Song for Marid
by Belinda Mellor
A Silvana Short Story
This gentle little tale is a glimpse into the background of some favourite ‘Silvana’ characters. It takes place in a hitherto unchronicled part of Fabiom’s story, when he is nine years old, at the time of the birth of his cousin Yan. Music, archery and the lure of the wildwood already imbue Fabiom’s life.
As Marid came through the open door, Fabiom – who was sitting against the low stone wall in the corner of the conservatory, his knees up under his chin – turned his face away and tucked his hands under his folded arms.
“What’s wrong, dear heart?” She dropped to her knees beside him.
He shook his head.
“Let me see.”
He did not move, but neither did he resist as she caught his wrist and pulled his right hand out. Dark red welts ran across the middle joints of his fingers. Without prompting, he gave her his other hand, similarly marked. She raised them to her face and rested her cheek against them, then pulled him against her.
After a moment, she heard him chuckle.
“Your baby just kicked me!”
“He does that,” she agreed, wondering who had punished Fabiom, and why. Would the day come when Tarison took a rod to the child growing within her, lefthishands smarting and bruised?
“What happened?” she asked quietly, guessing that Fabiom was reluctant to go into the house proper.
“I couldn’t play the music properly. I’m no good at it.” He sighed.
“Who did this to you?” Surely neither Tawr nor Vida would hit him for failing to learn a tune.
“My music teacher.”
Marid felt a wave of relief. “He must be very fierce!”
“She,” Fabiom corrected. He looked up, grinning. “She’s rather scary.” Then his smile faded. “She says I have to get it right by tomorrow, and I know I won’t.”
Marid shifted to a slightly more comfortable position. “I can’t see that making your hands ache is going to help you play better.”
“She says I can’t get any worse,” he said mournfully.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do: if your hands are not too sore, we’ll go and shoot a few arrows first. You beat me yesterday, which makes us even, so I have to try to beat you today! Then we’ll have a go at this music, see if we can’t at least save you more punishment.”
They carried their bows to the storeroom to put them away. As he was victor, though by the narrowest of margins, Marid told Fabiom he could choose the next competition between them.
“Listen.” She held the bow up and plucked the string. A single note reverberated.
“Mine’s different,” Fabiom said, after doing the same.
“That because it’s a different length. Do you know any tunes with just two notes?”
They twanged the strings a few times, laughing at the results.
“What are you two doing?” Tarison stood in the doorway of the storeroom.
“I’m learning my music,” Fabiom told his uncle.
“You’ve arriv
