by Sharon Hinck
“What’s she doing?” Brantley whispered.
Her arms painted a circle as she turned.
“It’s a pattern . . . of sorts.” Horrible, broken bits of patterns. Nausea rose in my throat. The poor creature had once trained as a dancer.
She stopped her rotation facing away from us, grabbed her head, and shook it side to side. An unearthly shriek rose from her throat, full of confusion, longing, and despair.
Beside me, Brantley sank lower. “I don’t like this.”
“I agree. Let’s keep moving.”
The woman sank to her knees, placing her palms against the dirt. “I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t hear.” She pulled her hands away as if the ground burned her, and gripped her head again. “No, no, no, no, no. Don’t say anymore.”
I pressed a hand to my throat. She’d heard the voice, just as I had. Was she hearing it now? Perhaps she was one of the dancers that the High Saltar sent into the center ground again and again, only to have her senses overwhelmed. If not for Brantley helping me, this could have been my fate. The poor woman.
I rose to my feet. Brantley glided into the cover of the trees, but I couldn’t follow. Instead I took a step toward the woman.
Brantley returned, grabbed my arm, and hissed. “Where are you going?”
“She’s wearing a scarf of truce. She won’t hurt me.”
The woman was moving again, a few steps of lenka pattern, and then awkward jumps as she attempted star rain. Without pause she shifted to other steps that made no sense together. Bits of subsun rise with night breeze. She made clicking sounds against her teeth, keeping a semblance of rhythm.
I wrenched away from Brantley and entered the clearing. Now I recognized the middle of furrow pattern. When her steps turned in my direction, the woman’s jaw sagged open. She blinked several times, as if assuming I was an apparition.
I eased into the movements from where she’d left off, blessing her ramshackle garden with steps that beckoned rain and growth. She resumed her clicking sounds and joined me. As we finished the pattern, she gave a deep, happy sigh.
Then she glanced at my feet. “No!” she shouted. “You dance with your feet covered? How dare you?”
As if she were my saltar, I stood before her with my gaze lowered. “I heard the voice of the earth in the center ground and was overcome. I dare not touch the bare earth again.”
She giggled. “The voice. The voice. Oh, yes. Ginerva tried to warn me.”
“You knew Ginerva?”
“We all knew her. She wasn’t my attendant, but when she saw what was happening she tried to help. Too late. Too late.” She chortled.
Her laughter seemed to teeter on a thin edge of rationality, and I feared if I said the wrong things, she would spin into incoherence again. “My companion and I have traveled a long way, and we wondered if we could trade for some food.”
She tilted her head and stared at me for a long moment. Then she took a step closer and touched my face, my tunic, the hair that had pulled free of my braid, as if assuring herself I was real.
“From the Order? You came to bring me back?” Her voice turned childlike and wheedling.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m only passing through. Can you help us?”
She squinted, then poked me. “Us? How many are you?”
I signaled Brantley to advance, and he walked slowly toward us, arms outstretched as if seeking to calm an untamed pony.
She lurched backward. “Invasion!”
“No,” I soothed. “A friend. See?” I took Brantley’s hand, wishing I could make him look less alarming.
The woman limped at a run to her shack and emerged with a shovel, which she waved wildly from side to side. “Send him away.”
“I’m not leaving you with her,” Brantley told me in an undertone. “She’s dangerous.”
I squeezed his hand and released it. “I need to speak with her. Please. Go to the edge of the woods. I’ll call if I need help.”
“Are you mad?” His brow lowered, and his expression promised a lecture from him later about taking unnecessary risks.
“Please. You’re upsetting her.”
He rubbed the nape of his neck, then shook his head and strode back to the woods, muttering. A small smile tugged my lips. He truly had become protective, and if I were honest, I might admit his concern felt. . . reassuring.
The woman poked her shovel toward Brantley’s retreating figure a few times, then lowered it.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Dancer Subsun.” Her chest straightened and spine lengthened in spite of her injured leg.
“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m . . . I was . . . call me Calara.”
She sniffed and tossed aside her shovel, leaning her weight on her good leg. “A castoff?”
Close enough. I nodded. “It’s hard to make a new life after the Order.”
She jabbed my chest with a gnarled finger. “The voice, the voice. It’s too big to fit inside us, isn’t it?”
My eyes widened. “Like the whole world is speaking.”
She rubbed her temples. “Not the world. The Maker. You heard Him.”
Even after so much effort by the Order, it seemed the myth wouldn’t fade. Nolana, Ginerva, and now Dancer Subsun, all spoke of a Maker as if his existence were a forgone conclusion.
“I heard something,” I said cautiously.
“It’s Him! And oh, how I long to hear again. Please can’t you take me back to the center ground? He told me something . . .” One finger twirled a gray strand of hair, and she looked upward as if trying to draw a memory from the sky. Then she gasped and grabbed my upper arms. “The letter! That’s what He said.”
Her sudden change of subject lost me. “A letter?”
“Find the letter. He told me that once.” Her face lit with eagerness. “My legs can’t take me far, but you can still walk. You have to find the Maker’s letter . . . or was it a book?”
The only books I knew were stored in the saltars’ offices, and they certainly didn’t speak of a Maker. “I wouldn’t know where to look.”
“No, no, no! You have to try.” Urgency burned in her eyes, then her spine hunched and she winced as if in pain. “Why won’t you understand?”
“I’m only trying to reach a place where I’ll be safe.” A difficult enough task.
She cackled. “Too late. You heard the voice. Nowhere is safe. Now you must seek the Maker.” For a fleeting moment, sanity cleared her troubled eyes. Her grip on me gentled. “Find the truth. He told me it’s there. Someone has to find it.”
Her plea held echoes of the sorrow I’d felt in the center ground. A world lost, a Maker forgotten, and a deep longing for restoration. I couldn’t make sense of it.
“I can ask about a letter as we travel, but what do I do if I find it?”
“You’ll know.” Madness blew across her eyes as quickly as it had left. “Promise me. Promise you’ll find the letter. Seek the Maker.” She shook me, words clawing over each other.
Brantley was right. She was deranged and dangerous. I couldn’t help her, and we certainly couldn’t get aid from her either.
“Of course. I’ll look.” I pried her fingers from my arms and patted her hands. “I’ll go now. If any soldiers come through here searching, please don’t tell them about us.”
I eased back a few steps.
A canny gleam lit her crooked smile. “Too late, too late. Soldiers have already been this way. Someone is angry.” Her laughter rose to a hysterical pitch, then broke off into a moan as she grabbed her head. Limping, she headed into her shack.
I slipped away while I had the chance, shaken more than I wanted to admit by her confusing warnings and the news that soldiers could be near.
After joining Brantley at the edge of the clearing, I told him about the conversation.
“Seek the Maker?” he scoffed. “That’s helpful advice.”
“Your niece told me she talks to the Maker.”
�
��Younglings talk to imaginary friends. Doesn’t make them real.”
“I wonder. The voice I heard . . . could it be . . . Someone instead of something? The Order taught the Maker is a lie and myth, but I can’t trust the Order.”
“I agree you can’t trust the Order, but that doesn’t mean you should start chasing myths.”
“But what if—”
“We need to keep moving.” He hitched up his pack, ducked under a branch, and set a new course straight into the thickest underbrush.
Just as well. I didn’t want to argue with him, especially since I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“I’m hoping,” he tossed over his shoulder, “what she told you about soldiers was a delusion. But we still better avoid any more settlements until we reach the rim.”
I followed, my stomach knotted with hunger and my legs weary from our relentless pace. At least those were experiences that my time in the Order had taught me to endure. However, there were new problems I had no training to address: my questions about the voice, the Maker, and the letter that Dancer Subsun seemed to think would give me answers. Brantley might dismiss it all as nonsense, but I resolved that if we found people we could trust, I would ask my questions with or without his help. Release my world! the voice had told me in the center ground. A deep yearning built in me. I had to understand what I’d heard and find a way to dance on bare earth again without fear.
Cold river water rushed over my shoes, lapped at my ankles, and splashed my shins. Every muscle, bone, and joint clamored a complaint, and I let the water soothe away the leading edge of pain. I scooped up a handful for a drink. The river held rainwater, but I tasted a hint of sweetness, probably from seawater seeping up from below.
“You’ll ruin those ridiculous shoes.” Brantley kicked off his boots and settled on a boulder, dangling his bare feet in the creek. “The water’s not going to hurt you.”
“My choice.” I turned away, not wanting to explain that even a creek bed could be hazardous for me to touch. We’d both grown more irritable as days had passed with little food, and I pressed my lips together to keep from lashing out at him.
A splash sounded as he came up behind me. “Traveling will be that much harder if your shoes are wrecked and you have to go barefoot.” Brantley’s breath brushed hot against my ear.
He had no idea. Traveling would not be harder; it would be impossible. My very sanity would be threatened if my bare skin was forced to touch our world.
My shoulders sagged. I couldn’t afford to let these thin slippers fall apart. I tromped to the bank and wiped my shoes on a wide burdock leaf.
Brantley watched me with a puzzled frown. “I didn’t mean to chase you out of the water.”
Should I explain? Could I? Or would he assume I was as mad as Dancer Subsun?
“Dancers only touch the raw earth after a lifetime of preparation, and only in the central ground. I can’t risk . . . communicating . . . with the earth out here.”
He barked a laugh. “And here I was about to ask you to do some of that dancer stuff”—he wiggled his fingers—“and drum us up some berries or something.”
I sighed. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“I thought the Order controlled everything.”
“I’m not in the Order anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.” I loathed the bitter edge to my voice. He’d sacrificed a great deal to escort me to safety and didn’t deserve my irritation. I drew a steadying breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t mean to take it out on you.”
I managed a small smile. “We’ve found a river, so there’s reason to hope.”
He sloshed over to me and stepped up onto the bank. “That there is. As soon as we reach the rim, we’ll have full bellies. Roasted copper fish, smoked sea trout.” He licked his lips and grinned.
I didn’t share his confidence. Who would help a runaway dancer and a herder wanted by the Order’s soldiers?
Brantley flung droplets at my face, jarring me from my pessimism. “Cheer up. We’re not lost anymore.”
I scooped both my hands in the water and threw it his direction, dousing the front of his shirt. “So now you admit we were lost?”
His laugh was rich and deep. “Let’s go, dancer. The ocean is calling.”
I shivered. The Order taught us the sea was vast, dangerous, and so honeyed that its water led to illness. I couldn’t match Brantley’s eagerness to reach the shore, but it could lead us to Undertow and maybe even my family. A mother’s gentle encouragement, an uncle’s laughing eyes, a sister’s hug. Who knew what I might find? The hope stabbed me with a pang as sweet as ocean water.
“Lead on, herder,” I answered.
His enthusiasm fueled my steps with new lightness as we traced the riverbank. Overhead, a harrier bird glided, banked, and dove beyond the trees. The pines and willows swayed to the subtle motion of the ground, changing heights as deep waves rolled beneath us. Songbirds caroled delicate melodies. Even the whir of insects sounded happier. I was able to ignore my gnawing hunger and the pervasive fear of pursuit. A tiny kernel of anticipation sprouted in my soul.
Late in the day, the trees parted, the river widened, and we came to a sight that stole my breath.
The primary sun rested low over an unending expanse of ocean, sparkling with shades of amber and peach. Gentle turquoise currents played tag with the shore, where tangled plant roots disappeared into the water.
Brantley noticed my awe and clapped an arm around my shoulders, drawing a deep, satisfied breath. “Always pains me to be away from the sea too long. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
I tore my eyes from the sea for a moment to look at him. His smile was broad and relaxed, and a contented sigh lifted his chest. He was the happiest I’d ever seen him.
I followed his gaze back out over the vastness. A thrill of amazement whispered over my skin. “The water really does go on forever.”
No wonder the Order fought so hard to keep our world secure. What would it be like if our island pulled loose to spin aimlessly through the limitless waves? A shiver of dread rippled up my spine, yet I also felt a tug to embrace the dance of ever-shifting froth, playful wind gusts, and soaring seabirds.
Brantley moved closer to the edge and rubbed his hands together. “Now we can get some food.”
I turned in a slow circle on the short band of earth where we’d emerged from the forest. I surveyed the matted woven weeds where water lapped along the rim, the river we’d followed, and the emptiness before us. No sign of habitation, no fruit trees, no berry bushes. Where did he plan to find food?
I perched on a fallen tree, a safe distance back from the edge, my gaze drawn again to the shifting colors of the setting sun reflected on the water.
Brantley rummaged through his pack and pulled out a thin wooden whistle. He blew a few notes, a repeating pattern. Then he kicked off his boots, tossed aside his cloak, and pulled off his vest. Had he gone mad?
When he took off his shirt and flung it to the ground, I looked away.
Could proximity to sweet water drive a person to madness even if he didn’t drink it? I was too tired to run back upriver, and too tantalized by the ocean to want to leave, but I was worried about my companion’s erratic behavior.
He sat at the edge and dangled his feet in the water, scanning the horizon.
“What are you doing?” I finally called from my safe spot near the woods.
“Patience,” he said.
I waited, watching the shifting colors of the subsun reflecting on the waves. After several minutes, my stomach grumbled a reminder that Brantley had promised he’d find food. I stood, determined to broach the topic, but a ripple moved off to the side and drew my attention. I blinked a few times. One low wave moved against the rest of the lapping current and headed our direction.
Had Brantley’s tune called forth new waves in a similar way that dancers spoke to the earth?
A shape ro
se from the surface. I wanted to dash to Brantley and pull him back from the edge, but I was paralyzed and only managed to squeak.
He didn’t hear me over his joyous laughter.
A creature lifted a head and chest from the water. It moved toward the shore with the agility of a river fish, but its long neck supported a head with floppy ears, a tapered muzzle like a forest hound, huge violet eyes, and a mouth shaped into a perpetual smile. Instead of fur, its blue-gray skin was so smooth that water beaded and rolled away from the portion of its body that broke the surface.
He should have retreated to safe ground, but Brantley yelled, “Navar!” and dove into the water. Or had he fallen? The strange fish dipped its snout down and up several times, then stretched out, submerging most of its shape.
I clutched my throat and tiptoed a few feet closer to the edge, riding the rocking movement underfoot caused by the creature’s wake. I expected to see Brantley devoured. Instead he appeared on the far side of the creature and propelled himself up on its back in one smooth movement.
Arms outspread for balance, Brantley stood—stood!—on the slick body and shook wet hair from his eyes. “Meet my friend Navar,” he called. Knees slightly bent, he maintained a balance that any dancer would envy. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
Navar raised her head again, turned her long neck to peer at Brantley, and bobbed her muzzle up and down. After Brantley twirled a fist in the air a few times, his mount faced forward and propelled the two of them in a wide circle. The sun silhouetted Brantley’s muscled form, his chest full of sea air, profile rising to meet any challenge. Together, he and Navar looked like a mythic being born of water and sky.
“We’ll be back soon with supper,” Brantley shouted.
Then with dizzying speed, they shot across the water and faded from sight toward the horizon.
Sinking to the rolling ground, I dredged my memory for any childhood knowledge of huge aquatic beasts. The sweet scent of ocean waves tasted familiar in the back of my throat, but I couldn’t conjure any recollections similar to the scene I’d just witnessed. Brantley treated Navar in the way a tender would treat a favorite pony. I shook my head, half in awe, yet still half afraid.