by Sharon Hinck
We crouched by the fire, picking flakey meat from the skewers, drawing comfort from flame, food, and fellowship.
Morra wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and eyed the last piece of fish I’d placed on a broad leaf.
I smiled. “Take it.”
“You be knowing good ways to make food.” He picked out a bone and chomped happily on the flesh.
“I suppose you don’t get fish very often.”
“Only if we be coming to the convening a day early.” Morra tilted his head back, examining the carpet of lights in the sky. “Can’t always be sure, but I’m thinking the big star rain will be falling tomorrow night.”
My forehead pinched, and I studied the sky. Sure enough, some of the stars swelled and pulsed like clouds heavy with impending rain. Back on Meriel, my friend Starfire and I had eagerly awaited each star rain and found ways to slip outside to enjoy it. But now . . .
Brantley split a branch with his longknife and added kindling to our fire. He was frowning too. “So, it’s time for the Grand Convening?”
Morra tossed the remnants of his fish tail on the flame, where it spit and crackled. His teeth flashed. “We be seeing them all gathering on the morrow.” He snickered. “Oh, they be staggering in wearing the look of the revels. But arrive they will. I be recalling small villages be nearer. They get here first, no matter how early our folk be setting out.” His chest puffed. “This time I be the first to arrive.”
“The red village, the blue, the green . . . and others?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Yellow, purple, orange. And I heard tell the remnant sometimes come between the star rains. Suppose that’s true. Who can recollect? All I be knowing is that at the Grand Convening, the whole rim of the lake be full.”
There would be no way for me to keep this eager youth from joining his people for another dose of the Gardener’s soul numbing. And what did the Maker expect me to do at the Grand Convening? I’d had little success so far when meeting with individuals.
Brantley poked a log with unnecessary force. It broke in a cascade of color and embers like . . .
Star rain. Overhead, the stars began to burst, pouring down glittering light like salt sprinkled from a cook’s hand. I stood and stepped out of the shelter of trees, face cast upward. So many colors. So much brilliance scattered across the sky.
Brantley came up beside me. “I can see why you love to dance with the star rains. Don’t hesitate on my account.”
I shook my head. Would I ever feel the same about star rain? The beautiful event had become a marker for the horrible bondage these people embraced willingly. I wanted to dance under the generous night sky again, kicking up glitter, spinning and catching bits of light in my palms as the stars birthed new lights to paint the darkness. But my love for those past moments was now tempered with dread.
Brantley seemed to understand my mood. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and leaned his head against mine. “Star rain always reminds me how small we all are.”
I smiled. “It reminds me how loved we all are.”
His chuckle rumbled beside me. “We do see things differently.”
“Come on.” I led him back to our campfire and the youth who was stuffing his face with the last of the copper fish. “Morra, tomorrow we must stop the people from inviting the Gardener.”
He blinked my direction, and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of comprehension. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “You do be telling odd jokes, you do.”
Brantley examined the blade of his longknife. In the firelight, it flickered with shades of flame and blood. He stared at it as if seeing past skirmishes, as if tasting the flavor of ruthless battles, as if the steel could reveal our destiny. He frowned and slid the weapon into its sheath before turning to me. “Get some sleep. Sounds like tomorrow will be . . . eventful.” He tried for a playful grin, but his lips curled in a feral snarl as if eager for violence. His shadowed eyes reminded me of the emptiness I’d seen there after the Gardener invaded him with vines and spores.
I curled near the fire but felt no warmth, even when I drew my cloak over me. Trusted Maker, I’ve lost my entire world. Please, please, please, I can’t lose Brantley too.
“This is my world.” The menacing voice hissed from behind me, and spores rose in a cloud of grayish green, choking me.
I tried to run, but vines twined around my legs, captured my arms. The Gardener stepped into sight, one gnarled finger pointing at me. “They need no Maker. They are mine.”
“You’ve lied to them.” I barely managed to speak, and I loathed the tremble in my voice. “You’ve stolen from them.”
Rage flashed in his eyes, his long face distorting further, stretching, mouth gaping like an abyss. “Dare to oppose me, and I will destroy you.” Green dust stung my eyes. His voice echoed through my entire being. “Destroy you . . . destroy . . .”
I woke with a start, sweat sheening my skin. I brushed my arms, still feeling the spores and vines. Pale light tinged the predawn sky. With each shaky breath, I gradually returned to reality. Only a nightmare. Had I cried out? Disturbed the others?
Under the deep shadows of tree limbs, Brantley and Morra slept as if sewn into the earth.
I sat up quietly. My muscles ached, reminding me I had been sporadic in my stretches and dance practices since we’d arrived. I welcomed the soreness, because it drew me further out of the remnants of dream and into wakefulness. I massaged the small of my back, stifling a groan.
Even though I was no longer a dancer of the Order, I needed to be more diligent with my daily training. Not that I’d ever again dance with the dreamed-of beauty and perfection. The former High Saltar had seen to that. I rewrapped the bandage around my severed tendon. It still seeped, refusing to fully heal, as if her blade had held a poison. Perhaps when Trilia arrived for the Grand Convening she’d have her soothing herbs. Or perhaps one of the people from the red village would carry the precious salve their tender used on ponies.
A rueful smile tugged my lips. Why was I worrying about my ankle? I had much more dire concerns with the approach of the Grand Convening and a confrontation with the Gardener. If his appearance in my dreams made me crumble, what would happen when I truly had to face him?
Across from me, Morra sprawled on his back, snuffling and muttering in his sleep. His bright auburn hair glinted in the early rays of the primary sun. Nearby, Brantley curled on his side, longknife in hand. I rarely saw him asleep. It seemed he was always on guard and protecting me. I took advantage of the rare opportunity to savor the sight of him. Fair curls scattered across his forehead, some dampened by sweat and clinging to his temples. Dark circles hinted at the depth of his exhaustion, and the pucker between his brows had deepened, as if worries had taken up permanent residence.
And they had. Ever since I’d crossed his path. In the quirk of his lips I could still find the daring and often playful man I’d come to know. There was the man who scaled the walls of the Order to rescue Orianna. Or who somersaulted from Navar’s back while she glided a house’s height above the water. Or who teased and cajoled me. He’d brought me so much affection and challenge that I wanted to coax the music of his laugh and kindle the special brightness in his eyes. Yet the days ahead likely wouldn’t foster fulfillment of those longings.
I eased away from our campsite. After my morning ablutions, I took the time to work through my dancer stretches on the open hillside. At first my muscles resisted, but soon their suppleness returned. My dance would never achieve perfection, but the Maker had still used it to help us understand this world, and to protect others. If He could make use of my broken body, I’d offer it with no regret.
Drawing a deep breath, I rose from my warm-ups. By now the primary sun splattered shimmering colors across the lake. I performed the opening steps of the calara pattern. For a while, my bare feet caressed the daygrass under my toes. Then I moved on to other patterns, focusing only on the shapes I created in space, the precise steps, the intricate de
signs. When I tried a rain pattern, I couldn’t do the required jumps, so I adapted the steps. As I finished, flashes of color caught my eye.
On the sloping hillside, tiny flowers appeared again. First one color, then another, until the slopes were a riot of shades. Were they responding to my dance?
Brantley’s footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned. His lids were sleep-heavy, and his mouth held a grim line. “There you are.”
I smiled and waved my arm over the sight spread out beneath us. “Look! Aren’t they beautiful?”
He squinted at our surroundings as if trying to see what I saw before shrugging a shoulder. “Sure.” Then he frowned at me. “But you shouldn’t go wandering off.”
I huffed and turned away. One day I’d get him to appreciate beauty for the sake of beauty. As quickly as they’d appeared, the tiny flowers bloomed wider, then shrank to nothing. At their departure, my body sagged, suddenly weary.
His hand rested on my shoulder. “Sorry.” His voice was gruff, as if that was a word his throat had trouble forming.
I spun and hugged him. I would never tire of the sweet tang of ocean on his skin, the broad expanse of rough tunic across his chest, the warmth of his arms around me.
He stiffened, suddenly alert, focused on a spot a quarter of the way around the lake. A woman emerged from a trailhead we hadn’t yet explored.
Morra lumbered past us. “I were being here first,” he bellowed to her, then raced to the lakeshore. The woman startled and paused, then bobbed up and down on her toes, acknowledging our presence, and resumed strolling toward the water.
“Now what?” Brantley pressed his forehead to mine.
I stepped back and picked up my cane. “Now I let them know the Maker is coming soon.”
“And if they don’t want to hear?”
Squaring off against him, I stretched my spine to its full length. “Then I’ll keep trying.” I waited for him to try to dissuade me, to remind me of the impossibility of the task.
Instead he gripped my upper arms and grabbed me with his clear-eyed gaze. “If that’s what you have to do, then I’ll stand beside you.”
My heart blossomed like the tiny flowers, swelling until it threatened to burst. “Thank you. But when evening comes, you have to leave. The Gardener attacked you once, and I couldn’t face that again. Promise me.”
“He won’t affect me again.” Brantley tightened his grip on my shoulders. “Let’s get to work.”
It was only as we walked toward the new arrival that I realized he hadn’t actually promised to withdraw when the Gardener arrived. I shook my head. Maker, protect him. My life is Yours, and if it serves You, I’ll lay it down. But don’t let Brantley’s soul be strangled again. That’s the one thing I couldn’t bear.
The young woman—barely more than a girl—bobbed up and down again as we approached. Long, uncombed hair framed delicate features, and dirt smudged her nose. “I be glimpsing you when I drew near,” she said to me in a chirping voice. “That dancing you be doing. You must be coming from the green village.” Her chin drooped. “I be wishing to make beauty too, but they not be having me.”
On impulse, my arms reached out and gathered her in a gentle hug. “I’m Carya and this is Brantley. What’s your name?”
“I be Noolee,” she whispered, shyness and longing tangling in her expression.
“Where do you live?”
“Not far.”
“Which village?”
“We be wanderers.” Color dusted her cheeks. “Outcast. No village will have us.” Then she brightened. “But I found a few others, and we be camping not far from here.”
“So you don’t come to a star rain convening?”
She tilted her head, clearly puzzled by my question. “I’m remnant. We be those that aren’t welcome to any of the single-color star rains. They be only allowing us to come in between. And to the Grand Convening of course.”
I pulled back, my breath quickening. Her eyes held a clearness, an alertness I had struggled to find in most of the other inhabitants I’d met. Thank You, Maker!
“We’re a bit of a remnant ourselves,” Brantley said cheerfully. “I’ll go gather some breakfast. Lenka and persea sound all right?”
I nodded, and he set off, giving me time to get acquainted. “Noolee, it’s good that you haven’t been to frequent convenings.”
Her eyes widened, then she rubbed her sternum. “But the longing. It hurts all the time.”
“I know. I’ve felt it too. But the convening doesn’t fill the ache. Using your gifts doesn’t fill it. I tried that most of my life. There is One we are longing for, and He is coming.”
As the suns rose, I told her what I knew about the Maker, about the time before on her world, about the damage the Gardener was causing. Brantley quietly slipped in beside me and offered her food as we talked. I urged Noolee to go back to the nearby enclave from which she’d come, but although she listened eagerly to everything I shared, she refused to leave.
More of the remnant people arrived as the morning progressed. Their journey was briefer than those of the main villages, since many apparently camped in the woods, so they were quicker to reach the Grand Convening. One young woman carried a toddler on her hip. The little boy’s face was dirty but rosy with health. A young man hovered protectively, and when the boy squirmed, he took the child and hefted him onto his shoulders. I approached them, admiring their little boy. The man swelled with pride. “He be a fine one. And she be ours too.” He waved, and a girl of Orianna’s age raced toward us, giggling.
I smiled. They had the sort of connection that Morra couldn’t find and Harba and Wimmo were doomed to forget—that everyone on this island was doomed to forget if I couldn’t interrupt the Grand Convening. “I take it you haven’t been to a convening in a while?”
The woman shook her head and lowered her voice. “After the last Grand Convening, we recollected each other, and we wandered far to seek a village that be having us. None would.”
I took her hands. “What you have—the love for each other and your children—is a precious gift. Those from villages who convene regularly have lost that. Take your little ones and leave. You don’t want what this convening offers.”
The man and woman both frowned. “The Every must convene.” They chanted the words together, and after a little more pleading, I gave up and let them be. But when I glanced back, they were talking to each other, holding their children in their laps, whispering and agitated. Perhaps they would still reconsider. Hope fueled me.
All morning I moved from person to person. Talking, sharing, pleading. I couldn’t convince anyone to leave, but many agreed not to sleep when evening came. I challenged them to watch and see what the Gardener did so they could decide for themselves. Surely if they saw what really occurred during a convening—the treacherous captivity, the insidious vines, the stupor—they would flee, and at least some of this world would begin to walk in freedom again.
When the subsun reached its zenith, louder voices sounded from one of the trailheads. Boisterous men and women strode into view from the red village, still tilting jugs of punch, laughing and staggering from the effects of their all-night revel. The knotted braids and bits of stick and bone in their hair were even more chaotic and threatening than I’d remembered. Their leather greaves and tunics were smudged with dirt and blood.
Brantley stayed close to my side as I wove among them and spoke to any who would listen. His presence smoothed the way, since they remembered his visit and joked about his scrapes and bruises, recounting various contests and duels. He slapped backs and laughed, but his hand never strayed far from his longknife. Thankfully, no one was in the mood for mock battles this morning. Unfortunately, no one was interested in my earnest message, either.
Music floated upward from the woods, voices in tight harmony accompanied by strumming from a small stringed instrument. At the top of the hill, people from the green village emerged from their trail. Their vibrant robes floated behind them
as if they were a pod of gliding stenellas with fins unfurled. My spirit lifted. Harba and Wimmo walked beside each other, and Wimmo wore her baby against her chest, tied securely with an azure scarf. Trilia’s jagged white hair stood out like whitecaps on a dark sea, and her eyes lit with recognition when she saw me. I’d certainly connected with more people from that first village than any others. Here was my best hope for willing ears.
Morra noticed them as well, and raced up the hill, not waiting for the arrivals to take their place at the lakeshore. Crillo emerged from the woods on the arm of a young man. She laughed up at him, leaning closer. Midway up the hill, Morra stopped short as if he’d crashed against an invisible wall. Even from where I stood, I felt the impact as his longing collided with reality.
Tossing aside a persea rind, Brantley jogged toward the young man and turned him away from the crushing sight. I could well imagine the earnest advice Brantley shared—he would be a wonderful father one day. My uncertain future pierced me again as I watched Morra stare straight ahead, shoulders slumped. The young man’s expression didn’t indicate if any of Brantley’s words had taken hold, but at least he hadn’t launched into a fistfight with Crillo’s new beau.
I aimed for Harba and Wimmo. Harba bowed over one leg, nearly toppling when a wave rolled under our feet. “How you be?”
“It’s lovely to see you. So much has happened. How is the baby?”
“She be well.” Cheeks pink, Wimmo lifted her infant from the scarf so I could see her. Her eyes twinkled like stars, clear and bright. Her tiny lips pursed, then relaxed.
“She be always hungry,” Wimmo said with a smile.
Harba wrapped a beefy arm around her and stared at his daughter. “Like me.” Then he drew us into a tighter knot and whispered, “Wimmo be recollecting. We be giving tokens.”
Wimmo tugged on a cord around her neck and drew out a carved-wood emblem that had been hidden by her tunic: an artful silhouette of a man, woman, and child. She glanced around nervously, then tucked it away.
