The Duenna’s Journal
This cruise has been amazing. Eldest Sister was right when she told us how to get what we wanted from Matriarch. Right now all four of them are piled into the feather bed and Eldest Sister is telling them a story. It is one that she wrote for her brothers and sister. I must admit she does tell a good tale, and this is one she was inspired to create.
I remember so clearly when she wrote it. Matriarch was busily touring the Estates, and would brook no ‘interference’ from the ‘Children’ as she called them, although three of them were of marriageable age.
All of us were lounging around her rooms, and she was writing, swiftly that she had ink dots all over her hands. She would write, the pen scratching like a hurried mouse, and then read what she had written out loud to us.
This is her tale:
“Once upon a time a lovely and wise fairy was travelling through the worlds and she stopped at a particularly beautiful world. There were flowers blooming in riotous colours; creeping along the ground, weighing down the bushes they were a part of, creeping with their ivy up the trees, which were full of blossoms as well.
Clear, sweet water rippled over smooth pebbles in rainbow shades, and pale tinted water flowers floated in the still places. The breezes were soft and fragrant from all of the blooms, and the grasses that waved a lively greeting to the sun, sky, and clouds.
All day this fairy wandered this quiet world and found no animals, not so much a butterfly, or wee lizard. She felt this to be very sad, and she knew she could not leave the world as lonely as it was now. She began to make living things to inhabit and enjoy this world.
She stood in the water, and cupped handfuls up, breathing across the surface with loving magic. Each handful became a fish that leapt from her hands into the water, and swam away with bubbling flourishes of their tails. Some of them became coloured by the westering suns, and other were touched by the rainbows, and others were of the night sky, glistening black as they joined their brethren in the waters of life.
All night she rested, until the suns broke free of the tree line and spread their golden light through the branches of the trees. From these little rays of dawn light she made wee birds, who then chose safe branches to sit on and sing. And sing they did, filling the once-silent air with gaiety and music.
Other birds she made from flowers, gently kissing each bloom into brilliant life. These birds flew higher and deeper into the forest, and the raucous calls they made to one another echoed back to the fairy, and she knew it was good.
By evening she had finished all manner of flying creatures, not just birds, but insects, bats, and small furry things that spread their sides out and sailed on air currents from one tree to another. She slept on the soft grass while night birds called softly from the shadows of the forest.
The world was alive the next morn, birds were seeking fruit or insects for their breakfast, and the fish slipped through the waters, one would occasionally leap from the water surrounded by crystalline drops of water, then splash back into their home leaving froth and bubbles behind them.
This day, the fairy began to make creatures that crawled on the land, she plaited ropes of grass, long and sinuous, and called them snakes, and scatterings of small twigs were made into worms to care for the soil. Leaves she fashioned into lizard of all sorts, while water lily pads became frogs to live at the water’s edge. Evening found her watching the frogs and lizards settle themselves in for the night.
Tonight she had the night birds, the frogs, and toads singing her to sleep, and a light mist softened the outlines of everything. She dreamt of small furry things, skittering through the grasses and hiding beneath fallen leaves and grey-green mosses.
The new morning couldn’t come soon enough for the fairy, she was that full of ideas and plans for the daylight hours. She watched the coming dawn, awed by the slow advance of the light, in pastels clinging to the horizon in soft layers.
From wee clumps of moss, and flower heads she made the small, scurrying things that live in the safety of shadows and darkness. She gathered the fluff of grasses and made tree dwellers from them, long strips of bark she breathed life into and they became weasels, and rabbits.
She fell asleep that night, planning larger lives for the morrow, ones that would live longer than a season or two, and could be seen from a distance. Some of them she knew would be challenging, and that she would love them more for it.
At first light she began, taking the pinks of dawn and fashioning a flock of birds to feed in the shallows on long black legs. The early morning sky grew wings and stood still at the water’s edge, one leg aloft and waiting for an unwary fish.
From the barks of trees she fashioned things like foxes, fleet of foot and fearless of heart, eyes shining like black pebbles under water. At the edge of am endless grassland, she found a half-burned log and from this she made the first badgers, their long, low bodies camouflaged in the shadows, and long, sharp claws so right for digging.
The arch of a tree limb delighted her, and with those images she awakened the first antelope and deer, from lumbering hillocks of dark soil came the first buffalo. She held her breath in wonder as they thundered across the grasses.
Another tree gave birth to the horse, that glorious beast, imbued with power, grace, and beauty. From the bleached bones of an ancient oak she brought to life elk, stately and impressive, their racks spread over 10 feet from tip-to-tip.
A long golden rock was stroked into a big cat, lounging in the sun with a full belly. The depthless golden eyes and disturbingly large, sharp teeth proved that this species does not eat grasses or leaves.
The scud of dark clouds racing along the horizon, followed by a loud, mournful wind were her wolves. All the colours of clouds, with all-knowing eyes, the wolves howled to the moons sailing across the evening sky.
That night the fairy’s dreams were amorphous; yet clear as a dewdrop in the early morning sun. She knew that this was to be wondrous, with a magic, allure and beauty unmatched by any other animal. Something warm, soft, and gentle, to snuggle close and delight in their presence.
Through the day the fairy searched for the basis for this wonderful life that begged for life. Was it from the froth of the waterfalls? No, not there.
Could it be from the long curls of shredded bark, so artfully hanging from the tree? Her dream-creature was not there either.
All day she searched, finding not the beginnings of the new life waiting to be born. She sat in a wee glade, feeling dejected and helpless.
She picked up a fluff if thistledown, rubbing it into a lithe form full of grace and energy. She thought of the creature from her dream, the sweet buttings of silken fur and moist noses. In her mind she could her the song? Of this life, a soft rhythmic rumble that was soothing and hypnotic.
She felt the fur she held in her dreams, and warmth under that. There was a small, graceful form with dainty feet, weighting her hand down. Now she could see the most amazing eyes; clear, and in glowing colours, the shades of precious jewels.
A sweet trill of sound made her open her eyes, there, sitting in her palm was the first cat. As soft and white as thistledown, with whiskers made of spider webs. The eyes were the exact colour of sapphires, and looking up at her in adoration.
And this, my dears, is the tale of the Thistle Down Cat. “
Eldest Sister put down the journal and looked around her. Everyone, even the Duenna were curled together on the bed, sleeping blissfully. Eldest Sister’s face was full of love as she put the journal to one side before turning off the lamp and snuggled closer to her family.
The Veiled Lady's Cabin 