Read Online The Secret of the Emerald Sea by Heather Matthews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Matthews
Tags: Literary, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Literary Fiction, Teen & Young Adult, Mythology & Folk Tales, Fairy Tales
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because I was quite seriously ill and needed special doctors, and so we moved to the great City. I’ve come back from boarding school and I plan to stay in the village again, for my lingering illness has been cured. I wish you all a Merry Christmas!”
The crowd cheered and chattered among themselves.
“So handsome, and a Lord,” the girls twittered as their male companions looked crestfallen. The Cupid listened to the whispers all around them as people gossiped about the young man. Apparently, the elders in the crowd remembered Lord Stirling as a forbidding and cold, almost cruel, man who had lived in an imposing estate on a hill above the town overlooking the river.
Lady Stirling had been a quiet sort of woman, and often ill, just like her sickly son. The Stirlings were rich, and therefore somewhat of a mystery to the townspeople, for they did not need to involve themselves much in everyday village business, nor did they ever frequent the Crown of Thorns for a friendly pint.
The buzzing swelled and died down as the boy gently cleared his throat.
“I am fond of Shakespeare, and I have acted in several of his works at school.” He smiled shyly. “Not too well-acted, I am sure, but I tried, and I do love his words. The sonnet you just heard was one of his, and now I wish to recite another for you, if you will have me.”
The women erupted in cheers and encouraging claps. The older men clapped too.
“Thank you,” he said, again smiling the sweetest smile. “This sonnet is infamous, for some scholars do not believe it was actually written by William Shakespeare. I myself am unsure, but have always been intrigued by it nonetheless. It is a sonnet surrounded by controversy.” He laughed softly. “Perhaps the magic of Twelfth Night will somehow unravel the mystery of sonnet 153...
“Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian’s this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow’d from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper’d guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress’ eyes.”
In the darkness, Cupid sucked in his breath and reached back for his arrow, feeling for it in the darkness. He could not see which arrow it was he chose, but it did not matter, for he was in a trance, as though his whole life and purpose had suddenly been revealed.
He strung his bow in the dark hall as the people cheered and clapped, and he hit young Lord Stirling with his arrow. He could not help himself, and he wondered why he was not scolded or taken out and beaten. The arrows were so sharp. Jane still held him in her arms, as though everything was normal.
The Cupid hit his target. Lord Stirling plucked the arrow from his side and gaze at it in wonder. He dropped it on the ground and stumbled, as though in great pain. He rubbed his side where it had hit and slowly shook his head. Stirling’s eyes were slightly glazed. Then, as Blake looked around him at the crowd, the Cupid realized that no one had seemed to notice . They were cheering and smiling just as before .
* * * *
Blake felt confused and his feelings were terribly hurt. The pain in his side had changed to just a slight tingling. As he bid the crowd goodnight, feeling puzzled and crestfallen, he bent down to find the arrow and examine it. But it was gone.
He walked off the stage and wondered if he had been dreaming. When he pulled up his shirt to look for a wound, there was nothing, not even a reddened area. He sat down and he tried to forget that someone had shot him with an arrow at the village Christmas Pageant. He felt like crying.
The crowd cheered and chattered among themselves.
“So handsome, and a Lord,” the girls twittered as their male companions looked crestfallen. The Cupid listened to the whispers all around them as people gossiped about the young man. Apparently, the elders in the crowd remembered Lord Stirling as a forbidding and cold, almost cruel, man who had lived in an imposing estate on a hill above the town overlooking the river.
Lady Stirling had been a quiet sort of woman, and often ill, just like her sickly son. The Stirlings were rich, and therefore somewhat of a mystery to the townspeople, for they did not need to involve themselves much in everyday village business, nor did they ever frequent the Crown of Thorns for a friendly pint.
The buzzing swelled and died down as the boy gently cleared his throat.
“I am fond of Shakespeare, and I have acted in several of his works at school.” He smiled shyly. “Not too well-acted, I am sure, but I tried, and I do love his words. The sonnet you just heard was one of his, and now I wish to recite another for you, if you will have me.”
The women erupted in cheers and encouraging claps. The older men clapped too.
“Thank you,” he said, again smiling the sweetest smile. “This sonnet is infamous, for some scholars do not believe it was actually written by William Shakespeare. I myself am unsure, but have always been intrigued by it nonetheless. It is a sonnet surrounded by controversy.” He laughed softly. “Perhaps the magic of Twelfth Night will somehow unravel the mystery of sonnet 153...
“Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian’s this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow’d from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper’d guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress’ eyes.”
In the darkness, Cupid sucked in his breath and reached back for his arrow, feeling for it in the darkness. He could not see which arrow it was he chose, but it did not matter, for he was in a trance, as though his whole life and purpose had suddenly been revealed.
He strung his bow in the dark hall as the people cheered and clapped, and he hit young Lord Stirling with his arrow. He could not help himself, and he wondered why he was not scolded or taken out and beaten. The arrows were so sharp. Jane still held him in her arms, as though everything was normal.
The Cupid hit his target. Lord Stirling plucked the arrow from his side and gaze at it in wonder. He dropped it on the ground and stumbled, as though in great pain. He rubbed his side where it had hit and slowly shook his head. Stirling’s eyes were slightly glazed. Then, as Blake looked around him at the crowd, the Cupid realized that no one had seemed to notice . They were cheering and smiling just as before .
* * * *
Blake felt confused and his feelings were terribly hurt. The pain in his side had changed to just a slight tingling. As he bid the crowd goodnight, feeling puzzled and crestfallen, he bent down to find the arrow and examine it. But it was gone.
He walked off the stage and wondered if he had been dreaming. When he pulled up his shirt to look for a wound, there was nothing, not even a reddened area. He sat down and he tried to forget that someone had shot him with an arrow at the village Christmas Pageant. He felt like crying.
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