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@rusted-knight

Loved your post!

Liorah

I listened as the small man wove a tale of snakes, battles, and people small enough to enter the warren of a rabbit. The glowing clouds of smoke drew the story in the air, making it come alive in all its vivid details of bravery and peril.

When it was over, I breathed a sigh. I had gotten so caught up in the story that I’d almost forgotten about the grim situation. It was a smart idea. Perhaps I could help.

I sifted through the stories I knew, searching for one that could be told without too much context. The story of my great-grandfather’s coronation was funny but too short. The stories of the war in his time were too dreary and hard to understand. I finally settled on one of the stories my friend Sahar had told. It was a legend of the Kezbes and Nebatan, and though sad, it was pretty and memorable.

“Thank you, that was interesting. I know a myth of a Kezbe girl and the king of the Nebatan if you’d like to hear it?”

Nobody objected, so I continued. I tried to keep my voice even. I remembered how Sahar would tell the story, her voice rising to the greatest joy and falling to deepest sorrow as she got swept up into the highs and lows.

“Once there was a girl, of the tribe of the Kezbes. She was the most beautiful of all, with eyes as pale as seafoam and hair as dark as the night sky. Her name was Soraya. The king of the Nebatan heard of her beauty and traveled to the southern mountains to meet her and see if the rumors of her loveliness proved true.”

This was usually the part where Sahar would jump up and start acting the parts, tossing her dark curls and fluttering her eyelashes as the beautiful Soraya and drawing herself up to her full height as the king. I smiled.

“The king was enchanted by her beauty and kindness. He asked her to be his queen, for he had fallen in love with her. Soraya agreed and they were married not long after. He built her a beautiful palace, nestled in the woods, where she could hear the waves crash on the shore and hear the birds sing.”

I paused, imagining the palace. It was said that it was still somewhere, deep in the woods, though the tale had supposedly happened two hundred years ago.

“The king and his queen were very happy for a while, but unrest was brewing among the Nebatan. There were wealthy nobles who spread rumors of scandals the king had supposedly committed. He swore they were not true, but the hearts of the people turned against him, though Queen Soraya was spared of suspicion, for she was kind to everyone and gave freely of her riches.”

I bit my lip. This was the part I didn’t like. Sahar claimed she didn’t like it either, but I knew she enjoyed telling it, even though she felt sorry for the king and queen.

“One day, the nobles and a great crowd of the people attacked the palace. The king was murdered by his general, who was envious of his position, and the palace was destroyed. The colored panes of glass were shattered, the furnishings broken and looted. Only the queen was spared, for nobody would harm her. The queen wept among the ruins of her home and on the grave of her husband, for she had loved him deeply.”

I paused to let the tragedy of the betrayal have its full effect.

“It is said that flowers grew from the queen’s tears. The clusters of flowers drip like frosty tears, and though their smell is sweet, the bitterness of her tears is lethal to any who touch the flower. The flowers were named Soraya’s Tears, after the beautiful queen.”

I let out a breath, then continued, in a less dramatic voice.

“I have no idea how much of that is true, stories get twisted over time. But, there was a revolution among the Nebatan two hundred years ago, and many Kezbes do have pale eyes and dark hair.”