The Smiling Stallion Inn

by Courtney Bowen

  Even at this distance, when she was little more than a face in the crowd, he could see her as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. He knew every detail of her body, curvy and shapely underneath her dress. She didn’t need to wear makeup, and she never did. Her auburn hair hung down to just below her shoulders, naturally straight and thick, and when brushed aside would reveal the full form of her strong, angular face with its pointed chin, plump lips, a petite nose, and those eyes…

  All he could see in them now, instead of kindness and gentleness was cold and bitter anger. It virtually tore his heart out. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to see affection again in those beautiful blue eyes.

  Jawen walked toward him, and Basha sat up a little straighter in his chair. Old Man was still talking, but Basha didn’t hear a word he said as she came toward him and stopped to look up at him. “Hello, Basha.”

  “Jawen,” he acknowledged, unable to take his eyes off her. She wore a silk gown of sky blue with ribbons and flounces tied together on a skirt that fell all the way to her ankles. It was puffed out by a hoop and petticoats with deep folds rising to her waist. The high neckline of her dress went up to the ruff around her neck, and a bonnet covered her head but couldn’t fully hide her hair. Her wrist-length sleeves came down to a point on the back of her hands, leaving just her fingers showing.

  “So, how are you?” Jawen looked askance at him. Her mien was closed, as if nothing could get in underneath her shell, but that type of behavior was atypical of her. Her breath smelled of ale, as if she’d been drinking even before she’d arrived.

  “Good, Jawen, good.” Basha tried to sound manly, and composed, but he squirmed, a little aroused by her already, and he didn’t know what to do. She was obviously drunk, which didn’t bode well for his hopes of talking things out with her.

  “So, do you still plan to ask for my hand in marriage?” Jawen asked abruptly.

  If she’s drunk, she’s not going to care if anyone’s looking at us, he thought.

  “Yes, Jawen, I’m planning to ask you to marry me,” Basha said, but he frowned to himself, wondering why she even had to ask if he was still interested in her. Did she doubt the sincerity of his intent and the stamina of his devotion after she’d virtually refused him yesterday? Or did she worry that she might have to refuse and embarrass him?

  Blood dribbled down from Old Man’s hands as he reenacted the part of Tau cutting himself to fill the Cup. Basha ignored the children’s gasps. He knew it was just red wine; Basha had seen this trick before.

  “Good. You still juggle, right?”

  Basha frowned, confused by her question. “Yes, of course, I’m still juggling, though not as much as my brother does now.” He leaned forward, trying to get closer to her, and explained, “See, he’s the one who acts like a fool, while I play the fiddle to accompany him. You just missed our act. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I hope you can keep those balls up in the air!” Jawen laughed at her own joke as Basha stared at her, confused again.

  Jawen stared at Basha. “You know, when we were children,” she said.

  “Oh, right.” He chuckled a little bit as he remembered what she meant, but it hadn’t been as funny to him then.

  It was a bit embarrassing. When he was young—soon after he’d returned home and soon after Jawen had apologized to him for calling him a balnor—he’d wanted to impress her so she wouldn’t pity him. He’d gotten it into his head, maybe when he saw his father doing it, that juggling balls was a way to impress a girl. Had Geda also given him a pep talk? Maybe, but Geda probably had not known then that Jawen was the one girl he wanted to impress.

  The way he tried to keep those balls in the air—they kept slipping out of his hands and dropping to the ground—Jawen could only laugh at him. She called him funny boy whenever she saw him perform. He tried again and again, for days and days, adding more balls to the routine as he mastered two and then three balls at a time. For two months or more, he’d been determined to impress her, but after a while he grew tired and stopped trying. Jawen, who must have been watching him from afar, came up to him then and asked him to try again. He kept going until he succeeded in his ultimate goal of juggling seven balls at a time. She was impressed. And she applauded him when he’d done it. By then they were ready to be friends.

  “Well, I’ll keep trying, if you’ll be there to watch me,” he said now, brought back to the present and the Courtship Ritual.

  “Thank you, Basha.” She smiled and stood up to walk over to him, kissing him on the cheek before she ran off, her sky blue dress disappearing in the crowd. Basha, taken aback by her kiss, touched his cheek. He decided this meant she wanted him to propose to her. But what would he say to her?

  “Hello, Basha,” said a familiar voice, and Basha gasped, turning around to face Old Man. He’d never spoken properly to Old Man before unless you counted the times Old Man had commanded him and Oaka to be quiet in the middle of story time as children.

  “Oh, hello, sir,” Basha said, clearing his throat as he tried to calm himself down. Old Man was human, a man, just like him. “Wonderful story, sir, it gets better every time you tell it.”

  “Thank you, Basha. May I take a seat?” When the young man nodded, he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Basha. “Well, I’m glad you liked it. I like it as well, for imagining what it must have been like. Imagine, standing next to Tau himself, the greatest god of them all, as he poured out the sand, water, and his own blood from the Cup to make us what we are.”

  Basha nodded and then asked, “So you don’t get tired of retelling it all, year after year, the myths and legends?”

  Old Man shook his head and laughed. “No, I don’t, because it changes in my head,” he said, grinning. “Imagine, the most valuable thing in all of Arria, in all of Salarria, Tau’s Cup, right there in the palm of your hand,” he said, holding out his hand like he was presenting the sacred chalice to Basha. “Wouldn’t that be worth more than anything in the world, to hold the Cup that the gods themselves had touched?”

  “No. Not really,” Basha said, turning away from Old Man to stare at Jawen, who was going over to the bar. He’d so many wishes of what he wanted that the Cup didn’t figure into a single one of them right now.

  Old Man nodded and pushed back his chair. “Thank you for letting me take a seat, Basha. I needed time to talk and think. And thank you for complimenting me on my story, even though you’ve heard it all before.” He rose to his feet.

  “Wait!” Basha said, thinking himself rude for having spoken out like that. Old Man paused and Basha said, “Thank you for speaking with me, and for telling me your stories. I know you dedicate your life to them, and I’m sorry if I’ve been…too distracted, with my own thoughts, or too abrupt, not to listen to your stories as well as I have in the past.”

  Old Man smiled. “Thank you, Basha. That was most thoughtful of you.” Then he glanced around and leaned forward to hoarsely whisper, “And I have to say that it’s not half the story.”

  “What?” Basha asked. “Coe Pidaria, the Knights of Arria…Doomba,” Old Man said. He shivered and then whispered, “No, it certainly isn’t. It’s not even the beginning.” He then shuffled off, without saying good-bye to Basha.

  Old Man left talking to himself: “It was said that when Tichia, god of knowledge and learning, first attempted to write a book on the history of humanity—with all of its foibles, wars, triumphs, and ways of life—he broke his pen, and never attempted it again.”

  Chapter 8

  Mixed-Up Mayhem

  “We are little puppets dancing along so

  Merrily; Little puppets with nothing to fret,

  Little puppets with nothing to regret, Little

  Puppets with nothing to fear!”

  —Song from puppet act, Arria

  Basha was still shaking his head, wondering what Old Man had meant with his parting words when the mayor of Coe Baba called out, “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s have the boys line up
on the left side of the dance floor and the girls on the right.” Basha turned around and saw the mayor standing on a chair at the far end of the room, gesturing where the lines should form. The Courtship Ritual was about to begin. It seemed unreal to him still that he could commit himself to getting married for the rest of his life to one person. It was a big step to take, one for which he had to be ready. Granted, he loved Jawen; he just had to believe she was worth it.

  “Alright, folks, we’re about to start the sendoff!” the mayor shouted.

  Everybody cheered, and Basha slowly stood up, along with about three dozen other young men scattered across the room, most of them ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-one. He had to inhale to steady himself.

  “Go get her, Basha!” Uncle Smidge cried when Basha passed by him.

  The young men crossed over to the left side of the cleared space in the middle of the room. They received pats on the backs along the way from friends and family members who cheered them on. Most of these people had gone through the Ritual as well, he knew, which was why they were giving as much comfort and aid as they now could.

  Basha had been looking forward to this moment for so long, for most of his life, that he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward. But he hadn’t imagined what it would be like to experience it. The nervous raw energy he felt was normal, right?

  Once he reached the dance floor, Basha attempted to find Jawen on the girls’ side, but amid the press and scramble of boys doing the same thing, he lost her.

  “Excuse me.” Basha felt a tap on his shoulder. “If you’re looking for Jawen,” Nisa said as he turned around, “I think she went this way.” Nisa pointed to the right.

  Basha hesitated and glanced to his right as Nisa disappeared back into the crowd. He shook his head and went to the left, winding up in the middle of the boys’ line once again. Looking across at the girls’ line, he found himself staring directly at Iibala. Basha gaped at her, unable to believe his eyes, and then he closed his mouth, wondering who was misleading him here. Nisa or Jawen? And what was Iibala doing lining up directly across from him? That was where Jawen should be standing.

  Iibala smiled and waved at him, making even those simplest of movements the most seductive of them all. She wore a low-cut violet bodice, and exposed her shoulders and chest almost all the way down to the top of her breasts. Her red hair, naturally thin and curly, was teased into ringlets that hung far below her shoulders and obscured her round face, which was lightly powdered and rouged, with just a tease of lip color.

  Basha hadn’t looked away from Iibala, telling himself that she wasn’t really interested in him, not after all of these years he’d spent ignoring her and she’d spent ignoring him. He was attracted to Jawen and no one else. Iibala was merely a foolish past mistake or so he kept telling himself as he stood across from her on the dance floor with thoughts of Monika—a beautiful and mysterious young woman Basha had been drawn to recently when she’d stayed at the inn—creeping into his thoughts as well. Plus, he couldn’t forget what had happened yesterday afternoon on his way to the militia tryouts and how Iibala might have saved his life.

  It seemed as if Nisa had been trying to point him in the right direction, but he hadn’t believed her. Why had he not trusted her? At that point, the boys and girls started moving forward, and Basha followed along, receiving a small cupful of tealatte—a mixture of tea, coffee, and stimulants—courteously provided by the town council. Drinking the brew in one gulp, he tried to settle his mind. He didn’t need to worry about Iibala, or Nisa, or Monika even; he just needed to focus on proposing to Jawen. But such a thing wasn’t possible with tealatte. The drink being a stimulant that excited the nerves and senses, it was an aphrodisiac in the purest sense of the word and not intended for conventional use. It was meant only for this night, this occasion.

  Geda, Smidge, and their friends took up their instruments again and started to play. Basha and the others whooped for joy as they felt the effects of the drink on their body. They rushed back out onto the dance floor, forming their straight lines again at opposite ends of the dance floor. The young men came strutting forward with one leg extended outward before the next leg was swung over, and on and on again with their upright chests swelled out and shoulders swinging. Basha awkwardly attempted this move, trying to remember which leg came first and when to swing the other one over as he stiffly rotated his shoulders in the appropriate manner.

  The young women then sashayed forward, hips swaying with the movement of their feet peeking out from underneath their dresses. They paused, every now and again to clap along with the music. The short sleeves of Iibala’s bodice ended at her elbows, while her red skirt was cut off at the knees, a style that was so alluring it was definitely almost too much for Basha to handle, especially when she shook her hips. Iibala seemed to get more swing out of her hips, and breasts, than should be possible. On top of that, her two-piece dress was made of such flimsy material he could almost see through it.

  Basha had to look away. The stirring music, drawn out and romantic, provoked them. Flutes whistled in a winding, curvy way, the drums pounded out a slow and steady beat, and the fiddlestick coursed across the strings, with a finger occasionally pricking at them in high, sporadic pitches. The music got louder as the dance went on across the floor, and then the boys and girls faced one another in the middle of the room with a full stop of the music.

  Not one person moved or breathed. They stood one inch apart from one another. Basha and Iibala were forced to look deep into each other’s eyes.

  “Hello there,” Iibala whispered. Then the music started up again, a long, strong minute of pounding drums and whistling flutes, as the boys and girls whirled about on either side of one another, their lines dissolving into chaos for a moment before they reformed on opposite sides. The girls and the boys had switched places. Basha was panting heavily by the time the music ended.

  “You dance divinely, Basha.” Iibala whispered as they faced one another again. A new song started, and the people clapped and stomped their feet, cheering as it was a rousing tune you could drink beer and dance all night to. “To the maid who danced on the sun, to Welda of the loving heart, we ask that in our lives, you’d take part, and make us all into one,” a woman sang as she stood up in front of the band.

  The first couple started to stomp and kick their way down the aisle in a jig, and Basha was shocked to discover that it was Hastin and Jawen. How did that happen? How did…he couldn’t believe this.

  * * * *

  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Habala asked her husband, pointing to the dance floor.

  Geda shook his head as he came over to her. “I’m seeing it,” he said, gesturing back to the band, “but you’ve got to let me play. Welda’s song requires a very experienced fiddle player, and—”

  “Hastin’s dancing with Jawen, and Basha is dancing with Sir Nickleby’s daughter,” Habala said, pacing. “Oaka is dancing with Sisila at least, that’s good, but Geda, what’s happening with Basha and Jawen?” she cried. “Can’t you see? Something’s terribly wrong!”

  Geda huffed out a frustrated breath. “What do you want me to do about it? I can’t go out there and rip the four of them apart and put them back together again with the right partners! That’s not the way these things work.” He threw his arms into the air. “It’s like they’re…” He looked toward the dancers. “…marionettes.”

  “What are you saying?” Habala asked, staring at him.

  “They’re just shambling about, without anyone controlling them, and they’re not able to control themselves either under the influence of that infernal tea.” He cleared his throat as he saw his wife’s stunned expression. “It’s spiked with an aphrodisiac, Habala. Surely you knew that.”

  Habala shook her head. “No, Geda, I didn’t, but that has nothing to do with this partner mix up. Nevertheless, Hastin’s arranged this somehow,” Habala said, “because of what happened the other day. Do you remember what happened the l
ast time Basha got mixed up with Iibala?”

  Geda nodded. “Of course I do; it was a disaster. Almost as bad as the time Basha has spent with Jawen.”

  “Geda!”

  “Look, Iibala laughed at him and called him a boy. She broke his heart, but that isn’t any worse than what Jawen’s doing, dragging this out and playing Basha for a fool. The girl is ashamed to be seen with him, for what!”

  “Geda, Iibala didn’t love him. Never did. But I’m sure Jawen is in love with Basha, no matter how she treats him. The only time Basha is ever miserable now is when he’s out of Jawen’s arms. Think on that, my dear.”

  Geda grumbled to himself and then said, “The children will be leaving soon, going out to Lovers’ Rock, and then we’ll be stuck here, cleaning up the mess with the serving girls.”

  “We’re always missing everything, aren’t we?” Habala said with a smile. “But we’ve each other and the inn to take care of. It’s not so bad to miss other things as long as we’re together.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, dropping a kiss on her cheek, “and I’ve got to go play my fiddle now. I can’t let Morton ruin my fiddle with his heavy hand on the bow. He stretches the strings out until they break.”

  “Geda, wait.” Geda hesitated as he stopped and turned back around. “I’m sorry if I said anything unkind to you about you and Basha.”

  “Forget it, Habala, you’re probably right. I forget my duties to my sons sometimes, especially Basha, in the face of all this…” He splayed his arms, indicating the entirety of the inn, “and yet they are growing up into fine young men.”

  Habala smiled. “We can definitely be proud of them.”

  “Mostly thanks to you.” Geda winked at her and went to rescue his abused fiddle.

  Later, when all of the others had gone and they were left alone with just the serving girls to help clean up, Geda and Habala took a moment to walk out onto the empty dance floor, hand in hand. There they swayed together with their arms wrapped around each other, the only music inside their heads as Geda absent-mindedly hummed to himself. Habala and Geda weren’t exactly the most ideally matched couple around, but she hoped things remained the same between them as when they’d first fallen in love.