by Sharon Hinck
No wonder we were taught not to think of the world beyond our walls. Clearly, even with the sacrificial efforts of the Order, chaos threatened to infect some villages. Yet another reason I needed to be chosen. I ripped the hood scarf from my head, unbound my braid, and raked fingers through my hair. Bone-weary, I didn’t bother changing. I curled up on my mat and surrendered to sleep, a sleep disturbed by cramping muscles, the throbbing of my ankle, and tormenting dreams.
The next day at breakfast I should have been ravenous but struggled to force down a few bites of porridge. Even Starfire picked at her food, shredding bits of persea into her bowl.
“Calara, I don’t think I want to be a dancer. What do you think they’d do if I respectfully declined?”
“When they call your name, your doubts will flee,” I said softly.
“And what if only one of us is picked? We’ll never see each other.”
Seeing the mess she’d made of her persea, I handed her my fruit. “Don’t exaggerate. The dancers aren’t in complete seclusion.” Although with their separate wing, private dining hall, and regimented schedule, the dancers rarely interacted with the rest of the Order.
Starfire’s chin tucked down. “You are my best friend. I want you to know that. If we . . . if I don’t . . . if only one of us is accepted and we can’t speak again . . .”
“We would find a way. But we won’t need to. We’ll both be accepted. So eat something. You’ll need your energy.”
Starfire crinkled her nose. “Or we could both decline and go off to discover the world.”
Suddenly the thought held appeal. Those winding paths glimpsed from the upper window, the haunting questions about my birth village, the teasing thoughts that had invaded even my final test. Were the answers out there somewhere? But after all these years of hard work and the uprisings in the tumultuous outer world, how could I abandon the Order? Everyone knew the world beyond our walls held danger and chaos. I would scrub floors or mortar the walls. Anything to stay.
The High Saltar left her place at the head table and came to stand before the room, regal, confident. Dozens of spoons lowered, hands stilled, and muted conversations died.
Tension built in my jaw, chest, and stomach. When I noticed the tightness, I used my training to release the muscles. Even with my best efforts, I barely coaxed my ribs to expand and draw in air.
“Traditionally, testing day is also a time to announce promotions and other changes. I’m pleased to share a few new positions with you now.”
She rattled off assignments without one mention of yesterday’s disturbance. I supposed that made sense. We’d been taught since the first form: by willing it to be so, we erase the problem from our minds. Bad things simply didn’t happen in the Order. My admiration for her swelled. She embodied the ability to create her own truth.
She continued. “Finally, Saltar River has been named as my new Sub-High Saltar, and Saltar Fern will take her place teaching the fifth form.”
I groaned. The High Saltar and her assistant were the ones who interacted directly with the dancers. I’d hoped to be done with Saltar River.
“Now I’ll call the names of the dancers joining the Order. When your name is called, please come forward. Pine Blue, you are now Dancer Pine. Welcome to the Order.”
Across the table, Dancer Pine’s face lit with joy. She scrambled off the bench and hurried to stand before the High Saltar. An attendant gave a stack of neatly folded items to High Saltar Tiarel, who handed them to the new dancer. White leggings, white hood scarf, white tunic, and a white robe—the clothing that would mark her as a dancer of the Order.
“Do you pledge your service to the Order, in obedience to our vital work?”
“I do.” Her voice squeaked, and then was drowned out by our fingers tapping the table like a downpour of congratulations.
As she was led away by the attendant, I leaned forward, pulse quickening. I could see myself stepping to the front, tipping my head in deference to the saltars, boldly making my pledge, receiving my new name, my new identity.
“Gale Blue, you are now Dancer Gale . . .” Calmly, the High Saltar called each successful candidate forward.
One by one, our table emptied, and as each new dancer stepped forward, my breaths became tighter.
Tiarel’s chin lifted. “We have one more dancer to announce. The rest will be given their new assignments later.” At our table, Furrow, Starfire, and I were among those still not named.
Starfire’s panicked gaze met mine. “I hope it’s you,” she said softly.
Whatever the outcome, everything in our lives was about to change.
“Calara Blue, you are now Dancer Calara.” The words rang in my ears, and, for a second, I forgot how to move.
Starfire stood with me and gave me a quick hug. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We can still meet in the courtyard to watch the stars. I’ll look for you.”
I nodded and walked to the front, so dazed that I didn’t feel my ankle. . . or any other part of my body.
Someone’s voice came from my throat, pledging to serve the Order. When the new clothes were placed in my arms, the soft fabric drew me back to a semblance of reality. I hugged the folded items to my chest, bowed to the saltars, and followed the attendant for a few steps.
I paused to look back. Furrow stared at the table, her face shadowed with despair. I ached for her and was glad to know I could sorrow for her even though she’d hurt me. Of course it was easy to feel compassion for another’s suffering when all my dreams had come true.
Starfire gave a small wave, genuine happiness for me shining on her face. She was a true friend, able to share my joy. My heart caught on a thought. Would I have been able to celebrate with her, if she had been chosen and I wasn’t? I didn’t know.
I followed the attendant through a side door into a hallway I’d never entered before. Light filtered in from generous windows set high above.
As my feet trod the cold marble, the sense of fulfillment swelled in my heart until I thought I’d burst. Delicate banners hung along the wall, beginning with scarlet and passing through all the colors of my past fifteen years. Shyly, I touched the final blue banner, saying goodbye to my life as a novitiate. As the hall curved, rows of doors on both sides came into view, each with small symbols etched into the wood.
The attendant led me to one adorned with the carving of a series of calara reeds. She opened the door. “Regarb and wait here until you’re summoned. This will be your sleep quarters now.”
I entered, expecting to find the other new dancers, but the tiny room was empty of other people. A plump ticking rested on a platform. A row of pegs provided storage. A box with a wooden comb, leather hair ties, and a stack of linen cloths hugged one side of a long shelf set into the wall.
It had never occurred to me that dancers had their own rooms. The air felt empty and cold. How would I sleep without the comfort of others nearby? The isolation would be unbearable. Perhaps the dancers who worked in the central ground at night needed quiet and seclusion to sleep during the day. Or perhaps this was one more deprivation to help us focus solely on our work.
More questions flooded me. When was the schedule announced? When would I get my first chance to dance barefoot on the earth of our world? Did the assignments vary? If I were assigned to dance each night, how would I slip away to meet with Starfire?
No time to dwell on inquiries. I’d been given an order. I tugged off my clothes and changed into the new white fabric, finer and softer than anything I’d worn before. After hanging my old things on the pegs, I studied the long robe. Was it only worn on formal occasions? Who could I ask?
A tap at the door interrupted my fretting.
“Are you ready?” an older woman called out while already pushing her way into the small room. Her plump frame seemed massive after my years with reed-thin novitiates. White curls bounced around her head like my childhood memories of sea froth.
She sized me up while brushing a bit of nonexistent lint f
rom my tunic.
“Am I ready?” I repeated, unsure.
The elder attendant smiled. “All the new dancers wear the same dazed expression. Don’t fear. You’ll feel at home in no time. I’m Ginerva, your assigned attendant.”
“Ginerva?” There was no pattern by that name, no flower or constellation. And she gave no designation. “Just Ginerva?”
“Well now, they won’t be allowing me to include my village name, will they?”
I blinked a few times. “Do I wear the robe?”
She grabbed it from my hands and hung it on a peg. “Not today, child. It’s time to gather in the common hall.” While she spoke, she grabbed my blue clothes and bundled them together, taking them with her. “Follow me.”
I padded after her farther along the hallway. She stopped to push her bundle into a basket set in an alcove. “Laundry there,” she said crisply. “Blankets once a week. I’ll bring fresh clothes each morning, never you fear. But I won’t be picking up after you, you hear?”
By now we’d reached arched windows that gave a view into a huge open room. She waved me to the door, also arched and propped open. “Away with you.” She stopped herself, squeezed the bridge of her nose, and gave a funny cross-eyed squint. “You can find your way back to your room, yes?”
“Look for the reed carvings on the door?”
She beamed. “You’ll do.” Then she waddled down the hall, leaving me to step across the threshold into my new life.
A rank of windows in the rehearsal hall of the dancers’ wing framed a wondrous view of the movement in the central ground. Drawn to the magical sight, I wove my way across the room past a few other dancers who were warming up. I stopped inches from the panes. For the first time, I witnessed a pattern unfolding, so close that if I could reach through the glass, I might feel a billow of fabric as women spun past. Soon I would be among them.
Enthralled, I paid no mind to the other white-garbed women chatting quietly in the room, until the sharp clack of rhythm sticks and scurrying motions pulled me back to reality. I smoothed my new tunic and exchanged a nervous smile with Dancer Pine, and offered respectful nods to a few other experienced members of the Order.
High Saltar Tiarel entered, and the dancers slid into neat lines. I found a place in the back row with the other new dancers from my form. How I wished Starfire could be here to share this moment, as we’d always hoped.
Saltar River positioned herself behind one of the High Saltar’s shoulders like a severe shadow. “New dancers, step forward.”
For a dancer, there was never room for error. But now, more than ever, the demand for perfection set all my nerves on fire. Whatever awaited, I hoped I would be worthy of my calling.
As pale as our new tunics, we filed to the front.
“Face the Order and state your name.”
One by one we introduced ourselves to the rest of the dancers, speaking our new designations for the first time.
High Saltar Tiarel addressed the room. Her cold gray eyes warmed from slate to the shade of a forest hound’s fur. “These new dancers have passed their test and pledged their loyalty. They are your sisters. Dancer Pine, you may remain here to practice with the next shift. You’ll be the first to join in the dance. The rest of the newcomers, follow Saltar River.”
Disappointed to be torn away from the central ground, I obediently followed the others to yet another common room, this one full of long tables and benches.
“Line up,” Saltar River ordered.
We glided swiftly to our places, spines tall, chins level, shoulders back. Surely the standards would only be more stringent now. None of us wanted River’s disapproval on our first day. When we were novitiates and revealed any weakness, she designed brutal dance combinations in punishing repetitions to strengthen us. Only for our good, I reminded myself, hoping the resentful thought hadn’t registered on my face.
The saltar crossed her arms. “We introduce new dancers into the shifts gradually. Never more than one new person at a time. We can’t risk inexperienced dancers making an error and harming our world.” She paced along the row, stopping in front of me, her attention snapping to my swollen ankle.
I wanted to hide my foot behind the other, but I didn’t move.
She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “Dancer Calara, you’ll be the last to join a shift, since you need time to heal.”
Despair clawed at me. I’d waited so long. I was so close. Yet perhaps her decision was a mercy. How horrible to enter the grounds and falter or fall my first time.
I dipped my head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Saltar.”
She sniffed and stepped back.
After pulling a parchment from her tunic pocket and unrolling it, she read a seemingly endless list of rules, procedures and schedules. I tried to memorize the important facts, but my thoughts kept straying to the central ground so tantalizingly close.
That night Ginerva fussed over my ankle, smothering it with a sweet-scented poultice. She massaged the bruised joint, wiggled it every which way, and finally wrapped it tightly. Her concern and attention, so foreign to me, loosened my tongue and I found myself confessing my impatience to join the dance.
She laughed. “Hush, girl. Believe it or don’t, you’ll soon be hoping for fewer shifts instead of more. Hard work, it is. Sure, you all look pretty as white songbirds flitting about, but it’s no playtime. Some even say . . . well, you’ll see.”
I tried to coax more nuggets of information, perhaps to delay being left alone, but she briskly tidied the bedding, lit a candle on the shelf, closed the shutters, and left like a cloud skittering before a wind gust.
Curled on the too-soft mattress, I stared at the flame, trying to convince myself this was a lovely room. Even though I was separated from my friends. Even when I missed the scents of drying wool and the murmurs of conversation. Even when the stark emptiness offered no encouragement to bear up under the weight of my calling. I should be grateful. This small cell wasn’t at all like the storeroom of the first form where my seven-year-old self was once tortured by solitude and shadows. No, not similar at all.
As the days passed, I kept up in rehearsals, got reacquainted with older dancers I’d known slightly from novitiate days, and settled into the new schedule. Abundant meals and an endless supply of candles, unheard of in the school, were only part of the benefits of our elite status. Attendants carried buckets of hot water from the kitchen to the washroom, allowing us to indulge in warm baths in several large tubs. Instead of tedious chores, all our time was dedicated to dance or rest.
Under Ginerva’s care, my ankle grew stronger, and I expected to be assigned to a shift soon. Every spare moment was spent near the windows at the back of the rehearsal hall staring out at the ground as I mentally performed each step with the dancers.
Not everything in my new setting was paradise, though. Our rigid schedule and solitary rooms allowed little opportunity for interaction. Complaints or curiosity about the outer world were never encouraged in our training, but here the restrictions on our conversation, our expressions, our very thoughts were even more enforced. Meals could have provided a bit of chatter, but after we ate, Saltar River led us in reciting proverbs of the Order.
“The power of the Order is sufficient to shape the world.”
“As the true wind guides the currents, only the worthy may direct our course.”
“In the same way the dance bends to the drums, bend your will to obey the saltars.”
“All that is of importance rests within the walls of the Order.”
“Imagine perfect patterns, and you will perform perfect patterns.”
I dutifully spoke the words, waiting for the proverbs to chase away the last fragments of my doubt. Instead, the words tasted empty, and I found myself longing to exchange a surreptitious eye roll with Starfire. I reassured myself that I would find the fulfillment I longed for once I danced in the central ground.
That evening, Ginerva rubbed salve into my ankle, ro
tated it gently, and congratulated me on the improvement. Then she poked my ribs. “Still too thin. Now I’m knowing you do nothing but practice dancing, watch dancing, and think about dancing. Didn’t anyone tell you they keep baskets of fruit and bresh for you all?”
I reassured her I planned to retrieve a snack and keep my strength up.
After she bustled around the room and left, I opened the shutters. The stars throbbed in tones of blue and green, the signal that we were due for star rain.
Starfire was sure to slip out to the courtyard on a night of star rain. I was longing to learn where she’d been assigned and to tell her all my new experiences.
I picked up my candle and wound my way toward the dining hall where an unobtrusive door led outside. If anyone questioned me, Ginerva’s reminder of food would be a fine excuse.
One of the shadowed tables did indeed hold a variety of fruit and the crusty, buttery bresh—so much more delicious than the saltcakes served in the school. I nibbled one and carried a spare for Starfire. After a quick glance around, I eased through the door and into a private courtyard.
I wasn’t alone. Dancer Iris, a gentle woman several years my senior, sat on the edge of a planter watching the sky. At the soft snick of the door closing, she startled. Her posture relaxed when she saw me.
“Come to watch the star rain?”
I hovered by the door. “Is it allowed?”
She beckoned me closer. “Of course. Few of the dancers can be bothered, but I try to enjoy an occasional light show.”
When she shifted to make room for me, the sound of metal against stone drew my attention to her feet. She tried to hide the shackles under her long nightwear gown, but my gasp stopped her. “What . . . ?”
She avoided my gaze, leaning back to study the sky again. “They don’t tell you everything when you graduate into the Order, do they?”
Clasping my hands in my lap, I pressed back my dismay. “What happened? Why?”