by Sharon Hinck
The crowd’s arms lowered, their attention shifting to the singer who stepped onto the platform next. Brantley wended through the people and offered his arm. We moved to the edges of the crowd, careful not to draw attention to ourselves.
“What message did you send Navar?”
He grinned. “You caught that? In case she could hear my signal, I asked her to stay near.”
The thought of Navar leaving without us sent a shiver through me. “Shouldn’t we look for a path? Just one more time?”
A frown flashed across his face, but he quickly forced a smile. “Carya, we’ve looked and looked. For now, we need to fit in.” He scooped some stew from a kettle and handed a bowl to me. “You didn’t eat earlier. It’s good. Try some.”
I accepted the meal but not the plan. “Our world is drifting out of reach. We have to get back to Navar.” The stew’s unctuous gravy bound together root vegetables and mutton. Layers of herbs danced on my tongue. “Mmm.”
Brantley smiled. “Told you it was good.” He helped me settle on the ground. “We’ve tried everything. Tomorrow we’ll travel inland. Unless you have any other ideas.”
Even though the stew was delicious, it settled heavily in my stomach. My shoulders sagged. “I don’t.” I glanced at the stage where the last child was displaying a sketch and explaining it. One of the many oddities of this world. No one seemed to care that the younglings were staying awake far too late. I yawned. “At least the sharing time is wrapping up. We should find a place to make camp for the night.”
Morra strode up behind us and overheard my last comment. “The revel is just beginning. Here.” He pushed a jug at us, then lifted another one and took a long swig.
After a long day of exploration, tension, confusion, dead ends, and an exhausting dance to push away storms, I wanted nothing more than to curl under my cloak and sleep.
Morra studied me and smiled sympathetically. “The punch will help. No one sleeps the night before the convening.”
“But if everyone has to walk so far tomorrow . . .”
Brantley wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “We’ll be ready.”
A group of musicians took the stage. Men backed away from the bonfires, clearing space. Women began to swirl in the clearing, arms spread, dipping first to one side and then the other. Butterflies. No. Exotic birds with plumage of lightning, their movements punctuating the thunder of drums.
The dance tugged me from my exhaustion and even distracted me from my need to find a way home. The movement invited me to cast off my cares. Without conscious thought, I was on my feet and limping into the fray. My tunic’s simple sleeves couldn’t produce the effect of the glittering robes, but my body copied the movements. No one seemed to mind the awkward stranger in their midst. Faces turned upward in blissful abandon.
Someone tapped my shoulder. Morra, his long, bushy hair catching the glint of flames, held out a robe for me. I smiled and slipped my arms into the sleeves. Now I was one of the birds. I swooped and dove, joining the pattern. We skimmed past each other in near collisions that somehow wove together.
As I’d seen the night before, men soon stepped in, choosing a partner. The pattern changed. Children romped across the open space, dodging the couples. Individuals without partners twirled in place. An old man with a twisted back that must hurt him terribly leaned against the stage, an empty mug drooping from his hand. He called out as a woman walked past with a pitcher, but she ignored him. Where were his people? It seemed the whole village was out here. Did he have no family? I snagged a pitcher and made my way closer to fill his cup. He thanked me with a painful version of Morra’s bow from earlier, then hobbled away to sit near a fire.
Wincing at the throb of my ankle, I made my way to the edge of the clearing. I wondered if the old man would be my traveling companion on the morrow—both of us limping along at the tail end of the procession like lame sheep on the outskirts of the flock.
I stayed there, musing, until an arm came around my waist. Brantley pulled me close. “Remember, we need to fit in.”
“You’re going to dance?” I leaned away, studying his face.
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve been known to join in during Windswell’s festivals.”
He swept me into the tide. Leaning against the force of our spin, we threw our free arms wide and pivoted around each other. His hold was so strong, my sore leg didn’t even need to touch the ground. I was no longer limping, but flying.
I tossed my head back and laughed. This felt good. I’d spent too much of my life worrying. For now, I abandoned myself to the movement, the music, the flowing currents of people around us. Every care fell away, spun away.
The music slowed, and the patterns changed. Couples faced each other, holding both hands. Brantley lowered me to my feet. We watched the others until we could copy the movements, stepping close and then back out, then rocking side to side. With each drawing in and away, the dancers moved closer. Soon we were swaying with only inches between us. The muscles in Brantley’s arms flexed and warmth radiated from him. Not the soothing warmth of a fireplace, but a heat that kindled an ache in me and pulled me toward him.
Firelight flickered in his gaze. “How is your leg feeling?”
“All . . . all right.” I was grateful for the distraction of conversation. “Are we really going to head inland with these people tomorrow?”
“I don’t think we have much choice.”
“Morra said the journey will take all morning.”
“I’ll shape one of the tree limbs from the raft into a walking stick. Will that help?”
I shrugged and looked away. The reminder of my weakness cooled the strange yearning the dance stirred in me. I would never burden Brantley with someone as limited as me. Nearby, Morra partnered with the young woman with wild chestnut hair that we’d seen him with earlier. Her flowing emerald robe spun shapes in the flickering light. The young man leaned into her gaze, entranced. I smiled. “Looks like our young friend is smitten.”
The musicians finished the song, and everyone clustered around the bonfires. A child handed a jug to me and I shared it with Brantley. Thirsty, we both drank deeply. A new group of musicians took the stage, and another round of dances commenced. Brantley cast a worried look at my ankle but took my hand to lead me into the group.
Harba lumbered over. “I know it’s being close to the convening, but that’s no excuse. No repeats.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.” He gestured to the group. Everyone was grabbing someone new. Morra held the arm of Trilia, and Harba offered me his arm.
Brantley slid a protective arm around my waist. “She’s injured. She needs to rest.”
Harba shrugged and found another partner. Brantley settled me on the stair near the stage. He braced one foot on the step, watching the revels. “You were right. We need to win their trust. Friendship and not battle.”
With laughter and music and feasting surrounding us, even Brantley couldn’t hold on to his suspicions and distrust. Although the people of this world were difficult to understand, they were warm and friendly. And talented. I’d have so much to tell Saltar Kemp when we returned to Meriel. I hoped to bring back far more than seeds and fruit. I wanted to bring home the creative ideas I’d seen. Happiness welled up in me, and I leaned back on my elbows, feeling the vibrations of the music through the wood of the stage. The fun and play were as infectious as they were foreign.
Overhead, a cluster of stars sailed together and exploded in a cascade of glitter. “Look!” I pointed. “Star rain.”
Throughout the clearing, others noticed and opened their arms to catch the fragments of light. As the glowing dust fell in piles, children raced around and kicked it up, reigniting the sparks. The noise and laughter rose to a crescendo.
Morra swept past, bowed, and released the woman he’d been partnering. Catching his breath, he noticed our perusal of the sky. “The Every be right. ’Tis past time for the green to convene. We should a
lready be at the lake. The star rain be our last warning.” Then his gaze swept toward the young woman in an emerald robe dancing with a blond man. Morra’s placid face contorted as if he were fighting back tears. He sank to the ground near the steps and buried his head in his hands. “Crillo, you won’t be remembering.”
I rested a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He pulled in a long breath. When he lifted his head, he threw a knife-sharp glare toward the blond man. “No. But I will be.” Fists clenched, he stormed into the dancing.
Brantley gave a low whistle. “Trouble brewing on your perfect new world.”
“It’s not my new world, and I never said it was perfect. Only that we could learn something from their . . .” My words trailed off as Morra reached the couple. He yanked the man away and tackled him to the ground in a flurry of punches.
The once gentle and carefree society erupted around us. As if Morra’s attack had loosed a torrent, fights broke out all around the clearing. Even the logs of the bonfires seemed to crackle with rage. Brantley pulled me into the shadows. Shouts thundered. Children shrieked and tried to hide. The musicians continued to play, but the sound was drowned out by accusations, argument, and grappling bodies crashing to the ground. The beautiful last moments of star rain were ignored, and the falling glitter only added to the wild chaos.
Trilia grabbed fistfuls of Morra’s robe to pull him off the man on the ground, but a wild swing knocked her back. Harba waded in, tossing aside those in his way. He wrenched Morra to his feet and dragged him toward the stage. The young man’s knuckles bled, and his gilded robe was torn. Harba shoved a jug into Morra’s hand.
Morra drank deeply and then swiped his arm across his mouth. His lips still curled and his chest heaved. Our winsome greeter had disappeared, replaced by this tormented and angry youngling.
Nearby, a boy snatched a flowered circlet from a little girl’s head, pulling her hair in the process. She grabbed for him, but he scampered away. She collapsed to her knees with a wail.
I hurried to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Shh. It’s all right.”
She pressed her face into my shoulder. “I’m not supposed to care,” she said between sobs. “But I do.” The declaration burst from her as if she were confessing to murder.
“We’ll make you a new one.”
I scanned the crowd for the boy who’d stolen her treasured headband. As quickly as it had flared, the fury of the crowd dimmed. Men and women sank to the ground, blotting blood off of knuckles and noses. Trilia ordered several youths to bring out more punch. With jugs in hand, fists stopped flying. The sound of sips and slurps replaced the shouts of anger. The girl lurched to her feet and meandered back into the throng. A woman—her mother?—gave her a mug of something to drink and smoothed her tangled hair.
Brantley and I watched the transformation in stunned silence. Trilia noticed us and shook her head. “I was wrong to think we could postpone a day. The rest of the council had the right of it.” Then she frowned. “You aren’t drinking?”
Brantley picked up a jug from the ground near the stage. “We have plenty, thanks.”
A new dance began, trios holding hands, dipping and weaving. Trilia gestured. “Everyone must participate.”
A trio of children swept past us. I was glad to see that only a few children were allowed to stay up all night. “Some of your people must miss these revels. Who is watching the other children?”
Trilia’s chin drew back, making the edges of her white hair shift and resettle into new angles. “Other children? All be here. All must be here.”
I cast my gaze around the clearing again. Dozens of families and only a handful of little ones? On Meriel, the poorest villages of the rim were still wealthy with children—even after the Order stole girls away. My confusion shifted into compassion. “I’m so sorry. Has your village faced illness?”
Trilia tilted her head. “You be strange guests. Be your village’s people as lacking in health as your trees?”
“No, but—”
Brantley took my elbow. “Let’s dance.” As he led me closer to one of the bonfires, he leaned toward me. “I don’t trust these people. Stop asking questions. We don’t want them paying attention to us.”
He was wrong. We needed to ask questions. We needed to win the trust of these people if we were to travel with them tomorrow and find a way home. But I was rattled by the strange outburst we’d witnessed, and I let Brantley lead me into the clearing. We had little opportunity to speak as dance followed dance. We studied the steps and participated enough to avoid drawing any ire. Eventually, Brantley led me to a step on the far side of the platform and coaxed me to rest my leg where we were hidden from view. The shifting shapes, the sour punch, the music that overlapped with laughter, and the bouncing thump of feet hitting the ground—all created a dreamlike fog until I wasn’t sure if I was awake.
“Carya, do you agree?” Brantley shook my shoulder.
I blinked. “Wh-what?” My throat felt thick and dry, and I fumbled for a mug nearby.
“Are you listening? I’m going to explore the town while everyone is busy here. Rest as long as they let you. I’ll be back soon.” He shook me again. “Did you hear me?”
I rubbed my face, fighting to make sense of his words. Explore the town? What if Trilia was wrong? What if the buildings weren’t empty? More crazy risks. “Wait. No—”
But he’d already jogged away, slipping into shadows between buildings. I braced a hand against the stage and stood. I wanted to follow, to help. But my knees buckled, and I sank back to the step. Maker, protect him.
Trilia appeared at my side. “There you be. Rested enough?” She cast a glance at my bandaged ankle and offered her hand. “At least come to the other side of the stage and watch. Where be your companion?”
I waved my hand vaguely. “Probably looking for more punch.” I accepted her help and limped around the side of the stage. The sound of drums throbbed behind my temples, and the energetic reel of the pipes stabbed my ears. I winced.
Trilia frowned and eased me to the ground facing the clearing. “In your village, what do your unable folk do the night before the convening?”
Unable? I bristled. “We don’t have a con—” I stopped myself just in time. “I’m not unable. Just a small injury.”
Her mouth pursed, and for a moment I feared she’d insist I join the large circle dance that had just begun. Instead, she lost interest and walked away, joining hands with a tall man in a bronze robe and a robust woman who bounced through the steps on her tiptoes. I shook my head. The saltars would be appalled at the carefree movements and the untrained bodies as they moved around the clearing.
I studied their dance, a line that circled first one way and then another. Did their patterns influence their world in the same way that dance could shape life on Meriel? I saw no signs that their dance accomplished anything, other than play. A smile teased my lips. I could learn from them. But why did they insist on exhausting everyone with this revel throughout the entire night? How often did they do this?
During the next dance, I waved my arms and laughed along with the group, maintaining the impression that I was participating even though my leg couldn’t support me any longer. A pile of stardust collected near my feet, and I tossed it in the air, reigniting the sparkling light. Even that small act took effort, my arms leaden from lack of sleep.
Song after song rang out from the rotating groups of musicians. Spritely, tender, rollicking, melancholy. If I didn’t need to keep up the ruse of joining in, I’d have found a willow pen and parchment and made notes on the many different patterns. Instead, I watched carefully and tried to memorize what I was seeing. I might never have an opportunity like this again. Perhaps some of these alien dances could form the basis for new patterns on my own world.
A hint of blush touched the sky’s face as the stars faded. The primary sun would be rising soon, and Brantley hadn’t returned. I made my way to the
edge of the impenetrable woods and selected a fallen branch. With that as a makeshift walking stick, I circled behind the platform and studied the buildings. Which way had he gone? My stomach tightened. No lights glowed from windows. The village truly seemed vacated for the revel. I glanced behind me, then scampered awkwardly around the first cottage, hoping to hide my exit from anyone in the clearing. I leaned heavily on my stick, letting my frantic breathing calm before continuing forward.
“Brantley?” I called softly. The only sound came from the music and laughter behind me, and a low moan of wind weaving between two shops. I shivered. The fingers of dawn threw unpredictable shadows. The dark forms of trees and sculptures cast onto the path became sinister as the light hit in odd angles.
I passed empty pavilions and gazebos, tables no longer full of merchandise. The two-story homes were quiet, abandoned. At last, as I reached the central hall, I braced my hand against the entry to rest a moment and again catch my breath. I limped past the towering entrance, trying to place my stick gently. It still clacked against the marble floor. The room where we’d witnessed the earlier debate was bare except for the low table, couches, cushions, and tapestries.
We’d been escorted from the building and never explored the upper rooms. Knowing Brantley, that was exactly where he’d go, in spite of the danger of discovery. I returned to the grand entrance, grasped the gilt banister, and headed up the stairs. I wasn’t as brave or reckless as he was, but I had an advantage. I didn’t share his paranoia. The people here were kind, if perplexing. I didn’t believe anyone would harass me, even if I were found. At least I kept telling myself that as my stick clacked in the grand building.
In the upper hallway, the floor gave a subtle sway as waves coursed far beneath the land. I stumbled, scuffing the floor. The scrape echoed back from the end of the hall. Then it repeated. I froze. Not an echo. Someone else was up here.
My breath caught in my lungs, and I forced it out slowly. “Brantley?” I whispered, heading past several closed doors toward the sound, cursing my injury. In my old life I could glide silent as a feather; now my steps were heavy and far from stealthy.