Dissension

by Stacey Berg

  “Good. Then you’ll come with me. There’s always dancing the night before the fest.”

  Hunter stared at her.

  Whatever Lia saw in that look made her face crumple in on itself. “I’m sorry, Echo, I should’ve realized.” The words tumbled out, faster and faster, as the med averted her eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t want to go to something like that. It’s just a silly cityen thing, anyway. It’s probably just as well, now that I think of it. There might be other hunters. The other day in the market . . . I saw the way you looked at them. I never thought about it before, but there aren’t that many hunters compared with cityens, are there? Of course you would all be friends. Even if”—­she hesitated for a moment, choosing her words more carefully—­“even if you aren’t part of the Church anymore, I know you miss it awfully, at least sometimes.” She drew a breath, staring at her hands in her lap, recollecting her composure. “There was a while I didn’t want to go to the fests either, to be honest. After the sickness, when so many had died, I used to wonder what anyone had to celebrate. Everything was so terrible, and there was nothing anyone could do. . . . How could they dance? How could they possibly be happy? But then I realized, they lived. That was why they were celebrating. They lived. Sometimes that seems like enough. Doesn’t it?” Her luminous eyes searched Hunter’s for the answer.

  I don’t know. That was the truth. But suddenly she could not say it to Lia, who stood before her looking so forlorn, for this instant closer to the young girl who did not yet realize what lay ahead than the woman who had spent half the winter nursing those dying around her, until she nearly died herself, who was barely recovered even now, face thin in the slanting afternoon light, eyes smudged with weariness that came from far more than this day’s work. It seemed not so much to ask, that Lia should take an evening to forget, and be happy.

  With an effort, Hunter made herself smile. It felt stiff, strange. Had it been so long? “Maybe so,” she said.

  Lia’s eyes widened in surprise. The corners of her mouth curled up slowly, leaves unfurling at an unexpected touch of sun. Her eyes glittered, catching the light. Hunter felt her own face soften in that reflected warmth, and she meant it when she said, “I’ll be happy to go with you.”

  The cityens had cleared the ground floor of a low building that clung to the riverbank, probably a storehouse of some kind before the Fall, when boats plying the water would have needed a place to unload and resupply. It had been a good choice of locations once, overlooking that narrowing where every boat had to come within weapons’ reach. There had likely been some encampment here long before there was a city. The roads leading to the place remained straight and broad, equidistant from Ward, Bend, and North. Good neutral ground for bringing the claves together.

  But the Fall had changed more than the cityens. The river didn’t run now except after the rare hard rain, and all that remained of what must have been a tremendous bridge were a few broken metal stumps sticking out of the oily dead sludge like shattered bones, jagged ends scarred over with age. On shore, ancient fire had blackened the building’s brick and caved in the back part of the roof, but the simplicity of the squat design had saved the place from total destruction. Nothing nearby it had survived, leaving a zone of almost desert-­like emptiness all around. At odds with the desolation, the place was gaily lit tonight, though so far from the transmission lines it was done with simple torches instead of lightstrings. The sounds of drums and pipes bounced through the heavy air. Even outside, Hunter could smell the fruity tang of fermented grain. She frowned to herself, seeing the resources wasted on ferm when there were still so many to feed.

  Not tonight, she told herself sternly. You promised. Besides, the Church didn’t disapprove. As Lia had said, it even set the fest time. It wasn’t by mistake that the day fell when many cityens would still be occupied with the mechanics of getting the harvest in, and the start of the celebration would create a welcome distraction. That the nun tithe followed almost immediately was even less coincidental. After all, only a few families gave up their daughters, and for the rest, a few days of dancing and drinking fermentate went a long way towards dulling any sympathetic pain.

  They had arrived a little bit late, it seemed; voices echoed from inside the building and there was a growing queue outside. It took a second to see what was causing the delay: a little knot of men loitering outside the door, two on one side and three on the other, grouped in just such a casual arrangement that everyone who entered had to pass between them. Hunter recognized one of the three, a man who had come once to the clinic. The others were unfamiliar, but she noted the two groups watching each other almost as much as the door. The pair of strangers must not be the Warder’s men. Benders? North seemed less likely; they were too concerned with themselves there to offer to share the task. She watched as the men unobtrusively surveyed everyone who entered, occasionally exchanging little nods that marked the entrant known to one side or the other. Like the market, this place belonged to no one clave, and any manner of cityens could come. The scrutiny suggested that some of them could bring trouble.

  Suddenly it was more than Hunter wanted to face. But Lia’s features were lit by excitement as much as the torches; she couldn’t change her mind now. And it was a good opportunity; ferm loosened tongues, and she might learn something worthwhile with all those cityens gathered in one place. Something to help the Patri. She forced a smile and motioned Lia towards the door.

  All five guards straightened up as one.

  Lia smiled at the man Hunter had recognized. “Rander, how are you doing? Is your arm better?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the drums.

  The man’s dour face split in a grin as he raised a hand, showing a pink scar, neat stitchmarks still faintly visible, lined all along the underside of the arm. His fingers flexed into a tight fist. “Good enough for all I need. Thanks t’ you.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” Lia took Hunter’s arm, dragged her forward a step. “This is Echo, I don’t think you’ve met her yet. I asked her to come tonight.”

  So simple: nothing more than the choice of a dance partner. Who could argue with the med over that? Nonetheless the men exchanged wary glances. Rander shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, wanting to please Lia, worried about letting trouble past the door. “I don’t know. . . .”

  Lia frowned. “The fest is open to everyone, Rander.”

  “Yes, mam, I know, but you know how’t is. You want it t’ be safe. We’re not s’pposed to let in, well . . .”

  “Who gave you those instructions?”

  “I’m not sure I should—­”

  “Well, whoever it was, you can send them to see me later. After you let us inside.”

  The poor man looked to his fellows, trying to decide what to say, but they offered no help at all. Whatever plan they’d had for this eventuality had failed to account for Lia’s determination. In other circumstances Hunter would have laughed out loud. Now she just wanted to get out of the bottleneck. Oblivious cityens pushed up behind her and Lia in the queue, in high humor but impatient at the delay. By the tone of the voices, some of them had clearly found a source of fermentate already. Hunter stifled a sigh. It wasn’t worth risking a disturbance. “You go ahead.”

  “But—­”

  The line behind them rippled as someone pushed through. Hunter turned, body instinctively shielding Lia from whatever trouble was coming. Loro, striding up to the door with his hands in his pockets and a careful not-­smile playing across his face. The timing couldn’t be accidental. “Rander, Samno.” Loro nodded to the Benders too, who respectfully returned it. “Evening, friends. Lia, glad you finally decided to come. I thought you might not. Everything well?”

  “Very well, thank you, Loro.” Hunter thought she heard the slightest brittleness in Lia’s tone, but the med’s smile was bright as always.

  “Good.” Loro turned from Lia to face Hunter,
eyebrows raised in exaggerated query. “You don’t seem to be the type that would enjoy a fest.”

  Maybe a disturbance would be worth it. “I thought I would try,” she said mildly.

  He had shaved; the light glinted off the smooth line of his jaw. He wasn’t that much older than the 378s, she was reminded again. Important to remember, that hormonal volatility, especially in this setting. He might already have had some ferm himself; he stood particularly square shouldered, and closer to Lia than he usually might. She didn’t seem to notice. His fists balled in his pockets. “Are you planning to try anything else?”

  Hunter cocked her head, considering. “Dancing, maybe.”

  The smooth jaw tightened. “We have to check strangers for weapons.”

  Rander and the other guards shuffled uneasily, smelling the tension in the air. “Loro,” Lia started to protest, but Hunter interrupted her.

  “No, it’s all right. It’s a sensible precaution.” She held her arms out to her sides, feet slightly apart, waiting. Loro hesitated almost imperceptibly, making himself angry. Hunter lifted a brow to show that she had noticed. Scowling, he stomped forward, running his hands roughly over every part of her body, patting for the weapons he knew full well she wasn’t carrying. Instead of tensing with embarrassment or anger, as he obviously meant her to, she relaxed into his touch, letting him feel her weight, the solidity of her musculature, and judge whether he could move her if he tried. When he stepped back, glaring, she didn’t even indulge in the insolence of a smile.

  He stared at her for a moment, then snapped around to Lia, taking her arm. Fortunately he wasn’t rough with her. “What are you waiting for, then? Let’s go in.”

  The Warder’s men hastily stepped aside, and after a second the other men did too, letting Loro and Lia push by, followed by Hunter, unobstructed. The med turned a smile on Loro that would make any amount of trouble worthwhile, but Hunter thought her voice carried the faintest note of annoyance. “Thank you, Loro. For a minute I thought Rander wouldn’t let us in.”

  That restored some of his good humor. “He was just being careful, like he was supposed to. We don’t want anyone spoiling the fest. Come this way, the ferm is over here.” A bit of copper flashed between his fingers. “My chit. Then you can dance with me.” Lia cast a worried look over her shoulder. Hunter shook her head and went the other direction as Loro guided Lia into the crowd.

  The fest wore on in a din and crush of bodies that made Hunter wish for the peace of the desert. The drummers had started out tapping on their metal vessels by hand, but had long since transitioned to banging with rods of different lengths and thicknesses that produced a surprising variation in sound, all of it loud, and the pipers were red-­faced from trying to keep up. Besides the music, the conversation and laughter and general commotion from hundreds of ­people packed into the enclosed space was enough that cityens standing next to each other had nearly to shout to be heard, ratcheting the sound level ever higher. It hurt her ears.

  Across the way she saw Lia, trapped in Loro’s encircling arm while dancers swirled around them. Hunter wondered why the med put up with him. It certainly wasn’t for his diplomatic skills. Hunter sighed and found herself a place against a wall to wait and watch the revelers. She frowned to herself. All this disorder would make good cover for activities other than dancing; cityens who might draw attention speaking to each other in normal circumstances could easily have arranged to meet here, where the noise and distraction of the crowd would cover any conversation. She scanned the room, but saw nothing to concern her, other than an unsafe density of cityens. ­People kept arriving, and hardly anyone seemed to be leaving. There must be a back way out, though, for there was a nondescript opening set off with a curtain, through which the musicians had emerged. A few other cityens came in and out as well, mostly carrying food and jugs of ferm to resupply the table across the room. It was even more crowded over there.

  She found herself wondering what the children would make of all this easy prey. Enough food was falling from clumsy fingers to feed them for a seven. A small, determined body could weave its way at knee level among the crowd, feeling carefully inside the pockets of the distracted, perhaps skimming a pouch or two to search later for treasures from those foolish enough to let their belongings hang loose. A clever child could—­no. Hunter shook thoughts of the desert out of her head. Her duty was to watch. Though nothing had happened that was worth seeing, other than Lia’s dancing, which drew her eyes again. Not surprisingly, the med was good at it, graceful and light on her feet, weaving easily with Loro through the lines and squares as the lead drummer called the patterns. Loro was reasonably skilled as well, Hunter had to admit; he and Lia made an attractive pair among the many on the floor.

  Hunter touched her tongue to the ferm she’d been carrying without drinking. It tasted sour, yeasty, crude compared with the stuff the priests made from time to time as a relaxant. Once past juvenile experimentation, most hunters rarely drank it, disliking the way it dulled the senses. That was obviously not a concern for the cityens here tonight. By now more than a few could barely keep their feet, and the pairings in the shadowy corners were hardly cognizant of onlookers.

  Someone leaned up against the wall right next to her, so close his hip touched hers when he turned. Crowded as the place was, she could hardly begrudge him the space; without a glance, she slipped half a step sideways to give them both more room. He laughed softly, closing the gap again. “Don’t worry. I’m only saving her place.”

  She did look then. It was Exey, the clever fabricator from the Bend. His long hair was pulled back to show off another of his filigreed creations glimmering in one ear, and he wore a loose white shirt embroidered with a design to match. He smiled when he saw his gold bauble dangling from her ear. “That looks nice on you. Lia has good taste.” When she didn’t say anything he asked, “Enjoying the fest?”

  “It’s interesting enough.”

  “It’s more fun if you dance. But I don’t suppose hunters do that. No offense,” he added quickly at her glare. “I’m sure someone wants to ask you.” He laughed again. He was nervous, she realized. He hadn’t been, that day Lia had introduced them in the market. Before he knew what she was. “But I imagine you have other things on your mind.”

  She shrugged noncommittally, pretending to take another sip of the ferm. He was after something, clearly, and she remembered how he liked to talk. He’d fill the silence if she let him. And indeed, when she failed to respond, he continued, “The nun tithe, for example. That was quite a thing you did in the square. We heard about it over in the Bend. You saved some cityens’ lives, no doubt about it.” He paused, waiting for some reaction.

  He hadn’t approached her just to say thanks, she was sure. “Hunters are supposed to protect cityens,” she said neutrally.

  “Right. That’s why we—­my friends, I mean, I’m just the messenger—­we thought we should give you something in return.”

  Ah. “I’m listening.”

  He looked around to be sure no one else was, lowering his voice though even a hunter wouldn’t have been able to eavesdrop with all the noise. “We have some news we thought you’d want to hear.” For a moment she thought his nerve would fail him and he wouldn’t say whatever he had planned to tell her. He took a big sip of ferm for courage, leaving his cup at his lips so no one could see them move. “Everyone knows Loro hates the Church, right? Well, he’s been talking, all about how he sent those hunters running himself.”

  Losing interest, she leaned back against the wall. “That’s hardly news.”

  “Oh, I agree. Saint knows, I never met a man so impressed with his own skills. Well, I suppose I mention from time to time that I can fabricate a thing or two, but that’s another story.”

  Maybe Lia would come back soon. “If that’s all you have to tell me?” she asked pointedly.

  “No, wait. Yes, Loro’s always talked himself
up, and he’s always hated the Church, and everyone knows both of those things. What everyone doesn’t know is that now he’s planning to do something about it.”

  This was more interesting, but Exey didn’t need to know she thought so. “I think the Church can handle Loro.”

  “We thought so too,” he said with an anxious little smile. “But things have changed. A lot of cityens are listening to him these days. That means a lot of them could get hurt. You were there; you saw what almost happened in the square. What probably would have happened, without your help.”

  “The Warder handled that.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not.” His eyes crinkled. “I’m sure that it didn’t hurt his cause any to have you there looking all scary and intimidating while he made one of his noble speeches about unity and love.” She glanced at him quickly, but couldn’t tell where the joking stopped.

  She shrugged. “None of this has anything to do with me, Exey. Loro is the Warder’s man. If you have a problem with him, why not go to the Warder?”

  Something flickered across Exey’s face, too quickly for her to read before he covered it behind another long pull on his ferm. Wiping foam from his lip, he nodded. “We thought about that. In fact, if not for you, I’m sure that’s what we—­my friends—­would do. It isn’t entirely clear, though, that he would listen to us. In fact, it might make things worse. Look at it like this: Loro’s been the Warder’s right hand for a long time now. The Ward and the Bend, they get along just fine. Oh, sure, a little skirmish now and then along the edges, but nothing more serious than that. That’s the beauty of balance, after all, both sides nice and even, and Saint knows North is too busy with its own self to—­no, never mind, North’s not the point. The point is this: if now the Bend comes along, says Loro’s a problem, the Warder needs to rein him in—­well, somehow we just can’t see the Warder taking us at our word.”