The Song Of The Mute

Cara heard the music begin when she was in the kitchen. With an armful of dishes, she stilled, cocking her head towards the door to better hear.
It was angelic; the harp strummed in perfect harmony, and the melody was so poignant….


And then his voice rose in quiet resonance.“Cara!” her mother said sharply, jerking her back to her present task. “Stop dawdling and get those dishes into the sink. We’ve a full place tonight, thanks to that minstrel—Riordan, was his name?—and the guests are clamoring for their food.”Cara nodded and hurried to the sink. Above the clattering of pewter and wood, Riordan’s song was drowned out, much to her dismay, but she determined to be quick about her chores so she might be able to enjoy more of the music. Oh, to be able sing and make such music…

Her mother handed her a couple plates of steaming food with directions on which table to bring them, and it was with great anticipation that Cara stepped back into the dining room. Her ears were immediately beset with another verse of Riordan’s song, and she smiled happily to herself, walking lightly over to a table. She set down the plates with a smile then tread back to the kitchen door, her skirt swishing with each step. Rather than reentering, she stood still for a moment, watching Riordan across the room.Cara caught her breath when his eyes momentarily met hers, and let it out just as swiftly when his gaze continued around the room. How she would love to be singing along with him…. But alas, that could never be. Her hand went to the base of her throat. This ensured that, she thought with some bitterness. Once again, tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned back to the kitchen. The guests needed their food, and it wouldn’t appear on their tables on its own.

Another verse began as the door shut behind her, and she could vaguely hear it as she took some more plates from her mother. The routine continued for the next fifteen minutes, until her task was finished and her mother allowed her a short break to listen to the last of the song.As the last strains of the note held out, she wondered at the choice of words. It was a ditty she had never heard before, so it was possible he had written it himself. He probably has a lady love somewhere, waiting for him to return to her, she thought. Raucous applause began, seeming to clash with the quietness of the song, and she looked down, her gaze landing on her hands. Callused, they were, from years of helping out in the tavern. Riordan’s lady probably had smooth, beautiful hands. But it was silly to think of such things. She was just a mute tavern maid from a small village; he was a gifted minstrel who would soon find his way to fame and glory in the courts of kings.
She squared her shoulders. So be it, then. She might not be able to sing with words like him, but she would sing a song nonetheless; a song that would last far longer than his presence here.
A smile graced her mouth, and words slowly came into her mind…the words to her song: the song of the mute.