Tasmina's Tale

Tasmina “Tasmina Miya Kai, you get your backside here right now.” I jumped at the sound of Mama’s voice and turned around slowly, my hand resting on the door. I hated it when she full-named me. “Yes, Mama?” I asked, innocently, turning around. “Just where do you think you’re going?” she asked, her brown eyes twinkling despite her stern tone. “Well, Mama, Felan and Faris found this stall in the marketplace where the man shoves his hands into puppets and then they—” “Goddess almighty, those older brothers of yours are going to be the death of me. Yes, I’ve heard of this vulgar puppet show. It’s not appropriate language for a young lady,” she chided. “Young lady? Mama, come on. I turn sixteen in three days.” “You don’t need to remind me, it is the same day you must give Prince Rikom, heir to the throne of Zamee, his first official mark. An auspicious day, it is a wonderful honour to share the day of your birth with the crown prince.” “I’ve heard his brother is much more fun… and handsome, too,” I giggled. Mama wagged her finger at me. “What have we said, Mina? No royals, rogues or—” “Rascals, I know, I know,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “But my father is—” “A rascal of the worst kind, I know. Which is why you must learn from my mistakes, daughter. You may give your heart to as many men or women as you choose, my sweet girl. But each should be worthy of it,” she said, winking. “Felan’s father is also…” “A rascal, yes, yes, I know, my girl. What can I say, hmm? Your mother has terrible taste.” I giggled and she raised her brow. “Funny is it?” she asked, but I could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Come, my girl. Help me sift the lentils… and then you can go and join your foolish brothers in the marketplace.” I squealed with delight, running over to her and sitting with her on the floor, the bowl of lentils between us with an empty bowl beside them. The trick was to spread the lentils onto a flat surface and feel for the rocks, for no one wished to break their tooth. You also had to be on the lookout for the lightly coloured ones, which wouldn’t cook evenly, as they weren’t as ripe as the others. Our home was modest, with three small bedrooms, one for me, one for Mama and one that Felan and Faris shared. It wasn’t much for the royal mystic of Zamee, but Mama always said that mystics had no need for worldly things. It was true. I was grateful to have a bed to lay my head down at night, but in the day, I preferred to be out in the streets with my two brothers, who were almost always up to no good. How I envied their freedom, sometimes. While I stayed home and learned alchemy and the mystical history of Zamee with Mama, they roamed the hot, humid streets of Daro. But it wasn’t all bad. They would often take me with them, showing me the secret alleyways, teaching me how to barter for fruit with the local sellers. I was a quick learner, able to deal my way to the maximum yield for the minimum coin. “Not fair,” Felan had said. “Half these sellers are just old perverts. They see a pretty young girl and take a smile as payment.” He was seventeen, just over a year older than me. Faris, our eldest brother at nineteen, had simply laughed. “Maybe she’s just better than you, Felan,” he teased. Felan eyed me carefully before grinning widely. “Maybe you’re right.” We were all born of different fathers to our mother, Miya. She had served as a royal mystic since she was sixteen. I knew I ought to be excited about my ascension to royal mysticism, but at this point, I couldn’t care less. I finished sorting the lentils quickly and turned to Mama. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mama?” I asked. She laughed, a tinkling sound that enchanted almost everyone who heard it. Believe me, I knew. There wasn’t a single unmated man or woman who didn’t look twice when Mama walked past them. She was a tall woman, nearly six feet in height. Rather unfairly, Felan had inherited his height from his father, who was a rather short, stout man. I had inherited her jet black, curly hair, and, rather unfairly, instead of her amber eyes, I had inherited the dark, pitch-black eyes of my rascal father. He wasn’t a terrible man, just not a very reliable one. Sometimes, he would still come to see me. Conversations were often awkward… I perhaps saw him maybe once a month. There really wasn’t much to talk about with a man who saw you as an obligation. But I can’t say it hurt me, for throughout it all, there was always Mama. Every scrape of the knee, every scuffle with fellow street urchins, Mama was always there to kiss away the hurt and tell us a story to distract us from the occasional coldness of the world. As I looked upon her now, expectantly, she reached forward and pressed my nose with her finger. “Go, you street child. But don’t be gone too long!” she called after me, as I was already halfway out of the door. The streets of Daro were a maze to those who didn’t know them. There was one single road that led in a straight line from the gates of the city, right to the gates of the Palace of Life. I had been there only once. I had been seven years old and all of Mama’s mystic friends had been too occupied on the night to watch me. Mama had gone to help one of King Iza’s wives give birth. I had been absolutely horrified. It looked like a bloody scene from a battle as the woman bent over on all fours and pushed what looked like a giant, hideous watermelon from her ass. It was only later that Mama had explained to me that babies, in fact, were not shat out. Still, my mind was made up. I would only do that once, to carry on my mystic line. One daughter and I would be finished. I bloody well hoped that goddess was listening, because it would be all her fault if the royal mystic line died with me because she chose to give me a son first. A woman poured her washing out from a balcony and I dodged it quickly. “Sorry, wee Tasmina!” she called. “That’s alright, Madam Rita,” I called back up. She ran the local brothel, and she had just given birth to a girl called Eliza. Mama had been there to aid with the birth, and I had helped. This time, it hadn’t been so traumatic. Finally, I approached the bustling marketplace. This was my most favourite place in the entire world. The smells of spices, fruit, pickles, all mingling into a heady cocktail of scents, daring you to pick one out and follow it. The noise, sellers shouting over one another to be heard, buyers haggling and arguing to get the most out of their coins. It was there I spotted Felan, leaning casually against a stand as he spoke to a woman selling apples. “I, myself, have got quite the eye for juicy, plump apples. But yours are by far the best I have ever seen.” Faris stood next to him patiently, his arms crossed. He waved at me when he caught sight of me, rolling his eyes as he pointed at Felan. I ran over to them, grabbing Felan’s arm. “Listen, my dear, I don’t know what your name is, but you can show this scoundrel your apples later. Brother, we have a show to watch.” Reluctantly, Felan allowed us to drag him away, but not before planting a small kiss on the woman’s cheek, making her blush and giggle. “I don’t know how you do it,” Faris laughed, shaking his head.