Unfinished Song(Book 4): Root

by Maya, Tara

  “That’s enough, I’m sure…”

  “We are less than half done.”

  Kemla pushed Dindi back on the wooden bench. All around them, maidens murmured and giggled as they painted one another’s bodies. No one fretted, so why should Dindi feel so nervous?

  Margita and Yalena cupped her breasts. Dindi tried to sit up.

  “Don’t squirm, you’ll muss the design,” chided Kemla.

  Dindi let herself be handled. Cold dabs traced arabesques and coliforms on her breasts, circling into a fringe of floral flourishes around each peak. Meanwhile, Kemla went to the other end of the log bench, to paint Dindi’s toes and ankles. From there Kemla climbed the design up parallel reticular ladders along the outer and inner seams of Dindi’s legs.

  “You’re going to look beautiful, Dindi,” Kemla purred. “Have you ever had henna applied before?”

  “No.”

  “Are you quite sure?” Kemla whipped away the wisp of blanket Dindi wore around her hips, her last shred of clothing.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Dindi said.

  Kemla stared down at her bare thighs with a hard, angry expression.

  “I see you have not,” Kemla said. A spasm of rage convulsed her. It came out of nowhere. She hurled the henna tube into the pit of hot stones. The fire salamanders jumped and hissed. Kemla stalked out of the sweat lodge without a word of explanation for her fit.

  Margita and Yalena, after a moment of confusion, trailed her out.

  “Here, don’t worry, I’ll finish you up,” a Green Woods girl volunteered. She raised her eyebrows at the still wobbling flap of the lodge door. “Her bowstring is tied a bit too tight, isn’t it? Those are always the ones that snap.”

  She laughed, and Dindi couldn’t help but join her.

  The maidens left the sweat lodge not long after that, though it took a few more hours for the henna to set.

  At the communal mid-day meal, Kemla sat next to Abiono. They argued. Dindi did not want to smear her painted hands, so she picked at her food delicately. She felt Kemla’s anger, radiant red, prickle her from across the table.

  After the meal, Abiono asked Dindi to stay and talk a moment.

  “Dindi, we all appreciate the way you've been helping us out,” Zavaedi Abiono began hesitantly. “We all want you to know we're grateful.”

  “Thank you,” she blinked. She managed a wary smile.

  “But—”

  Dindi's smile vanished.

  “We don't think it would be appropriate for you to take any part in the Pattern during the Midwinter Rite. Not even to set up the rattles and such. Not with the White Lady there to watch.”

  “Why not?” It was a cry, and all she could think of to say.

  “It isn't traditional. We want to do everything right. Kemla pointed out that the Aelfae might take offense if she saw that we had taken liberties with tradition.” He cleared his throat. “She said if I kept you in, she would not perform. She and Tamio have the key roles. I can’t….”

  Kemla's name iced Dindi like snow in her nose. She bowed her head, knowing that there was no use arguing. Besides Kemla herself, no one but Dindi knew Orange’s part, and because of how they had practiced the dance all season, the whole Pattern would fall apart without at least a placeholder for Orange. Abiono droned on for some time, without saying anything new. It was as if he thought that by repeating himself, he would make it all right. It wasn't all right. She would have been content with so little—she had not even dreamed of dancing!—but they had taken even that crumb from her.

  As she shuffled away from the Great Lodge, Kemla sidled up to her.

  Dindi stared at her beautiful, haughty face, amazed that Kemla's venom ran so deep the girl would wait in the cold just to toss a few more barbs at her victim.

  “Dindi. Abiono told you?”

  “Yes.” Dindi started to walk. Fast. She hoped Kemla would take the hint and leave her alone. But Kemla kept up with her.

  “I'm so sorry,” Kemla said with false sweetness. “I know how much you were looking forward to it.”

  Dindi kept walking. Faster.

  “Not that it really would have made a difference in your case. Since you're not a real Tavaedi, they wouldn't have invited you to the Vaedi-Vooma regardless.”

  Dindi resumed her fast walk. Kemla finally let her go.

  It was silly how much she ached inside.

  Tamio

  Tamio caught up with Dindi. The pines and oaks grew so thickly here no one elsewhere on the path would see them. He liked the tap of her dainty feet in the snow. She walked so lightly, she hardly made footsteps.

  “You’ve done something new with your hair,” he said.

  She touched her coppery tresses self-consciously. “Does it look absurd?”

  “It brings out the color of your eyes. And look at your hands!” He lifted her palm and kissed it. “Beautiful.”

  She blushed. “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone yet.”

  “I’ll leave you alone,” he promised, “But only under duress.”

  They arrived at the clearing in the woods where Abiono and others already waited. Each troop of Tavaedies had staked out an isolated spot in the woods to practice for the contest, since they could not all use the kiva at the same time. Practice dragged for Tamio. The contest of the White Lady had sent all of the Tavaedis into a frenzy of preparation, but he no longer cared about it. He resented every activity that separated him from Dindi.

  To makes matters worse, Kemla was at her most shrewish.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I want the other drum?” Kemla berated Dindi. “Dindi, do try to pay attention, or you will give away the fact that you are stupid. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Now, get me the right drum. I certainly hope I won’t have to go over this with you every time.”

  Dindi regarded Kemla with quiet hurt, but all she said was, “It’s the double drum you want, then?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  Dindi nodded. “I’ll get it.”

  Tamio had heard enough.

  “No, you won’t, Dindi,” he said. To Kemla, he added, “She’s not your slave, Kemla. Stop ordering her around. And for your information, you asked her for the single drum before—I heard you. Next time you want a stupid drum, get it yourself.”

  Kemla aimed her ire at him. “Some people can’t do their jobs. Some people can’t do one, simple little task. Fortunately, I never depend on other people. I take matters into my own hand. Which is why Dindi will not be performing with us in the Midsummer Rite. Isn’t that right, Dindi?”

  Dindi hunched in on herself. Kicked dogs had that look.

  “Uncle Abiono?” Tamio asked.

  “Kemla said she would not perform unless Dindi were excluded.” Abiono wrung his hands.

  “I see.” Tamio crossed his arms. “Well, then, I won’t perform unless Dindi is included. I don’t give a damn about the contest, whereas you’d sooner feed your own mother to sharks than miss your chance to become Vaedi. So I don’t believe you when you say you won’t perform. I call your bluff, Kemla.

  “And I won’t let you bully the woman I’m going to marry.”

  Kemla stared at him. In fact, every Tavaedi in the clearing stopped what they were doing to stare at Tamio—his voice had carried. Only Dindi couldn’t seem to look at him. She blushed furiously, and stared at the ground.

  What’s wrong with everyone? he wondered in irritation. They should be used to Kemla and me fighting by now.

  “The girl you what?” Kemla echoed shrilly. “The girl you what?”

  Oh, right. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet.

  Too bad.

  The other Tavaedis drew into a loose circle around Tamio, gaping. Even Abiono was flabbergasted.

  “Bold hoax, Tamio!” One of Tamio’s friends, a Yellow Tavaedi named Erto, laughed uproariously. “You and Dindi. You almost had my head turned.”

  After a moment, the rest of the Tavaedis began to
laugh too. Only Kemla continued to look more furious than amused.

  Dindi didn’t laugh either. The blood drained from her face.

  “Hadi warned me,” she said to Tamio too low for the others to hear. “I wouldn’t believe him.”

  She shot him a single glance of profound pain before she pushed aside the crowd to run away. Tamio intercepted her and tugged her back.

  “I have an announcement to make! It is no joke, and I’ll punch the next person who laughs,” Tamio declared. He yanked Dindi forward, though her embarrassment was almost tangible. He pulled open his fur vest, to reveal the new henna tattoo that Dindi had drawn there at his request: the swan symbol of her clan.

  “Dindi and I are betrothed.”

  Dropped jaws. Utter silence.

  “I asked her to marry me last night,” Tamio said. “My only regret is that I did not ask for her before the marriage rite, and so we were not able to be wed immediately. Due to the customs here, we will have to wait until spring, or at least until we all return to the Corn Hills, to sanctify our union. When we do return, I will go with Dindi, join her clan as her husband, and help Lost Swan clan rebuild.”

  Convinced though still stunned, the Tavaedis began to offer congratulations. All except Kemla. She stood with her hands on her hips, expression flinty.

  “Don’t you have anything to say, Kemla?” Tamio couldn’t resist taunting.

  Kemla faked a smile. “I hope you two will be very happy together.”

  Her eyes wished them both a very different future.

  Amdra

  On the back of her Raptor, she soared over the mountain.

  To Amdra the least important elements of the forest were the trees. They registered only as brachial shadows on the quilt of her Vision. What she saw when she looked down were Orange threads stitched on a blanket of white snow. She could not see any other Chromas besides Orange and would not have wanted to, since that would have only obscured her clarity of Vision. Since her disturbing conversation with the Great One, she had been searching for a particular kind of pattern in the Orange stitches.

  At last, she had found a Pattern she could use.

  “Land!” she commanded Hawk. “Discreetly.”

  Hawk didn’t need the qualifier. He knew she could not afford to be seen. Fortunately, the tribehold was so full that many of the guest Tavaedi troops were practicing outside the protective embankment. Like rabbits out of their warrens, ready to be plucked from the air by a predator.

  “Change,” she commanded Hawk as she dismounted.

  She did not look back to see if he had obeyed. She knew he would even before she heard his powerful stride in the snow behind her.

  “Should I walk in front, mistress, to clear the snow for you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  The trees were harder to ignore at ground level. She resented the way they loomed over her to make her feel small. She could never live in a forest. She would suffocate to have things leaning over her all the time.

  She focused on the glowing filament of Orange magic. She spooled it into her own aura as she walked. Ah, that bitter, familiar taste, the most plaintive of human questions: Why her, not me?

  The gleaming envy led Amdra through the maze of trees to the aura she had seen from above.

  She knew all she needed from absorbing the long stream of rationalizations.

  “Hello, Kemla,” she said.

  The young woman’s first thought was: An enemy! Does the bird-brain think she can attack me? I’ll show her a thing or two!

  Kemla drew her bow.

  “Put the bow down.” Amdra plucked the Orange strand that connected to Kemla’s aura. It rang like a bell.

  Kemla dropped her bow.

  “You have a problem,” Amdra said. “A burr in your wing. I can help you fly again.”

  This time Kemla tried to run.

  “Stand still and listen to me,” Amdra commanded.

  Kemla stood stock-still. Sweat popped onto her brow; her fists clenched at her side. She was fighting the compulsion, as they all did, at first.

  “You don’t like being forced to obey, do you?” Amdra clucked her tongue. “Of course not. You weren’t born to bend your knee. You were born to command. You would make a good Rider…if your Orange Chroma weren’t diluted by two other colors.”

  Kemla tried to spit at her; saliva dribbled down her chin.

  “It’s a simple trick,” Amdra said. “Even an Imorvae could learn it. I could teach it to you. Imagine having this power over your enemy.”

  The pattern of Kemla’s thoughts was perfectly transparent. I could command Dindi not to perform during the contest. I could make her break her betrothal to Tamio…

  “You could do that,” said Amdra, “but it would be a trifle obvious, don’t you think?”

  Kemla’s eyes bugged. Did I say that out loud or just think it?

  “No, you didn’t say it out loud,” Amdra answered. “I am not called a thought-eater for nothing. Fa, I could do much more than that if I wanted to.”

  Amdra reached her hand forth, flexed her talon-sharp fingernails and pulled hard on the cord of Kemla’s aura. With swift, vicious motions, Amdra yanked the weave of her victim’s mind into knots. The girl screamed and buckled to her knees.

  Behind Amdra, Hawk shifted on his feet. Watching her play with others always made him antsy. In any case, Amdra had not come to hurt Kemla. Amdra let the knots unwind. Kemla continued to sob.

  “Don’t be a baby,” said Amdra. “I’m here to give you everything you want. Revenge on your rival. But it’s no good to me if you are caught at it, as you would be if you simply commanded her to do what you want.

  “There is a better way. I’m going to tell you what to do. I’m going to teach you the hex you need to dance. Watch me dance and memorize the steps.”

  Amdra demonstrated the moves of the tama of Compulsion. It was exactly what Amdra said it was, a weaker version of the hex Amdra had danced to find and control Kemla just now.

  “Hawk, the jar.”

  Hawk placed a small jar in the dirty slush at Kemla’s feet.

  “Give her this,” instructed Amdra. “Tell her to take it home, then tell her to forget that you gave it to her or spoke with her. You will not need to command her to leave the Tavaedi troop or break her betrothal. They will both disavow her. She will destroy herself. No one will know of your involvement.”

  Temptation and rationalizations crawled through Kemla’s mind.

  Good, good.

  However, Kemla forced herself to hold on to one worry. What if the bird-people are just using me to harm my clan and their Green Woods enemies?

  Amdra reached in and pulled at that thread. She broke it off and tossed it away in the snow. It shriveled into black ash.

  Kemla howled like a wolf on fire. No pain in Faearth rivaled a broken thought, except a broken mind.

  “You are sure neither your clan nor your clan’s allies will be harmed by this,” Amdra commanded.

  I’m sure neither my clan nor Green Woods will be harmed by this, thought Kemla.

  “You will remember this plan, and this hex after I leave. But you will forget who taught it to you. You will forget this entire meeting.”

  Tamio

  After practice ended, Tamio and Dindi visited the crude kraal outside the tribehold to brush down Clipclop.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” he said.

  “It’s almost sunset.”

  “Curfews don’t apply to us. We’re in love.”

  She laughed.

  Tamio fixed on the blanket, grasped the riding hoop, and helped her mount behind him. The horse caught their reckless mood and cantered joyfully through the snowy forest. Tamio’s threads of awareness unspooled until he could not untangle himself from the wind, the speed, her sweet smell, her arms around his waist, the endless infinity of stars.

  Tamio let Clipclop choose her own place to pause, a stream crispy with ice. They dismounted to sip the water. Dindi’s teeth cha
ttered; Tamio put his arm around her. He kissed her neck, and her little moan of pleasure made him yearn to keep going lower until he nibbled her nipple between his teeth.

  Abruptly, he pushed her away and splashed more ice water on his face.

  “We should go back,” he said.

  “Let’s do it,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I told you last night, we’ll wait until we’re married.”

  “That could take moons. I want to give myself to you now.”

  He groaned. She only felt that way because of the hex he had cast on her. In the last day, he had come to hate himself for his whole wretched plan to ruin her. That’s what it was—he knew very well what Kemla was up to.

  Well, he vowed he’d play that game no more. He would do right by Dindi.

  “You don’t even have to marry me, you know,” she said in a low voice.

  “What?”

  “I’d give myself to you all the same.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  He kicked a rock into the stream. Up until a day ago, that had been his plan. Then at the wedding dance, everything changed. Maybe it was all the happy couples sitting up on stage, clutching hands, which had made him realize what a fool he was. Maybe it was because that crazed wolf would have ripped open Dindi’s throat if a dog hadn’t saved her. Whatever had happened, the realization struck him like bolt of lightning: he loved Dindi.

  “We’re going to do this right,” he said. “No more night rides. I’m going to take you back to the kraal and we’ll go back to the hold separately. I don’t want anyone gossiping. I’ve waited this long for you, Dindi. I can wait a little longer.”

  She continued to protest, but he was strong-willed (and rather proud of it); he insisted on taking her back and told her to go back to the tribehold first. He spent a long time checking Clipclop’s hoofs and brushing ice from her flank before he set out himself. By then it was close to midnight.

  As he neared the wall, a sprite whizzed by his ear.

  “Careful, Tamio! Ambush!”

  “Ambush?” Tamio stiffened. “Who? How many men? Where?”

  “One warrior. Where the path turns under a low hanging tree.”