Born of the myst

born of the myst

'Tell me again, Maya, before I go to sleep. Tell me how I was
found.'
Kit flung her arms around the old woman's neck, as she used to when
she was just a little girl. Maya attempted to straighten the bedclothes
on the large wooden bed. Too large, for this tiny little thing.
'You know child, we make this up long, long time ago. Help you sleep
when you just little baby.' After so many years, Maya still kept her
melodic voice from the islands. 'You all grown now, don't need folk
tales anymore.'
But Kit wouldn't be silenced so easily. This was the part of her
birthday ritual that she looked forward to the most.
'One more time Maya, please. I'm sixteen tomorrow, and that means that
I move into the main house. Who is going to tell me beautiful stories
then?'
Maya didn't want to talk about Kit leaving. Slowly, quietly, she sat
down in her large chair by the lamplight, and took the knitting from
her apron pockets.
'For the last time then, Maya tell you a pretty story. Only this story
little bit different, this story take you on a new journey. Show you
where you came from; and maybe where you going, too.'
Kit dragged the blankets and pillows from the bed and lay down at
Maya's feet by the fire, like so many other times.

So the old woman began: 'Sixteen years ago, tonight, some new things
happen in our world. Some say strange creatures flying around in the
air, others see them running from the forest and all around the city.
Maya see nothing. She too busy inside with new baby. And this was
special baby.'
'Brought to the door by faerie creatures. They bring two babies; one
boy, one girl. But Maya only keep girl. Boy have fire in the eyes, burn
into Maya's heart. Girl baby kissed by moonlight, sing a song for Maya
and faerie friends. No sound comes out, no words for the ears, but Maya
and faeries hear the baby girl's music. Song of bluebells, raindrops
and moonshine. Boy child fly away with faeries - back to who knows
where.'
Kit loved this part the best. She told the words to herself under her
breath: raindrops and moonshine . Still, only babies believe in
faeries. She was getting very tired now and Maya noticed that she'd
closed her eyes, humming an old childhood tune.
She continued, 'Faeries not happy; leave baby girl, but don't want to
take boy back. "We'll leave him in the forest," they warned Maya. "One
day he will return to find his sister. Children born the same day, grow
up the same day too. Their destiny is out of your hands. Be warned."
Only Maya not frightened of such little things.'
'I wish that I had a brother, Maya, just like the girl in your
stories. We could have so many adventures. I wonder, would he be strong
and brave already? I don't know; but I think that I would always feel
safe.'
Maya helped Kitty from the floor and back into her bed, still talking
quietly to herself.

Later that night Maya moved from her chair and walked outside on the
balcony. There was no moon; the lights in the city of Djule left
shadows that bathed the heavy stone walls of the building. The older
parts of the inner city were built from these large stone blocks.
Outside the old city walls were the newer buildings of glass and steel.
The people had long forgotten the purpose of stone as a safe building
material.
Maya's heart was as heavy as the sandstone blocks. She knew that her
job here was almost complete. Kit would leave her care now she was
sixteen. It had been decided at an early age that she was to study at
the Conservatorium of Music and the Arts. Maya turned away from this
view to once more take in the sight of the beautiful child that lay in
her bed.
Kit's long hair hung down the sides of the sheet almost to the floor.
It was unusual amongst the dark-haired people of this region; a fair,
red that appeared almost painted on. As she watched the sleeping
figure, she wished for the child's sake that she may pursue her dreams
of studying music. Maya knew that the faerie folk had other ideas for
her.
'It can't be long now, little Kitty. Now you are grown, you'll find
the purpose that you were born for. I hope maybe you understand from my
stories, that I always tell you the truth; even if you don't
know.'
Maya lit herself a torch, blew out the candles, and left. All she took
with her was her knitting.

'Wake up Kit, you've slept in and it's your birthday. Come on, dear,
everyone is waiting for you in the main dining room.'
Kit sat up in bed to see her mother walking out of the room leaving a
sweep of silks and a cloud of aromatic oils in her wake. Madeleine was
a tall, strong woman with an unusual beauty about her. Her almost black
hair, streaked with silver, was swept on top of her head; held in place
only with a golden comb.
Kit, being so small for her age always felt in awe of this woman. She
washed hurriedly, dressed to suit her parents, and flew down to the
formal rooms. Her father, Felix, with his snow white hair and solid
build was much less formal.
'Get over here, Kitty and see what we have for you.'
Kit looked down the staircase and saw everybody sitting around the
large wooden table. Oh no, she thought, they're all here today.
Becoming sixteen allowed Kit to be a part of the adult community. And
there they were, Madeleine, Felix, most of her aunts, uncles, older
cousins, and even the grandparents.
After kissing all the older relatives, and acknowledging the younger
ones, Kit sat down to open her gifts. Most of them were ornamental and
extremely valuable. Great, she thought, more things I can try not to
break around the house. Her parents' gift was not wrapped; an antique
harp standing in the corner. It was very beautiful, and Kit thanked her
mother and hugged her father.

Only one thing remained on the table; also without wrapping. A leather
case with a small silver flute inside. Nobody handed it to her.
Finally her mother spoke ' I think that old thing must be from your
nurse, Maya. Where is she, by the way? She's really no right to bring
such things to our family celebration.'
Kit barely listened. 'Oh, look father, isn't it beautiful. It has my
name and birth date engraved on the side. Katarina . I can't wait to
try it. Don't you think it will have a wonderful sound. It looks as if
it is very old.'
Madeleine rose from her seat at the end of the table. Her voice soft,
and cold; barely a whisper.
'Put it away, now.'
Kit saw the way her mother looked at her. Her dark eyes almost closed,
so the long, black lashes lay against her white skin. What is it, she
thought? Why does she hate me so? Sometimes I wish that I was the
foundling of Maya's stories. Then I would leave here, to find my own
family. Only I would hate to hurt my father.
As always, Kit obeyed her mother without question. There would be time
enough to try the flute. She spent such little time in her mother's
company, it was not so difficult to be cooperative.
Because Madeleine had risen, so too did the rest of the party. Kit
smiled sweetly at them as they filed past on their way out. Another
year, she thought, another year till I have to put up with that group
again. Thank the gods they found her too insignificant to bother about
more often.

Her youngest cousin, Marc, was the last to leave.
'I'll wait for you in the stables Kit, and don't forget the flute.
Can't have Aunty Mad spoiling your birthday. Ten minutes.'
Kit wasted no time. Nine and half minutes it took her to race back to
her room, change out of the finery, and slip out the courtyard door
that Maya had used just a few hours ago. She wore the clothes common to
the people in this area: brown suede riding pants, boots, and matching
vest. Her long red hair was jammed into a similar cap. It was so
distinctive she would be noticed at once. Marc was saddled into his
pony with another ready and waiting.
He wore much the same outfit. Although almost two years older, Marc
was injured as a child, and had not inherited the grand stature of
Kit's family. He was the same height as Kit, with piercing black eyes,
and inquisitive nature; on horseback, however, he held his own amongst
better men.
'Thanks Mouse, you are definitely my hero today. Tell me, where is our
adventure to take us today?' While she was still young, and not missed
around the house, Maya usually turned a blind eye to Kit's exploits
with her cousin. They loved to ride, and to explore the forests
surrounding the city walls. Many of the older folk were wary of this
area; full of old tales that featured wicked creatures of all kinds.
Kit and Marc's generation believed little of it.
Their favourite destination was the small village of My'all. It lay a
small distance from Djule, on the edge of the great Forests of
Myst.

It was in this village that Maya had first taken the two small
children, ten years ago, on Kit's sixth birthday. It was the first of
many trips to hear the musicians of the old ways.
Today Kit would finally be able to join them, with her gift from
Maya.
'Enough talk, Kit. No time now for games. It won't do if your family
see you leave. I can't wait to hear you play your flute. If we hurry we
won't miss the beginning.'
Each year Kit's birthday fell on the Moon of the Midsummer, an ancient
ritual still practised in the villages to celebrate the bounty of that
season's harvest. The music they played for two days was their gift to
the spirits of the forest, to watch over them for another year.
The people of Djule found these customs old fashioned, but Kit had
always been strongly moved by the combination of strings, wind
instruments and drums.
They left the ponies to graze, and joined the crowd assembled in the
central market place of My'all. There was no structure to the
orchestra, although each musician found a natural position from which
to play.
The strings began first: almost imperceptible from the buzzing of the
insects and the singing of the birds. A melody that spoke of the
planting of the seed in the ground, the opening of the first leaf, and
the first drop of dew to form on the first flower. It was the song of
birth and of life.
Slowly the pipes and wood-wind joined in. If you closed your eyes you
could see the tiny plant growing to maturity and bear fruit. Kit closed
her eyes and began to play.

Kit did not know where the song was taking her, but followed the
instrument as a baby follows its mother. She had become one with the
flute, and had no control over where the journey would lead them. Her
harmonies resonated over and above those of the other instruments, and
flew away into the forests. She felt herself lifted into the wind with
the musical notes.
The longer she played, the stronger the wind became. Marc watched
anxiously while the other instruments, one by one, ceased to play. Kit
continued, mesmerised by the melody that had now become unbearably
sweet and loud.
And then a voice was heard, a quiet voice, but strong enough to carry
over the haunting music.
'Who calls me? Who dares to play this instrument? Who dares to use my
name in the Song of the Forest? Cease this now.'
The voice appeared in the figure of a tall, young man, dressed not
unlike the villagers, but with unruly red hair. He had come from the
trees beyond the village, on the back of a huge white horse. His voice
broke through the trance that had forced Kit to keep playing. She
stood, exhausted, with the flute in her hands, unable to speak. Then
she looked into the face of this wild man, only to see her own face
looking straight back at her. Marc caught her as she collapsed at his
feet.
In an instant, the wild man leaped down from his horse, gathered her
out of Marc's arms, and disappeared back into the forest.
All was silent.

The end chapter 1