Riwenne & the Bionic Witches

by Kristen S. Walker

  “Hm, I see.” Warawa skimmed his copy of the lyrics. “So it’s more of a personal approach to religion than the government-sponsored dogma? The temples won’t like that.”

  I clenched my hands. Would the temples shut down our performance before we even had a chance?

  “If the temple tries to censor us, it will only increase the public’s interest,” Bymonten declared. “It’s time for a new perception of divinity, and Ruraqie could be at the forefront of the revolution. No longer shall we rely on stuffy old priestesses to channel our prayers. Let each person address the gods!” His voice echoed through the studio.

  Warawa nodded. “Ah, so you’re courting controversy to increase publicity. You always were a sly one.” He flipped off the gramophone and put the record back into its sleeve. “I must start work on new choreography for these backup dancers. How many new songs do you plan to do at the preview? I want to know where to concentrate first.”

  A preview show? This was the first I’d heard of a second performance.

  “The festival coordinator said we’ll have about fifteen minutes,” Bymonten said, consulting a clipboard he often carried with him. “With an opening statement and time for applause, we should be able to do four songs if we can keep each one at a tight three minutes. We have to do ‘Guide to Love’ and the new version of ‘Road to Freedom,’ so pick two of the new ones to go with those.”

  Warawa nodded and scribbled notes on his list of songs. “Sounds good.” He waved to the rest of us. “I need time to work, so you’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Be here early tomorrow!”

  As we gathered our things to leave, I leaned closer to Amena and whispered, “What’s the preview?”

  Amena grinned. “Oh, it’s a great way to get the word out. At the trade festival, there’s a stage with free performances, and a slot opened up because of a last-minute cancelation. We can do a few songs and get more people excited to come to the concert!”

  My shoulders slumped. I hoped we’d get a break, but we’d have to work even harder to be ready a day earlier. “So we won’t get to go just enjoy the festival?”

  “It’s a short set,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure we can get a few hours free after we’ve gotten through our part.”

  I stifled a disappointed sigh. I didn’t know what happened at a festival in Ruraqie if it wasn’t at a temple, but there had to at least be food. If only I could have time to stuff my face.

  The day of the festival arrived in a blink, and I didn’t feel like we were ready at all. We only had time for one dress rehearsal and I tripped in the first part of “The Goddess’s Guide to Love.” Warawa wanted to keep us for another run-through. Bymonten said he had to give the musicians a break to take their instruments over to the theater.

  Our performance wasn’t scheduled until late in the afternoon, so we had a few hours to go explore the festival before we needed to report backstage. My spirits lifted back up. Maybe if I could get my mind off of the dances for a little while, I’d relax and not screw up so badly. Besides, the festival had to be full of food, right?

  Growing up in the city, the trade festival had been like most other celebrations. Everyone met at the temple for an opening ritual by the priestesses, then gathered outside in the courtyard for food and activities. The trade festival was an open-air market where traveling merchants, mostly from other cities, could sell many exotic goods. As a child, I’d never had much money to spend, so I’d only been able to look. I dreamed of the day I could afford to buy something cool.

  Today, Bymonten gave us all a small advance on our wages for dancing. I was afraid Tika would insist we save it for supplies, but she grudgingly allowed us to spend a little for fun.

  We dressed in light, colorful clothes for the warm weather. All the trolleys were full going to the festival, but it was only a few blocks away, so walking wasn’t too bad.

  They held the festival in the Paragon Exhibition Hall across the street from The Grand Fountain Theater, where we’d be performing. The Paragon was a long, squat building of cast iron like an airship hangar. It was more than twice the size of the concert venue, with a crowd lined up to enter through the triple-arched doors. There were signs hung everywhere to advertise the festival’s many events. Food carts were set up on either side of the street, filling the air with tantalizing scents, but I ignored them. The best food would be inside.

  We got into the entrance line, which was moving slowly. I craned my neck trying to get a peek. “There’s no way we’ll have enough time to see everything before the show,” I said. “How late do you think it’ll be open tonight? Maybe we can come back?”

  The girl in line ahead of us spun around and flashed a smile. “The exhibition will be open tomorrow, too,” she said brightly.

  My eyes widened. “Two days for the festival? Don’t people have to work tomorrow?”

  The friendly girl nodded. “Some of us, but some people had to work today, too. That’s why it started last night and stays open for two-and-a-half days, so everyone gets the chance to go.”

  “That’s so cool,” I breathed. In the capital, everyone got the same day off for each holiday and then it was over. But it looked like there were too many people living here to fit inside the hall at once, so it made sense to spread them out.

  Finally, we got to the head of the line. A security guard checked us over to make sure we weren’t carrying any weapons, then we had to buy tickets. An entrance fee for a festival? And it wasn’t cheap, costing half of my pocket money.

  At last, we entered the hall. Sunlight streamed in through the glass ceiling and there were people everywhere, making the hall even warmer than outside. Noise echoed through the huge chamber. More signs hung in the air to label the different sections of the hall, some of which broke off into separate rooms. I saw names like Photographic Gallery, Telecommunications Demonstration, and New Express Passenger Locomotive on Display! All of it sounded very confusing and technical, and I had no idea where to go.

  Amena stopped at the head of our group. “I think it’s better if we stick together so no one gets lost. Where should we go first?”

  Janera pointed to a sign that said something about fabrics. “Maybe there’re clothes that way?”

  I clapped my hands together. “Sounds like fun!” If I skimped on the snacks, I might have enough money to buy one cute outfit, at least.

  Everyone else agreed, so we headed for the fabric section.

  But all we found were booths talking about techniques for fabric manufacturing. Huge machines that spun threads and wove them together, made for factories. Barkers stood beside each one, proclaiming why their model was faster, cheaper, and more efficient than their neighbor’s. Deryt was the only one who could understand the technical jargon they threw around. He looked at some machines with mild interest, but they bored the rest of us.

  We wandered farther and saw more of the same. Companies showed off their latest inventions for making everything from steel to paper, new types of farming equipment, and even large vehicles like trains and airships. Every doohickey and contraption fascinated the crowds, but none of it was fun. We found food at a popcorn-making demonstration, but the operator was only handing out samples in little paper cups.

  I looked at my sample cup, which only held about two bites. “I guess it’s just the street food outside.”

  Amena glanced at a nearby clock display and nodded. “If we want to eat, we should go out now while there’s still time.”

  Kyra sighed. “Who knew this thing would be such a snooze fest.”

  I rose on tiptoes to search for the nearest exit, but then I saw something else that made me freeze in my tracks.

  A nearby booth held racks full of mechanical limbs. Human-shaped limbs—hands, arms, legs, even a fake eye that swiveled around on a stand like it was staring at the festival goers. Even if I hadn’t recognized the designs on my own, the barker confirmed it for me. Pomavar, in his official Ministry of R&D uniform, was making a p
resentation.

  I waved frantically at the others. “Shh, hold on a second! What’s Rennu’s assistant doing here?”

  We exchanged worried glances. Keeping the crowd between us and the journeyman engineer, we slipped into the booth next to Pomavar’s and listened.

  “Have you been injured in a factory accident?” Pomavar called out to a small audience gathered around him. “Perhaps you know someone who suffered a tragic loss of limb in a terrorist attack? Or maybe you just want to push beyond the limitations of your fragile human body? Now you can be rebuilt—better, faster, stronger!”

  He leapt up onto the table and tore off the bottom of his trousers with a flourish. People gasped when they saw his prosthetic legs. “Disabilities are a thing of the past,” Pomavar declared. “We can construct any motor function with performance equal to or better than the average human capability. This is no longer the realm of science fiction, folks. I can walk, run, jump, and dance on these things as if they were my own flesh and blood.”

  People exclaimed in awe, but I heard a little buzz of doubt underneath. One man stepped forward and folded his arms. “Yeah, but what do you power those things with? Is that a sunstone? The temple priestesses charge us an arm and a leg for one of those.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  Pomavar revealed the bloodstone inside his shirt. “This is no ordinary crystal.” He removed it from its casing and held it up. “A new source of energy, more powerful than a sunstone—and the best part is, I can teach you how to create one yourself!”

  That was all the audience needed to hear. They pushed forward into his booth, throwing out questions and eagerly pawing the display models. Word spread through the exhibition hall like wildfire and they swamped the whole area with prospective customers.

  I couldn’t believe Pomavar was encouraging more people to use those horrible stones. Would he be able to convince them to sacrifice a life? “I have a bad feeling about this,” I muttered to the others.

  Tika leaned forward on my shoulder. “We need to find out more about what he’s doing here. He could be planning something, like a way to sabotage Amena’s concert.”

  Amena pointed at the clock. “But we don’t have time. We’re due at the theater in twenty minutes.”

  I looked up at Deryt. “You’re the only one who doesn’t have your face on a wanted poster.”

  Deryt frowned. “He will still recognize me from my R&D apprenticeship.” He looked over at the crowd around Pomavar. “I can try to eavesdrop on his sales pitch, or at least keep an eye on him while you’re at the concert. But that means I won’t be around if someone else attacks.”

  I looked around at the others. Splitting up the team was always a risk.

  “We can handle ourselves if something goes wrong,” Janera said, throwing back her shoulders.

  Kyra nodded. “Right, there’s still five of us, plus Tika and Uqra can be our lookouts backstage. What we need is more information about the enemy.” She shivered. “And how to stop them from creating more bloodstones.”

  Amena put her hand on Deryt’s arm. “Would you rather have Uqra stay with you to watch your back?”

  Deryt shook his head. “I may be tall, but I know how to keep a low profile. I’ll find you after the show.” He smiled down at her. “Be careful.”

  “You, too,” she said, and a look passed between them I couldn’t read. They’d known each other for so long it seemed like they could communicate a lot of things without even speaking. It made me miss Nexita and our old closeness.

  But this wasn’t the time to feel sad. We left Deryt to spy on Pomavar and headed in the opposite direction for an exit. The show must go on.

  22

  Comeback Concert

  Backstage, Bymonten’s team rushed us into our dance costumes and fixed our hair and makeup. Amena wore the flashiest outfit, a ruffled yellow dress with colorful beading, while the rest of us had plain frocks each in a different shade. The skirts were very short and lifted when we twirled or kicked, but we had frilly bloomers underneath. We also had copper stars that were the symbol of Amena—and the rebellion.

  It was a shock to see Vilqa in such girly clothing. “Do you mind having to wear a dress?” I asked them.

  Vilqa smiled. “It’s fun to have a feminine look sometimes. I just don’t like being restricted to one thing every day.”

  “That makes sense,” I said with a nod. “I’d wear cute dresses all the time if I could, but I didn’t like when we were forced to wear the school uniform.”

  “Time to focus,” Warawa reminded us. “Remember, if you make a mistake, find your place again and go on like nothing happened. The important thing is to keep the performance moving. We won’t get a second chance.”

  Amena beamed at us. “I’m sure you’ll do great. I know how hard you guys have worked on this, and I’m so proud,” she said. “Watch me instead of the audience.”

  The stage manager beckoned to us from the door. “Places, please. You’re on in five.”

  Five minutes. We lined up on either side of the stage, only a heavy curtain separating us from the audience. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I just had to follow Amena’s lead.

  Amena bounced out onto the stage first, calling out into the crowd. “Hi, everyone! I’ve missed you so much.” The audience erupted into screams.

  “I’m sorry I had to go away for a while,” she continued. It sounded spontaneous, as if she were speaking from the heart, but I know Bymonten planned every word. “My thoughts and prayers go out to all those affected by the tragic terrorist attacks in Lyndamon. I was afraid for my life. But I couldn’t stay away from you forever. I thank you all for your support.” She bowed, and the crowd’s cheering grew even louder.

  Bymonten stood in front of me, watching the audience’s reaction. He made a note on his clipboard. “Good, they’re eating up the victim angle,” he muttered. “Get ready, you two.”

  I glanced back at Vilqa. Since Kyra and I were shorter, Warawa had positioned us on either side of Amena, with Vilqa and Janera behind us. There was nothing to do, we were ready and waiting for our cue.

  Amena was still talking on stage. "My harrowing experience has given me a new perspective on life. I’ve had to think about what I value, and one of the most important things is you, my fans. So I’ve written you some new songs!”

  The cheering crowd reached a fever pitch. Oh, no, what had we gotten ourselves into?

  “But first, let’s start with an old favorite,” Amena shouted, waving her hand to cue up the music. “Because what’s more important than love?”

  The crowd screamed. The music started even louder, the beat pounding through the speakers over my head. Vilqa nudged me and I skipped out only half a beat late, picking up the familiar routine. The four of us crossed to opposite sides of the stage and took up our spots behind Amena.

  Amena raised her hands and started clapping in time to the beat, and the rest of us copied her. The audience followed along with enthusiasm, even though not everyone was on the rhythm. I could feel Amena’s power rising with the incredible energy in the room. It linked us all together and carried us along, and suddenly, it all seemed so easy.

  “If you keep silent, sorry, love won’t come your way,” Amena whispered into her microphone. The crowd echoed her words—everyone knew the song.

  By the time we got to the chorus, the audience was on their feet and swaying to the music. I was having so much fun, I was grinning ear-to-ear.

  “The Goddess’s Guide to Love” finished in the required three minutes. Then we launched straight into one of the new songs, an upbeat number called “Keep on Singing.” Uqra had suggested this one to encourage people to think positive and keep their spirits up.

  “I have big dreams for the future,” Amena sang along with the backing track. We’d tried to harmonize with her in practice, but it was too hard to keep up with the dance steps and sing at the same time. Warawa said we’d need a lot more training before we could get to that level. I was
fine with that, because I’d only sung as part of the priestess chorus in the temple.

  The third song was “Maiden of Light,” a much slower tempo. Bymonten had agreed with my suggestion about Amena playing the song on her guitar, so us dancers could slip backstage and take a breather for a few minutes. Then we came back out for the final number.

  “You know this last song already, but you may find the words are a little different,” Amena told the crowd. The music started for “Road to Freedom.”

  The crowd clapped along but listened closely to the new lyrics. The words were bold, challenging the ideas the empire had fed us all our lives, and the chorus was the most blunt.

  I’m watching the empire crumble around us

  We each walk on our own road

  What if destiny isn’t written in the stars?

  This is what I chose

  The road to freedom

  Fighting for a better future

  Don’t lose your way

  We danced around her, holding up oversized star props painted copper to match her symbol, the secret badge of the rebellion. We were pulling out all the stops for this one. If the imperial censors had any idea about what she was actually saying, we could be in big trouble.

  By the second chorus, the audience had caught on to the changes, and they sang with her. They seemed to enjoy the new version.

  The song ended, and we took our bows. We didn’t have long to bask in the applause, though, before we had to clear the stage for the next performing group. Amena thanked the crowd a final time and reminded them about her concert tomorrow.

  Backstage, I let out a sigh of relief and threw my arms around my friends. “We did it! I can’t believe how fast it went!”

  Bymonten nodded over his clipboard. “Yes, you all performed adequately. Just be sure that you can repeat it tomorrow.”

  Amena told him, “We’ll talk about it at rehearsal in the morning.” She turned to the rest of us and clapped her hands. “That was so great! Let’s go celebrate!”