Page 14 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

We ate our meal and watched the troupe prepare.

I savored the sweet spiciness of my flatbread sandwich, chewing slowly.

It reminded me of home. Elikki went to her pack and brought back two small cloudmelons, perfectly sky blue and ripe, passing one to me with a lingering touch.

We enjoyed our dessert in content silence, watching as the flurry of activity gradually slowed into some semblance of order.

Finally, Vin stepped up to the front of the group, clapping his hands loudly once. “Good afternoon, dear friends! My companions and I are ready to display our prodigious musical talents for your enjoyment!”

Elikki cheered. Encouraged, Vin went on, “Let me introduce your fine performers! Niv, my fellow fiddler! Mavis, on the lute! Kramdor, our dwarvish piper! Mulberry, with the most ethereal voice in all the lands! And Gethos, our hunky tambourinist!” The centaur shook his jangly instrument flirtatiously, winking at the audience.

Vin shushed him and shouted, “We are… the Warbling Wanderers!”

“Hang on,” Niv said, “I thought we agreed on the Wandering Weevils.”

“No no—it was the Wistful Wailers,” said Kramdor.

Mavis piped up, “I still like the Winsome Wonders.”

“The Wiggling Waffles!” Elikki threw out before dissolving into giggles again.

“All right, everyone, all right,” Mulberry soothed. “Let’s table the name discussion again for now. We’ll take another group vote after the show.”

The rest of the musicians assented. Gethos sighed. “You’re so smart, Mulberry.” Kramdor shot the centaur an exasperated look and poked his flank with the pan flute.

Vin cheerfully shouted, “Right then! Name TBD, but we persevere! We will now play a new song we’re working on! Count yourselves lucky, my friends, for you’re the first audience we’re gracing with this tune!”

He stepped off to the side where Niv was standing. Fiddles perched at the ready, they waited. Kramdor piped a few long pitchy notes, which seemed to be their cue. With gusto, Niv and Vin launched into a jaunty song that almost made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in rhythm and skill.

Mulberry stood poised on his door-stage and began to sing. I tensed at first, preparing myself for the worst. But he was clearly the talent of the group, with a voice as clear and refreshing as a crystal goblet of spring water.

He spun a melodic tale about a glum jester who trades places with a wily princess and the love affair that ensues. Kramdor continued to blow low strange notes on his pan flute, his already ruddy face getting redder and redder. Mavis leaped into the song with her truly awful lute playing.

I resisted the urge to cover my ears and focused on Mulberry’s rich voice.

And Gethos was dreamily swinging to the discordant sounds of his fellows, toned golden arms conducting the clouds above once more.

At a nudge from Kramdor, he grabbed the tambourine.

He shimmied his whole body along with the instrument, a glad smile on his handsome face.

They were mostly terrible. It was a mess of sounds and notes. But they were all having so much fun that it was impossible for me to really care. Elikki bounced next to me on the log, still grinning hugely and tapping a foot along with them.

With a crashing of lute strings and a final tambourine rattle, the song ended. Kramdor heaved over, hands on knees, gasping in air. Elikki and I clapped hard. I whistled again for good measure. The troupe seemed pleased, all smiles as they bowed and curtsied.

“Marvelous, just marvelous!” Elikki cried.

Niv swiped her forehead with a handkerchief and curtsied again. “Thank you, dear friends. And now our next tune.”

“One of our most popular!” Vin added.

“A most popular, vivacious tune,” Niv said. “‘The Elvish Darling of Drallomere.’”

As the fiddles began a gentle beat, Elikki turned to me. “Wait, I know this one! Heard it in a pub once, and a friend of mine swore that it was written about him.”

Kramdor, his face a less alarming shade of red now, produced slow, long notes from his pan flute and focused on breathing. Mavis strummed a surprisingly melodious harmony as Mulberry began to sing again.

He sang of first love and sunshine, of hope and incomparable beauty.

Years of playing this tune must have worn away the rough edges of the troupe’s musical skills—I had to admit that it was quite enchanting.

Even Gethos, swaying his chiseled body in the background, tambourine forgotten on the ground, added to the magic of the moment.

As Mulberry crooned about the elvish darling’s many suitors and the one who’d finally won their heart, I held my hand out to Elikki. She looked up at me, confused.

“Dance with me?” I asked.

I didn’t know what I was doing, or why. I felt like I was going to choke or vomit or possibly turn into a puddle and sink into the dirt.

But it also felt right—here, with this silly troupe, in the middle of the road in a forest, I wanted to let myself dance with her. Wanted to let myself jump off that cliff again and be all right with the possibility I might fall crashing to the rocks.

Elikki’s eyes gleamed. She put a hand in mine. I stood, pulling her to her feet.

Our palms clasped together, and I wrapped my other arm lightly around her back. Grazing her free fingertips up the side of my rib cage, she placed her hand against my chest. We began to move, turning and swaying more than proper dancing, letting the song carry us.

The music drifted around. Mulberry’s clear voice twined through the air, weaving magic into the golden afternoon light.

Elikki’s gray eyes were on mine. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to.

She filled my arms, my awareness, and everything—the tall trees surrounding us, the troupe nearby, the feeling of my body, and the ground beneath my feet—everything narrowed down to her, only her.

Pressing closer, she turned her cheek against my shirt.

I tightened my grip, holding her gently as we swayed together.

My eyes closed. Resting my chin on top of her head, I let myself stop thinking and worrying, and instead just focused on the feeling of Elikki’s closeness and the burning warmth in my chest.

This was right. This felt right .

And in the uncertainty of everything, I wanted that to be enough. What is more important, in the search for love, than that feeling of connection? However imperfect, however fleeting—it’s what we all long for.

I reminded myself that I wasn’t searching for love anymore. I had given that up.

But here and now, it felt like a pointless lie.