Seven Years -- by Julia

The Shoes That Were (Danced?) To Pieces

A great story can begin in unlikely places, for example, the bustling streets of Mariséa, after much of the world’s great tales have already occurred, but many more would be yet to come. Seagulls screeching overhead, a young man found himself in an unfamiliar city. Wandering without a purpose after the war had ended, the winds of fate had blown him to the kingdom of Gyth’s bright port capital.

“Ah, hello there, young man. You look a little lost.”

The soldier jumped in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry.” he said with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t see you there.” He was a bit lanky, with curly red hair that had grown rather long, and green eyes like the gray-green of his woolen soldier’s coat.

The old woman -- well, she wasn’t terribly old, and she did have a youthful light in her eyes, but she had seen many more years than the young man, and she found it easy to recognize the lost and purposeless former soldier. She smiled and patted his shoulder. “It’s quite all right, dear. What is your name?

“My name?” He looked confused, then shook his head and offered a hand. “Sorry. Roland is my name, I just haven’t had anyone ask me in a while.”

She chuckled. “I try to meet a new stranger every day -- but you are a particularly interesting one. Where are you headed.”

Roland frowned. “I hardly know myself.” He laughed. “ I had half a mind to discover what is going on with those rumors at the castle. Twelve nearly identical girls wearing holes in their dancing shoes in the dead of night? Curious enough.” He shook his head. “No, I’ll probably keep going. Perhaps I’ll find an opportunity someday…”

The woman looked surprised. “Oh no, don’t you be going anywhere just yet. The mystery at the castle? That is not so difficult.”

“And I’m sure you know everything about everything.”

“Watch what you say, boy, I know a lot of things about everything.” She motioned for him to come closer. “Now, listen carefully. When you go to the palace, do not drink the wine that the princess will give you at night, and pretend to be sound asleep.”

“Now why would I -- “

She put a finger to his lips. “Shush. Just follow my instructions. I know you are in need of a new adventure, and you had better not pass this one by.” She gave him a hard stare, and then turned away to dig through her basket of things. She pulled out a cloak, thin and gray. It shimmered in the corner of your eye in just the right light, like the mirage of a moonlit lake. “Take this.” she said. “With it, you can pass unseen anywhere, and it will also protect you from enchantments.”

Roland shook his head and pushed the offered item away. “I’m sorry, lady, but I can’t take this. I don’t know you, you don’t know me, and I don’t really want to solve any crazy mysteries. I’m a soldier, not a hero.”

“You’re not a soldier anymore!” She accompanied this with a jab of her finger to his chest. “But you could be a hero…”

“Fine. Not a soldier, but a fiddler. Still not a hero, though.” He laughed at the thought. “Not me, not ever.”

The old woman frowned. “You boys always think so low of yourselves. It’s a wonder anything gets done.” She rubbed her hand on the shifting fabric of the cloak. “Shame, really…” She trailed off, an odd sort of sadness coming over her like a cloud.

A little guilt can move mountains, it seems, for Roland reached out and took the cloak from her. “Okay, I’ll try to solve the mystery. But next time, don’t put your faith in a lying, cowardly fiddler.” He bowed, a low, polite bow. “Good day, ma’am.” With that, the young soldier -- no, traveler now, a wandering not-hero, headed towards the castle.