Quen Nim by Steve Shilstone Page B

Strange sensation to speak! My hands! I looked and saw that they were emerald green. Was that a silver flutter at my shoulder? I glanced. I did not know what was wrapped around me, but it was the silver cape! I touched my face. I felt the tiny soft wisps of the beard on my chin. I tugged it for the first time. I became aware of what was below me. A river tumbled down to leap in a falls from a mountainous height. I swerved. I found that I could control my movements. Down to the river. Down to the falls. Oh, the roar! The thunder. I saw the ledge! I swooped to land there. The cape came unclasped and fell at my feet. Wings! I had wings! Great membraned wings! I threw myself from the ledge and flew. I flew up, down, through the falls. I splashed to the river and swam. Back to the ledge I dove. I picked up the silver cape and held it in both of my hands. ‘I am Dabber of the West,’ I said. ‘I am home.’”
    The trickling of the tear down the ash green cheek of Nimble Missst reached the corner of her smile. Old Dabber rested his emerald green hand on Nimby’s silver caped left shoulder. Both of ‘em, grandfather and granddaughter, were lost in time.

Chapter Thirty-Three
    Ceremony
    The morning saw notched posts, formed poles, tapered beams, and smoothed planks carried into the courtyard and assembled into a wedding scaffold by the burly lumber wenches. Cartjaggers, having nothing important left to do since their vedling carts remained loaded and secured for departure, milled about observing the hurry of the pennant hangers, garland drapers, kitchen workers, cobble buffers, and everyone other else laboring wordlessly or flying to task. A fair two hours of span was all it took for the Castle to transform so such into a seemingly towered wedding cake.
    High from a turret sounded the Great Horn. Its singular long blaring note threw all citizenry and guests into a boil, sent ‘em rushing to assigned positions of observation. Having reached those so said positions with some amount of skidding, nudging, and rustling, the assembled crowd hushed and stilled. All eyes turned to the drawbridge gate. The nester musicians surrounding the wedding scaffold in a neat and precise square struck up the ‘Royal Tune of Blossom’. At the first chord, Zootch stepped forth from the tower flanking the drawbridge on the left. A gasp. Truth, for the greater number of the gathered masses, it was their first sight of a Blossom Prince in magnificent pummeled gold and battered silver finery. He advanced to the scaffold, head high, walking on the unrolled stripe of purple carpet fringed with gold. Up the steps to the topmost platform he boldly strode. He turned to face the drawbridge. The crowd turned with him. The music ceased.
    Down to the drawbridge descended the ladder stairs from Cloud Castle City. A moment of silence, of expectation, followed. Nimble Missst appeared in azure splendor. The nester musicians began to play ‘The Slow March of Weddings and Taffy Pulls’. The crowd forgot to breathe, so enthralled were they by the unfolding spectacle. Nimby, thinking Ridiculous, nevertheless walked the steps in time to the stately march. She walked the purple carpet, walked the scaffold steps, reached Zootch’s side, and turned to give a nod to a herald who waited for that very signal. The herald ran importantly to the ladder steps and waved up at Cloud Castle City. Now the flow of craggers and hollowites and various others streamed down the ladder steps into the courtyard and filled all the empty spaces there. Motty was among ‘em, spinning in dance and looping her tongue. A long minute of silence ensued, interrupted only by random coughs and one sneeze. A nester musician holding a hand harp stepped one pace forward and began to play ‘Enchanting May’, a song so such written long ago to honor Lady May of Orrun. Azure splendor again appeared on the ladder steps. Nimble Missst’s family glided