"The Gypsy Travels" BY;Fjm

 Maia stuck herself in the finger with the needle.  Again.  It was no use.  No matter how hard she tried, she just wasn’t any good at sewing.  She looked down at her finger.  Already a drop of blood was forming.  A deep red color, it formed a perfect round dot on her fingertip.  An impossibly small red pearl.
          Quickly, she licked it off of her finger.  Turning to look for where she had dropped the needle, she cursed.  Sewing was a mind-numbing, astoundingly dull task.
          “It’s your fault you know,” said the fat tabby cat resting on the stone rim of the fire pit that marked the center of the tent.  “You just had to go running around with those no account friends of yours.  And through a field of Pakta bushes, no less!  What were you thinking, Maia?”
          Maia glared at him.  The tabby, not really expecting an answer, continued.
          “It was beautiful skirt, too. And—”
          “A family heirloom?”  Maia snapped.  She’d had just about enough.  “You think Mama didn’t give me an impossibly long lecture when she let me wear it?  She’s told me.  I hadn’t talked to Papa in a week and the first thing he said was about the honor of wearing such a piece of finery.  Auntie told me.  All my friends have said something.  Only the spirits know how many times Aridan has brought it up!”
          The cat blinked at her and curled back into a ball.
          Maia sighed.  In truth she was sorry she had ripped the skirt.  She turned back to where it lay on the old wooden table.  It was a beautiful piece of clothing.  And yes, an heirloom, too.  A smooth, rich olive green, with many clear glass bead sewn on, it captured and refracted all light thrown on it.  When she wore it, Maia felt like she was dancing with the faeries she read about in her stories, the faeries from the old time.
          That was the only reason she had worn it outside the tent before today.  To show her friends how she could dance with the light.  To show them how she could be a part of a swirling, hypnotic faerie game.  They watched for a little while, but soon wanted to do other things.  Maia, not wanting to feel left out and sure that she could keep the skirt safe, went along.
          At least she and Mama had managed to keep Aridan from noticing that the skirt was ripped.  Maia closed her eyes.  She could just imagine it.  Aridan would take it as a personal offense.  A cruel trick meant to undermine her joy.  She would burst into tears and cry that with one ripped skirt, Maia had ruined her special day.
          Maia opened her eyes and glanced over at the skirt.  The rip wasn’t so bad.  The ankle-length skirt had only been ripped up to the knee.  Maybe Aridan wouldn’t notice.
          Her thoughts were disturbed by a loud yelling coming from outside the tent.  She hurried to the opening and threw the flap open wide.
          It was a beautiful spring day.  It had rained two nights earlier and the grass and trees smelled clean and fresh.  All around men and women, in their best clothes, rushed about preparing for the wedding.  It was a very important day.  Maia’s older sister Aridan was marrying her long-time betrothed, Jiro.
          Everyone was trying his or her best to make this a perfect day for her, for Maia’s entire family.  (Except for Maia, it seemed.)  The marriage of the eldest granddaughter of the tribe mother was a huge event, one that had been planned since Aridan’s birth.
          The gifts she was given were astonishing.  Maia had seen some as they were brought into the tent specifically set aside for such a purpose.  Precious metals stretched into wires that were braided and woven into hair ornaments.  Beautiful gems from far off in the Southeast.  There were piles of carefully stitched skirts and dresses and shawls that had taken the elder women of the Antrani tribe half their lives to make.
          Maia knew that that was only the beginning.  Today’s feast was sure to be something that would be the subject of conversations for years to come.  Every kind of meat, poultry, fowl, and fish that was known would be served.  Deserts so rich one could barely finish one bite.  Exquisite scenes of ships on the sea or wizards or dragons created out of spun sugar would be served.  The thought of it alone, made Maia’s mouth water.  She knew, that people would one day talk of this day proudly.  Old and feeble, they would tell their grandchildren, “I was at Aridan-Dasan’s wedding and it was a sight to see.”
          Maia sighed, pursing her lips together.  No one would make this much of a fuss over her when she got married, if she got married.  Why would they?  Aridan was going to be the Tribe Mother some day.  Usually the rite was passed down from mother to daughter but Maia’s grandmother had had only sons, her father being the eldest.  Soon, the firstborn daughter of the firstborn son of the Tribe Mother would rule.  Maia would probably end up being her attendant, just as her uncles served her father.  Being the firstborn was everything.  She sighed again.  Her whole worth, her person, was decided before she came out of the womb.  Sometimes she felt as if it would have been better had she not come out at all.
          All her life, she was simply second.  Second at everything.  She knew her parents loved her, but when it came down to it, she knew that Aridan was more important.  Maia was actually the middle child.  Her little sister, about nine years younger than her, at age six, was oblivious to the special treatment of her eldest sister.  Tari was still the baby of the family and got more attention than Maia.  She was the forgotten daughter.
          Being forgotten did have its advantages, though.  She got to go out and have fun with her friends more often than Aridan ever did.  If Aridan wanted to go out and pick wildflowers, she got a lecture on her duty to her people and had to stay and help the older ladies sew.  If Maia even asked, she got an irritated, “You’re fifteen, do you need my permission for everything, Maia-Dasan?”
          The only problem was that, here, in the village, her freedom was played out.  She knew every tree in the forest, every path of every small winding brook.  She wanted to get out, to see the world.
          She turned back to her tent.  Maia knew what would happen to her.  She would become a typical Antrani woman, staying at home, raising children.  The wedding today was like a sentencing.  The ceremony was confirming Aridan’s right to rule.  Maia would never do anything as great with her life.  She would be condemned to an oblivion of sewing.
She grimaced.  That was not the life she wanted.  Closing the tent flap, she realized how stuffy it was inside.  She walked over to the window and untied the flap that kept it closed.  This way, she thought, I can keep the breeze of the outside without having to see them planning my end.
She sat down one the stone hearth next to the tabby cat.  Leaning down so that her mouth was level with his ear she whispered, “Arti…”
He awoke with a start, hissing at her.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Arti, don’t you think it’s time we went away?”
He closed his eyes.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.  We could go on an adventure.  It would be fantastic.  Like in the stories.”
“You read too many fancy adventure novels.  They put ideas into your head.  I told your mother they were a bad idea.  She shouldn’t have let you read them.”
“Yes, but she did and now I want to go on an adventure!”
No answer.  He seemed to have fallen asleep again.  Maia leaned closer.  There was no purring sound either.  Such a little faker, she thought.
“Arti, you know—”
He opened one eye and glared at her.  “I haven’t the faintest idea who you’re talking to.”
“Spirits forgive me!” she gasped in mock horror, “How could I mistake one so magnificent as yourself for a common cat?”  She fell into a deep bow.   “Your honorable sir, Artaxiad Delrubbian XII, may I present you with a hypothetical situation?”
Artaxiad got up and stretched.  “Go on.”
“Say I just run away.  Without you.  Them Mama comes in here demanding to know why you didn’t stop me.  Or at least go with me to see to my safety.  You’ll get banished.  Or killed.  I may not be Aridan, but my family cares about enough to do at least that.  I think.”
“Don’t be silly.  You wouldn’t really leave.  Not without me.”  He jumped off the hearth and onto the woven mat that lined the floor.
She gazed away from him nonchalantly.  “I might.”
“Where would you go?  You don’t know anything about the outside world at all.”
“I know some things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like—”
“Like the nonsense you read in your stories.”
“I know where I’d go first.”
“Where?”
“To the city!”
“Oh no you don’t!  Don’t even start talking like that, Maia!”
“We could do it!  Go to Foxbury!  Can’t you just see it?  The Palace of Dreams!  The Hall of the Victorious!  We could meet the wizards and the sorceresses—“
“Stop Maia, don’t talk of magic.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is, we both know Mama can—”
“Quiet!  Magic is dangerous, Maia.  Just because your mother can do a few simple spells does not make it alright.”
“But she learned it in the city…”
“No, she was born with it.  Her talent is unrefined.  Maia, magic isn’t our way.  We’re Antrani.  We trust in our spirit ancestors.  Magic is foreign.  Not many people know that your mother can do spells.  If they did, they probably wouldn’t have allowed your parents to marry.”
“But we could go to the city and not learn magic!  We could just meet the people!  What’s it like, Arti?”
“Oh, I knew I’d rue the day I told you I used to live there.”
“When you were human.”
“Yes,” he snapped.  “When I was human.”
“Is that why you don’t like magic?  Because it did this to you?”
“No.”
She shrugged.  “Just think, though.  We could meet the King and Queen!”
“If they’re still alive.”
She picked him up off of the floor and, holding him like a baby, continued, deaf to his yowls.
“Can’t you just picture them, sitting on their thrones?  The King, sitting tall, regal and just.  I bet he’s handsome.  Was he handsome, Arti?”
“Not the one I remember.”
“And the Queen, what about her?”
“A sour, ruthless harpie!”
“Arti!”
“You asked, I answered.”
“But wait, after we’ve visited the royal city, we could go to other places.  Places where they speak in tongues.  Places where they dress differently.  Places where the world is upside-down.  Where they sleep in the daytime and live at night.  Places where they’re friendly.  Places where—”
After all his howling and squirming, Artaxiad had finally broken free.  As he landed on the floor he snapped at her.  “Places where what?”
Maia looked down at the floor, her moment of whimsical folly and bubbly hope past.  She closed her eyes.  She didn’t want to see his smirking eyes on her.  Not now.
“Places where they don’t treat you like you’re second best.”
Artaxiad came closer.  She could feel him entwining himself around her legs.  She bent down and picked him up, and the two of them sat together on the hearth.  She felt a single tear roll down her cheek.
They sat for a long time.  Not saying anything.  After a bit, he stirred.
          “Maia—”
“Hmmm?”
“Maia, get up.  You’re mothers coming.”
She jumped up, letting him find his own way down to the floor.  Arti wouldn’t be wrong.  Wiping her hands on her skirt and her eyes on her sleeve, she turned to face the tent opening as one of her mother’s attendants opened the flap.
As she walked in, Maia was struck again at how beautiful her mother was.  Maia looked nothing like her, she knew.  Maia’s mother had given her rosebud mouth and wide, doe eyes to Aridan.  She gave her slender figure and full black hair to Tari.  The only thing Maia had of hers was her soft, light brown complexion and a long sloping nose.  Maia’s straight, unruly brown hair was from her father as was her tight-lipped mouth.
Today, Maia knew, she looked even less like her mother.  She was dressed in a beautiful magenta dress wrap with golden embroidery.  She had rings on every finger and her hair was done up with beautiful red ribbons that matched her dress.
She smiled a flitting, worried smile at Maia, her eyes glancing back to the sewing table.  Her mother usually looked regal, completely unruffled by all the chaos around her.  Today, it was not the case.
“Maia,” she hesitated.  “How’s the skirt coming along?  You need to change.”
Maia turned back and picked up the skirt, lifting it up to the light.  She could trace her clumsy backstitch up the side to the spot the places where beads had fallen off.  It would have to do, there wasn’t much time left.
“It’s alright.”
Her mother let out a breath.  “Great.  Now you can just get changed.”  She clapped and her attendants left the tent.  “We can go outside and—” Her eyes had been traveling up the length of her.  She had stopped when she saw Maia’s hair.  “Maia!  Your hair!  It’s not even done yet!  What were you thinking?  It’s almost time to go and it looks like you just rolled out of bed!”
Maia tugged on a lock of hair that went down to her waist.  It was true, she looked a mess and had completely forgotten to even brush her hair.  She could feel her mother’s disappointed eyes on her.  From her mother’s point of view, this was an important day for Maia, too.  Aridan had been engaged since birth.  Now, since she was nearing the age of sixteen, Maia would soon be betrothed.  The wedding was an important social event and she was expected to show all the families that she would make an excellent wife for their sons.
Maia’s mother pursed her lips.  “Close the window.”
As Maia hurried to let the flap down, her mother turned back to the entrance and tied the front flap down.
“Okay,” her mother said.  “You cannot tell anyone about this, Maia.  I’m only doing it because today is a very important day and nothing can go wrong.  No one, Maia-Dasan!”
“Yes, I understand.”  Maia tried to hide the excitement in her voice.  She had only seen her mother do a spell once before, to help move a cart that had fallen on a merchant.  She wasn’t very powerful but her effort had helped the men lift the cart and save the merchant’s life.
“Alright.”
Maia’s mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  She brought her hand palm upward until they were about level with Maia’s shoulders.  Thin streams of orange light bled from her fingertips and flowed into Maia’s hair.  She could feel it moving all around her, lifting sections, tying back certain parts.  The orange light streams worked quickly.  Maia thought they smelled sweet, a little like honeysuckle.  When one stream accidentally grazed her skin, she jumped.  It was hot.  Maia’s mother, lost in the magic, mumbled an apology.
When at last it was done, her hair was pinned and set.  She didn’t have a mirror, but the look in her mother’s eyes told her that she looked at least respectable.
Her mother smiled.  “Alright, put the skirt on and then we can—”
“Maia-Dasan?” came a voice from the outside.
Her mother answered, “Yes?”
“Ledell?”  Maia frowned.  Who was using her mother’s first name is such a casual fashion?
Her mother undid the flap of the opening.  It was her father outside.  Clean-shaven, tall and dressed in his best jacket he looked a bit imposing.  Maia blinked.  How could she not have recognized his voice?  She knew, she hardly ever talked to her father anymore.  Not with the plans for the wedding.
“What’s going on?” Maia’s mother asked.
Her father, his face grim, turned his gaze to Maia.  “She wants to see you?”
“Who?” Maia asked.
“The—the Tribe Mother.”
Her mother’s eyes were wide.  The tribe mother was revered.  Rarely even seen outside of her tent, her appearance anywhere was a great event.  Everyone knew she would attend the wedding ceremony.  That fact alone frightened some people.  In addition to never coming out of her tent, she never invited anyone but her personal guard inside it.  They carried her messages, her instructions out to the Antrani.  She had not spoken to her own son in years.  Now she wanted to see Maia?
“Well?” Her father stared at her.  “What are you doing just standing there?  Don’t keep her waiting.”
Maia couldn’t make her legs move.  “What does she want?”
“They didn’t see fit to tell me.  Now go, the Tribe Mother waits!”
As Maia rushed out of the tent, she thought about her father’s words.  “The Tribe Mother waits.”  She was his own mother and he didn’t even call her by her name, just her appellation.  Maia heard a mewing at her feet.  She looked down.  Artaxiad had followed.  She scooped him up into her arms.
He looked up inquisitively into her eyes.
          “What does she want with you?”
          “I don’t know.”