by Ana Salote
Gritty laughed. ‘You can really move for an...’
‘Old one,’ Yehvo finished. ‘My mother lived till her fourth naming and I aim to do the same. It does me good to see the wild Chee spirit in you. The Felluns steal it just like they stole our river.’ She took the girls to a quieter spot and squatted down with them.
‘When I was your age I tried out for a tumbler and I got in. I was glad of the food and the comforts, but I never forgot the old tales. There was a time before the dam when we were the water people. The yellow Cheelah river was our life blood. We lived on fish and cresses. We made reed boats and baskets and bowls lined with yellow mud. And the hats – I keep one still – you’ve never seen weaving so intricate. We wore kingfisher feathers next the black of our hair and cyana beads and real river amber. Our land was green as a vercat’s eye, and plaited with yellow waters. We knew about the dam of course. Our own people were forced to work on it, but somehow we thought it would never be finished, but the day came, the day came. This is how it was handed down to me.’
‘Grandma, we know the story.’
‘Do you, Grittee? There’s families who’ve all but forgot.’
‘I don’t know it well,’ said Gritty.
‘Listen then, and store it up for your own children. This is the witness of our foremother Wanderlee. One morning she went to the stream to wash but the water had gone. In the stream bed she saw only silt and breath bubbles from the creatures beneath it. Stranded in the margins were tiny bodies: rose, green and silver fish. Their eyes were like dull plates. She looked upstream. All along it there was no glint of water. She listened. The water’s babble had ceased. She dropped to her knees and watched the fish flipping in the mud. She saved some by laying them in rock pools, but there were too many fish and too little water. Sadness filled her.
‘Across our land the rivers drained to mud. Streams ran thin till there was just a wetting on the stones. Then the sun lifted the wet from the stones and their colour lightened. The water had stopped and the season was dry. The jewel brights we loved dried to dusty yellow, cracked and crossed as my old face. The rains came but it didn’t help for long. Without fish and herbs we lived on dry things: lizards, ants and scorpions.
‘I hold the stories like yesterday. I should be dead by now, but I won’t do it – not till I see the Cheelah flow again.’
‘Good,’ said Jefee. ‘It means you’ll live a very long time.’
‘Pah, if only you girls would listen more and talk less. Do you know why the Chee babble like they do? It’s to replace the sound of the water. We couldn’t bear the silence of the desert. But you young people waste your voices with silly gossip. When I was a girl I used my words against the Felluns. One of my rumours sent Grimjaw into exile. I even started the ruby hunt. All the husbeaus took off to Carpya on the strength of my word. You can make things happen with words, Grittee, if you’re clever enough. I still do what I can.’
‘You do more than you let on,’ said Jefee. ‘Grandma’s a fortune-teller, Grittee. The Felluns get spooked by people like her. They let her come and go between here and the camps. She knows everything about everybody.’
‘Not everything,’ said Yehvo. ‘That’s why we need people in there.’ She nodded towards the fort. ‘Girls with sharp heads on them, not silly like Jefee.’
‘Grandma, I’ve told you, I’ll do my best.’
‘How about you, Grittee?’ Yehvo asked.
Gritty pondered how much to say. ‘I’m willing. What can I do?’
‘Watch and listen and plant your words where they’ll do most harm.’
‘Turn your words into knives and all that,’ said Jefee.
‘Don’t forget, this is power,’ Yehvo waggled her long, dark tongue. ‘And write to me when you can. Jefee knows how. I got a Berd to teach me lettering and I passed it on to Jefee.’
‘I can write,’ said Gritty. ‘My sister taught me. She’s so bright she taught herself.’
‘Clever girl,’ said Yehvo approvingly. ‘And where is she? Stuck in the northern camps, wasting her brains on labour, I suppose.’
Gritty nodded.
‘Those are the girls we need,’ said Yehvo, ‘not silly chattermouths. The post goes through Ferralee.’
‘Who’s Ferralee?’ said Gritty.
‘Who’s Ferralee? You’re a dancer and you don’t know that,’ said Jefee. ‘She’s the diva, the dance teacher.’
‘Ferralee puts the letters into code,’ said Yehvo. ‘Should you ever need it, it’s three and three. Move every letter on three then reverse the first three letters of the word. Not difficult but it’s enough to fox a Fellun; they’re as dumb as they’re ugly. Coming from the north you won’t have seen many fullblood Felluns.’
‘They’ll spook you first time you see ’em close up,’ said Jefee, pulling comic faces in the firelight. Yehvo joined in. Gritty laughed and made some faces of her own. It eased the tension till the torches around the tumbling ring were lit and the musicians could be seen climbing the steps. Then the girls around them began to move.
Jefee jumped up. ‘Come on. I don’t want to be in the last round. We’ll aim for the middle.’
Gritty felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Yehvo’s voice close to her ear. ‘I see something in you, girl. Jefee is skittish. You have an older head. If you need help from outside, you can trust me. Ferralee I’m not sure about.’ Yehvo rocked her hand from side to side. ‘She has a foot in both camps. Tread carefully.’
Yehvo left them. ‘Don’t mind her,’ said Jefee. ‘She lives in the past. We can’t change anything.’
‘I thought that once,’ said Gritty.
The girls pushed through the crowd. The people smelled of smoke and sweat. Gritty saw disease, pain and hunger. It reminded her of Poria. Nondula was already misting into dreamland. Then she heard the drums and she had no wish to be anywhere else. She felt it through the ground. It came up her legs and blossomed out in her chest: boom, boom, boom in her breast bone. By the stars, she thought, I was born to do this. The music grew louder. They ducked the corral ropes and stood in line with the beaded, black-eyed Chee. These girls were lean and strong. One bent backwards to touch the floor, sweeping the sand with her hair; another held her thigh so high it lay alongside her cheek.
The first batch of girls ran lightly into the ring where a woman waited for them.
‘That’s her,’ said Jefee. ‘See, with the face veil – that’s Ferralee Wildorsa, the diva.’
Ferralee raised her hand and the girls began to dance. Above the ring their slight figures made flying shapes in the air.
The music stopped. Ferralee touched one girl who broke into smiles and skipped away. The rest walked off defeated.
‘Two more lots and we’re on,’ said Jefee.
The queue surged and stopped. The next group of girls showed amazing skill yet none of them were chosen. Gritty’s hopes were knocked. The queue surged again, taking Gritty and Jefee to the edge of the ring. They climbed the steps. The drumming resumed. Gritty didn’t know much after that. Splayed hands hit the floor; feet flew over heads and thudded down; bodies whisked by missing each other by a hair. In the middle of it all Gritty’s mind grew quiet. Her body merged with the music. When it was over she stood panting and nervous. She had no idea how she had done.
Ferralee walked around the ring, but how she walked. There was baited power in every line of her. She stopped in front of Gritty, took her wrists and lifted her arms. ‘Strong,’ she said. She moved away and did the same to Jefee. She beckoned the two to stand together. With her fingers she pincered the corners of her veiled mouth; then she tapped Jefee on the shoulder.
Jefee jumped with delight. When she was calmer she rubbed Gritty’s arm. ‘Sorry you didn’t make it,’ she said. ‘Hey, you did good. It was close. Come back next year.’
Ferralee chose one more girl. The drummers slung their instruments over their shoulders. Ferralee paused at the edge of the ring and scanned the crowd. She gave a slight nod, and coolly told the last g
irl that she had changed her mind. The girl screamed and covered her face with her hands. Ferralee came back to Gritty. She touched her shoulder and walked away.
‘You’re in!’ Jefee shouted.
‘Are you sure?’ said Gritty.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
Gritty gripped Jefee’s shoulder. ‘I’m in! Yes, I’m in!’
‘Look,’ said Jefee, ‘the seniors are coming for us.’
Two older girls came through the thinning crowd. They introduced themselves as Elfee and Myonee. ‘Don’t congratulate yourselves yet,’ said Myonee. ‘Fail your tests tomorrow and you’ll go straight back to the camps.’
‘What are the tests?’ said Jefee.
‘Best you don’t know,’ said Elfee, with a smirk.
A cart dropped them at the blank bulk of the city wall. They passed through Slortergate, the empty markets and the serf quarter with its tipped and tilted shacks. ‘Grandma lives here,’ Jefee whispered to Gritty.
Another gate led to the brawla barracks: endless rows of stone cubicles curiously empty of brawlas. ‘Where are they?’ said Febee.
‘I ’spect they’re all out on raids,’ said Myonee.
Lastly they came to Offelgate. Stone fists topped the pillars on either side. ‘Say goodbye world. You won’t be seeing much of it from now on,’ said Elfee.
The guards checked their C-shaped brands and waved them through to the inner fortress. Gritty felt like a glowing horseshoe quenched in a bucket of water. The thrill of getting in was replaced by despair. Each iron clang was like a pain in her head. How was anyone to get out of such a place?
‘Welcome to Fort Offel,’ said Myonee. ‘It’s the only time we get to use the front door. You won’t see many Felluns at this hour. If you do, stand back and bow your head till they pass.’
The entrance hall opened into a square. Three tiers of galleries lined the walls. Elfee pointed out the sangaries and carneries where Felluns could be seen eating and drinking. ‘That’s where most of ’em are after dark,’ she said. ‘Right, get your bearings. Akwon – the great waterfall – is that way.’ She cupped her ear. ‘Hear it rumble? Our quarters are that way with the Saltway, pits and slortery. Sizor quarter that way. Bungs – over there. Royal quarters – you can’t miss it. See the red carpet. That’s so the Bom can see where she’s going. You know most Felluns only see reds and blues. The Bom only sees red.’
‘Who’s the Bom?’ said Marnee.
‘Bominata – the Fellona, obviously. Wake up.’ Elfee signalled to the girls to stand back. A woman wearing a purple eye patch passed them.
‘Eye patches: they’re the latest fashion,’ said Myonee. ‘If you see anyone dressed in red, head to foot, it’s probably a husbeau out to impress the Bom. Anything red is rare and costly. Rubies are prized above all.’
‘Brawlas, stand back,’ Elfee warned. Five large Felluns stomped by, chests out and chins jutting. ‘They’re up for a fight,’ said Elfee. ‘Those hide collars they wear are to shield the soft spots in their throats.’
The girls crossed the square between the feet of statues and water mazes stocked with eels. Their light voices travelled to the high vaults like trapped birds.
Gritty mapped the layout in her head. There was an arch that Elfee hadn’t mentioned. ‘Where does that go?’ she asked.
‘That’s the way to the tower,’ Elfee answered. ‘You’d better hope you never have to go that way. It’s where they do the terrorgations.’
‘What’s a terrorgation?’ said Dulcee.
‘Don’t worry. It’s mostly for Nonduls: they tell the truth. The Felluns don’t like it so they try to force lies out of ’em. If you tell lies in the first place there’s never a problem.’
They left the square. The corridor was wide to begin with, then they passed through a door and everything shrank. The walls became thin partitions. The air was warmer and tainted with strange smells. Elfee opened the door of the drill room. Inside were the dim shapes of ropes, racks, benches and beams. Gritty forgot her worries for a moment and lingered entranced. Elfee moved on.
‘That’s our vittlerie,’ said Elfee. ‘We cook and eat in there. There’s serf dormeries below. Our place is on the next floor so we got air coming through. The diva bagged it for us. “Our bodies are our instruments” – that’s how she talks – “My girls need space to breathe and move.”’
‘She’s a force is Ferralee,’ said Myonee. ‘Make sure you do exactly, and I mean exactly, what she says.’
‘I got that already,’ said Jefee. ‘I felt like I’d been burned where she touched me.’
‘She’s like a tiger ready to pounce,’ said Myonee. ‘Even the Felluns don’t cross her. We’re up here.’ They filed up the stairs. ‘This is our dormerie; lavarie’s next one along.’
The dormerie was a long room with a high ceiling. The walls were fitted with three tiers of bunks. It was noisy with chatter. Elfee raised her voice. ‘This is Jefee, Grittee, Marnee, Febee and Dulcee.’ A dozen girls gathered and congratulated them. ‘No time for intros, Ferralee will be here any minute. Bag a bunk and stash your things in a cupboard. Not the tall one: Lil’s in there. She’s our roomie. You won’t see her tonight. She hides herself away early.’
‘In the cupboard?’ said Jefee.
‘That’s Dreshes for you. She sleeps standing up. She’d prefer a crack in a rock but a cupboard’s all she’ll get here. We got the usual rule: no light, keep quiet. Disobey and you’ll be back in the camps. Now make a half circle and wait for the diva. New ones go to that end.’
The door opened. The silence was instant. Ferralee addressed the new girls. ‘You are very fortunate,’ she said. ‘As Chee, this is the best life you can hope for. Remember we are not serfs, we are artists. The Felluns don’t see it which only proves that we are better than them. Remain free in spirit and you have no mistress but yourself. Hold yourself as though you are free, believe you are free and you are free.’
Ferralee waited in the doorway while Elfee doused the lamps. Gritty was thankful for the rules; without them there would be no sleeping at all.
Ch 12 Truth & Lies
Morning light meant one thing: permission to talk. The bed drapes opened as one and talking heads leaned out. Gritty watched the tall cupboard curiously, but no one emerged.
The new girls were in but they would be out again if they failed to meet the standard. They hardly knew what they ate for breakfast. They swallowed and gulped and hurried to the drill room to wait for the diva. Ferralee appeared. With few words and no smiles she led them to the site of their first test. They walked a narrow way alongside rushing waters. It was a gated gorge. Gritty added it to the map she was building inside her head. She scanned the sides of the gorge looking for possible ways out.
Ferralee climbed to a spread of wet rocks. ‘You think you can dance,’ she said, and waited for her scorn to change their minds; it didn’t take long. ‘You can’t even walk.’ Gritty already knew the truth of it. The others were about to find out. ‘Let me show you how,’ said Ferralee.
Water cascaded above and below them. The water had bored through the rocks leaving an arc of rock barely a foot’s width encompassing the spray. There was a long drop to the waters below. Ferralee strolled across it, sure as a goat but far more elegant. She stood at the far side and beckoned. The girls had no choice but to follow. They wobbled, they edged, they froze and went on. Febee fell. The other three gasped and looked down at the churning water. A head popped up like a cork. Gritty sighed with relief. It was her turn. She placed one foot on the slippery rock and brought the other foot behind it. There she stood shifting her weight and waving her arms. For months she had tried to do it; in the end she had despaired of ever walking like a Nondul. Now the training blossomed. She centred herself and took one step, and then another. There was the stillness inside. It had always been there. She walked across the bridge.
Ferralee smiled to herself. ‘Grittee, stand with me. The rest of you do it again. I chose you all for a reason.
This time relax and believe in yourselves.’
The girls tried again.
Ferralee shook her head. ‘You must master yourselves, then the Felluns cannot be your masters.’
She sent them back onto the bridge and made them stand evenly spaced along it. Then, one by one, she told them to dive off. Some faces showed fear, others determination as they plunged. When her turn came Gritty didn’t miss a beat. She swooped down like a bird and came up swishing her head and scattering spangles.
With their wet dresses sticking to them, they returned to the fort, not daring to shiver or complain.
For the next test they joined the seniors in the drill room. Gritty’s confidence was growing. Elfee demonstrated table stance. Twelve girls copied her. Gritty thought it looked easy. She raised her arms and bent backwards letting her hands drop to the floor.
‘No, no, no. Stand up.’ The diva’s voice had a resonance as though she spoke from inside a bell. ‘You are missing the point. This is all about strength and control. Elfee, show them again.’
Elfee put her hands on her hips and bent backwards very slowly till her head almost touched the floor. Only then did she put her hands down for support.
‘She is in control. Do you see? She is not dropping bits of her body on the ground like weights. Anyone can drop things. And look at this shape. Hips sharp forwards, belly flat. Like a table.’ Ferralee leaned on Elfee’s belly. ‘I could dine from this.’
The girls tried but their spines were too weak.
‘Frames,’ Ferralee pointed to the racks suspended from the ceiling.
The girls were made to lie inside the frames on their stomachs with their backs arched like snakes curling upward about to strike.
Elfee snapped cuffs over Gritty’s wrists and lit a torch beneath her face. ‘Relax too soon and you’ll be eating fire,’ she said.
After a while Gritty’s neck and back locked in a spasm. She eased down but the flames forced her up again. The pain grew.
Febee gave in. Her chest was burned as it smothered the flames. Ferralee ended the test. Gritty brushed at her singe-marked dress.