The Jewel of the Five Kingdoms

Anastasia Lucendent Adela

  Despite spending the rest of my evening with the tribal boy I never seemed to find a moment to ask for his name.

I suppose I avoided the question on some level, subconsciously knowing that if I ask him he would ask me the same.

After dancing, he lead me to a stand where older women sat in white paint smeared aprons to cover the expensive fabrics of their celebration dresses. Bringing me to an open seat and a woman with a kind smile, I allowed him to tell the woman the certain type of face paint I would like. I giggle as the soft tip of the brush tickles my face while she skillfully paints the small detailed designs. Once they are done, the tribal boy waist no time fishing out a coin from his pocket and thanking her in a native language I cannot understand.

I try to insist on paying him back, surely one of my brothers had a coin in his cloak! Yet, the boy refused, insisting it was his treat. In the reflection of the little cottage windows nearby, I could catch glimpses of the swirling mask like designs around my face. I smile, realizing I look like any other tribal girl, and I blend in quite nicely.

  Offering his arm to escort me, the tribal boy leads me with relaxed strides to the growing circle of men and women around the storyteller. Her enchanting words could be heard over the distant beat of the live music and the cracking of the fire. Her singsong voice was hypnotic and compelled me to take a seat in the back, my eyes focused on her pretty round face and colorful dress fanned around her.

To my right, I spot the back of Charles head, his pretty blonde date close beside him. I smile, glancing at my tribal boy, who was close beside me on the small log bench.

As the storyteller elaborates on the tale, her hand gestures wide and her voice dramatic, the boy leans in closely. I can feel his lips brushing against the side of my face when he talks, and the warmth of his body makes me feel a million butterflies flutter in my stomach.

  "My mother is the Storyteller of my tribe," he says quietly, trying not to disrupt the people around us who were listing to the story now. I guessed they were too into the story to be disrupted by our whispered words, so I turn to face the tribal but with a curious smile.

"Really? Do you remember any of the stories?" I ask, very aware of the closeness of our faces. In the firelight, his skin was gold and bronze. I watched his eyes wandered to stare into the flames. He had a sad look in his eyes, and I realize for the first time that despite talk of a large family they were not here with him tonight. Perhaps he has been traveling alone?

"Yes, I remember most of them actually... but there is one that always stuck out to me," he says slowly as if he was unburying a memory he hadn't thought of in a long time.

I rest my head on his shoulder and look up at him. "Well, tell me the story," I say bluntly.

Stiff at my head against his shoulder, the tribal boy looks down at me in surprise. I snort, and he relaxed, his eyes trailed my face and for a moment it reminded me of someone else... someone whose gaze seemed to see right though me.

An odd coincidence, I decide, and before I can think further on the subjects the tribal boy begins. "Well, it starts with a young boy. He was distraught, and angered by an injustice dealing with a very close friend. To seek advice, the boy went to his grandfather for help." The tribal boy had the beautiful singsong voice that a storyteller should have. It was so calm and reassuring that it can pull you right into the story.

"He went to his grandfather and when he had explained the situation to his grandfather, an old and very wise man, he looked at his grandson with a new perspective." His eyes had wandered back into the fire again, and I stared there too, my gaze fixed on the flickering flames as he continued.