Folly of Wise Men

Chapter - 8 The Act of Never Letting Go

Mihai took a seat as the merchant stepped onto the stage to introduce the famed mantravid storyteller named Nalini, who had arrived to the stage as a last-minute addition after the merchant learned of her presence.

She was a woman from the south with a willowy figure, smooth dark skin, and twin embers nestled in an almond frame

"Why is everyone so beautiful here?" I blurted out without thinking.

"Didn't your master tell you anything?" Mihai asked, doubt in his eyes "Has your master not taught you about the ways of the world? It's often expected that female performers be beautiful. I've heard that some surgeons can help achieve that, for the right price, of course."

"Does that mean her beauty isn't natural?" I asked.

"Why does that matter? These women already have a hard time, so let's not judge them for trying to survive."

"I am not judging: I am learning."

"Learning!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Where do you come from?"

I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts before responding. "A place where all these lights," I gestured at the opulence around us, "could never reach."

"Ah, you are from the tribal region. That's an answer, I can accept."

Ismene hushed in a quiet tone, 'Shut up, Mihai."

The storyteller waited until pin-drop silence filled the air. Then she built up anticipation by standing as still as a river stone.

She produced a flute seemingly out of nowhere, and the audience oohed and aahed. When she brought the flute to her lips and the melody wafted through the air, her sun gaze fell upon us, causing men to think about renouncing their sacred vows and women to cautious.

Her music was pleasing to the ear, like the melody of a magpie. Each note struck our hearts precisely, filling us with a sense of longing for a bygone era, a forgotten age, a time of naivety.

"Sahebs and Sahebas. My name is nalini, your humble storyteller." She said pacing from left to right on stage. "You want to hear a story?" She asked expecting no answers.

"A tale of three men who succumbed to human flaws. A tale of their guide who resisted temptation. I'll tell you all of it. All that I know," she stopped pacing and walked to the edge of the stage.

"That is what you want, isn't it?" She wasn't asking anymore. Her voice had ensnared us into her web and made us believe that the story was the most important thing at the moment.

She paced away from the trolley, playing the flute to unlock the secret prison within, reserved for isolation and the presence of trusted ones.

"Listen well, for we shall journey back thousands of years before our time, to an age of moral degradation when righteousness began to decline and moral values started to diminish."

Her assistant took two rectangular blocks from the trolley and placed them parallel to each other at the end of the stage. She turned around, and the two blocks transformed into two equal-sized monoliths, so big that they were only a few inches away from touching the ceiling. Her assistant tossed a block to her, and the storyteller hurled it between the monoliths. The block increased in size and floated in the air. Each side had markings on them that made the block stick to each monolith. Even if the object changes its shape, the markings stay the same, ensuring it remains in place.

Back then, I did not know the basics of magic arts and considered them otherworldly. However, it isn't complicated; what's truly complicated is to pull off such a remarkable performance without losing focus.