by Melissa Mead
"I do!” Miska stroked the velvet of the cushion. “So soft! And I can see the stars—I haven't counted stars for a long time. Thank you."
Lindi beamed, reassured. “Tomorrow I'll show you Aunt Doria's gardens. There's nothing blooming yet, but there are rose bushes, and lilacs, and..."
"There you are, girls!” Doria herself stood in the doorway. Without her furs, in a fine but plain cream-colored gown, and her hair loosened to fan out in short, graying curls over her shoulders, she looked more grandmotherly than ever. “Are you ready for some supper?"
"Yes, please, Aunt Doria."
Miska stood up to follow, and to her surprise, staggered and found herself clutching the window frame.
"We've worn you out,” Doria declared, self-reproachful. “Supper in bed for you. I'll get you one of Aldinan's nightshirts—it'll do for a sleeping-gown until we can get you a proper one.” She shooed her protesting niece out the door.
Miska climbed onto the bed, nearly sinking into the feather mattress. Moments later, Doria was back with the nightshirt and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup.
"Leave the bowl on the nightstand when you're finished. Someone will take care of it in the morning. If you need anything, Lindi's in the next room and we're across the hall. Goodnight, dear."
Miska drank the hot soup slowly, leaving the spoon on the nightstand. The soup had carrots in—and potatoes, and beans. It wasn't musty, either.
She changed into the nightshirt, folded her cloak carefully under the pillow, and fell asleep as soon as she slipped between the lavender-scented sheets.
* * * *
"Now?"
"Let her sleep. Be patient."
Sleepily, Miska opened her eyes, puzzled by the expanse of flat white ceiling above. No rippling stone or pendants of stalactites ... no ceaseless hum of background voices. No familiar, earthy smell of her mossy bed ... just a whiff of lavender.
Lavender.
She came fully awake, marveling at the beauty of the little room in daylight. There was a white wicker bookshelf in the corner—she hadn't seen that. On top sat a little blue and white vase, with the lavender, and an artfully preserved golden rose, standing jauntily inside. She tossed aside the covers, slid out of bed for a closer look ... and dropped six unexpected inches to the floor, landing with a thump.
"Are you all right, Miska?” Lindi called from beyond the closed door.
"Fine, yes.” She wrapped herself snugly in her cloak, picked up the bowl and spoon, and ventured outside the room. Instantly, Lindi bounced into the hallway.
"Ready for breakfast?” Lindi looked more closely and covered a smile. “That's Uncle Aldi's nightshirt.” Lindi herself looked splendid in a violet satin dress, with her shining black hair decorated with pearls and silk violets.
"I have no day-shirts,” Miska said simply.
"Wait just a moment.” Lindi ducked into the next room and came back with an armload of teal and ivory satin. “This will be a bit long, but you can tie the skirt higher, and the overdress will cover the extra.” Seeing Miska's bewildered look, she added, “The buttons go in front."
"Thank you.” Miska found herself quickly divested of bowl and spoon, and heaped with the slippery fabric. “Where ... Where are the wash-pools?"
"The washroom's up those stairs, on the left.” Lindi pointed. “Oh—the crystal toilette bottles are Aunt Doria's, but the ivory ones are mine. You can use them, if you'd like."
Thoroughly confused, Miska found her way upstairs, and spent what seemed like hours puzzling over pumps and pipes, sashes and ties and buttons. Her own wooden comb seemed a blessing of simplicity.
The little bottles held a myriad of potions, scented like jasmine, lilies, bergamot, roses, and mint. Miska happily sniffed them all, and combed a drop from each one into her hair before braiding in her ribbons. Similar ivory jars, with tiny brushes in the lids, held powders in various shades of brown and tan. Miska eyed her own face critically in the mirror and used the smallest brush to trace fine, elegant beauty marks along her nose and cheekbones. She smiled. Nothing too showy, but any Kankenni would be proud. When everything was tucked and tied in what she hoped was an acceptable manner, she followed the scent of hot pastries to the dining room and froze, staring. Dishes covered the table—enough for a Wondermaker's Day feast, and more. Loaves of bread, still hot, sweet butter, a platter of eggs with slices of red and green pepper on top, rainbow piles of fruit...
"Are ... Are there very many others coming?” she ventured.
Doria, Aldinan and Lindi all turned, sniffed, and coughed.
"Just us,” said Lindi. “Why?"
"My, what an ... unusual perfume,” Doria commented through her napkin.
"Lindi was kind enough to share.” She hesitated. “I've never tried perfume before, myself. It seems a bit strong, but it's how Lady Myringa..."
Aldinan choked on his laughter. “Myringa! Miska, my dear, don't take poor Myri as your guide for anything!"
"Especially style.” Doria looked at her husband. “I'll wager that if Myri had gotten Thanli to marry her, she'd have suffocated him. And I do mean literally."
"Most people use less. Much less,” Lindi commented. “And only one kind at a time."
"Then ... will you be offended if I wash some of it out?"
"Please do! And you've got something on your face, too."
"They're beauty marks. I drew them."
The humans all wore the same look of benign incomprehension.
"All Kankenni have them. Except me,” Miska explained. Now it was her turn to be puzzled. Illyana would have said the marks were elegant. “I'm plain-faced."
"You're pretty enough without them, dear,” said Doria gently.
They weren't mocking her; Miska could see that. Reluctantly, she rubbed the powder off with her napkin and hurried off to stick her head under the pump. When she returned, dripping but less exuberantly floral, everyone looked relieved.
"We saved you some egg and fried bread,” said Lindi, mopping up the last bits of her own. “And there's lots of fruit in the basket."
Miska forgot her regrets at being plain-faced again and marveled at the fruit basket. Abri had been right—no peaches yet—but there were tangerines, lemons, oranges, and grapefruit, and strange exotic melons with purple stripes. Not a blemish on any of them. Almost reverently, Miska selected a lemon from this treasure trove, halved it and sprinkled it with pepper.
"Ew!” Lindi wrinkled her nose. “Pepper on lemons?"
"My Dadi liked them this way too,” said Miska, happily sucking on the childhood delicacy. “Although Doddi Jakki always threatened to stop bringing them if he kept ‘spoiling’ them."
All three Humans looked dubious. Miska decided not to ask if they had vinegar for the oranges.
Miska longed to dash out and search for Kimo right away, but Lindi's Aunt and Uncle, seeing how she squinted in bright sunlight, dragged the pillows and blankets off her bed to nest on the floor, and jumped at the rumble of passing wagons, hesitated to let her go out. When Miska took matters into her own hands and climbed out the window, she only succeeded in panicking her hosts. So for the first week she bowed to courtesy and sat by the green room's window every morning, puzzling through Lindi's books and growing accustomed to full daylight. At the same time, she watched Lindi. The girl was ordinarily as graceful as a cat, but at times she would hesitate, with the same frightened look Miska remembered from the Elders’ Mirror, and stumble, or drop her book, or cry out. When Lindi nearly stumbled into the fire one day, Miska caught her, sat her in the window seat, and waited until the girl's vision cleared.
"What did you see, Lindi?” she asked, calmly curious.
"Motes first. Then two places.” Lindi rubbed her eyes, and blinked. “Here, and ... well, here, but with trees, growing out of the carpet! No wonder Cara ran away—I'm crazy!"
"No.” Miska smiled. “You're seeing the Second World. You're growing up, but like the Kankenni do. Perhaps I can help."
Miska
taught Lindi how to adjust her vision, so the girl only saw the Motes when she chose. She told her stories of Moshi the Shapechanger, and learned the changed rhythms of Human language from Lindi's questions. The Human girl absorbed everything Miska taught her as quickly as a Kankenni child would learn from the Elders. In her delight at being the teacher instead of a rather clumsy student, Miska told Lindi a little about how she'd come to the Human City. Lindi didn't understand.
"You walked right through trees and things?"
"No—the Second World is a different place.” Miska looked around, and spotted her open bedroom window. “Go into your room and sit on the bed."
Looking puzzled, Lindi did. “Now what?” she called from the next room.
"Wait.” Miska climbed over the windowsill, ran across the grass outside, and climbed back in at Lindi's window, enjoying the girl's look of surprise.
"See? I went from here to there, and I didn't walk through the wall.” She grimaced. “I did hit my knee on the windowsill, though."
Lindi shook her head. “I still don't understand, and that was really strange.” She jumped off the bed. “Let's go outside—through the door, not the window! Uncle Aldi got us kites."
Doria's gardens still lay shrouded in last year's dead leaves, but pale green sprouts poked up in the flowerbeds, and most of the trees sported plump buds. The brisk wind smelled less of frost, more of earth. Miska stood in the shadow of a leafless maple, watching Lindi tie strings to each kite.
"Which one do you want?” Lindi held up a kite in each hand: one vivid blue with white stars, the other a swirl of purple and gold. Sunlight glowed through the silk.
"The starry sky one. How will we make them fly?"
"I'll show you. Hold the string, and when I say go, toss it up."
It took them many tries. The kite dove into shrubs, and once into a fishpond. They were both choking with laughter by the time they got both kites flying steadily. Miska squinted up at hers, grinning with delight. “They're alive!"
"Not really.” Lindi pulled her kite out of the beginnings of a dive. “I think mine has a mind of its own, though."
"The Motes like them. See how they follow the kites, like a tail?"
"You're right! I wonder why?"
Miska tugged on her kite string, relishing the answering pull. “It's like Worldwalking. Your body stays with the ball of string, and you go flying!"
"What if the string breaks?” Lindi teased. Then she froze, breathing in shallow pants. Her hand clenched the ball of string.
"Lindi?"
Lindi crumpled to the ground. The kite flapped loose and lurched into a tree, unnoticed. Miska dropped her own kite and knelt by the girl's side. Lindi sat up, bracing herself with her hands.
"I'm all right.” She brushed the mud off her dress and made a face. “Not again! I didn't think that would happen any more."
"What did happen?” Miska offered her hands, and the girl climbed shakily to her feet.
"A really bad spell. The kind with a headache first. There were so many Motes I couldn't see, and someone was calling..."
"Calling? What did they sound like?"
"I don't know. I'm not even sure if I heard a voice, or felt it ... I felt like someone was hunting ... Never mind."
Miska drew away Motes until the pained look vanished from Lindi's eyes.
"Thank you, Miska. Where are our kites?"
Miska pointed to the top of a nearby evergreen. “There!” Both kites hung snared near the top, torn and battered. Miska sprinted across the lawn, leapt for the lowest branch, and started climbing. Ten feet up, she stopped and looked down. Such a view! Doria's garden spread out below her in a brown and white patchwork, and she could just see a bit of the street. Just enough to watch the people passing by, while they couldn't see her. There was a lady walking two silky reddish dogs on a string, a couple holding hands, two men in gray...
Temple servants, like Juliar? They must be. Still, something about the way they stood, their gestures, made her shiver. If she could only see the backs of their cloaks! She inched farther along the branch.
"What are you doing?” Lindi shouted. She hurried to stand beneath the tree. “Come down! You'll break your..."
The branch snapped. Miska dropped to the ground and sat stunned for a moment, shaking her head. “I had no idea those trees were so prickly!"
"Are you all right? We should go inside."
"Oh—yes. I just hate to leave the kites hanging there.” Miska watched the abandoned toys flap brokenly overhead, and shivered. More bothered than she could explain, she followed Lindi back to the house.
* * * *
For a few more days, Miska stayed indoors and devoted herself to learning Human ways. She learned to sit on chairs, rather than table edges, banisters or hearths, when Humans were present. To her great delight, Aldinan took her into the kitchen and showed her how he used the enormous iron stove to transform the pantry's endless bounty into a feast. At last, after Miska had tripped yet again over a borrowed skirt, Doria took them both into the High City's market center—a curving row of shops near the Temple.
"First stop, ladies!” called Doria from the front, next to the coachman. She dismounted before the driver had quite finished tying the chevrals to the hitching-post. Before them stretched a long row of granite buildings. Doria pointed to one with a purple-striped awning.
"Miss Foster's!” Lindi clapped her hands. “You'll love this, Miska. Mother and Papa took me here a long time ago, when I was little. It's as good as anything in Kivinan."
"Hold out your hands, Miska,” Doria added. Miska did, and Lindi's aunt handed her half a dozen pearls.
"Are these trading stones, Elder Doria?"
Lindi laughed. “Stones? How do you pay for things at home?” She pointed to a twist of copper, threaded with pearls, woven into a twist of braid just over her left ear. The pearls clustered like mistletoe berries in the soft dark waves of her hair.
"That's pretty.” Miska said.
"You'll need one of your own, if you're going to shop like a lady. Hold still.” She reached over, clipped a second pearl-spring over Miska's left ear, and deftly threaded the pearls onto it. Miska resisted the urge to brush it away. It felt like a grasshopper tangled into her hair.
"Don't pull at it!” Lindi warned. “When you want to buy something, just slip a pearl over the kink in the end. Don't move too quickly-that makes them spill off. Come on. Let's get you some dresses you won't trip over."
Doria pushed open the door, and a tiny silver bell jingled.
"Good morning, Doria!” A reed-thin woman with silver streaked hair bustled toward them with a rustle of silken skirts. She shook hands vigorously with each of them. “And Lindi—do you remember being here once before? In such a sweet little gold satin dress ... You could barely toddle. And...” She stopped short, pushing her silver-rimmed spectacles more firmly onto her nose, and peered at Miska.
"Miska—my niece on my younger sister's side,” Doria filled in smoothly. Miska looked at her in alarm. “Here to visit us for a few weeks. She needs a new wardrobe."
"Yes indeed!” Miss Foster clucked her tongue, eyeing Miska's beloved, stained cloak as though it were damp seaweed. “The measuring will take a while, but..."
"Measuring?” Miska edged away, crossing her arms over her chest. Miss Foster would soon realize she was not a child. She might ask very awkward questions. “Oh, but the dresses already here are beautiful!"
Miss Foster clucked disapprovingly. “I couldn't possibly sell Doria and Aldinan's niece dresses off the rack!"
"It might be best,” Doria said, catching Miska's look of alarm. “She outgrows things so quickly."
"Doria, I'm surprised.” Miss Foster looked faintly betrayed. “If you must, let Miska choose the material today, and bring me her measurements yourself. No, I insist."
"Let them argue it out,” whispered Lindi, smiling. She drew Miska toward the interior of the shop.
Here were translucent silks in eve
ry color from shell pink to indigo: powder blue, gold, violet, emerald, crimson ... Hats with feathers or lace or bows ... slippers and walking shoes. Heavy velvets: burgundy, royal blue ... even moss green.
Miska wandered through the shop as though it were a flower garden, touching the delicate fabrics with a reverence that eased Miss Foster's wounded pride. She actually nodded approval at Miska's choices—soft and in colors of sky and earth and leaves.
"Not too elaborate, but good material,” she pronounced.
"Is it ... Shalin weave?” Miska ventured.
"The blue one is, yes.” Miss Foster looked startled. “How could you know that, child?"
"My D ... my grandfather knew about these things.” Miska stroked the blue cloth with a gentle finger.
Miss Foster looked at her with new respect. Her stern look softened. Miska noticed that she wrapped the bolts of fabric as tenderly as she might swaddle a baby.
Miska tugged one pearl loose from the clip. A half-dozen others spilled after it, clattering on the wooden floor. Miska scrambled to retrieve them. The last had rolled near the front display window. Miska picked it up, straightened—and found herself looking into a pair of gold eyes. Kimo!
Shoving aside startled customers, she dashed out the door, and looked wildly up and down the street. People turned to stare at her, indignant, alarmed or amused, but none familiar. Miska kept running. The heavy, borrowed skirts had worked loose and dragged on the muddy pavement. Her hair flew in wild wisps about her face. No wonder people were staring.
She turned a corner, and nearly ran into a burly, bearded man, who turned and snarled at her.
Miska backed away. “Your pardon. I'm sorry."
A slow, predatory smile spread over the man's face. He reached toward her. An image flashed across Miska's mind—a rabbit, kicking in those same grasping hands. Miska tried to run, snagged a foot in the trailing skirt, and fell hard, biting her lip. She scrambled to her knees, tasting blood and smelling mud and ... roses? Someone hauled her up by the arm. Someone with no face. Miska jerked back, startled, and realized she was looking at Lady Myringa, hidden behind her dark veil.