themselves.
Night Wind's tantrums were infamous in the palace. She once threw a pair of scissors at a maid who had the audacity to answer back to her. Fortunately, her aim was not true or there would have been a dead servant girl carted out of the palace that night.
She paced the room like a restless, raging tiger, ready to leap and tear shreds and slivers of reluctant flesh from those unfortunate enough to cross her path. Everyone made sure to stick to the far edges and corners of the room, allowing and hoping that her fury will spend itself.
She hung her head down as staggered eruptions of searing ire puffed up the jagged fringe of her forlorn dark locks .
"How dare he? I am a princess and he turns down the chance to be with me? How dare he?"
She tossed onto her side and stared at the intertwining leaves embroidered in gold and black on the chaise lounge. Picking at a few threads peevishly with one fingernail, she felt unaccustomed tears sting her eyes.
"Why? Why did he not want to be with me? Is home so important? What is there at home that he cannot find with me here?"
Her mind started racing as she wondered how she could make him change his mind. Did he not realise what he was turning down?
Perhaps it would be hard at first to work in the shadows to turn her father's eye and the court's sentiments in his favour. But she was smarter than all of them combined and what she put her mind to, she always achieved. Did he doubt her ability? Did he not trust her? Why did he reject her offer? What could it mean? Why?
The sudden pivot of her head towards the door startled the maids, causing one particularly timid girl to whimper sharply, drawing a pair of glittering eyes in her direction.
"You! Get a bath ready for me. And lay out the red gown with the golden roses," NIght Wind sat up abruptly and wiped her tears slowly as a stony look of determination hardened her face.
No one thwarted her. If Bernard thought he could get away with disregarding her feelings and good intentions, he had better think again.
Dashing a quick note out on the perfumed vellum paper she had acquired from the West, she bade Pika deliver it to its intended destination.
*
Night Cloud returned to hear the maids whispering quietly in a corner. Perturbed, she asked, "What is going on? Why are you girls crowded in a corner gossiping?"
Pika kept her eyes downcast as she stepped forward.
"Princess, it's the Princess Night Wind. She has been in a state since she returned home. Crying and tearing things apart. It was quite frightening. Then suddenly it just ... stopped. She was shouting one moment and then when she stepped into the baths, she seemed to calm down and had some tea. And suddenly she just fainted. We were so afraid and were just going to summon the Royal Doctor but were afraid to inform the King as he is so angry at the moment."
The panicked maid stopped for breath, gasping and trying to collect her thoughts before the older princess.
"No! No ... she is just ... tired. From all that emotional break down. Do not call the Royal Doctor or inform Father. Just let her rest. We shall just watch over her. Una, go prepare some broth with the special herbs we obtained today."
Una caught the hidden instructions in the careful words and set off for the kitchens, dragging an unsure Pika with her.
Night Cloud walked towards her sister's section of the bedchambers and sat next to her reposed sibling. Slowly, she drew her hand gently across the furrowed brow of the sleeping princess.
"Even in sleep you are troubled, my sister. Do not worry. I shall watch over you and together we will defeat the evil spirit. We have more medicine for you from Troubled Waters. All will be well. Trust me, my sister."
In her sleep, Night Wind was dreaming of a gentle zephyr that caressed her brow even as it brought the faint smell of decay with it. Her brow furrowed further, inviting a soothing smoothing from a pair of alabaster hands.
*
Golden Lily was quite pleased with herself. She had sent the message to her husband that the first part of their plans were in place without even the machinations of their original plan. The fates had played into their hands quite nicely, which only proved that the gods were on their side.
As she walked past the quiet peacock gardens, an assessing pair of eyes watched her scheming shadow from a quiet pavilion in the corner. A shuffling of feet drew them away from the gloating princess as a folded note came to rest before them.
*
"Father, I think you are too precipitous. We must not listen to just one source of information. Perhaps we should wait to hear from Night Cloud before making a decision," the elegant pair of hands lifted the golden chalice serenely to vermilion lips.
"One source? I have heard from at least three different sources since this afternoon. Everyone has seen her cavorting all over the city with this foreigner! It is a disgrace! How can we marry her off now without bringing shame upon us?" The furious KIng glared at her through mutinous brows.
Unperturbed, the calm princess smiled gently before lifting orbs of quiet strength and aged-knowledge encased in a tranquil symmetry of quiet beauty.
The monarch felt his temper easing a little as the insistent aura of peace his eldest daughter always emanated surrounded him. Somehow, the very fact it calmed him made him slightly more peevish. How that happened every time she was around was a mystery to him. He was not quite sure he liked it.
Rain Orchid studied her father fondly as she chose her words carefully.
"Sometimes we see what others intend for us to see. It colours our perception unevenly if we do not allow the other shades to assert themselves."
The king resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. He was fond of his eldest daughter but her constant pontification of ambiguous analogies drove him quite mad sometimes. Why could women not just say what they meant without cloaking it in so many words?
"What do you mean, daughter?"
"I simply mean that there could be more to the stories than what you are being told. How did the stories start and how much of it is true can only be confirmed by the parties involved. We should perhaps ask Night Wind directly and summon this foreigner into court to question him. But we would have to be careful as he works for a powerful company and we should not invite the foreigners' censure by reacting rashly."
"Hmmm ... but if we summon him in, everyone would think that I approve of him. Let's just arrest him and then we can question him in the prisons."
"That might work if he did not work for the local representative of one of the biggest companies linked to the Eron court. If we arrest him arbitrarily, we might invite their retaliation. We must conduct this more discreetly too or it will sully our name even more," Rain Orchid looked limpidly at her father as she smoothed her skirt across her knee.
The King tried not to show his disgruntled agreement and kept silent as he weighed his options and calculated the chess pieces.
"What if it is true, Rain Orchid? I will have to punish her as we cannot let such a violation of court rules go unanswered. You know the rules."
Rain Cloud's eyes soften with compassion as she saw the old man's fears of a life without his favourite child. Her voice was a soothing balm of soft sympathy as she offered to speak with her youngest sister.
*
The maids were getting worried. The princess had slept the whole day and missed dinner. She had hardly stirred except to mutter incoherently a few times, prompting Una to spoon tiny sips of tea through her parched lips.
Night Cloud sat in silent vigil by her sister. She was calm for the first time in weeks knowing that the over-long sleep was only the sign of NIght Wind's battle against the evil spirit that had invaded her consciousness. Only in sleep could she fight this most fearsome enemy.
She watched her sister's face and continued her painstaking sewing of a snuff bottle pouch for her father. A shadow darkened the stitch she was just picking through the stretched silk, causing her to start and almost prick herself.
She spun her head up to stare into a smiling pair of eyes.
"Sister! You startled me!" she breathed out in relief. Standing, she beamed and gratefully fell into the wide arms of her eldest sister.
So warm and gentle. The familiar scent of wild orchids and cloves. She loved this smell. It always made her feel so safe and at peace. She unconsciously rubbed her cheek against her sister's shoulder and suddenly felt an unbidden sob rise up and almost tumbled onto the silk-clad limb.
She bit her lip and lifted her head to stare at Rain Orchid.
"How is it you come, sister? Not that I am not glad to see you but I am just surprised," Night Cloud started feeling a small thread of unease wheedle itself into her brain.
"Ah, I just thought I should visit my two favourite sisters. It's been far too long. And I heard Night Wind has been unwell. Is it true?"
The younger half-sibling kept her eyes on her sewing as she feared the intelligent and all-seeing eyes of the acknowledged genius among the princesses. Even NIght Wind could not compare to Rain Cloud's renowned superior mental abilities.
"She has just been over-tired recently and caught a slight cold. She just needs a lot of rest."
"Has the Royal Doctors been to see her? What medication has she been given?"
"Ah! No! I mean, no, there is no need to call for the Royal Doctors for such a slight illness. She has just been taking tea and broths as well as some steamed chicken to keep her strength up. Do not worry, sister, I am taking good care of her."
Rain Cloud narrowed her eyes slightly at her sister's down-bent head. Something was wrong with the picture. She meandered seemingly aimlessly around the room, picking up an ornament here, examining a tapestry there, all the while making a sure path towards Night Wind's bed.
"I am sure you are. You two have always been the closest of all the sisters. The years of being outcast by the others have made you two cling to each other. I have always regretted being married and away from home so early and thus, being unable to ease your years here," Rain Orchid looked regretfully at Night Cloud as she remembered the young sisters clinging to each other and sobbing from the window of their bedchamber as they watched their eldest sister carried off in the wedding palanquin.
The vision of the two frightened and desperate children's tear-stained faces haunted her for years, driving a cleaving wedge of regret and worried sorrow through her heart.
Night Cloud looked up with eyes gone soft and moist with the remembered panic of two abandoned young girls. "It is not your fault, sister. You were always kind to us and when you left, we felt as if our only friend in the whole world had been taken from us. But fortunately, Night Wind was so clever. She managed to find her way into Father's attention and charmed him into remembering us.
If not for Night Wind, we might have been forgotten all those years ago. She always said she learnt all the tricks from watching you," Night Cloud smiled sweetly and in gentle acceptance.
Rain Orchid stopped in her tracks and looked over at Night Cloud, whose embroidery hoop fell listlessly from her hands as she remembered the days between Rain Orchid's departure and Night Wind's first gueriila attack on getting themselves under the protection of their father.
As their eyes met again, Night Cloud's eyes were clouded with the remnant tears of a bewildered chid left to fend for itself without the protection of an adult. Rain Orchid's blurred with sympathetic pain and maternal regret. Her own daughters were her most precious treasures on whom she lavished all her love and attention because of the guilty memory of her two forgotten sisters.
Rousing herself, she carefully and efficiently sealed the mental painting of her daughters back into their precious compartment in her heart.
"Let us go see to Night Wind and you can tell me all about this young man that has caused such a storm in a teacup."
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Forgotten Sisters
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Portrait of Bitterness
She walks in darkness, shrouded in shadows. Creeping along the jagged shards of onyx depths, her hungry eyes prying every corner, pricing the weight of malice against the insult of joy.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Hal to the Odyssey
This month sucks. First Anthony Minghella and now Arthur C Clarke. I hope this is not an alphabetical culling of all my favourite artists, writers, directors and such.
Arthur C. Clarke, the science fiction visionary best known for the groundbreaking 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey, a psychedelic epic of mankind's encounter with never-seen aliens, died Wednesday at age 90. The English writer died in Colombo, Sri Lanka, where he had lived since 1956. He had been in poor health in recent years, confined to a wheelchair due to the effects of post-polio syndrome. He was a scientist, a philosopher and a prolific author who penned more than 80 books and 500 essays during his lifetime, including fiction and non-fiction. His 1951 short story The Sentinel became the foundation for 2001. Clarke was a futurist who seemed to live ahead of his time. Many of his ideas and theories became reality. His work was embraced by both the scientific and science fiction communities. He viewed the future as something to behold, not fear. "I'm an optimist," he told USA TODAY, half-jokingly, in 1997. "I've always said we have a 51% chance of survival." His own odyssey began as a boy growing up in the seaside town of Minehead, England. The son of an English farming family, Clarke was born on Dec. 16, 1917 to Charles (the source of Arthur's famous middle initial) Clarke and Mary Nora Willis. Clarke spent his boyhood years staring at the stars through homemade telescopes and launching amateur rockets using gunpowder he mixed with his mother's kitchen utensils. He was introduced to the world of science fiction as a boy through the pulp magazine Astounding Stories of Super-Science. With no money for college, he moved to London in 1936 and took a job as a government auditor. In his spare time, he joined the British Interplanetary Society, a group devoted to the science of space flight, and began writing science fiction for several fanzines. In 1941, at the height of World War II, Clarke volunteered for the Royal Air Force and served as a radar instructor. His military experience led to his 1945 landmark essay, Extra-Terrestrial Relays, published in the technical journalWireless World. In the piece, for which he was paid $40, Clarke proposed building a network of orbiting communication satellites, placed 22,300 miles above the equator, fixed at the same spot over Earth. In 1963, the world's first geosynchronous satellite was launched, making his vision a reality. That was the first of several scientific predictions that led fans to worship Clarke as if he were a modern-day Nostradamus, though many of his overly ambitious visions of man's presence in space never materialized. Clarke's foundation in science came from his years at Kings College in London, where he studied math and physics after the war. After graduating, he spent a year as an assistant editor of the journal Physics Abstracts before the income from his writing hobby overtook his day salary. His first book, the non-fiction Interplanetary Flight, was published in 1950. In 1953, Ballantine Books put Clarke on the map with the publication of his sci-fi classic, Childhood's End, about a race of aliens who come to Earth and eliminate disease and poverty — at the cost of mankind's freedom. His subsequent best sellers included 1956's TheCity and the Stars, 1961's A Fall of Moondust and 1975's Imperial Earth, among others. His 1973 critically acclaimed classic Rendezvous with Rama— about a team of astronauts who are sent to investigate an alien spacecraft (Rama) that is hurling toward our sun — won Clarke every major sci-fi writing accolade including the Campbell, Hugo, Jupiter and Nebula awards. Donna Shirley, former director of the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame in Seattle, called Clarke "a remarkable man." Clarke served on the museum's advisory board and was inducted into its Hall of Fame. "He (was) the creator of some fascinating and brilliant concepts in science fiction," she said, adding that he grounded his science fiction in scientific fact. But Clarke's career remains defined by his seminal short story, The Sentinel. Written in 1948 for a BBC contest (he lost) and first published in 1951,The Sentinel told of a pyramid-shaped structure (which became the mysterious monolith left by aliens in 2001) found on the moon. It was Clarke's first attempt to tackle humanity's oldest question: Why are we here? In 1964, filmmaker Stanley Kubrick was looking to make a movie about aliens after the release of Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Columbia Pictures introduced him to Clarke. The two men clicked and brainstormed for several months in New York. The Sentinel became the jumping-off point for their project. In the summer of 1964, Clarke holed up at the Chelsea Hotel to type their script. The result was 2001: A Space Odyssey. Spanning 4 million years from the dawn of man to the title year, the saga starred Keir Dullea as an astronaut attempting to decipher the meaning of an alien artifact discovered on the moon. His crew is sent to Jupiter to track the source of the monolith's radio signal, with dire consequences. It was unlike any film ever made, using imagery, symbolism and classical music rather than relying solely on dialogue to tell the story. The film also famously gave the world the malevolent, thinking, talking mainframe computer, the HAL 9000. 2001 opened to mixed, sometimes hostile, reviews from critics and audiences who didn't "get" it. The New York Times called it "somewhere between hypnotic and immensely boring." Harper's said it was "a monumentally unimaginative movie." Despite its reception, the film was nominated for four Academy Awards, including a shared screenwriting nod for Clarke and Kubrick. It won one Oscar for best special effects. Today, 2001 is considered an influential masterpiece. "There have been many science-fiction films, but I don't think any of them are as cerebral or as daring as this one," says film historian Leonard Maltin. It ranks No. 22 on the American Film Institute's list of the top 100 movies of all time. 2001 "poses metaphysical, philosophical and even religious questions," Clarke explained in Neil McAleer 's 1992 authorized biography. "I don't pretend we have the answers. But the questions are certainly worth thinking about. It's about concern with man's hierarchy in the universe, which is pretty low. It's about the reactions of humanity to the discovery of higher intelligence in the universe." Clarke certainly believed in extraterrestrial, intelligent life. "They might land tomorrow on the White House lawn," he told McAleer. But he did not believe in UFOs, which he said could be reasonably explained. Nor did he believe in God. He was an unapologetic atheist with no patience for organized religion, which he blamed for many of society's ills. "The greatest tragedy in mankind's entire history may be the hijacking of morality by religion," he wrote in a 1999 essay. Clarke was not oblivious to the potential abuse and side effects of new technology, evidenced by HAL and his banal droning. ("I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.") In 1997, Clarke told USA TODAY that he embraced e-mail while simultaneously calling the Internet "the most deadly drug ever developed." Clarke's influence and admiration in the scientific world was undeniable. The command module of 1970's ill-fated Apollo 13 mission was dubbed "Odyssey" in honor of the film, as was the 2001 Mars Odyssey spacecraft. At MIT, a room dedicated to artificial intelligence is dubbed the HAL project. The area of space where geosynchronous satellites orbit the Earth is known as the "Clarke Belt." In his private life, Clarke was often portrayed as an eccentric recluse who refused to give interviews. But in truth he frequently chatted with reporters and fans via e-mail and gave speeches via satellite. In 1953, Clarke married an American, Marilyn Mayfield. The marriage lasted less than six months. "The marriage was incompatible from the beginning," he once said. "It was sufficient proof that I wasn't the marrying type, although I think everybody should marry once." After the marriage collapsed, Clarke's fascination with the underwater world brought him to Sri Lanka (then called Ceylon), where he settled in 1956 and started a scuba-diving business along with business partner Hector Ekanayake. In December 2004, Clarke and his family survived the catastrophic tidal waves that killed more than 225,000 people in Asia, including thousands in Sri Lanka. "The day after Christmas turned out to be a living nightmare reminiscent of The Day After Tomorrow," Clarke posted on his website after the disaster. He noted that his first book about Sri Lanka, 1957's The Reefs of Taprobane, chronicled a tidal wave that struck the area in 1883. In 1998, his life was turned upside down after the British tabloid Sunday Mirror accused the writer of being a pedophile. Clarke vehemently denied the accusations and was never charged with any crime. The controversy did not prevent Clarke from being knighted by Britain's royal family, or giving interviews as Jan. 1, 2001, approached. He spoke of the significance of 2001, which has been re-released in theaters several times since 1968, including in 2001. He also continued to write. Sunstorm, a novel with Stephen Baxter, was released in 2005 by Del Ray. Before his death, Clarke made provisions for the future. He donated six strands of his hair to a Houston-based company that plans to launch human DNA into space. |
Friday, March 21, 2008
Challenge 1 - Pissed Mary
Challege 1 - Pissed Mary
Pens at Dawn
The poetry challenge of 38 words, 1 poem set me thinking.
Aerial Dance
Just the air, a cable and you
OK, the crane above too
How odd being 40 metres high
Mutes sounds into a wistful sigh
You wrap the line
Holding you inclined
Around one slippered feet
A ballerina at 130 feet
The air is different so far from the traffic
That moves at remote control speed
Little spots of colours that seem less graphic
than the clouds that bid you heed
The sense of being cradled
In God's gentle breath
Or being pillowed and saddled
Both protected and on the edge
It's cooler up here and each breeze defined
Warm sun beating upon your shoulders
Back and face
Legs dangling to the distant ground below
The harness digs into your crotch
Around your thighs
Cinches your waist
You straighten your back
To level yourself
In line with the cable
One line
Together
Straight as an arrow
Tight
Controlled
Yet freer than the immovable anchor of the ground
Up here you are all alone
Peaceful solitude
Your one true home
Communion of the highest magnitude
You can almost hear his personal call
To resist the tempting fall
Deep breaths
Simple sanity
Freedom a commodity
Abound up there in the air
So rare a find below
And then the music blares
And you throw your body forward
Wrap the cable to one side
And fly into the dance
Your only chance
At being an angel in the sky
Royal Fury
The smells from the market was rather overwhelming today. And the heat was overbearingly persistent, seeping through each weave of clothing, every pore on the skin. Moisture gathered in a vain attempt to insulate and placate the protesting sun-beaten surface.
She wished she had let Pika accompany her. Then she could enjoy the shelter of her lacy, white parasol without suffering the aching arms. Pika could have carried the large embroidered bag full of documents too. Who knew paper could weigh so much?
It was strange how listless and easily fatigued she felt nowadays. The sun leeched the energy from her body as the nights wove a noxious cloud of languor over her bones. It took more will than normal just to accomplish anything these days.
She hastened her steps. Although she knew Bernard would wait patiently till she arrived without complaint or even a reproachful look, she was too excited to delay her news. If only her footsteps could match her racing thoughts and spirits.
She beamed inwardly as she imagined his delight when he heard. It was a definite coup brought about by her considerable skills at wheedling, cajoling and pretty persuasion.
Night Wind always got what she wanted and this was no exception. Now if only her father was as easy a challenge. But one thing at a time. She had a plan and all was going according to her precise machinations.
*
"I do not understand, my love. What is this?" Bernard cast a bewildered glance at Night Wind before drawing his eyes back to the stack of documents and books before him.
"It is the official letter of appointment from my uncle, the Minister of Trade. And some of the court journals for you to study. You can start by being one of the interpreters for the court in charge of foreign imports next week. It is a good position that will allow you to rise within the Royal Court, especially with my uncle as your protector.
That way, you can slowly rise to my father's attention without rousing suspicion and win his approval if we plan very carefully." Night Wind stopped for breath, her face aglow in her enthusiasm.
Bernard kept his eyes down, trying to gather his words carefully.
"But Night Wind ... I do not intend to live out the rest of my life here. The life of a court-appointed official does not interest me. I miss home and at some point would like to return to it. I seek a simple life back in the gentle hills and soft lakes of home," Bernard looked softly at the silent princess as he reached out to take her soft hands tenderly in his grasp.
Night Wind's eyes widened as a startled gasp paused and welded itself in her throat. His words started an obdurate path of icy realisation.
He did not intend to live here. Which means he did not intend to live the rest of his life with her. When was he going to tell her he was planning to go home? Did he know how hard it was to work her wiles into obtaining the kind of position and status even the most affluent and influential families would kill for ... for him? A foreigner?
How dare he? How dare he?
She trembled with suppressed rage as she narrowed her eyes to cover the widening blades of bitterness within her soul. Her throat closed in an angry vice on the stagnant gasp of shock, transforming it into a silent scream of fury.
Bernard rubbed his thumb soothingly across the smooth skin of Night Wind's knuckles, keeping their hands out of sight of the other customers in the little Parisian-style cafe. He was concerned at her silence but woefully unaware of the maelstrom of pain he had just unleashed upon his own head.
"My love? Speak to me. You are uncommonly silent."
Glittering splinters of resentment hurled themselves across the small table, unerringly pinning the soft dove grey eyes blanketed in blue confusion.
"Perhaps I have taken too much upon myself and spoken too much and too often. I was perhaps foolish to place too much meaning in your words and actions. In my land, declarations of undying love mean you will die first before recalling that vow. I had not realised that it means till you run away home.
Excuse my presumption in trying to elevate your lowly position such that you can aspire to deserve the love of a royal princess. I had forgotten my place and in such, yours.
I beg your pardon for such a misunderstanding on my part. I will take back my offer of position, status, love and respect and will no longer trouble you."
Her breath caught as she sprang from her seat and whirled around in a fury of yellow ruffles and lace.
"Wait! No! Night Wind, please! I did not mean that. You misunderstand!"
Heads turned and bodies pivoted in outright titillation and unbridled curiosity to watch the young couple race towards public scrutiny. Some heads shook as they wondered at the younger princess' recklessness and wild behaviour. Consorting with the foreigners. And in broad daylight too. However, how doing so in the shadows of night would be a better option, was a notion that escaped the rapacious dissection of the whispering crowd.
As Bernard raced after the furious winds of fortune, another was laying the dams of stone to trap a feckless breeze.
*
"Princess, there is a rumour from one of the servings maids. I .... I am not sure if I should tell you," Una murmured to the ground.
Alarmed, Night Cloud looked at her maid. "What rumour? Is it about the herbs we give Night Wind each night?"
"No, no! Not that, Princess! It is about her though. They are saying that she runs out to consort with a tall, white-skinned man during the day in the open streets and shops! Everyone has seen them and they touch and speak loudly and familiarly with each other in front of everyone! They are the talk of the whole country now."
Night Cloud clapped her hand to her mouth, aghast. Her eyes widened till the whites of her eyes filed the bleached pallor of her shock-whitened face.
"What? She has been frolicking with him in public view? What can she be thinking? Of course ... it is not her thinking. It is the evil spirit. This is disastrous. We need to see Troubled Waters immediately ... Call the royal carriers now!"
*
"Father, you should hear how they talk about her! Her behaviour is beyond reprehensible! How will we be able to retain our royal dignity and honour at such outrageously immoral behaviour. Father, we all love and adore our little Night Wind but she is bringing unbearable shame to the Royal name!"
Golden Lily slanted a pointed look towards her aunt as she studied her bristling father's reaction.
"Yes, Brother. What is even worse, she is abusing her position as princess! Why, just two days ago, she asked my husband to confer a position on that bloated dead fish foreigner! How mortifying! My beloved Prince was too embarrassed to even confide this in me as he feared hurting my royal pride. I had to find out from one of his aides. Surely this cannot be allowed! My husband's honour has been tainted by Night Wind's selfish desires!
Brother, I demand some recompense and assurance that this will not continue!"
The chubby princess stopped to catch her laboured breath. Her maid fanned faster to relieve the purplish flush across her florid face and eyed the straining golden pins holding her embroidered, beaded top together in concern. They looked ready to pop. Just like the princess. The maid resisted an unwise urge to giggle and hurriedly looked away.
Golden Lily smiled at Princess Willow Fan as she directed a look of concern across at the Prince.
"Father, are you alright? You look unwell. I am so sorry we have to be the bearers of such ill tidings as it is obvious that it distresses you. But we felt that your Royal reputation cannot continue to be besmirched by Night Wind's behaviour. She is behaving more like a common harlot than ..."
"Enough! Silence! Get out! All of you! Get out!" the Prince stood and drew his looming presence over the quaking females.
"Out! Out! All of you! Out!"
As the assorted princesses, maids and eunuchs left the room hurriedly, leaving only the Royal Guards at the door, the Prince sank back into his seat, fists clenched and teeth grappling to bite into the ugly hands of fate that gave him both the greatest jewel and biggest millstone of torment.
Feast of Sisters
"You're back early today."
She turned around to look at her sister and balked.
Night Wind's face was unnaturally flushed. Her eyes glittered feverishly and there was an almost blurred hurriedness to her usual smooth, immaculate lines.
She clenched her teeth. It must be the evil spirit working its poison within her. She steeled herself and spoke softly.
"Is something wrong? You look ... strange."
Night Wind flashed an impish grin at her grim sister. Her eyes glowed as she leaned forward and whispered, "I'm in love!"
Confused, Night Cloud's mind scrambled for leverage.
"Wha ... what? Love? With what? With whom I mean? How? When? What?"
Night Wind spun around in giddy abandon and cast her slight weight upon one of the carved, gilded chairs.
"Oh, he is the most glorious man! Like one of the beautiful men we see in the moving pictures Papa arranged for us to watch! Oh, Night Cloud! Night Cloud ... I've never felt this racing of my heart, this overwhelming heightening of my senses!"
She squealed shrilly as she covered her face with her hands and peered coyly through her fingers at her somber twin.
Love? How could this have happened? Night Cloud tried to think.
It must be the evil spirit causing her brain to be overly fevered with strange thoughts. One of the men in the moving pictures. But ... but, they were foreigners! White devils with damaged eyes where all the black had run out and left unholy colours revealing their evilness!
It was worse than she thought. The evil spirit was even more malevolent than expected. Not content to work its worst within it was now conjuring foul foreign specters to bedevil her sister.
In desperation she whipped her head towards her wide-eyed maid and gave a curt nod.
"Night Wind, you are over-excited and the day is hot. Have some freshly made lemon and jasmine tea. Una, serve the Princess some tea."
Her hands shaking, the fearful maid placed the cup gingerly next to the Princess. Fortunately, Night Wind was too immersed in her breathless reporting of all of Bernard's virtues to notice.
Watchfully, Night Cloud monitored the slow consumption of the doctored tea. She was not sure what the effects would be. She had just trusted in Troubled Waters' powers. But still, she wondered.
"I have been seeing him almost every day now, Sister! He is so interesting! The stories he tells, Night Clouds! Of wide spaces with horses and tall frozen mountains and ice from the sky! I have read of such things but he makes them real and alive! Oh, Night Wind I am so happy to have met him ... it is so hot, Una, tell the girls to fan harder."
She kept up a non-stop chatter as Night Cloud felt her soul sink into silent dread. She could not listen anymore. It was just too horrible and the words ran into a turmoil of coiled vipers in her head.
"You should take a bath. You looked fevered. Pika, prepare the bath for the Princess and also some light refreshments. Not too much as we eat dinner with the Prince tonight."
"Oh yes, that ... I feel so tired. I wish we did not have to. Does that mean Second Sister will also be there? How long is she here for anyway? I wish her husband would come and collect her quickly ..." Night Wind yawned as she stretched lazily. She wondered why she suddenly felt such a bone-melting lethargy.
"Her husband is away for a while to visit another princehood so she decided to come home to visit. You should be grateful to her as she has brought many gifts back for us. Eldest Sister is back too. It should be good to see them again."
Night Cloud watched as her sister teetered hesitantly while removing those infernal stilts from the West from her feet. They really were ugly. As ugly as their rank influence on her sister's sensibilities.
She gestured to Una to aid Night Wind who seemed unsteady on her feet.
By the time the maids lowered her into her bath, Night Wind was lost in a haze of drugged dreams, fragrant seas and quiet plots. Head lolling, body cleansed, she was unaware of the hushed whispers between her sister and the maids to surreptitiously severe a burnished lock from her unsuspecting head.
Night Cloud made her way swiftly from the palace to seek the restless waters hiding her sister's fate.
*
"Where is your sister, Night Cloud?" asked their father as he scanned the hall for his youngest daughter.
"She is not well, Father. She has a fever and we had to put her to bed to rest," answered Night Cloud as she kept her eyes downcast for fear of discovery. An icy chill grasped her heart as she hoped her father did not realised her part in Night Wind's stupour.
"Sick? Is it serious? Have you called the Royal Doctor? What is wrong with my little flower?" The alarm on the old man's face was instant and deep, causing flutters of panic within Night Cloud and eddies of dissatisfaction in others.
One in particular, screwed her face into a mask of gentle, maternal indulgence as she lisped her carefully chosen words, "Father, it is probably from all her running around. The heat and all that dirty smells and air from the outside is just not good for a delicate princess' health."
She drank from her bejewelled cup delicately, hiding her pleased smile behind the golden rim.
"Running around? What running around? Night Cloud, has Night Wind been running around outside? Why have I not been told?" the rage was beginning to build in the quick-to-anger monarch.
Several hearts quaked in fear and none more so than Night Cloud. Insistent tears rose to her eyes and she quietly pleaded, "I'm so sorry, Father. It was all my fault. I should have watched her more carefully but she is so devious. She distracts me with all manners of things and then runs out while I am not looking. I am so sorry, Father! I should have watched her more and not let her out."
The old prince rolled his eyes at her. She was the very image of her sister but their temperaments were as different as the sun and the moon. Night Cloud's sniffling was always annoying. Why did the chit always have to start crying the moment he spoke to her? All that weeping and breast beating ... where had that come from? Their mother was not like that and neither was Night Wind. He felt tempted to dismiss them all and visit his poor, ailing daughter.
The second sister hid a smile as she picked at her food. She could always depend on Night Cloud to finish her work for her. The girl did not have half the brains a cow would be given. So useful and so pliable.
Golden Lily dragged her critical eye over her younger sister and sneered. If she had her way, both sisters would not even be allowed to eat at the same dias as them. Half-breeds should eat at the same trough as servants and dogs.
Look at that white skin. Unnatural and washed out. Like their mother. Good thing the woman had the good sense to die before polluting the palace with more of her rank presence. Their father must have been addled to take such a foul creature as concubine.
Bad stock would always begat bad stock even when mixed with royal blood. And a half-breed too. Actually, worse, for didn't that woman come from Western stock? Some noisy, guttural sounding race with bluish white skin, washed out hair and eyes and a foul smell? She shuddered.
Must have been the work of some evil medicine woman. She made a sign to ward herself from Night Cloud's evil influence. She wondered lazily what was wrong with Night Wind and hoped it would worsen.
She had a plan while she was there and she intended to accomplish it. Her husband's future was depending on her and she intended to make use of every minute of her visit to her father's court. Night Wind being ill was a boon as the girl was ever interfering. She smiled smugly and watched her father from beneath her lashes.
Another pair of long-lashed eyes studied her facial expressions. They moved to the prince and the still-weeping younger sister and made their own conclusion.
The dinner continued as the chess pieces were moved with the biggest pawn still lost in a herbal trance, unaware of the fates tangling her threads in a knot of inevitability.
And History Awoke
He smells different, she thought. What is it? Something sharp but not unpleasant. Woody almost like the nose-tingling scent of burnt coconut leaves. But less harsh. It's fresh like the air after a morning storm but yet mellow like a setting sun.
She tilted her head a little towards him, subtly. Caught his eyes leveled at her.
Boldly, she looked up and straight into his blue-gray eyes.
She saw her own reflection in them before they wavered as his gaze sharpened and chiseled shards of awareness pierced her brash facade. Her lashes fluttered of their own accord as she felt an unaccustomed blush creep into her face.
Resolutely she kept her glanced pinned to his, refusing to be the first to break under the intensity of their silent entanglement.
*
The heat was almost unbearable and he felt it in the sweltering vice around his collar, the unrelenting beat of the perpetual humidity on his skin. He was tempted to take a good sniff of himself to make sure he did not reek of stale cologne and misery.
He tried to shuffle unobtrusively further from the Princess. Yes, that was what she was. Not just the delicate, glittery harem princess of his torrid dreams but a real life, walking, not-quite talking one. He cursed his luck.
The one female who sent his pulse racing and his senses into a frenzy would be ridiculously out of his reach. I hear you, Lord. There is no necessity to rub it in.
She'd moved a little closer. Not good. She might smell him. He shuffled away a little.
Was that a look of annoyance? He looked up and caught himself again. How was it that every time he looked at her, her beauty still made him catch his breath in surprise?
Her face was by now almost permanently etched in his brain. You would think with his obsessive tracing of every fine line, curve and swell of her face and body with his lascivious gaze, he would be used to the fierce shock to his system when he looked at her.
But it still hit him like a brick to the face. He almost sighed as he watched a rebellious lock tickle her cheek. He could feel his finger yearning to reach over to tuck it away or rub it between his fingers to test its silky resilience.
Curses, she caught him ogling her like a lovesick calf. He tried to look away quickly but at the last minute, decided to brazen it out.
Her eyes. They were so dark they glowed in the light. There were facets of amber and rich browns that came to the fore in the sunlight. You could drown in them. He was a willing victim.
*
She placed the leaf in the copper holder. And sprinkled the red powder as directed. She looked up at the woman before her, anxiously watching her heavily-drawn brows, white chalked face and red-dyed hair. She had known her all her life but never failed to shrink inwardly in dread at her fearsome visage.
She sniffed delicately at the sharp scent of camphor and spices emanating from Troubled Waters. It both comforted and agitated her. The comfort of knowing a solution for all your troubles. The agitation of having to face them before you could exorcise them. If only things could resolve themselves without hauling them into the unforgiving light of day.
Sighing inwardly, she waited patiently for Troubled Waters to open her eyes and direct her unflinching, all-seeing eyes at her.
Delicately she dabbed at a stray trickle of perspiration she could feel winding its way down the back of her neck. She waved languidly at her maid to fan more vigorously and caught her breath as a pair of piercing black lodes torched the air around her.
"It's an evil spirit that has its claws on your sister. You must remove it from her. Otherwise it will sink into her soul and blacken her heart. The poison will spread to every part of her body from inside out and her fingers and toes will rot from the disease!"
Night Cloud felt faint from the shock of the revelation. Evil spirit! She had feared the worst but the confirmation still sent unholy rings of distress through her body. Tears pricked her eyes ash she fought to calm her stuttering breath.
"Wha ... what can we do, Aunt Troubled Waters? She's so reckless I cannot hold her safe! Please help us. What can we do?" the beleaguered twin wailed.
The medicine woman shook as she reached deep within her to her guardian ancestors to face the demons that breached the gates of the royal sisters.
The air seemed to percolate with every harsh shiver. The floor started shaking imperceptibly as she threw her head back. Around. Forward.
Alarmed, Night Cloud shuffled backwards away from the woman gripped in the thrall of the spirit world. The maid started backing away, remembered her duty and remained trembling by her mistress' side.
*
He felt himself melting like one of those red and white snow cones they sold at the markets. Fast melting ice. Swimming in rich coconut milk. White and smooth.
Like her skin. Why was she so fair when majority of the locals were so dark? She was a rare gem flashing its desirability and unattainability like a vicious slap to the loins. You could almost flinch from such remorseless beauty.
It wasn't only just that she was physically perfect. He had seen many beautiful women but there was an air about her. It challenged and provoked while alluring and was completely soft and feminine in its appeal.
Whatever it was had a relentless grip on him. The pale suggestion of dew on the clavicles of her neck peeking just slightly from the silly ruffles of her shirt. He wanted to lay his tongue gently on them to feel each minute, teasing drop. A sudden slight breeze brushed the soft, fine hair curling next to her ear. He resisted the urge to lean forward and rub his nose against them and lick the smooth shell of her ear.
Unconsciously, he leaned forward and breathed in her strong perfume. Some French perfume. He thought he recognised it. They sold this in the store. Very popular among the expatriate women but somehow on her it acquired a exoticism that made it unique.
He leaned closer and eyed the stray hair that caught on her shiny red lips enviously. Without thinking, his hand reached out to remove it from its silky perch, shaking almost in its divided intent.
*
He was coming closer! She squealed internally in girlish delight but remained still and quivering in eagerness as his hand came perilously close to breaking her composure. She inhaled deeply of his scent. She was starting to get used to it.
The seconds seemed to lag and the air hold its breath as his hand came closer. Closer. She could now feel the heat from them reaching across the slowly diminishing space between them.
*
"You must put space between them. Separate the evil spirit from its hold on your sister. When she sleeps, cut a lock of hair and bring it to me. In the mean time, give her this to drink every day. It will protect her until we can banish this spirit back to its hell hole. Try to make her stay within the palace too. You must do it quickly or it will be too late."
The harsh sibilance of the warning studded her conscience. She should have been more vigilant. She should have stood her ground and stopped Night Wind's reckless behaviour.
Unbidden, a tear wove a silent path down her cheek. She clasped the hands to her heart as she nodded grimly.
"Can we do anything else? Can we place better protection on her to stop her from leaving the palace?"
The older woman raised an eyebrow quizzically at the agitated princess. She let her eyes roam over the svelte lines and polished skin.
"You know there is a price to pay for greater boons from the gods. Are you willing to pay it? Will royal blood flow for the gods' favour?"
The princess caught herself from fainting. Stalwartly she braced herself as she nodded.
"Then let us begin."
*
So red. It glistened with its stolen coat. He had to pry the maverick from its pillow. His finger gently pressed into her lip.
*
So gentle. His slightly rough finger stroked her quivering lips. The slight pressure incited a reaction. Her lips parted breathlessly. The hot, humid cavern of her mouth peered through the broken line.
*
Hot. Humid. A slight puff. A small opening. Moist curls of curtailed breath wound themselves around his finger. The hair was banished but now his finger refused to relinquished its stolen place.
*
Heat. A sharp pain. Vermillion strands. Blurred flashes of silver. Small linear parting of creamy skin. Little beads of red. Joining a small rivulet and into a basin of white.
Blood to call the spirits. Royal blood to call the gods.
Lights. More heat. Smoke. Strands of sea kelp around the face. One torn to blanket the small pond of red.
Heavy line of black across gleaming eyes. The white faces of past ancestors peering from behind the sun darkened wrinkles of muddy water.
*
Their breaths caught on a sigh. Their eyes muted the sounds around them. Their faces flushed with heat and quickened heartbeats.
And history awoke and stole a moment of their time.
