Thalassa's Memoria

The Thief of Ovations

Giving it to you for safekeeping, bro ~

The evening in Kasserin smelled of roasted chestnuts, expensive perfume, and lazy contentment. On the main square, at the foot of a marble statue of some forgotten hero, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. Adults walked past, wrinkling their noses in disgust. But the children, like iron filings to a magnet, had stuck to a strange cart painted in all the colors of the rainbow. On the cart was a tiny stage with a velvet curtain, and before it, waving his arms like a conductor of a drunken orchestra, stood the Storyteller himself. He was dressed in a worn but bright tunic, on his head a hood with a pompom, and his eyes laughed even when his mouth spoke the saddest words. – Hey, most esteemed audience ! Scions of noble blood and just plain good people ! He shouted, and his voice rang like a bell tied to a cat's tail. – Tired of boring sermons and high-minded matters ? Then at your service is the "Theater of One Rogue and His Wooden Friends" ! Tonight – a story not of kings and dragons ! Tonight – a story of a thief and a miracle ! He pulled a string, and on the stage, to the creaking of an old barrel organ, two puppets appeared. One – delicate, with long antennae and wings of silver foil. Lady Onua. The other – stocky, in a tattered Halovian tunic, with a cheerful, roguish face. Young Taos. Act One : The Meeting. The Storyteller moved the puppets so deftly that they seemed alive. – Once upon a time, there was a Leviathan lady named Onua.. He began, his voice becoming a conspiratorial whisper, making the children fall silent. – But not a monster, oh no ! She was the spirit of curiosity ! She watched from the skies as people down there bustled about, fought, loved, stole.. Especially one. Taos. A Halovian. A thief, but a noble one ! He'd steal from the rich – give to the poor. He'd put a bully in his place – help an old lady. And Onua, watching him, would only shake her head : "How can this be ? You are evil by profession – but good by calling ! That's a violation of all the rules !" The Onua-puppet danced around the Taos-puppet, while the Taos-puppet, not noticing her, crept across the stage toward a painted chest of gold. Act Two : Friendship. – And so one day.. The Storyteller continued, changing his voice to a gruff one for Taos and a light, ringing one for Onua. – Taos, fleeing from the guards, climbed onto the highest roof. And he saw her. Sitting there, watching. He wasn't scared. He waved his hand : "Hey there, sky-bug ! You're messing with my work !" And she said to him : "I'm not a bug. I'm Onua. And your 'work' is very strange. Why do you steal ?" And off they went ! He told her about injustice, about the hungry, about greedy rich folks. She told him about the winds, about the clouds, about how you can look at the world forever and never understand it all. They started meeting. He brought her pies stolen from the duke's kitchen (but the tastiest ones !). She showed him how sunbeams dance at dawn. He called her "my cloud with a surprise". She called him "my earthly chaos". Muah-muah-muah ~ Act Three : Trouble. The barrel organ played a troubled tune. – But, alas.. The Storyteller's voice grew sad. – Every fairy tale has its bad uncles in uniforms. Taos was caught. "Thief !" everyone cried. It didn't matter that he stole for others. The law is the law. They threw him in a dungeon and passed sentence : THE SUPREME PENALTY ! Onua darted across the sky, but she could not help. By force ? That would violate her very essence. She could only watch. And wait. Until the day of execution. The children in the square froze. One girl with dark crimson hair, sitting in front, stared at the stage without blinking. Her yellow eyes were still, like those of a little owl. Act Four : Escape and Chase. – And so the day came ! The Storyteller brightened, the puppets darting across the stage at a frantic pace. – Taos was led to the scaffold. But he was the best thief, after all ! At the last moment, he slipped out of his ropes, knocked down the executioner, and – off he went ! Run ! Run to the sea, to the high cliff beyond the city ! After him – a chase ! The barking of dogs, the shouts of the guards, the whistle of crossbow bolts ! The Storyteller mimicked the running, the heavy breathing, the sounds of the pursuit with his voice and the thumping of the puppets' wooden soles against the stage. The girl's yellow eyes darted across the stage, following every movement. Act Five : The Cliff and the Embrace. – He ran to the edge. Behind him – enemies. Ahead – an abyss and the raging sea below. Nothing. The end. The Storyteller froze. The Taos-puppet stood at the edge of the stage, representing the cliff. – And then he smiled. They say, the most daring and maddening smile in the world. And he shouted to the sky : "Onua ! If you can hear me – catch me ! One last trick !" And he jumped. The children gasped. – And in that very moment.. The Storyteller's voice became solemn and quiet. – From the heavens, like a silver bolt of lightning, she shot down. Not to stop his fall. But to fall together ! They met in the air, amid spray and wind. He embraced her, as one embraces one's dearest hope. She coiled around him, as a root coils around the earth. And in that embrace, in that final, desperate freedom, a miracle occurred – not a miracle of power, oh please. A miracle of choice. Two hearts, two spirits, two fates decided they would no longer be "he" and "she". They became "we". Taos the thief vanished. Onua the spirit vanished. Something new was born. Toa-Onua. Wild, free, cheerful – a child of the heavens and the streets, of law and lawlessness, of theft and giving. The barrel organ played a jubilant, mischievous tune. The Storyteller took a bow. The performance was over. The adults, with a grunt, dispersed, tossing copper coins into his hat; the children, chattering and jostling, also trailed off home – to eat dinner, do homework, forget. Left alone on the empty square was only her – a little girl with dark crimson hair, in a simple but clean dress. She slowly approached the cart. Her yellow eyes were still serious and attentively beyond her years. The Storyteller was putting the puppets away in a box. He felt her gaze and looked up. Their eyes met, and something clicked inside him. It was not just curiosity. It was... a resonance, very quiet, very ancient, like the echo of a heartbeat of the planet itself. – Ay, senior. The girl said quietly, but clearly. Her little voice rang like a crystal bell. – What happened to that kid ? To Toa-Onua ? Is he alive ? Where is he now ? I have business with him ! The Storyteller slowly closed the lid of the box, then pulled his hood down a little tighter, and crouched down to be on her level. His movement was smooth, almost soundless. – Oh, little star with eyes of pure topaz.. business, you say ? He whispered, and his voice now sounded quite different – a warm, velvety whisper, full of unspoken secrets. – You've asked a question worthy of the wisest philosopher... and the luckiest thief. Where is he indeed ? The Storyteller smiled, and in that smile was so much tender, melancholy affection that the girl froze. – He is much, much closer than you think. He reached out his hand, as if to brush a strand of her crimson hair, but did not touch her – he stopped, because at that very moment, from the far end of the square came a sharp, metallic shout : – Halt ! Freeze ! In the name of the Crown ! And immediately – the heavy, booming tread of several pairs of boots, the clanking of weapons. Guards. And they were charging straight toward them. The girl's yellow eyes flew wide open; the Storyteller flinched – not from fear, but from a clear, cold realization. The game had just ended, yes, but something else had also begun. The guards' shout still hung in the air when the little hand of this girl clamped onto the Storyteller's wrist with a force unexpected for such a fragile creature. – We gotta bolt ! She breathed out, and in her yellow eyes there was no panic – only cold, sharpened resolve. She was already darting toward a dark alley, dragging him along. The Storyteller allowed himself to be pulled, and on his face flickered a mixture of surprise and admiration. – Whoa, little one, you're a natural ! Pity, though.. He suddenly froze in place, as if his boots had been glued to the cobblestones. The girl nearly fell, snapping back from the tension. – Why'd you stop ?! She hissed, already hearing the boots clattering closer. – Wait, wait.. let me show you a little trick. For a special audience ~ His voice became playful, as before the most interesting stunt. He waved his free hand, and a strange shadow passed across his face. His light pink, tousled hair seemed to stir on its own, and then, throwing his head back, he threw off the hood of his bright tunic. The girl froze instantly. From beneath his hair, in place of ears, there protruded – no, not protruded, but fluttered – two small, delicate wings, covered in the softest pinkish down, with a pearlescent sheen. They looked like the wings of a giant tropical butterfly or a tiny, fairy-tale bird. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but in the corners of his lips played the most roguish smile in the world. The guards, pouring into the square, slowed for a moment, stunned by the sight. "What kind of freak is that..?" flashed through their ranks. – Whooa.. Was all the girl could manage, her yellow eyes now saucer-wide. – Not "whoa", but "WOW" ! He corrected, and in that same moment squeezed her hand. – And now.. let's go ! And he moved, ran – but not like any normal person. This was a run that did not obey the laws of gravity and architecture. He did not race between the streets – he danced with them. One leap – onto a low awning of a shop, a push off the wall – into a narrow passage between buildings, a somersault over a barrel – and they were on another street. The guards, whooping, dived into the alleys after them, but the Storyteller was always two steps ahead, half a beat faster. He did not use his wing-ears for flight – they just fluttered with delight and speed. He was a being whose element was freedom of movement itself – the grace of absolute confidence in every muscle, in every turn. Finally, with one elegant, impossible leap, he flung himself and the girl onto the sloped tiled roof of an old warehouse on the outskirts of Kasserin. The chase remained below, its cries lost in the labyrinth of streets. Up here, there was only the wind, smelling of the sea, and the huge, blazing sunset sun, sinking directly into the ocean's horizon. The Storyteller carefully set the girl on her feet and sat down beside her, cross-legged. His hood hung loose on his back, and his pink wing-ears slowly calmed, like the wings of a moth after a flight. The girl looked at him, catching her breath. Shock gave way to a sharp, burning curiosity. – You.. She breathed out. – You're Toa-Onua ! From the fairy tale ! The real one ! He took off his sunglasses, and she saw his eyes, the color of the brightest star, with golden sparkles – full of such unrestrained merriment and such ancient, deep wisdom that her head spun. – Yep, that's me, the coolest and most unique one there is ! He bowed, without getting up. – Nice to meet you, copy of a.. uh.. I mean, little listener with excellent taste ! He winked at her, and in his gaze flickered something serious, something protective. – You're lucky you stuck around. Or is it fate ? Did Brother wave his staff perhaps ? Ah, whatever. From now on, consider yourself as having a.. mm.. patron~! A fun uncle type who shows up when it gets boring or dangerous. What do you say ? The girl wanted to answer, but at that moment, from below, from the street, came an anxious but familiar voice. A woman's voice, full of fear and love, calling for a little girl. The girl flinched and ran to the edge of the roof. Below, in the twilight alley, a plump young woman in a simple dress was pacing frantically, wringing her hands. – Mom.. She whispered. Her little face twisted with worry and only a hint of embarrassment. She had forgotten about the magic, the chase, everything – because she was being called home. Toa-Onua watched her, and his eyes softened ; then he stood and walked over to her. – Well then, princess. Time to return to your castle. He placed his hand on her shoulder. – Remember : if it gets hard, scary, or just really lonely.. look at the sunset and imagine that some weird guy with wings instead of ears is somewhere out there, laughing and keeping his fingers crossed for you. Or stealing apples from an arrogant duke in your honor. Deal ? She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then, unexpectedly, she threw herself at him and hugged him around the waist. He froze, then gently ruffled her crimson hair. – Alright-alright, we'll meet again – it's not goodbye forever. You go down, and I.. He looked at the strip of sunset. – I've still got places to be.. There's a story out there where I need to steal a couple of good scenes ~ He helped her slide down the drainpipe into the arms of her tearful mother. Then he climbed back to the highest point of the roof, watching as the two figures dissolved into the evening twilight. The wind played with his pink locks and fluttering little wings. And then he slowly turned – not toward the departing figures, but as if directly through the page, straight into the space between the lines. His eyes, full of endless mischief and a hint of sadness, fixed on.. you..? – Huh.. Said Toa-Onua, his voice sounding as if he were sitting right beside you by a campfire. – You're still here ? Still watching the show ? Not a bad chase, huh ? Dynamic, with a bit of humor, stunts, boom-boom-pahh.. ah, pity you didn't see the looks on those guards' faces when they saw my "radar dishes" ! He sighed, theatrically placing his hand over his heart. – But, you see, here's the catch.. I'm not the main character. Not even a side character, to be honest. I'm that colorful type who pops up for a couple of pages, teaches someone something important (or just steals something beautifully), and then disappears into the sunset. I'm an episode in someone else's big, complex, serious story. And you know what ? He winked. And that wink was filled with such universal, friendly irony that it felt like he was sharing the biggest secret of the universe with you. – That's the funniest role in the world ! Because you have no responsibility for the plot. You just show up, do a miracle, and leave to applause.. or to the shouts of the guards. The main thing is to do it with flair. So, thanks for dropping by my humble performance. If you liked it – leave something to eat for an ever-cold friend.. or just smile. And me – I'll be going. Other stories, other rooftops, other sunsets await. Good luck out there, on your side of things – this won't be our last meeting ~ And with those words, he turned, took a step to the very edge of the roof – and simply dissolved into the last ray of the setting sun, leaving behind only a light, laughing rustle in the wind and the feeling that somewhere out there, in the vastness of endless plots, he had just swiped fate's spare smile.