Snippet #2716645

“The show is about to start,” a deep, charismatic voice announced.

The crowd hushed, and the silence of the room was speckled with the moans and clicks of creaky wooden chairs and glass cups. At the back of the tent, a scarecrow of a man mounted a makeshift stage that was pieced together by wooden planks and nails, and adorned with cheap fabric curtains. He wore a three piece suit, yet the pieces of the suit didn’t match. His blonde, unruly hair was tugged into a loose ponytail. But if the crow’s feet lining his stark blue eyes didn’t betray his age, the silver wires springing from his roots certainly did. This pale, middle-aged, snaggle-toothed man wasn’t the most handsome of people. But based on his stage presence, his unfortunate looks seemed unbeknownst to him.

“The show is about to start ladies and gentlemen. Please refill your brew because you’re about to enjoy the voice of one of the most talented entertainers on this continent,” the host of the night smirked and latched onto the opening of his blazer. “Perhaps, in the world since we sun people can’t seem to stay in one place.”

Most in the room billowed into a gruff chuckle, all except for the yellow-haired men and women serving drinks, tending to the “stage lights” (torches of fire and candles), and lingering backstage behind the curtains. One blonde in particular visibly cringed at the joke. She was the petite, green-eyed girl who collected admission at the mouth of the tent. It wasn’t that Tallyho Abel was particularly offended by the joke, she just didn’t care to hear it told three times a day for every performance.

“This songstress has a voice of gold, very rich,” the host mused. “Richer than any of you shmucks will ever be!”

Once again the crowd erupted in laughter. Tallyho had always been interested in the crowds who came to view their shows. Tonight the tent was filled with older, working class men (brick layers and farmers) who’ve escaped their wives and kids for a night out with the boys. There was a slight splay of women in the audience, but their presence tended to dominate earlier shows.
The host prattled on into a few more jokes until he felt the crowd was warm enough. “I’ve spoken enough,” he finally declared. “You didn’t come to hear me sing, although I could definitely try!”

The crowd responded with a playful jeer.

“May I present the lovely voice of Talia!”

The stage was rushed with the heavy claps of callused hands, gruff hoots and dry whistles. Heavy vibrations erupted from the wooden piano situated at the foot of the stage. Clustered in the opposite corner of the pianist were two violinists passionately grinding their bows against the weakening strings of their instruments, and an old accordion player. The tickled notes seemed to flutter over the sound of the crowd, imbuing the scene with a poetic ambiance.

As the band played on, out came a woman draped in a red shawl that was decorated with yellow beads. Underneath the elaborate garment was a modest white dress. Though she couldn’t have been any taller than 5’5, her presence seemed to loom over the crowd. The way her green eyes smiled and her red-painted lips curled into a knowing smirk. She seemed maternal, and for Tallyho she really was a maternal figure. Tallyho, the apathetic young woman who collected admission at the door, was the daughter of the talented songstress Talia.

Talia addressed the crowd with elegance, standing still and silent until the applause fell in anticipation of her performance. She wasted no time with introductions, greeting the crowd with a deep, rich note that sprang from her chest. The instruments chimed in around her, adorning her voice with notes like small diamonds and pearls. The song began slowly, but as the song sped up, she hit each note with an impeccable velocity. As she sang she flexed her brows with emotion and curled each finger passion. The musicians fed off of her passion: the pianist banged on his keys and one of the violinists broke a string mid-stroke. She looked her audience in their eyes and even teased some of them. The crowd loved her because she surprised them with her charisma and humor.

Every time Tallyho watched her mother perform it was like she’d never seen her before. In times like these she felt both immensely proud and inadequate. She inherited a few things from her mother: Lucky enough to steal her face—a chiseled yet feminine mug with high cheekbones and full lips. And her hair— a full head of healthy golden wheat. But there were many aspects of Talia that Tallyho never seemed to latch onto.

The young woman wasn’t shy by any means, but she certainly wasn’t as personable as her mother. Talia was graceful and poised, whereas Tallyho was still trying to figure out how to wear stage makeup without looking like a sad baby clown. Talia had a natural talent for dancing and singing, and Tallyho had the social contributions of a dead cat. And the most distinguishable difference between Tallyho and her mother was faith. While Talia was very spiritual and completely loyal to the words and legend of the Goddess, Tallyho was secretly a little bit of an atheist, which is punishable by exile in the Caravan of the Sun. She bullshitted her way through her prayers and was never fully committed to learning the dances and songs that celebrated the Goddess.
She was certain that her mother was aware of her skepticism, but they’ve never had the conversation. And besides, Talia was far too busy headlining the caravan’s travelling carnival.

After Talia finished her last song, she peered toward the front of the tent at her daughter and raised her eyebrows slightly. Tallyho knew what that look meant, and she mentally kicked herself for forgetting to collect additional tips during the last song. She mouthed “I’m sorry” as she gathered the tip basket and began to pace the rows.
Talia, used to her daughter’s carelessness, was prepared to stall.

“You are all so beautiful. Thank you, for your kind applause,” she hummed. “I’d like to leave you with one more song. A very special tune that my mother sang to me.”

Tallyho rolled her eyes because her Baba never sang such a song. She chuckled to herself as she imagined how her senile grandmother would have loudly debunked such a lie had she come to the performance tonight. As she thought about her Baba she fumbled with the small amethyst necklace that was given to her as a birthday present so many years ago. Though Baba was loud and blunt, she was a rather sweet woman and often liked to give Tallyho small treats from time to time. Where a woman like her got such a necklace is unknown, especially since her Baba doesn’t work or have the stamina to mug anyone.

Once she collected all of the money she offered her mother a brief thumbs up before retreating to drop the admissions and tips off at the elders’ tent for redistribution. Any income that enters the caravan is turned in to the elders and spent based on the needs of the community. Tallyho never quite understood it, especially because a sizable amount of the community’s income comes from the hard work of only a few craftsmen and performers. But according to the elders, it is by the will of the Goddess that kinfolk share everything, even down to the clothes on their backs.

After the errand, Tallyho debated whether or not she would head back to the family tent. She heard from some young men in the group that the village nearby their settlement was pretty lively and that they had pretty good brews. But of course the blonde would have a harder time getting away from the caravan than the young men she spoke to. Growing up, boys were given more freedom and independence than girls were, so while Tallyho’s cousins had time to get into shenanigans, Tallyho was back at the family tent raking clothes clean under the careful surveillance of Baba.

“My flower, this is the third time you’ve forgotten the tip.”

Tallyho’s thoughts of escape were jolted by Talia, who was approaching the blonde from behind. Her mother was so comfortably wrapped in her shawl, that one wouldn’t think she lifted a finger today.

“Yeah sorry. I’ll do better,” Tallyho shrugged.

Talia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You always say that, but I’m not sure that you try…”

Tallyho cast her eyes to the back of her head and exhaled sharply.

Talia chuckled. “Yeah, OK. You don’t cook, you don’t clean. You don’t want to help with administrative things… What sort of wife will you be one day?”

“No sort if I’m lucky…”

“Now you know—“

“Yes, yes I know. I’m of age, the elders are currently matchmaking… It will probably be Jonas… Yadda Yadda.”

Talia crossed her arms, amused. “Okay glad to know you’ve listened some.”

“Listen, all I’m saying is that Jonas smells like potatoes. If I dedicate my life to massaging the feet of all the Babas in the caravan, may I be exempt?”

Both women broke into stifled laughter.

“Oh hmmm let me run that by the elders, yea?” Talia rasped. “Get to bed my dear, I love you.”
“Likewise,” Tallyho hummed. As she made a turn for the tent she smirked back at her mother who playfully shooed her away.


That night was a hot night. It was a miracle that Tallyho was even able to get to sleep. She tossed and turned under her linen-lined space in the tent, kicking the cloth off of her body as she stretched herself wide in protest. She dreamt of watching herself sleep. But not so peacefully. She was sinking into the ground, her body swallowed by the mass of quilts and cloth stained with her sweat. It all felt very real, she could feel the sinking-sensations beyond her dream. She let out a heavy gasp, expecting to wake in a frenzy but nothing came of it. She began to pinch her thighs, wondering if she’d feel anything. They hurt badly.

She began to worry that she was actually drowning, that her tent was set up over a big pool of quicksand. The sheets were barely holding her up above what she felt would be a very long fall. She couldn’t distinguish down from up, as she sank deeper she only saw black. Disoriented, she began to wonder if she was dreaming at all. The sheets gave way and she could feel herself flipping and twirling into nowhere. No dream is so vivid that it could simulate the kinds of flips Tallyho’s stomach made in that freefall. She wanted to scream but the air thrusted into her face so quickly that she could barely breathe.

And then suddenly, a breath.

She hung from the fork of a tree—leaves tickled her arms and cheeks, she was red-faced and disheveled. Her cotton white dress was crinkled and snagged awkwardly in the tree. And as familiar as the humidity in the air felt, something told her that she wasn’t home anymore.

She tried to comprehend her situation: She wasn’t in bed and she’d barely ever climbed a tree in her life— let alone one that was so tall. She looked down at her hands which dangled far above the smooth stone path below her. How high above the ground was she? Eight feet? Ten? Who knows? All Tallyho knew was that she wasn’t athletic enough to just jump down.
She touched her cheek. The texture of the bark left an imprint on her face that worked its way down from her brow to her jaw. How long had she been in this tree? Where was this tree? She massaged the imprint out of her flesh as she scanned her surroundings again.

It was an odd spread of land. Stony fountains and benches disturbed the expanse of grass. There didn’t seem to be many people around, but beyond the stone wall she caught sight of a dense stream of people pacing past one another in chaos. Parallel to their path were lines of odd metal contraptions that bumbled behind one another other, blaring and roaring. Tallyho later noticed that there were also people inside of the metal pods. She looked out towards the horizon—large glowing towers stretched above her like deities, the reflection of the sky was prominent on many of them.

“Ah!” Tallyho hissed as she clutched the necklace pressed against her chest. The amethyst was hot to the touch. The blonde furrowed her brows and draped the necklace in a way where it wouldn’t touch her skin. Then, defeated, she replaced her cheek against the bark. Was this a dream? Did she die? If she stayed still and closed her eyes for a while could she just black out again and wake up in her hot tent? She scanned her surroundings again to try to find a way down, but failing to overcome her initial bewilderment, she found herself drawn to the new, strange visuals instead. This place, those buildings, the people beyond the wall of this… Garden…? They didn’t look like anything or anyone Tallyho has ever heard of. She was mystified and also a little faint.

“What on Aires is this?” she huffed.