“And this dance,” Rashid called out again, “somehow transfers energy…cosmic force…some mystical something…from Master Day to Mistress Night, to redress the balance of light and dark?”
“You’re talking like the Patriarch,” Leeta said. “This dance goes back to the saner days of Tober Cove, before the Patriarch came along. There’s no doubletalk; it just fixes things.”
“How does it fix things?” Rashid asked.
“Talking won’t help,” she said, annoyance creeping into her voice. “Keep still now. Words only get in the way.”
Rashid shrugged and settled himself on the edge of a low limestone outcrop. Steck sat at Rashid’s feet and leaned against the knight’s armored legs—an intimate pose, probably intended to offend me. I ignored it; my attention was dominated by the jab of milkweed pods on Leeta’s belt, now crunched tight against my crotch.
We began, slowly, to dance, holding each other like lovers. No music; no sound at all but the crackling of the campfire. For a while I kept my eyes open, staring at the dark trees beyond the firelight so I wouldn’t have to look at Rashid and Steck. But Leeta had her eyes closed, with the shadow of a smile on her wrinkled face…dreaming of other dances, I suppose, other men, or maybe other women from her long-ago male years.
I tried to get dreamy myself: to think of past dances with Cappie and others, to think of anything besides the smell of wilted daisies curling up from Leeta’s hair and the prickle of animal claws digging into my chest.
Slow rocking, shifting back and forth from one foot to the other…not really a dance at all, no steps, no explicit rhythm, just that slow movement. I wondered if I should lead: I was the man, I should lead. But when I tried directing our motion, toes got in the way of toes and Leeta’s hand clenched into a fist where it rested against my back.
I gave up steering.
Time passed. The fire faded to coals. Gradually, the claws on my sash, the milkweed pods, everything else prodding between our tightlocked bodies tweaked into more comfortable positions and drifted out of my consciousness. Leeta and I danced together in the quiet dark, alone among the trees. Distracting thoughts about Rashid, Steck and Cappie slipped away, as I stopped worrying about what I was supposed to do. I stopped thinking much at all—time blurred and thought blurred, but the dance went on.
Two people in the sleeping forest.
Back and forth in the quiet dark.
At some point, we stopped. Neither of us made the decision; the dance was simply over, and we clung motionless to each other for a time that might have been seconds or minutes. Then we parted, blinking in slow surprise, like children awakened from sleep. I wondered if I should do something—maybe bow and say, “Thank you.” But a leaden awkwardness weighed me down so strongly I couldn’t speak. I turned away, looking off into the forest…away from Leeta, away from Rashid and Steck whose presence I had just remembered. Despite the warmth of high summer, I felt chilled and naked.
Leeta poked the fire with a stick. Maybe she was stirring the coals; maybe she just felt as awkward as I did, and needed time to draw in on herself. After a moment, she muttered, “That’s it. It’s done.” She kept her head bent over the ashes.
“That’s it?” Rashid asked. “That was the whole ceremony?”
“That’s all it had to be,” Leeta replied. Her voice sounded choked; for some reason, I worried she was angry at me.
“But nothing happened!” Rashid protested loudly.
“Things happened,” Leeta answered, still not looking at anyone. “You can’t put two people together without things happening. Maybe folks on the outside can’t see the change, but it’s real. When you’re quiet and tired enough, you stop posing and you stop worrying. For a few seconds, you aren’t trying to be something other than what you are; for a few seconds, two people are real, and balanced. Me and the boy, Mistress Night and Master Day. Then, of course, we go back to posing again, because reality is terrifying; but we made the balance, and we made the difference.”
At that moment, I admired her: her faith. She was clearly embarrassed to defend the ritual in front of Rashid—Leeta probably knew about rotations, revolutions and axial tilts too—yet she’d come out here to dance anyway, because that’s what a priestess did. The only magic in the entire universe might be inside her own head; but that could be enough.
Maybe it had to be enough.
Rashid opened his mouth to ask another question, to dissect the moment, to explore our quaintly absurd “superstitions”…but he was interrupted by an arrow speeding out of the darkness and an explosion of violet flame.
FIVE
A Bribe for Bonnakkut
A second arrow followed on the nock of the first and this time I had a better glimpse of what happened. The arrow shot straight for Rashid’s unhelmeted skull; but before it penetrated his temple, the arrowhead struck an invisible barrier and vaporized in a crackling burst of violet light. That arrowhead was made of flint, flint which blazed like straw falling into a blacksmith’s forge…and the flame burned so hot, it incinerated the arrow’s shaft and fletching with the same gout of fire. The flash left an afterimage of purple streaked across my vision, but in the ensuing darkness, I could blearily see a violet outline surrounding Rashid from head to toe.
The outline extended around Steck, still cuddled against Rashid’s knee.
Another arrow brought another eye-watering explosion as the barb struck the violet fringe…and it occurred to me, Leeta and I should hightail it out of the target area before we regretted not having violet fringes of our own. I looked around for Leeta, intending to shield her with my body as we crawled away—it’s a man’s duty to safeguard the women of his village. Leeta, however, had already scurried into the darkness on her own initiative; so instead of making a strategic withdrawal as the heroic protector of a vulnerable woman, I scuttled into the bushes like a raccoon caught stealing garbage.
I found a place to crouch behind a bigger-than-average birch and waited as a flurry of violet flashes speckled the blackness. How many archers were out there? Probably the whole Warriors Society. Cappie must have dragged them out of their beds when she got back to town, and they’d followed Steck’s heavy-booted tracks from the marsh to this clearing. The first few arrows were aimed at Rashid, so Cappie must have told the men about his stink-smoke weapon; now the shots split half and half between knight and Neut, trying to pierce the violet barrier that shielded the two.
“Is this really necessary?” Rashid called over the crack and sizzle of arrows burning. “My force field was designed by some very smart beings in the League of Peoples. Unless you’re carrying laser rifles or gas bombs, you don’t have a chance of touching us.”
As far as I could see, he was right: the barrage was a waste of arrows. Then again, men of the Warriors Society weren’t famous for developing new strategies. If something didn’t fall down when they hit it with a stick, they’d try again with a bigger stick. If they emptied their quivers on Rashid and Steck, the Warriors would probably whack away with spears, and swords, and that big steel ax our First Warrior Bonnakkut always bragged about.
It put me in a quandary, that ax. Did I want to close my eyes when Bonnakkut swung it at Rashid, so I wouldn’t be dazzled when the ax exploded? Or did I want to watch, so I’d see the expression on Bonnakkut’s face when his precious baby turned to smoke in his hands?
Tough choice. A flash that big might permanently blind me, but it could be worth it to see Bonnakkut reduced to steamy tears. Why did I hate him so much? Let’s just say Warrior Bonnakkut was not a music lover. He was five years older than me, and had always been jealous of the attention I got for being talented. Bonnakkut wasn’t talented; he was only big and strong and mean. Apparently that was enough to win his way to the top of the Warriors Society in record time.
You had to worry about the safety of Tober Cove, if this ineffectual volley of arrows was typical of Bonnakkut’s “tactics.”
Rashid did nothing despite the commotion. He con
tinued to sit on the ledge where he’d watched the dance, one arm wrapped around the Neut’s shoulders. With his other hand, he shielded his eyes from the bursts of violet flame that flared a finger’s width away from his face. I had to admire his composure; if I were the target of so many archers I’d be flinching constantly, no matter how protected I was by diabolic fires.
The arrows were still flying when Leeta stuck her head from behind a nearby tree and called, “I’m only a foolish woman, but perhaps you might humor me.” Those words always started a Mocking Priestess homily, and Tober custom dictated that people stop what they were doing to let her speak. I figured it was fifty-fifty whether Bonnakkut would let the other warriors quit shooting; but maybe he thought Leeta would suggest a more effective way of killing the outsiders, and he was ready to listen. The forest fell silent: no thrum of bows, no cracks of flame.
Leeta cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say perhaps you should save your arrows for when they might be useful. It’s exciting to watch them go pop and make pretty lights…but suppose a wildcat or bear shows up in the pastures before Fletcher Wingham has a chance to make more ammunition. We’d lose sheep and cattle, wouldn’t we? People wouldn’t like that.”
“They don’t like Neuts either,” a deep voice shouted back. Bonnakkut, of course.
“That’s true,” Leeta agreed, “but your arrows aren’t solving the Neut problem, are they?”
“There is no Neut problem,” Rashid said, rising to his feet. Steck stood quickly too, wrapping an arm around Rashid’s waist; I could just make out the violet glow surrounding both of them. “Steck and I won’t harm anything,” Rashid went on. “We just want to observe your ceremony tomorrow.”
“You can’t,” Bonnakkut snapped. “Steck was banished twenty years ago, legal and proper. And Cappie said you claim to be a scientist. That’s against the law too.”
“All these laws against being something,” Rashid grimaced. “Don’t you have any laws against doing things? Like trying to kill visitors who come in peace?”
Steck said, “The Patriarch was not noted for his hospitality.”
“I’m prepared to be lenient,” Bonnakkut said in an unlenient tone of voice. “If you leave immediately, we’ll let you go.”
“Oh, very generous.” Rashid rolled his eyes.
“Otherwise, we’ll kill you here and now.”
If those words had been said by anyone but Bonnakkut, I might have held my tongue; but I’d hated him ever since he was a twelve-year-old girl who shoved my sheet music down an outhouse hole. I couldn’t pass up the chance to rub his nose in his inadequacies, even if it meant siding with outsiders. “Come on, Bonnakkut,” I shouted from the cover of the bushes, “you can’t make a dent in these two. Stop pretending to be effective and escort them back to the cove. Let the mayor and council sort out this mess.”
Bushes rustled on the far side of the clearing and Bonnakkut stepped out. In the darkness, I could only make out his silhouette: massive shoulders, massive chest, massive ax held in one hand. “So,” he said, pointing the ax-head at me, “look who’s become a Neut lover. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“It surprises me,” Steck said, craning Its Neut neck to peer at me. “Where’d you find this sudden streak of common sense?”
“The solstice dance breeds common sense,” Leeta answered, saving me the trouble of an excuse. “The dance puts things in perspective.”
“And while we’re brimming over with perspective,” Rashid said brightly, “shall we go to Tober Cove?”
“Taking you to the cove would start a riot,” Bonnakkut replied, planting himself and his ax squarely in front of us all. “We don’t want riots.”
“Neither do I,” Rashid assured him. “I’m one hundred percent in favor of tranquility. You’re some kind of local town guard?”
“I’m Bonnakkut, First Warrior of the Tober Warriors Society. I protect the peace.”
“Hence, the repetition of ‘warrior’ in your official title,” Rashid murmured. Then in a louder voice, he said, “I happen to be carrying an official peace offering for the leader of the local constabulary. This seems like an excellent time to pass it on.”
Without waiting for a reply, Rashid reached into a pouch on his thigh and pulled out something I couldn’t see in the darkness. “This,” he told Bonnakkut, “is a classic Beretta Model 92F automatic. You know what that is?”
“A firearm,” Bonnakkut said. “A pistol. It shoots bullets.”
“Indeed it does. It holds fifteen 9mm Parabellum cartridges, and Steck has another sixty rounds in her luggage. The powder and primer are guaranteed fresh. You could probably sell each bullet for twenty crowns on the black market in Feliss City. As for the gun itself…what would you say, Steck, five thousand crowns for a mint condition 92F?”
“It depends whether buyers in Feliss know anything about guns,” Steck replied. “A lot of so-called collectors can’t tell the difference between a perfectly maintained pistol like this, and some rust-eaten thing that will blow off your hand when you try to fire it.”
“You’re giving me the gun?” Bonnakkut asked, not quite tuned up to pitch with the conversation yet.
“No, he’s not,” Leeta said fiercely. “The last thing Tober Cove needs is a new way to hurt people. Shame on you, Lord Rashid, for bringing it.”
“A responsible man like the First Warrior will only use the gun for reasonable ends.” Rashid held out the weapon to Bonnakkut, butt first. “Here you go.”
“Is this a bribe?” Bonnakkut asked.
“Yes,” Leeta replied.
“No,” said Rashid, “it’s a peace bond. To show I support the laws of Tober Cove and those who enforce them. Go ahead, take it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Leeta ordered.
But cautiously, Bonnakkut shuffled forward, holding his ax at the ready in case…well, I don’t know what he expected Rashid or Steck to do, but whatever it was, they didn’t do it. They stood placidly while Bonnakkut reached out, took the pistol, and hurried back away.
“This gun actually works?” he asked.
“Just point and click,” Rashid answered. “I left the safety off because I knew you’d want to try it.”
To no one’s surprise, Bonnakkut fired at Rashid.
The bullet made a blindingly bright flash and an exceedingly loud bang at both ends of its trajectory. The flash coming out of the gun was yellowy orange. The flash on Rashid’s end was violet: a huge mauve-tinted blaze that fizzed and crackled after the initial impact, spitting molten drops of the bullet’s lead. Casually, Rashid reached out a booted foot and tamped out the flames where the red-hot spatter had lit the pine needles on the ground.
“Before you try that again,” Rashid told Bonnakkut, “I’ll remind you, each bullet is worth twenty crowns, and when they’re gone, they’re gone. So make up your mind: do you keep stinking up the forest with pricey gunpowder, or do you escort Steck and me to Tober Cove?”
Bonnakkut stood still for a moment, weighing the gun in his hand. I could guess what was going through his mind. Tober Cove’s patron gods hated firearms. It was said (by both the Mocking Priestess and the Patriarch’s Man) that Master Crow and Mistress Gull might boycott Commitment Day completely if any gun lurked within a day’s ride of the cove. On the other hand, Bonnakkut must have wanted that gun the way a beetle wants dung. He wanted to strut with it. He wanted women to show fear and men to pucker with envy. He wanted word to pass down-peninsula all the way to Ohna Sound: First Warrior Bonnakkut of Tober Cove has himself a Beretta.
And he’s not afraid to use it.
“For heaven’s sake,” Leeta said, “put that wicked thing down.”
“It scares you, does it?” Bonnakkut asked.
“Of course it does. And on Commitment Eve too! Give it to your fastest runner and rush it off Tober land before Mistress Gull and Master Crow get angry.”
“It would be faster to put it on a boat,” Bonnakkut replied. “If the mayor decides it’s nec
essary.”
“Ah,” smiled Rashid, “we’re going to let the mayor decide. I love the chain of command. By all means, let’s see this mayor of yours. I’ve brought something for him too.”
“No good will come of this,” Leeta said darkly.
“Stop muttering,” Bonnakkut told her. “You were the one who chewed us out for wasting arrows; you should be happy we’ve stopped. We’re going back to town so the mayor can sort everything out. Discussion and negotiation . . . aren’t you always saying we should solve problems through discussion and negotiation?”
“I’d prefer less negotiation,” she answered, glaring at the pistol in his hands.
“Why expect consistency from a woman?” Bonnakkut asked no one in particular. Then he turned to face the bushes and called, “Fall in, men. We’re taking them back to the cove.”
As members of the Warriors Society emerged from the darkness, Bonnakkut made a show of shoving the pistol into his belt. Rashid winced. “Steck,” he whispered, “show the First Warrior how to put on the safety before he does himself an injury.”
SIX
A Maiden Speech for Cappie
Leeta led the way home, milkweed pods clacking. Bonnakkut’s three warriors followed her—Kaeomi, Stallor, and Mintz, all of them bullies when I was growing up—then Rashid and Steck.
Rashid kept his arm around Steck’s shoulders as they walked, even in places where the trail was narrow enough for them to be knocking heels. He obviously wanted Steck close enough to be covered by that violet glow that grew out of his armor. Rashid was wise to take precautions—if Steck ever stepped out of the glow’s safety, Bonnakkut would certainly pump bullets into the Neut’s back. Since I was walking behind Steck, and Bonnakkut marched behind me, I was just as happy that Bonnakkut never got an opening to use his bang-bang: I was straight in the line of fire. When the trail widened enough to walk three abreast, I caught up with Rashid and Steck, so I wouldn’t be sandwiched between the Neut and that gun.
The League of Peoples Page 37
