Open An Unforgettable Play

[Noven]

He was standing at the edge of paradise, a vast sea of green sweeping out beneath him to stretch infinitely in every direction. Out on the horizon, Syna's near-evening form dipped lower and lower, simmering like an ooze of hot orange yolk along the landscape. Exotic bird calls punctured the air with palpable urgency. Come back, come back! The Dark is returning...they seemed to cry. It reminded him of matrons with their careworn features popping into view before doorways, calling their charges back as evening fell. The thought was somehow at once familiar and disconcerting. As if it and his current surroundings clashed at the mere sight of each other.

Then Syna sank under for good, and night was upon the land in earnest.

Noven looked up to see Leth and his thousands of evening companions, their light shining stronger as the backdrop of sky grew blacker. He'd never really taken the time to look up before; there was always so much to cope with down below, to the sides, or straight across. But, now that he had his head tilted and eyes wide, he wondered for the first time in a long time if the gods truly did dwell up there in the celestial canopy of the world.

Stars littered the sky like so many diamonds carelessly strewn by some jaded heiress, while all around him life grew purposefully silent. Across his bare, untattooed skin, he could feel the warm touch of a jungle breeze, bringing with its cooling, sticky air a dozen memories of ritual fires, leaves bigger than his head, and faces both loving and frightening muddied by the passage of time. Nov didn't wonder how he'd come to be here nor why he felt so at ease. He just knew what he knew. This was home, and this was where he belonged.

Or was it? Because if it was, then why did he feel such a looming sense of dread?

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, COME ONE COME ALL!"

The man who was a boy just moments before snapped his head back. He could hear a great din somewhere within the mountain, a clamoring of bustling bodies and hushed excitement. Meditative peace broken, Nov loped down from his perch and across the tropical landscape without a second thought, determined to find out what had disturbed his otherwise tranquil night.

His bare feet made almost no sound across the soft earth. As he drew near, the voice grew louder.

"ONE NIGHT ONLY, COME SEE FOR YOURSELVES! A TALE OF ROMANCE AND WOE, OF LOVE AND BETRAYAL!"

Nov stopped by a massive, grandmother tree to listen. What was this horse shyke? And why had it come all this way into the jungle to just to throw on a sappy stage show? Peering around the smooth bark, he could make out lights and hear the clinking of mugs. Well, gods be damned. A tavern, it seemed...right in the middle of his mountain.

The announcer was still shamelessly advertising away as Noven seriously considered the merits of setting the entire establishment on fire. He didn't need his haven marred by such grotesque revelry; things were turning bleak enough on their own. But thinking about fires only intensified his unease. Something about ritual flames...special ones, large ones. Fire made just for him. It wanted him. They wanted him, to claim as their own. And the screams of his...of his mo--

Someone was coming. He ducked behind the tree, heart pounding. By the sounds of slurred curses and bawdy singing, Nov guessed it was a drunk, stumbling his way to a much needed piss. A plan began to form in his mind.

As soon as the unsuspecting man lurched into view, he grabbed him by the neck and suppressed him into an armlock. Half a chime later the drunk was unconscious and Nov stripping him of his shirt and trousers. He couldn't very well go in wearing nothing but a loincloth. People would notice.

Clothed in seriously ill fitting garb but determined nonetheless, a much more sober version of the stumbling drunk returned from the jungle. He entered the stifling atmosphere of the tavern and looked for a place to observe unobstructed.

[Kiva]

This was not the jungle she was used to. This place was foreign. Strange. Kiva moved quickly across the landscape, her bare feet silent against the cool earth. The wind blew a gentle breeze, and her sheer skirt billowed behind her. Her attire was out of place, with her hair in an elaborate braid, and a head piece made of delicately engraved bone rose from her crown in pride. Down her arms were symbols in a foreign language she did not recognize, painted neatly down her arms. She felt exposed.

She kept walking, not sure where she was going or why. She wasn't controlling her own body, but she was more like a spectator. There was something. Something was coming. There were lights in the distance. Music. She followed the sound, a beating in her heart. She was late. She was late to the festivities. Kiva began to run. Like a sturdy okapi, she leaped from the wilderness, and into the clearing where the busting building resided.

Kiva heard the shouting of some announcement, and she watched as a couple passed. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed the husband's arm, "Where is the door?" she asked, but her words came out in Myrian. The man didn't understand her. He pulled away, confused and protective of his wife. Kiva tried again, struggling to remember common, "The door. Where?"

The two shuffled away from the strange woman in the head dress and Kiva began to grow frustrated. She looked around, eyes bouncing around the faces. Not one was familiar. She sighed.

"There you are! Where have you been? It's time! It's time! Come now. Where are your shoes?" A man moved towards her, rushing her. Kiva had a sense of understanding. He was her... employer? She had been searching for him. Relief washed over her before she was lead towards a stage where a performance was to be done. The Myrian stopped, and looked up at the stage. She looked over to the man who stared at her expectantly.

What did he want her to do?

[Noven]

The moment he stepped through the crowded doorway, a hand pulled him through a set of heavy, crimson curtains and into the dim clamor of backstage theater. Bodies moved and harsh whispers flitted from one corner to another, though he could see nothing beyond dark blobs of heads and shoulders. It was disorienting...yet familiar.

"You're late," a voice hissed. "Where have you been?"

Noven thought he knew that voice. Where did he remember it from? "I--"

"Nevermind, it doesn't matter." Those same set of hands guided him by the arm with just a hint of roughness--likely from pre-performance nerves--and led him into a cramped little dressing room. They felt careworn and feminine against his skin. Warm and dry, like sun warmed fruit. He could almost remember who they belonged to, if only he could see her face...

"Here, put this on. Be quick about it. Show starts in five."

The velvet hands left his arm, but he could feel the speaker pause before pulling completely away. One hand returned to place a soft caress against his cheek. "You're going to do great, love. Don't worry about the crowd. Just do what you do best, like we've practiced."

And then the woman was gone, taking with her a warmth and tenderness Nov hadn't even realized was there until it was gone.

Not knowing what else he could do, he followed her instructions and donned the costume. It was fitted perfectly for his frame, as it should have been, and when he looked down at the modest but finely tailored cloth, he deduced his role in this play would be that of the merchant's assistant. There was no hint of doubt, no moment of uncertainty. He just knew.

For some reason, Nov felt like he was too big for the role. As if he'd done this long ago and right now, being full grown, it didn't feel quite right. But the cues were being called and people rushed toward the stage. The curtains would be opening any tick now; everyone had to be in position.

The young man let himself get swept along with the rest of the performers. A hushed, excited murmur could be heard from the crowd on the other side of the thick fabric. Suddenly, without warning, everyone began spilling out onto the stage. Nov looked around, utterly confused. The final cue had never come, yet somehow everyone knew to begin all at the same time, and it left him scrambling to keep up with the others. He took his position somewhere on the side, where he would wait for the merchant--his employer and mentor--to make her well-timed entrance. Who would be playing the merchant tonight, he hadn't the faintest idea. But such was the nature of stars. They came and they went, shone Syna bright before winking out in the blink of an eye.

What he did know was that whoever took the role tonight would have to be someone formidable. The captain and veteran merchant was not a soft character, and the playwright was always searching for the perfect actress to play her.