Tranquillitas Amini

The hunched figure poked a thick stick into the glowering embers; prodding it to life. The silence before dawn, the change of guard between the night creatures and those who worshipped the sunlight was a time Dante had always taken pleasure from. Death often stole its more tenacious victims at this time, when hope had failed and it appeared there would be nothing more than an eternal darkness. That hour before the suns burning fingers inched its way over the landscape was a turning point, hard to describe, but one so fuelled with a universal energy Dante believed was Gods closest presence on earth every day. One he’d chosen to complete his work and worship.

Crackling of dry leaves beside him announced the small form rousing and waking. Dantes hand came to rest on its shoulder as he gazed down at the slumbering boy. Strange how he felt his face soften as he watched the lad. Dante caught himself wondering how old his own son might have been have been. With a jolt, he realised how many years had passed since those bloody figures lay on the flagstone floors of their cottage. Hard to believe that he might be a father to a grown man with his own trade. Dante snatched his hand away from the lads shoulder and threw another stick onto the fire. One act of selfishness and his own sons future had been snatched away; leaving Dante to repent and repay those moments for eternity.  He shook his head trying to clear the unbidden thoughts from his mind. Strange how he’d not thought of his own son for this many years, had kept that locked away, refusing to look at it. Strange too that this boy had crept under his skin; when countless others had not.  He consoled his mind with thoughts of ransom and reward which would be his when he found the boys father. Dante poked the fire violently and kicked the boy to wake him. “Wake lad. We need to ready ourselves for the next arduous climb.”

After their escape from the Spanish Capital, Dante had no plan for their direction but had found himself gravitating back to Rome and to its populated outcrops. Although they’d taken a wide birth round Capena, its proximity had woken too many memories. He snapped a stick and vowed to ensure particular longevity to the worship and care he would take with the boys father when he was located.

They’d lost the trackers over a week ago. Even so, he’d purposely kept a low profile; suspiciously eyeing any traveller they passed, covering campsites and movements. Although he’d been the best the Brotherhood had trained, Dante refused to let any detail slip. He would not fall prey to the original and most serious of the seven deadly sins. The cold twist of a knife as it thrust virtually through his heart reminded him again that he could no longer trust the Brotherhood. Pride was the ultimate source from which the other sins drew their powers.  Dante knew he would need to atone for his slip into melancholy. He body surged with the need to cleanse, but with no direction from the Brotherhood nor from God, he felt cheated and spiritually lost.

Fishing a soft leather pouch from under his tunic, Dante opened the mouth wide and smoothed it flat on his palm. Dark symbols stood out on a scratched map upon the leather. From his educated guess using the map, they were still a weeks march to a safe harbour. Dante was now determined to find shelter in Sicily and purpose with the dark brothers. Although the faceless father had no sins confirmed, Dante had busied himself cataloguing punishable reasons he would use to prolong the trial he would preside over. He felt an old glow of certainty return to his soul. His mind now calmed; finding peace with a God-sent plan. His role now was to protect his boy; to find his worthless father and make him pay for deserting Matthias into the cruel hands of Belicia. That the fool deserted the Queen of Spain was of secondary irritation, but one he would ensure a great financial gain would be secured before a slow painful death could be delivered.

Too preoccupied with his own thoughts, Dante had not realised that the forest was silent. Rays of light from the sun should be pouring through trees by now, beginning to warm Dantes back, but he suddenly realised that he felt none. The birds had not woken. The change over from night denizens and daytime scurrying creatures had frozen. 

“Matthias, wake lad.” Dante bent low and shook him. The boys eyes slowly blinked open and he rose rubbing his face. “Its still dark ,Signor.”

“Father. You must now refer me as your Father”

“Father. Its still dark.”

“Put your boots on Matthias, we’ll eat something first and then we need  to move to higher ground. There is something amiss.”

“The horses?”

“Have fled. Best we continue on foot in any case.”

The earth groaned under them. Shrieks, as though from the damned, echoed within the silent forest.

Dantes face became as unreadable as a solid stone wall; his movements liquid as he doused the fire and collected their meagre belongings into a bundle. 

“Come Matthias. Gods punishment day has arrived.”

“Should we pray?”

“If it is the end of times, then God would want us on our feet and ready, rather than on our knees.  Leave that for priests and the weak minded. We can worship his glory in many other ways. Best we make it to the top of this bluff before we plan what to do next.”

Darkness enveloped them as they climbed upward through the sparsely wooded forest.  The feint unmistakable smell of sulphur washed over them as drifting white ash began to fall softly about them. 

Stopping at a rocky outcrop, Dante and Matthias peered though the liquid darkness toward the horizon.

Although the sun blazed above them in its midmorning position, black clouds billowed about it cloaking and smothering its rays, revealing only a faint outline of a mountain several leagues in the distance. Broad sheets of fire and leaping flames blazed outward from its centre, emphasising the darkness as it spewed clouds of noxious gases into the atmosphere.

“Its sign from God, Matthias.”

 He looked at the calm face of the lad beside him and wondered again about the identity of the boys father. Royal blood gave him his poise and refined looks, but his fathers blood ran thick with courage, fearlessness and touched with a luck he’d seen rarely.

“In the midst of this” Dante waved his arm in front of the spectacular volcanic display,  “I need to seek Tranquility of the Mind. Its Gods plan for us. In Sicily, I promise to begin to teach you the true way to be at one with God. To find true peace.”

In his sinful pride, Dante had neglected to observe the basics. However, they had hope if they could reach the harbour and onto Sicily before being caught. The trackers may not have announced themselves in the last few days, but Dante knew they were relentless and would not have given up easily. He should know, only a few years ago his religious zeal had him hunting human pray on one of those very teams. 

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Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything, submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash  and to Tony Nolands Tuesday Serial via Twitter.

This short snippet will appear - somewhere - in the Chronicles known as The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan.

Prompt - A boy and his father awaken early to watch the sunrise from their mountain campsite, but they begin to panic when the sky remains dark long into the afternoon.

When the Seer is Blinded

Prompt: . “I can’t see anything,” sobbed the figure on the floor..

Authors Note - This is part of my blog fiction Rromani stories and will eventually tie in with The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan....

A loud whistle shattered Gitanos concentration as he wound ropes into tight circles for storage. Shouts to children running wild amongst the tents in various stages of disarray of packing up, horses snorting, impatient to get going, laughter as old friends shared their last foamy brew filled his ears; threatening to push the consuming loneliness out of his soul. Amongst the thronging, colourful community, tearfully hugging one another as they bid their farewells till the next tribal gathering, he felt the cold chill of isolation. Gitano scanned the field and was surprised to see Margarinas tent still erect, its colourful flags fluttering in the afternoon breeze. He inwardly shrugged and continued packing the heavy tent materials onto the cart. Always independent, she would normally pull the tent down herself, partially as she didn’t trust others to take care of her sacred space, and partially, as was her right as the drabardi, the seer of the tribe, that she alone amongst women could refuse to bend to the decisions and will of men and could come and go as she pleased. Perhaps, mused Gitano, she has decided to stay on within the monastery walls and had come to some strange agreement with the Doge. Raimondo of Pisa was amongst the Rromanis only sympathizers, allowing their ritual gatherings to take place within church walls and providing what patronage and protection he could afford through the year.

The entire field was a mass of activity and the mounting cacophony of noise urged Gitano on to make short work of packing; in order for him to escape into he relative calm stillness of the dusty roads. As exciting as the gathering had been with the fireside languid secretive eyes of the unmatched girls watching his every move to the games finale and choosing of troopes to perform at the midwinter celebrations in La Spezia, Gitano longed for the solitude of the road. He tied the ropes he had rolled up neatly and heaved the bundle onto the floor of the cart. A sudden slap on the back altered his catlike reflexes and he spring around in a defensive guard.

“Steady there lad, just me” laughed Victor and he drew his arm backward and out of the way. “Just about ready to follow us to that fancy ball then Gitano? We’ll show these nobles what real entertainment is.”

Gitano grinned. “Just need to pack these last bundles on and tied them down.”

Victor motioned with his chin towards the solitary tent in the foreground. “I see Margarina is still busy with her readings. Why don’t you wait for her customer to leave and offer to help her pack up?”

Gitano frowned, the intensity of it wrinkling his young forehead.

Victor shrugged “She likes you and is less likely to send you with your tail between your legs. I’m not ashamed to admit she frightens me when shes in one of her…... moods.”

“She frightens you all the time.”

Victor cleared his throat and grapped with the tent material bundle. “Drabardi are a folk to themselves. It does you well to be wary of them, especially us menfolk”

The cool sharp breeze tussled Gitanos hair.

“There’s snow in that wind. The first fall in these parts in a lifetime. I guarantee it.”

Gitano nodded silently and continued to load the last items on the cart.

“Well lad, I’ll tidy up here - go and help Margarina. She’s to come with us. The Lord from the estates gave her travelling papers as well. Given these strange times, she might be best to …... well come with us. Not that I want you telling her she has to. Maybe just suggest it.”

Gitano saw that there was little use in arguing further and strode over to her tent. He listened at the fluttering doorway for her lilting voice foretelling someones future. A muffled sob jolted him. Well used to seeing teary customers exit her tent, he waited for them to leave; uncomfortable with the feeling that the cry sounded familiar.

“I can’t, I can’t….”

Gitano flung the thick material door open and bounded in.

“I can’t see anything,” sobbed the figure on the floor.

“Margarina. have you been hurt? whats the matter?”

Her dark curly hair stood at ends frizzed and matted, her face streamed with tears, eyes red not with fear but anger and confusion.

A slender arm reached out toward Gitano and grasped his leg as she pulled herself to a sitting position.

“I started to pack and picked up my divining water bowl without emptying it first like I normally do. For some reason, I dipped my hand into it and looked inside.” Margarinas breath grew ragged as she clutched her chest and began shaking her head. “ A woman; no a girl, beautiful, crying. Reaching her hand out. She needed…..to be seen. To be helped. Terrible, her eyes, so young , so lost, so lonely. I reached to her and then it went black.”

Gitano crouched and tentatively put his hand on her shoulder and clumsily patted it. Women were a mystery to him, but coupled with the powers bestowed upon a drabardi, he wasn’t sure what the appropriate response to the sene unfolding in front of him would be. Margarina, the sassy , irrefutable seer of the tribe, an independent warrior woman lay heaving and sobbing on the ground and it was all he could do to stop himself from pressing her for more details on the girl. Perhaps it was the smoldering incense or the latent energetics swirling about the space Maragarina had set, but even those few words she had used to describe the other lost soul had shot hooks into his being and was now slowly drawing him in. Margarina pushed herself further up and grabbed his hand which had gone into an automatic overload and threatened to pound her tiny shoulder to the ground.

‘Gitanto, The whole tent, There was nothing. The water went fetid. I tried to vision. Nothing, my cards useless. I didn’t feel you come in. Nothing - I can see nothing.” her dark eyes bore uncomfortably into his. “Have you any idea what this means to me, to the tribe?”

Margarina threw herself back to the floor and wept; curled up as a strewn bundle of coloured rags on the rushes matting floor. Gitano stood up and remained motionless, as an icy finger of fate stroked his spine.

Invisible Meow

Prompt: Include this line in your story – “Don’t sit there,” she commanded. “That’s the cat’s chair.”

Authors Note - This ties in with my recent Rromani stories and The Astonishing Adventures of Captain Juan.

The winds promise of autumn rustled at the tents opening, momentarily allowing the sweet perfumes of spices and candles burning from within to waft lazily outward.

Amongst the muddied field, brightly begarbed jugglers and acrobats practiced their art, laughing and jostling one another as their acts intruded on one another. A figure cloaked in a rough woven wool picked her way around the heavily trafficked areas trodden into deep mud, toward the tent. As she approached, the material door flung outward, the dark maw opening beckoning its visitor. With only a moments hesitation, she ducked her head and entered.

The sweet pervasive smells embraced Litizia as she shrugged off the scratchy ill made garment, allowing it to fall on the floor by the doorway. Blinking quickly to adjust her eyes to the dim interior as she glanced around the room and made her way towards the small table and chairs.

“Litizia. The years have been gracious to you.”

Margarina stepped out from the darkened folds in the tent to face the Italian noblewoman.

Litizias eyes darted away from the strong Rromani face before her. “I’ve come to you especially, for a glance.”

Margarina turned quickly, her wild hair and beaded shawl narrowly missing their target as they spun past Litizias face. With feline grace, she settled into one of the cushioned chairs at the table and smoothed the cloth with her long fingers. A tallow candle on the table beside her flickered uncertainly.

Litizia straighten her girdle and gathered her skirts to sit beside Margarina.

“Don’t sit there,” she commanded. “That’s the cat’s chair.”

“Of course. I apologize.” stammered Litizia as she found her way to the other chair. “Even after all this time, you look..”

“You’ve come to view the future or to ask of a hidden answer. Please hold these cards and focus on what it is that you have come for.”

Margarinas plump lips pursed into a serious straight line across her face, the only indication of her true emotions as she handed over the well worn tarrochini cards.

Outside the tent and beyond the low indistinguishable murmurings of the reading, Gitano lent against Margarinas caravan, idly whittling a shape from a small piece of drift wood. Despite a full mornings strenuous practice with task master Victor, his nervous energy continued to spill outward. With a dozen tribes camped in close quarters on the grounds of the Piazza del Duomo, the air of expectancy and mystery ran electric. Everybody was waiting for something; but unsure of its form or of its arrival.

The tent door flung open suddenly, a disheveled figure hurriedly pulled on her cloak and nearly ran into one of the cart horses as it made its slow way across the sloshing mud
toward the pastures.

Litizias frightened eyes darted about as she clutched her cloak close to her chest and stumbled her way out of the encampment.

Continuing to whittle, Gitano shook his head and held an expression between frowning and smiling.

“You’re amused by what?” Thick swirls of rich fabric brushed up against his thigh.

“Margarina, you don’t have a cat.”

Thick hair fell over her face as she gave a sly smile. “It helps with the illusion – they expect it.”

“People, especially Christian nobility, have long memories. I don’t think you aught to encourage fear.”

Magarinas breath warmed Gitanos cheek, as she ran her fingers down the side of his face. “For someone so young, not of our blood and one who rejects all help, you have such leadership qualities our tribes need. Such a shame. Such a shame.”

Gitano gently shrugged her body away from him and gripped the knife he still held. “The hysteria, the witch hunts; were only a scant few generations ago and there are still many parts of this country we cannot travel. Our tribes have just been ejected from Spain. I’m just saying, its not over and perhaps you could walk a little gently about nobility. You didn’t see her face when she left your tent. She was terrified.”

“And yet people still seek us out for truth. The same ones who would condemn and burn us. I only showed her the truth, nothing else. The same offer is there for you, Gitano.”

Gitano captured her wandering hand and held it as gently as his anger would allow. “ I will find my own truth. The threat of Brothers or Enemys or whatever else your divination revealed; were all messages for the Rromani, not for me.”

“You are not afraid of me as others are.” Margarina tilted her head slightly to the side and allowed her dark curls to ripple over her shoulder. The glistening sun reflected from her jewelry as she stared hard at Gitano. “That’s good. You’ll need this courage to face your future.”