Demon's Arrow

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  Chapter 15

  Ben didn’t know for sure what he had expected from the Hadem, but it wasn’t this. He had grown up in the tyranny of the pale-skinned Workers, who were forbidden to dance, sing, or look one another in the eye. They were forbidden to enter the home of someone who wasn’t family. Next, he had gone to the Worker city with Isika, and they had been captured, imprisoned, and beaten by the pale-skinned Worker priests.

  He had assumed that all pale-skinned people were like the Workers. Well, he knew that Brigid, Karah, and Jerutha were different. Of course, Gavi, too. But mostly. As a whole. Today he saw how unfair that was.

  They walked into a wonderland slowly, as if in a dream. Of the group, only Ivy and Jabari had visited the Hadem village before. As they walked under the archway that led into the village, Ben saw Jabari looking over at him and Isika again and again.

  “That’s the fortieth time you’ve looked at me since we got close to this village,” Isika said, her voice dry but full of awe. “Do you need something?”

  “Me?” Jabari asked, innocently. “Nothing. Just wondered if you’ve ever seen anything like this.”

  She looked at him sideways. “You know I haven’t. You’re pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” But she smiled at him with real warmth.

  Jabari sighed, and Ben felt a sigh slipping out of his own throat. “I just like coming here,” Jabari said. “And I don’t get to very often.”

  Ben couldn’t blame him. He had never seen anything like it. They were near the water, at the last bay before they left the coast and walked into the desert, and the boulders were bleached pure white. Thousands of tiny carvings had been etched into the stones, making them look multilayered and alive. The entrance to the village was under a stone archway draped with climbing flowers in brilliant shades of pink and red. Inside, everything was carved out of the same stone in colors that ranged from white to deep pink, giving the place a bleached, pale look that echoed the skin of the people. What the buildings lacked in color, though, the people made up for with the wildest clothing Ben had ever seen.

  “Olumi, you’re sure these people are of the same strain as Workers?” Isika whispered loudly as the people stood nearby, watching on the edges of the pathway while their procession passed.

  “It doesn’t take many generations for lies and evil to take hold once they start, daughter,” Olumi replied. “The Hadem dancers have retained the joy that the Workers traded for obligation and fear.”

  The Hadem were dressed from head to toe in bright colors, with ribbons that wound around their arms and legs and wove through their hair. The women wore bright skirts that reached to their knees, embroidered with chips of metal and orange, green, and purple thread. Over simple shirts they wore long sweeping cloaks of every color. They had paint on their faces in patterns of dots and lines that were different from person to person. The men had long hair and beards with ribbons and yarn woven into them, and wore flowing pants and the same cloaks as the women. They all jingled as they walked. There were bells on some of the ribbons around their ankles, and bells on their cloaks.

  “Are there a lot of people like this in the world?” Isika asked. “Why don’t we ever see them?”

  “This is the last village,” Abbas said in his low voice. “And if the Desert King captures them, he won’t allow them to dress like this. This is the only place you will see them in their own clothing, for they dress in dark colors to protect themselves if they travel. The Desert King hates them even more than he hates the Karee. I’ve never been here before, but my father has spoken of this place. He admires the Hadem for holding their village against the Desert King.”

  A very old woman walked close to him then, and she had heard the last thing Abbas said, and answered him.

  “That is something we could not have done without the Maweel,” she said. “They protect our borders, and the Naia, the ancient dolfina who live in the ocean, help us keep the sea against the attackers who would take us. But here,” she murmured, looking at Isika, “here is a Naia friend. Welcome, child, we have been wondering when you would visit.”

  Isika stared at the woman, and Ben watched as understanding lit her face. “You are the people the Naia love,” she said. “They told me about you. But I didn’t know what they meant.”

  “We are blessed,” the old woman said. “We have always had their love.”

  Ben was distracted by the music from the old woman. It was jangling, wild, drumming, free. It was catchy, he thought, something he could dance to. She turned her gaze on him next.

  “And who is this, who is listening to me?” she asked. “How can you hear the music?”

  “He can hear all the music, honored elder,” Jabari said, “not only the music of the Hadem. He discerns all music, everywhere. In people and animals too.”

  Ben was surprised that Jabari was speaking for him, but when he looked at the older boy, he saw that his eyes were intent on the elder’s face, who was still gazing at Ben. Her eyes were very blue, her hair a pale white, woven with orange ribbons. Her face, tan from the sun, was seamed over with what seemed like a thousand lines. Ben realized it was an unfamiliar sight because the Workers stayed indoors or under shade coverings, and while their skin grew old and sagged, it didn’t look like this woman’s face, scarred and touched by sun.

  She wore thousands of colorful bracelets. Her cloak billowed in a slight breeze and bells on her legs tinkled as she stepped back and shook herself slightly. She turned to Jabari.

  “I am sorry, son of Andar. I have been surprised for the first time in what feels like forever. I did not know that what you describe is possible. A child who hears all music.” She shook her head, looking dazed. “Please follow me, the day’s heat has not yet fled to the sea. We will find a cool place to sit and talk. Will you stay for the night?”

  “Yes, honored elder,” Jabari said, bowing. “But only one night. Our errand needs us to be quick.”

  “I’m sure it does,” the old woman said. “Your brother is not here.” Jabari’s eyes widened.

  Ben fell into step beside Jabari as they followed the woman.

  “It’s scary when she does that,” Jabari said. “She sees too much.”

  “What did she mean about the music?” Ben asked.

  “Hadem can hear each other’s music, as part of their gift for dance. But she says she has never heard of anyone who can hear all people’s music.”

  “Yeah, I caught that part,” muttered Ben. He was deeply intrigued, but a little put off by being a freak again. And he wanted to know how the woman could tell that he was listening to her.

  * * *

  They were led into a cavern within the white stone. Ben and his companions stood for a moment with mouths open. Every inch of the cavern was carved in intricate designs, not scenes of history in murals like the ones in the Maweel palace, but designs of suns, flowers, stars, circles, lines, all of them moving and flowing over the cavern walls in a—well—a dance.

  “Come and sit,” the elder said, and as she gestured with one graceful hand, quiet people came close, setting stools and cushions on the ground. There were cups of a cool drink that tasted of cinnamon and mint, and the servants handed them cold cloths for their faces. Ben sighed with relief. He was tired already and he knew they had many days of travel ahead of them. It was good to be in a cool place and rest.

  “So,” the old woman said. “Do I get introductions, Jabari, son of Andar?”

  Jabari made an embarrassed face. “Of course, Vitalkar Auntie,” he said. “Honored elder, these are my friends and travel companions. This is Abbas, from the Karee.” Abbas touched his fingers to his forehead. “This is Olumi, our honored keeper of truth.” Jabari turned a hand toward Olumi, who stood, bowed very low, and shuffled backward on his feet with tiny hops.

  The old woman laughed. “Oh my! A truth keeper who knows our customs.”

  Ben frowned. Truth keeper. They had always heard Olumi described as a librarian or a keeper of the books. He exchang
ed a look with Isika. They got their information piecemeal, and it was never easy to tell when more would come leaking their way. He frowned, then looked up and wiped the look from his face in time to be introduced.

  “This is Isika, our World Whisperer, and Benayeem her brother. They have come back to us recently. You remember Ivy, daughter of Ivram, third elder? And Deto, and Brigid, children of Maween, seekers and friends.”

  “That was an excellent introduction,” the old woman said. “I didn’t know you had it in you!” She cackled and Jabari smiled. “Last time you were here you caused a ruckus in the dance.”

  “Well, I was eleven.”

  “You can all call me Vita. So tell me, where are you going? Where is your brother?”

  Jabari filled her in, and Ben zoned out listening intently to the music. The Hadem had such harmonious music, so close in sound and song to one another, with very slight variations that seemed to shift for personality and age. It was wild music, full of joy and passion. He thought he would like to stay here for a long time, listening. Their music quieted his mind, but when he shifted his attention back to his companions, he felt anxious again because of their troubled thoughts, the worried shifts and notes in their music. How did the Hadem keep their songs so in tune with one another?

  There was a change in the music and he began paying attention to the conversation again.

  “I am honored to meet you, prince of the Karee,” Vita said. “And I can affirm the disappearances your tribe members have told you about. We have gone near to try to understand the sadness we have felt from the tribe to the north, and have been much disturbed by the tales we have heard from them.”

  “Thank you,” Abbas replied. “I am honored to meet you, also. And please, tell me about what else you have heard. I am anxious to get back to my tribe.”

  “I have only heard tales of people being stolen, and I know that your people are still moving often, bent under the Gariah, and trying to avoid their full weight.”

  “We were one once, you know,” Abbas said, his face shadowed with pain, “the Gariah and the Karee. Olumi knows. Before the Desert King decided to follow Mugunta.”

  “Yes,” Vita said. “And if you know that, you must know our own history.”

  Silence fell on the little group. They were all thinking of the Workers, endlessly enslaved to the four goddesses who demanded the sacrifice of their children. In comparison, this last village of dancers seemed tiny.

  “I want Jerutha to come here,” Isika said suddenly. “My stepmother,” she said, at the elder’s inquiring look. “She comes from the Worker village but she is not a Worker in her heart. I wish she could meet you and know about you.”

  “She is welcome to come and visit,” Vita said. “But we don’t take anyone in to live with us the way you Maweel do.”

  Ben frowned. Jabari stirred beside him, and Ben heard frustration from him.

  “We don’t need to go into that old argument,” Vita said. “You heard enough about that when you were eleven, I would venture to say. But to help the rest of you understand, we cannot keep our music pure if we open our village.”

  Now Isika was frowning as well. She began to speak, but the elder held up a hand, the bells along her arms jingling.

  “Enough. We need food and beds. And before beds, we will show you our dance. We haven’t had visitors in a while and my people are excited.”

  They ate food that was spicy and sour—a journey in flavor—then moved out under the stars and sat among clusters of people, waiting for the dance. It took some time for everything to be ready, then it began.

  A large circle of Hadem people moved and swayed together, and the music the musicians played echoed the music Ben heard coming from the people. It was played on stringed instruments, with deep drums and one flute that soared above everything else. They didn’t sing and the dance was wordless but complete.

  The dancers moved as one, and then apart. Their feet hit the ground hard, or very soft. They lay on the ground, they moved in a circle and a line. There seemed to be nothing they couldn’t do with their bodies. Vita sat with the group of travelers, openly watching their faces, but at the end she got up and joined the last dance. Ben thought that when she was younger she must have been a dancer beyond compare. She flowed and moved toward their little group, stomping her feet so her whole body rattled with the clacking wood pieces and bells she had on her arms and legs. At the end, though she was out of breath, the dancers turned as one and lifted her to the stars.

  When the music stopped, Ben looked around to see that Isika, Ivy, and Olumi openly wept, and Jabari dashed the back of his hand against his eyes. Ben felt tears on his own cheeks. He carried the feeling of the dance with him all the way to sleep, and when he dreamed, it was of motion, bright colored clothes and limbs moving. He dreamed of their music.

  Chapter 16

  Morning dawned in the village of white stone. Isika sat with her arms around her knees, watching the light change in the eastern sky. It was time to leave the village and and split the group, to journey in their different directions. Isika leaned over and bent with her face to the ground, trying to find the strength for this. When she heard her friends talking nearby, she stood and took a deep breath. Now.

  They all hugged one another, clasping arms and gripping in farewell. Isika hugged Deto, Ivy, and finally found herself face to face with her friend, Jabari.

  He looked serious.

  What’s wrong? she asked in her mind.

  Who will I be competitive with, if we are always split up on journeys? He gave her a tiny wink. Heat rushed into her face. This was getting ridiculous. She could be normal around him. She could. But she also saw worry in his eyes.

  “No, but really,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  He was silent for a long moment, looking at the ground. Then he looked at her again.“This is not like before, you know.”

  “What’s not like before?” Isika asked.

  “It’s not a child’s game. This is serious. The Desert King has ways of convincing people. He’s full of dark magic, more power than you’ve ever seen. Don’t imagine you can walk up to him like you did with the walls, back when we first met, and pull him down with no effort at all.”

  “I don’t think that,” Isika said, stung.

  He caught her elbow. “Isika, he has Aria. Aria. Why do you think she’s going to him?”

  “Because of the arrow,” she said immediately.

  “Because he is using the arrow to draw her. Because he knows you’ll go after her.”

  “You can’t know that he’s drawing her,” Isika said, shaking her head slowly. “And if he was, he could be doing it for her sake. Maybe he wants her with him.”

  “You are so stubborn, still. You haven’t spent your life studying the Desert Kings, the ways they have tried to defeat us all these years. He has a plan for you.” His voice cracked again, and Isika stared at him, reaching out a hand to touch him. She pulled back at the spark that cracked between them.

  “We just found you,” he said. “You’re our World Whisperer, not his warrior. He can’t have you. I don’t—”

  Isika felt like he had slapped her. “That’s what this is about? Ownership of the World Whisperer? You don’t want him to win?”

  “That’s not what I said, Isika. Don’t just hear whatever bad thing you want to hear from me.” He looked up at the sky for a moment and Isika stared at the side of his face. He was about half a head above her. “Of course I don’t want Maween to collapse because he has you again. But I’m afraid for you, too, Isika. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

  He looked at her as he said it, and she felt her eyes grow very wide at the look on his face. Suddenly she wanted to be very, very far away, not because she was angry but because this was all a bit much and Aria was gone and they were splitting up. She put her hand on a rock and leaned on it a bit, feeling the earth beneath it, the long song of the dirt and rocks longing for the Shaper.

  “Thank
you,” she said finally. “I’ll be careful, Jabari. I promise. And I won’t be on my own with him. I’ll have you.” She smiled at him and gave him a hug, readying herself for sparks, but they didn’t come. They clasped each other just below the elbows in the farewell hug, and still there were no sparks. Isika backed away without meeting Jabari’s eyes, surprised and pleased.

  Remember that you can always talk to me, Jabari said in her mind. You can even try doing it from far away.

  “Don’t worry so much,” she said aloud. “You’re doing the dangerous part.”

  His face split with a white grin. “That’s true,” he said. “I am, aren’t I? Well don’t worry, I’m sure there will be some adventure for you too.”

  “I’m sure there will be,” she said wryly, and he frowned.

  “Not too much, though,” he said, and she laughed. His answering grin was white and perfect.

  Isika’s group headed straight north from the village, while Jabari’s turned east, toward the Dhahara. Isika was thankful for Abbas, as she immediately felt Jabari’s absence. She had a lot of gift in her, but Jabari still had more experience as a seeker.

  “Are you nervous?” Ben asked, as they scrambled up boulders of gritty stone.

  “Are you listening to me again?” Isika said, her teeth gritted against the dust that blew constantly as they walked.

  “Only your music. And it is very nervous. What are you worried about? Don’t you remember our trek across the desert to reach Batta? We’ve done more difficult things than going to visit a tribe, accompanied by their very own prince.”

  Isika squinted into the distance, noting that Abbas, comfortable in the travels, had traveled a long way ahead of them. Olumi and Brigid, however, were falling behind. She whistled and Abbas turned back toward her at once. She stopped walking to let the others catch up.

  “We were younger then. I don’t think we really understood how dangerous things were. Besides, you know what happened when we reached Batta.” She took a long drink from her flask, then passed it to Ben.