Rielle stared at her. “Nobody ever said that to me.”
The woman smiled sadly. “You’ve had a sheltered life then. Or maybe dyeworkers aren’t regarded the same.”
They walked quickly, Jonare guiding Rielle through narrow streets, first familiar then not. They did not see any priests.
“I’m glad I left the children with my sister today,” Jonare said. “They do love to play with Izare’s neighbours, but the priests frighten them.” Again, Rielle turned to regard the woman with surprise, but Jonare did not notice. “Izare enjoys their visits, too. He’s good with children. He’ll make a good father one day, don’t you think?”
At the quick look Jonare gave her, Rielle suppressed a sigh. It was not the first time one of Izare’s friends had sought her opinion on his suitability as a husband or father. She couldn’t tell if they were warning her off or encouraging her. Unfortunately, it meant most of her conversations with them were about Izare, so Rielle settled for changing the subject.
“So does your sister look after your children when you are performing?”
“Yes, and I look after hers when she’s working.”
“What does she do?”
“Oh, a mix of things. Washing clothes. Cooking.” She looked around and her pace slowed. Following suit, Rielle noted that the people they passed were no longer tense and harried.
“So, what did you think of Errek?” Jonare asked.
Rielle shrugged. “Hard to tell on a first short meeting, but he seems nice. He and Izare were … is there a conflict between them?”
Jonare laughed. “Just rivalry. Both are talented artists. Both are handsome young men, don’t you think?”
“Errek? He’s nowhere near as handsome as Izare.”
The other woman’s eyebrows rose, then she smiled. “Ah. Well. That’s good to hear.”
Rielle looked closer and understanding came. “You like Errek?”
“Yes.” Jonare sighed. “But I suspect he does not like me as much as I like him.”
“But what of your husband?”
Jonare’s smile widened. “Husband?”
Rielle blushed as she realised her mistake. “Ah … the father of your children.”
“Oh, their fathers don’t know or care what their mother does. Which for one of them is a good thing, and the other…” She shrugged. “Even when he was alive he was as useless as fish traps in the desert.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m not. He’s only bothering the Angels now.” They turned a corner. “We are not far from Temple Road now.”
The houses ahead were familiar. They turned into a street that led directly to Temple Road, though it emerged a little way from her home. She could slip down a side alley to emerge closer, however.
“I know where I am now.” Rielle turned to Jonare. “I can find my way from here, if you want to return.”
“I should get back in case the priests search my sister’s house.” Jonare sighed. “Angels curse them.”
Rielle winced at the vehemence in the woman’s voice. Being among people who did not respect the priests as her family did made her uneasy, perhaps mostly because she feared they had reason to.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
Jonare smiled. “My pleasure. Can I have the sketch you did of me?”
Rielle nodded. “Of course!”
The other woman patted Rielle’s arm. “I’m looking forward to seeing a painting of yours.”
“So am I.” Rielle grimaced. “Though I’m wondering if Izare is going to keep his side of our deal.”
Jonare laughed and stepped away. “He will. He’s making sure you have a reason to keep coming to visit, once his portrait of you is done.” She winked, then turned and strode back the way they had come.
Rielle watched her go, lifting a hand to touch her cheek where Izare had kissed her. Another thrill went through her at the memory. It had been no more than he did for other women in greeting or farewell. But what if Jonare was right, and he did want her to keep visiting?
She turned and began walking towards home. It did not matter if his interest in her was more than having a subject to paint or a student to teach. Her parents would never approve of him.
Or would they? Is there such a difference between an artist and a dyer? We all work with colour. In fact, Izare’s skills could be useful in a dyeworks. Mother and Father respect Narmah’s skill and they’ve encouraged me to paint. Maybe I can steer them towards the idea that another artist would be a useful addition to the family – especially as I’m having no luck finding a husband among the—
Sudden darkness surrounded her and she staggered to a halt. Looking around, she saw that she had stepped into a small convergence of streets, not quite big enough to be called a courtyard. All was dirtied by black streaks and blotches. She could sense the edge of it and staggered in that direction.
Coming out, her sight cleared and she found herself standing in front of a shrivelled old woman leaning on a stick.
Who was staring back at her.
“It’s not dirty,” the woman said. “It’s just empty.”
Rielle’s heart, which had been racing, lurched. She cast about and felt relief flood through her as she saw that nobody else had been near to witness her reaction to the Stain. Nobody but this old woman.
The woman smiled. “Scares you, doesn’t it? Don’t want to see it but you do.”
Which meant the woman could, too. She won’t say anything, because to reveal that I can see it would reveal that she can as well. Rielle stepped back – not too far lest she encounter the Stain again. The woman laughed and moved forward, her stick tapping on the ground.
“Run away then. Run from nothing. What did this is long gone. From what I heard, it was a good thing, too. Saved someone’s life. Who’s to say that’s a bad thing, eh?”
What is she…? Who is she…? Could she be the corrupter?
Rielle’s blood went cold and she turned and fled.
The walls on either side rushed past, then disappeared and she had to pull up fast to avoid a well-laden cart. All around her was the traffic of Temple Road. Looking over her shoulder she saw an empty street behind her. The woman hadn’t followed her.
How could she, as old as she is? But if she was tainted – and the corrupter no less – then only she and the Angels knew what she could achieve with magic. Rielle shrank away from the street and hurried away, crossing to the other side of the road though it meant fighting against the traffic.
I should report it. I should tell the priests. But she couldn’t without revealing her own ability to see Stain. Taking deep, slow breaths to calm herself, she hurried on towards home.
CHAPTER 7
The sky had cleared by the time Rielle and her family arrived at the temple but the streets still smelled of rain. Though some of the parade participants looked a bit damp they were not going to let it keep them from enjoying the beginning of the Festival of Angels. Rielle’s family was dry, having been protected by a large, brightly coloured waxcloth canopy that the dyeworks’ servants had held over them as they walked into the city centre.
That canopy was now being dismantled and rolled into bundles. Rielle and her family would now join the crowd, much to her relief. As a child she had loved being part of the spectacle, but now, as a young woman, it embarrassed her. She looked down at herself and sighed. Her clothes were all new, made from fabric dyed a bright and expensive orange-red. The tunic was overstitched with temple scenes. She had to admit Narmah’s work was beautiful, but it was overly gaudy for her tastes. At least she had been able to convince her aunt and mother that too much jewellery would unfairly distract the eye from Narmah’s work.
She looked at her brother, as brightly attired in sky blue, and he smiled back at her. Every year Inot returned for the festival, and each time it shocked her to see how much more grown up he was. The seven-year difference in their ages seemed to grow wider. To her disappointment, he had not brought his
wife and children with him, as Wadinee was heavily pregnant with their third.
As their parents started towards the temple, Rielle and Inot followed. They wove through the crowd, each of them holding a furled pennant dyed in their family colours. People let them through out of respect for her parents’ status as the best and largest dyeworkers in Fyre, though Rielle could not help wondering if habitual avoidance also played a part. Her father would eventually stop when those in front did not step aside. This is one way the residents of Fyre know where they stand in the hierarchy of status, Rielle mused. The closer the crowd lets you get to the temple, the higher your status.
She was surprised, when they stopped, that her father had managed to penetrate quite so far into the crowd before people no longer moved aside. Nearby stood Bayla and Tareme’s family, though the girls were not with them. Polite greetings were exchanged. Rielle’s mother asked after Ako and the girls. Rielle caught the words “young ones” and “party”.
“Are you not going to this party?” Rielle’s mother asked her quietly, when their exchange was complete.
“I assumed you would want me here with you, as always,” Rielle replied. Though she didn’t care that she hadn’t been invited, her mother would.
“Oh, you should have asked me. Hmm, maybe it is not too late to accept the invitation.”
The crowd was quietening down. “Since I wasn’t going, I didn’t find out where it is.”
“I’ll just ask…”
“No!” Rielle grabbed her mother’s hand and earned a frown. “Not now. I think the ceremony is about to begin.”
She had seen no such sign, but fortunately it was not long before the temple door opened and priests emerged. The head priest, Sa-Koml, began to address them, beginning his usual summing up of the year’s events.
Looking at the other priests, Rielle could not help smiling at Sa-Baro, who beamed down at the audience. He so loves a celebration, she thought, remembering the relish with which he read to them of the revels and feasting within the tales of the past. She also recognised Sa-Elem. The man stood with a straight back, looking down at the crowd soberly. His gaze moved slowly over all and she could not help imagining he was considering those who over the last year he had noted might have magical ability.
Then his gaze met hers, or at least seemed to. He was a little too far away for her to be certain. He paused, then his chin dropped slightly before he looked away. Rielle found herself staring at him, wondering if she had imagined his nod and resisting the temptation to look behind her to see if it might have been intended for someone else. Had he meant it for her? And, if so, why?
Someone else was looking in her direction, and Rielle’s eyes shifted instinctively to the man beside Sa-Elem. Now it was the younger priest, Sa-Gest, who appeared to be looking at her. He was smiling but, perhaps because she already felt uncertain and self-conscious, it did not seem friendly. She tugged her scarf closer to her face and looked away, directing her gaze at her father in the hope that the priest – if he was watching her at all – would think she did so in response to being addressed.
Sa-Koml had finished his account of the year, and led them in a prayer of thanks. Rielle whispered an extra one of gratitude to the priests and Angels for her escape from the tainted. And for introducing me to Izare, she added silently. No mention had been made of the new tainted the priests were hunting for, or the corrupter who was teaching them. The festival was meant to celebrate the good things in life, not the bad.
As the prayer ended, hundreds of pennants rose above the crowd. Rielle broke the seal that held hers closed and felt it loosen and unfurl in her hands. She lifted it up, smiling as it and her parents’ added a rainbow to the broad crop of family colours. All began to sing and circle around the temple. Once for thanks, several more times for good luck.
As they walked, they dropped coins into grates that were uncovered once a year for this ceremony. The coins fell through into the underground tunnels beneath the courtyard, where they would later be collected by priests and spent on improvements to the city. Not all citizens joined in this ritual – the entire city could certainly not fit into the courtyard these days and it freed the poorer Fyrians from the obligation to donate. At the edges of the courtyard people perched in doorways or crowded windows to watch. Parents held children high or let them ride on their shoulders.
A familiar face among these caught her attention and her heartbeat doubled. Izare smiled back at her and waved. She smiled back. He beckoned. She shook her head.
“Who is it?” her mother asked.
Rielle turned and was relieved to see her mother was searching the faces within the circling crowd. It would not occur to her that her daughter might know someone outside of it.
“A friend,” Rielle told her.
“Oh, then you should go and join them.”
“But what about—?”
“No, no. Narmah can find someone else to help with the feast. I’m sure your friends’ party will be even grander than ours. Go and join them.” She plucked the pennant from Rielle’s hand. “Be home before dark.”
Rielle yielded to the hand pushing her shoulder. She turned away, heart racing with both fear and excitement. If she joined Izare now she would have hours to spend with him. Can I get away with this? Mother might ask Bayla’s parents about the party later and learn I didn’t appear. She’ll wonder where I went instead.
Those parties could be large, though. Rielle could claim she’d spent it in a quiet corner, talking to one or two people she’d just met, whose names she couldn’t remember. If she said that one of them was handsome or nice her mother would be distracted by speculation about who it might be.
The edge of the crowd was moving faster than the middle so Rielle let herself be carried along until she reached the corner she had seen Izare standing in. Stepping out, she searched the faces. He was nowhere to be seen. Had he tried to follow the crowd and was now in a different part of the courtyard?
A hand suddenly curled under Rielle’s arm and she jumped and turned. Greya smiled down at her.
“Don’t you look impressive?” she said.
“Thank you,” Rielle replied, though to her eyes Greya was the impressive one. Tall, pale and graceful, she stood out in the crowd.
“He’s over here,” Greya said, leading the way.
As they wove between the people, Rielle noted how the gazes of men were drawn to her guide more than to her own gaudy clothes. Their reactions were mixed. Some stared in appreciation, seeing the beauty in her graceful, long limbs, but others scowled, clearly only noticing the pale hair and skin that marked her out as having foreign blood. A feeling of danger awoke in Rielle.
“Bino,” someone said as they wove through part of the crowd. Rielle gasped, appalled at the insult. It was slang for an albino, insinuating that her colouring was a deformation.
“How rude,” Rielle said.
Greya shrugged. “It’s just a word. That they mean it as an insult is more insulting to albinos than to me.”
With a sudden flash of understanding, Rielle realised that Greya must endure such hostility all the time. How did she gather the courage to step out on stage? Or, worse, to venture onto the streets of the city alone? Perhaps she remained close to her friends, relying on their protection.
“How long have you lived in Fyre?” Rielle asked.
“I was born here. My father was an actor in a troupe that travelled from city to city. He was seduced by a local singer. I saw him every time he returned to the city. When I was old enough to sing and perform I travelled with him until I was a young woman.”
So she had Fyrian blood as well. Rielle looked up at the woman in admiration. Everyone Izare knew had such interesting, unusual pasts. The women were so confident and didn’t hesitate to speak their mind.
“Why did you come back here to live?” Rielle asked.
“There was a man in the group who wanted to lie with me. I didn’t like him. I told our leader that if the man didn�
�t leave the troupe, I would.” She shrugged. “Ah, here’s Dorr.”
The dashing actor joined them. In his reassuring presence, they continued on to meet Izare, Jonare and Errek. Izare grinned when he saw her, and his greeting was a kiss on the cheek that left her happily speechless for a few breaths. The others complimented her on her “costume”.
“They’ll be at this for another hour or so,” Dorr said, glancing back at the circling crowd. “I’m hungry. And thirsty!”
“Back to the fountain?” Izare asked.
“Back to the fountain!” the rest agreed.
The six of them set off along a route now familiar to Rielle, ending in the little courtyard near Izare’s home. The residents had brought out tables and chairs to fill the space and were laying out a feast, to which Izare contributed dishes of dried fruit and bottles of cheap iquo. It was a humble and rustic feast compared to what Rielle was used to, but she didn’t care. The company was much more interesting.
Izare and his friends introduced her to so many of the residents that she doubted she’d remember anyone’s names. A pair of women boldly introduced themselves as whores, though Rielle suspected they’d noticed her rich clothes and decided to shock her. A trio of acrobats arrived and treated the children to a display of tumbling and balancing. Someone began to sing, and soon instruments were brought out and people began to dance.
Hours passed. As the shadows lengthened, visitors started to leave and the residents settled into chairs to talk and to sip iquo.
“Monya, where is Dinni?” Dorr asked of one of the neighbours.
The woman grimaced. “She’s still upset. She says ‘why should she thank the Angels for ruining us?’.”
“Is it that bad?” Jonare asked in a low, concerned voice.
“Not quite. Not if she starts working on a new sculpture straight away. She’ll still get one finished by the customer’s wedding if she starts soon and we borrow the money for the stone.”
“Has she begun work?” Izare asked.
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