Tasmina's Tale

2. Mystery of Mystics

Tasmina

The puppet show had truly been Mama’s worst nightmare. A puppeteer had set up in town only for the week. His story was of a woman from Lira who couldn’t ever be ‘satisfied.’ There were plenty of underhanded allusions to how many c*cks had tried and failed. In the end, it had taken a woman to do what all the men couldn’t. The crowd howled with mirth as he spun the tale, making the puppets partake in lewd acts. 

Felan and I howled with laughter, while Faris watched on, trying to be disapproving, but grinning nonetheless. It was a very good attempt at being the sensible older brother, but he was failing miserably as he snorted at one of the jokes. When it was finally over, the puppeteer appeared from behind his small stage and got a standing ovation from the crowd. 

Felan had gone over immediately to speak to him and he, like everyone else we ever met, was immediately charmed by him. As we walked away, he called, “I shall see you for a drink in the inn before I leave tomorrow!”

“I wouldn’t miss it, my friend!” Felan called back. 

“How?” Faris asked, as I chuckled. 

“It’s a natural charm I inherited,” he said, grinning widely.

“Certainly not from Mama… it must be from your philandering father,” I teased.

“But, of course! Baba is a swine, a philanderer… but a poet at heart,” he said, winking. 

You couldn’t help but love him. He had a rougeish face, with features that by themselves were nothing special, but put together made a strange but delightful combination. Faris was classically handsome between the two of them, but he was also far shyer and generally kept to himself. 

“Come, let’s go home. I’ve bought some warm bread, Mama must have nearly finished the dal,” Faris said, grinning, speaking of the lentils I had been sorting with Mama earlier.

My mouth watered as I thought of Mama’s delicious, soupy dal, that she topped with fried onions, garlic and parsley. Peasant food, most people called it. I called it home. 

There was a commotion happening in the middle of the street as we rounded the corner and a small crowd had gathered. There seemed to be a lot of shouting and jeering. I saw Madam Rita at the edge of the crowd and I ran over to her. 

“What’s happening, do you know?” I asked. 

She looked at me, her mouth in a thin line. 

“It’s some poor mystic girl who seems to have lost her way… these scum are relentless, calling her and her Mammy a mystic w***e. She’s only a wee babe.”

“A mystic?” I gasped.

I turned to my brothers and Faris took a step towards me.

“Mina… no… NO, MINA,” he called after me, trying to snatch at my arm.

It was too late, as I darted into the crowd, elbowing people out of my way as I broke through the centre. There she was, a young girl, maybe only a year or two between us, dressed in filthy rags and cowering as the crowd threw rotten fruit and vegetables at her. 

“Hey! HEY, STOP!” I shouted, shielding her body with my own. 

“Move out the way, girl,” an older man shouted. “Don’t touch her. She’s a cursed mystic, descended from the line that served the Guls.”

“I don’t care,” I shouted back.

I ducked my head as lettuce was thrown. When I plucked a tomato from the air, the crowd stilled for a moment. Then the whispers began. 

“Isn’t she Miya’s girl?”

“You’d better not meddle with her, the royal mystic trains her in fighting and the dark arts each morning from what my wife tells me.”

“I heard her mother turned a rogue into a frog once.” 

I rolled my eyes. Barely half of what they muttered was true, but sometimes it helped to have a certain mystery around your mystic mother. It was true, my mother had trained me to fight with daggers for as far back as I could remember and I carried two with me since the age of twelve. 

“You never know when you might need to protect yourself, my girl,” Mama had said, a sad look coming over her. 

I turned to the girl. Her face was covered in dirt and her eyes were a strange, dark blue colour. She flinched when I held out my hand, and I crouched down. 

“Don’t TOUCH her,” someone in the crowd yelled. 

I turned over my shoulder to see Felan and Faris appear. 

“Good sir, if you don’t walk away right now, my brother will give you a good hiding that you’ll one day tell your grandchildren about,” Felan said, to the rather young looking man who had yelled.

The man opened his mouth to reply, but he took one look at Faris’s large frame and thought better of it. Little did he know, my eldest brother was a pacifist, fighting only when it was necessary. Still, it never stopped Felan from using him as a threat. 

I turned my attention back to the girl and held out my hand. Her eyes were wild, darting around like a cornered animal. She stared at my hand, trying to gauge if it was a trick. 

“My… my Ma, she left me here… I… she had to go do important work… she couldn’t take me…” 

“Because the mystic w***e has gone to deal with the devil himself,” a shout came from the crowd, as they jeered at the poor girl.

I stood up quickly and drew myself to my full height, which I had, thankfully, inherited from my Mama. 

“One more word from you and I shall see to it that no mystic ever graces your door in your times of need,” I shouted. 

A gasp went around the crowd. 

“I mean it!” I yelled. “Now leave!” 

They dispersed quickly, grumbling quietly, but no one was bold enough to let me hear their words. I turned back to the girl, patiently holding my hand out once again. 

“My name is Tasmina. My family calls me Mina, though. What’s yours?” I asked, gently. 

She eyed my hand suspiciously for another moment, before taking it. I helped her stand up, brushing the dirt from her rags. It was a pointless gesture, since her clothes were already so filthy, it made little difference. 

“My name is Ruksana. My Ma calls me Ruki,” she murmured. 

My brothers looked at me questioningly. 

Don’t do it, Mina. We don’t know her, Faris linked between the three of us. 

I jutted my chin out defiantly and turned back to her. 

“Come on, Ruki. You’re coming home with us.”