“Now that a new king has risen he has a chance to rise to greatness, more famed and powerful than any of his predecessors. For this to take place, it must come to pass that on the shortest day of his second year of reign, amongst the people at mercy of the wind, the dancer of arrows participates willingly in the Aust Fyr Grithwyn with the Roma, for at that moment the stars will disappear. If this shall fail, he has one last chance to gain this prominence, and this only will come to be by the death of that same dancer, and all the family of arrows."
{ one }
They came in the night; quietly, so quietly that only the cats were roused from their sleep to see the covered wagons carving tracks into the shallow carpet of snow, the stocky horses plodding along the trail sleepily, and coming to a halt in a half-circle in the middle of the town square. The rest of the town knew in a few more hours, when dawn’s light began to give the pearl-grey sky the barest touches of colour, and they opened their shutters and looked towards the marketplace to be greeted with the sight of colourful tents, garishly adorned booths and wagons, and the dark-skinned people already milling around, nodding and talking to each other.
Children of few years, whose experience with the Roma this day would be the first for them, didn’t know how to view this new ordeal. Some were frightened of the black skin, the rich-coloured attire; some were merely curious. But as the mood of the day turned festive, and parents pressed copper pennies into the hands of the young ones and told them where they could buy pretty trinkets and sugary sweets, fear and doubt was quickly swept away.
When Czygani, daughter of Tomasz, the town Fletcher, and Jivanta the midwife, drew her curtains and wiped condensation off the small attic window, her first thought at the sight of the Roma tents was a slightly disappointed one, for she wouldn’t be able to earn money dancing today; it would seem rude for a local to perform in the midst of a visit from traveling troubadours. She shook her head slightly; she thought about work too much. Today was a day for fun, and she intended to enjoy it.
She slipped off her nightgown, shivering in the chilly air upstairs, and pulled a warm yellow shift over her head. It was so cold in the attic, where she slept, that in winter time moisture became ridges of frost around the sides of the windows. Czygani found the dress she was looking for, a reddish-brown one of soft, warm material, and pulled it on. Jivanta called her as she was pulling up her stockings, and she grabbed her brush to do a hurried job of untangling her mass of wavy black hair while she hopped down the creaking narrow stairs.
Special occasions were recognized easily by the treat accompanying breakfast. Today there was a slab of fruitcake next to Czygani’s bowl of porridge on the table, and Jivanta pointed at it with her chins as she brushed the hair of little Sarika, the youngest child.
Six years old and brimming with the wisdom of the world, Sarika resembled her sister only by the tall and muscular build they shared. Apart from that, however, they differed in extremes. From her dance, Czygani carried herself by habit with grace and a style that many other village girls envied; Sarika stumped and bounced about like an ox calf. Where Czygani was introverted and quiet, Sarika would spout her opinion wherever she deemed it necessary—that being for the most part, anywhere and any time. In a common display of this, one of her frequent rambling monologues mingled with Jivanta admonishing her for squirming accompanied Czygani as she sat at the table to eat. The Roma had last come four years ago, when Czygani had been almost fourteen, and Sarika had been much too young for her to remember the event now, but she was boasting about how she had loved that day.
“And one of them Gypsies had told me, they said-”
“The, not ‘them’. And they aren’t Gypsies, Sarika, they’re Roma,” corrected Czygani, looking up from her porridge. Sarika looked up from her imaginary reminiscence at her sister. Jivanta tugged her daughter’s hair impatiently and told her around a mouthful of pins to sit still.
“Why aren’t they Gypsies?”
“It’s offensive to call them that; their true name is Roma.”
“You should know that, Sarika,” their mother added, plucking the hair pins from her mouth and separating a particular strand of her daughter’s hair from the rest. “Your grandmamma was a Roma.”
“I know,” said Sarika, though Czygani was sure she only said this to get the subject out of the way, and continued with her narration.
“Have Gyala and Bodhi gone with Papa?” asked Czygani of her mother.
“Hn?” the squat woman asked, startled out of her own thoughts. She had placed the remaining few hair pins back in her mouth. Czygani repeated her question, and Jivanta nodded.
“Gyala might be becoming an apprentice to Arpad,” Jivanta added, referring to the town’s well-known merchant, once she had pinned the last strand of Sarika’s hair into place. The girl’s head was covered with rows of tight little braids. Czygani thought, with the golden ridges, it looked like a plowed field, but she kept that to herself.
“That’s good,” said Czygani. “And Bodhi might learn some things.”
Her mother made a grunt of assent, and pushed Sarika off the stool. “Let’s see you,” she said. Sarika turned around to be surveyed. Jivanta cast a critical eye over her work. “What do you think?” she asked Czygani.
“It’s good,” Czygani lied. “Mama, may I take a look around the sales? I won’t be long, and I have some money of my own.”
Her mother was already making shooing motions with her hands, “Ha, go on, have fun. Show your sister around; you can come back when you like. Just ask the price before you show them how much money you have, remember. Here –“ she waddled over and dug through her pockets. Her dark, doughy hand came up with three copper pieces—each worth five copper pennies—in the palm, and she contributed one to Sarika and the other two to Czygani. Czygani began to protest, but feebly; she wanted the money. She was happy when Jivanta refused to take it back.
“Grab your coat, Sasa,” reminded Czygani as her sister skipped out the door without it. Sarika ignored her; she was already picking her way along the hard-packed snow path towards the town square. Czygani sighed, donned her own lumpy brown coat hurriedly, grabbed her sister’s identical jacket, and rushed after her.
“No!” squealed Sarika as Czygani grabbed her from behind and playfully draped the jacket over her head.
“Yes!” Czygani squealed back, laughing at her little sister’s fruitless attempts to worm out of her hold.
“It’s ugly! I’m not cold! Czyganeeee!” Sarika whined, losing her sense of humour over the situation, as her sister thrust the littler girl’s arms through the jacket sleeves as if she were a rag doll.
“Good grief, Sarika, do you have to make a scene out of everything?” hissed Czygani impatiently, as a passerby stared at the now-snuffling blonde. “You’ll be cold later, and I don’t want to have to go back and forth to the house, okay?” Trying to cheer her up, she tempted her sister with, “Come on, I’ll show you where you can buy pretty bracelets!” It worked; Sarika quit sulking, and immediately forgot about the disgrace of wearing the ungainly coat.
It started to snow lightly when they reached the town square, but it was a feeble attempt of it, and the crowds of people did not diminish. Czygani inhaled deeply, breathing in the sweet smells of candy, the faint smell of hay and horse manure, and a slightly spicy smell that emanated from the foreign wares, reminding locals of how far they had traveled. Sarika didn’t care about smells; she just wanted to buy, and she excitedly bounced from booth to booth. Though she only had two coppers, she acted as if she were the wealthiest one in the square, examining everything from cheap jewelry and good luck charms to highly expensive horse tack, intricately woven blankets, and shiny pots and pans. Czygani finally managed to calm her down by buying two twisty sticks of candy for a copper, and giving her one. Sarika couldn’t talk and lick her candy stick at the same time, and in the end she chose the candy stick, so Czygani got the opportunity to look at some things that interested her, rather than always being busy keeping her little sister under control. She was idly looking at a game set that included three shiny marbles and several small, thin sticks that were hooked on the end, when somebody hailed her from behind. She turned and saw Bodhi approaching her.
Czygani and Bodhi were easily recognizable as siblings, as opposed to Czygani and Sarika. He, also, had slightly dark skin and black hair, though his was straight. He had his mother’s brown eyes, and right now they looked tired and bleary, but cheerful enough.
“Where are Papa and Gyala?” Czygani asked, noting that her brother was alone.
“Still talking with Arpad. Hey, there,” he added to Sarika, who had taken her candy stick out of her mouth long enough to chatter some nonsense at him and generously offer him a lick of her candy, which he refused. He looked back up at Czygani and sighed. “I’ve been up since five, and standing in one place for hours while Papa and Arpad talked put me to sleep on my feet. Papa suggested I walk around a bit.”
“I can show you around, I know where all the best stuff is,” supplied Sarika, already clutching his arm and dragging him away. “Come on!” she insisted shrilly. Czygani breathed an inner sigh of relief as a giggling Sarika towed the taller boy away, who was pretending to struggle.
Czygani returned to her examination of the simple game, but it didn’t really hold her interest. And even if it did, she thought, I don’t have enough money.
Someone jostled her from behind and she turned around by instinct. It was impossible to distinguish who it could have been from the different groups of people strolling about. A fat snowflake hit the end of Czygani’s nose, and she realized that it had started snowing more heavily while she had talked to Bodhi. Deciding she would prefer to shop in the tents instead of the covered booths outside, she ducked into the nearest one.
At first glance Czygani had the embarrassed, uneasy feeling that she had accidentally entered a tent that wasn’t open to the public, but that couldn’t be right… the Roma’s personal places were for the most part their caravans, and anyways, the flap was open. Still, the tent didn’t give the impression of being put together with much care. It had a bare earthen floor; the snow and plants had been scraped away, but it was nevertheless unglamorous without even a carpet to cover it. Rich coloured draperies had been hung in an attempt to make the interior of the tent more elegant, but Czygani thought, in the dim light, they made it look more like the tent had been constructed of scraps and patches. The light came from a simple lantern hung from a metal loop in the domed ceiling, swaying gently back and forth in the breeze that had entered with Czygani. An almost overpowering scent of incense hung about the air, but it didn’t quite cover up the smells of hay and axel grease. A low table covered with a heavy, white sheet squatted in the corner, littered with cards, candles, and delicate silver instruments.
Beside the cluttered table stood a tall grandfather clock of a deep, rich mahogany colour, polished so that its soft luster gleamed in the oily light of the tent. The two hands were thin slivers of wood, carved intricately so each side curved outwards, and came to a sharp point at the end, with the insides of them holding a network of gaps, bridged together with the thinnest meshes of wood that had remained untouched. The pendulum swung slowly and monotonously, and every time it swung to the far right, the light from the lamp caught it and glanced off the polished bronze.
Behind the table, kneeling on a musty cushion, there was an old woman. Her skin was dull black, and as dry and cracked as parchment. A few wisps of grey hair peeped out from under a heavy purple shawl with a glittering gold mesh overtop it. Her robes were voluminous, also purple, wrapped rather like a kimono, and embroidered with gold patterns. The woman’s eyes were so deep-set that they were in shadow until she raised her head to look at Czygani. “Come closer,” the woman commanded. Her voice was not raspy or grating as Czygani had expected; it was deep and rich, buttery smooth. Czygani obeyed and hesitantly took a few steps closer to the table and the woman behind it.
“Taking a break from dancing?”
Czygani started slightly, but veiled her surprise. The Roma seers were good at disconcerting anyone with how much they knew about the smallest, unimportant things. “How do you read me like that?” she ventured.
“You move with grace which is rare even in people of medium build, almost non-existent in people of your height. This shows that it must be something learned, concluding that you be a performer of some sort.”
“I wasn’t dancing today,” Czygani said, clasping her hands behind her back and looking at the fortune-teller’s shadowed features. “It would be rude, wouldn’t it?”
The Roma didn’t answer, but smiled slightly. “You are raised well. What is your name, child?”
“Czygani, daughter of Tomasz the Fletcher.”
The old woman straightened slightly and looked at Czygani sharply. Then she bowed her head with a tiny smile. “Give your father my regards; he raised his daughter well,” she said, and looked back down at the messes of cards in front of her. Czygani glanced over her shoulder out the door; the snow was coming down even more heavily than before, but she knew a dismissal when she heard one, and she turned to leave. It took her by surprise when the woman spoke again.
“You have lived here all your life?”
Czygani turned to face the elderly lady, who hadn’t even looked up to ask the question. “Yes,” she answered, frowning slightly. “Why do you ask?”
“So you are familiar with our former visits, are you not?”
“I am.”
“What is your favourite part?”
Czygani’s eyes lit up at the thought. Though it was a strange question, she didn’t hesitate to answer: “The stories and performances around the fire at night.” But what an odd question, of course that would be here favourite part; there was no part of the Roma’s visit that was more anticipated among the locals.
The Roma nodded, and cast a scrutinizing eye over Czygani, who stood uneasily under the old woman’s gaze and tried not to fidget. Finally the fortune-teller licked her cracked, chapped lips and said slowly, “You are an experienced dancer, I can see. One of our own has recently fallen ill.”
Czygani felt her heart flutter in excitement. Was this lady getting at what she thought she was? She didn’t dare to hope… but she did.
“Would you happen to know the ‘Aust Fyr Grithwyn’?”
Czygani hesitated for a split-second before nodding. The Aust Fyr Grithwyn was a rather complicated dance, and she had yet to perform it perfectly, but she was more than decent at it, and she hoped that was enough.
The Roma nodded and smiled. “Then, would you like to participate in the festivities tonight by dancing for us?”
Beaming, Czygani opened and closed her mouth soundlessly a few times before she gained control of her voice. “I would… it be an honour,” she said fervidly. The fortune-teller could see her excitement and smiled.
“Then it is arranged. Get yourself ready and be here in…” the Roma glanced at the grandfather clock beside her table, which read nine hours, “eight hours.”
Czygani curtsied neatly and fairly ran from the tent.
