by Zen DiPietro
A bunch of questions popped into Arc’s mind but he quelled his natural curiosity. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted. And for the record, you don’t have to worry about us telling anyone about meeting you. We have no interest in any of that stuff either.”
Élan laughed. “I already knew that about you and about your friend with the broken foot. If you were that sort, there would have been a flurry of reports and messages on the comm already. I know I don’t have to worry about her, either.” She indicated Kassimeigh with a tilt of her head. “A justice isn’t going to get starry-eyed and run off to tell all her friends that she met someone who was famous almost a decade ago.”
Kassimeigh’s eyebrows raised. “What makes you think I’m a justice?”
“It’s in every inch of how you hold yourself. Not to mention that calm, peaceful-but-I’d-kill-you-if-I-needed-to attitude.”
“I was a justice,” she admitted. “But I’m not now.”
Élan’s lips pursed as she considered Kassimeigh’s words, but she only nodded. “We all have a past. Glad to meet you. Officially.” She gestured toward the field of musicians. “Come meet Sim.”
She led them through the field, skirting groups that sang and played a mélange of instruments. Nearly everyone greeted Élan like a long-lost sister or lover, and she returned the greetings warmly without slowing her pace. Finally, she edged into a group of four people. “These two are Kassimeigh and Arc. I invited them to join us, so make them welcome.”
Élan gestured at a dark-skinned man with brown hair and laughing green eyes. “This is Sim River, my best friend and partner in crime.”
Sim grinned at them. “Don’t believe her. She only calls me her best friend when she wants something.” He laughed when Élan swatted at him playfully. “Please, join us.” He scooted back, as did others, to create three more spots in their little circle.
“I’ll be back after I do the opening song.” Élan gave a small wave as she grabbed a music case and headed toward what was apparently the front of the ad-hoc amphitheater. Arc noted the equipment that had been erected along the edges of the area and assumed it had something to do with acoustics.
“I’ll look after them for you, Chief,” Sim promised.
Kassimeigh liked seeing Arc’s enjoyment of the event. She’d known he’d love it.
“Chief?” he asked Sim.
“Just a nickname from way back,” the bard said with a grin. He sent Kassimeigh a flirtatious wink and she smiled. She liked his warmth and energy. He was the kind of person she never had to second-guess.
“Do you play any instruments?” Sim asked them as his hands skimmed over the drum in front of him.
Arc shook his head, then looked to Kassimeigh for her response. She also shook her head.
“Did you ever?” Arc asked her.
“Not with any success. I was never very musical.”
“Not even singing?”
“I can carry a tune but it’s nothing special to hear.” She frowned at him. “Why?”
“Well, I know you can’t draw. I’d always assumed you’d been musical at some point. Given your . . . family background.”
“No. I’ve never been musical.”
Soft strains of music wound around them, and she relaxed into the sound. Sim demonstrated the different ways of striking his drum, explaining the mechanics of the instrument. Then he gave them each a try with it, while the others in their circle led a simple rhythm.
A hush cascaded across the gathering and Kassimeigh looked up from the drum. The small groups spread out a bit as people turned toward the performance stage. A cord of familiarity snapped tight like an anchor to her past. The hush of expectation created echoes of her childhood memories.
Kassimeigh, too, looked for the stage. Élan sat serenely on the low, portable platform. Kassimeigh glanced around and noted the audio reflectors in each corner that would transform the area into a functioning amphitheater. Good quality. Someone in this group could afford the very best.
Returning her attention to the stage, Kassimeigh admired Élan’s presence. The bard had done nothing but take command of the platform, yet she’d captured the undivided attention of the entire gathering.
Élan unsnapped the big hinges on her music case and removed an onyx-inlaid darkwood mandolin. She gently plucked the strings and adjusted the tuning pegs, seeking the perfect tone and key. When she was satisfied with what she heard, she put her arms around the mandolin as if reassimilating a part of her own body. Suddenly, she seemed complete, and even Kassimeigh found herself leaning forward in anticipation.
The bard closed her eyes and one hand curled around the fingerboard while the other stretched across the strings that traversed the sound hole. When her chosen moment arrived, she exhaled and let her fingers dig into the instrument and release the music within. Warm melancholy rolled over Kassimeigh, inspiring a yearning for some undefined wish. A torrent of chords breezed through her senses, tangling them into a knot. The tempo increased so slowly that the uptick was imperceptible, but the sensation of a rising tide created increasing pressure until the music crashed into a long, outpouring flow of notes that slid from one to the other.
A burst of unbelievably intricate fingerpicking sailed through the air. The rush of notes rose to an almost intolerable point before Élan broke the energy and stretched it out into long, bending chords that rang out into the space like the call of a lover. Kassimeigh inhaled a quick breath at the keening intimacy.
She noted the closed eyes of those around her. Hands pressed to chests, and lovers curved into one another’s embrace. She saw that other audience members also experienced her sense of longing and ardor.
Kassimeigh distanced herself from the effect and focused on Élan herself. She glowed with the greenish haze of mana energy that only a manahi could see. As Kassimeigh watched, Élan coaxed the mana out of Terath and into sound. Music flowed out to the people and beguiled them into its sway, imbuing them with emotions that weren’t entirely their own.
When the song ended with a vibrating note that faded into the air, a sensation of energy and enthusiasm shook listeners out of their stupor. They opened their eyes wide and began to applaud and cheer wildly.
“That was amazing,” Arc breathed.
“Yes,” agreed Kassimeigh. She studied Élan with new interest. “It was.”
A lesser person would squirm under the intense, unwavering gaze of a determined Kassimeigh. Élan remained coolly unruffled under the former justice’s scrutiny. Kassimeigh would have been impressed with the bard’s backbone if she hadn’t been focused on getting answers. She and Arc had retreated into the forest behind the stage for a more private talk with Élan.
“What did you think of my performance?” Her smile suggested she was satisfied with it, and wouldn’t truly care if someone else was not. She leaned back against a tree, then pulled loose a long strand of hair that had snagged on its bark.
“Masterful. You’re a talented musician, of course. You’re also a unique manahi,” Kassimeigh answered.
“I’m not a manahi,” Élan stated.
“You said that before, and I don’t understand your argument. You use mana. I saw you affect the mood of all the people at this song circle. I perceived the same behavior the first time I met you.”
“That doesn’t make me a manahi. I can’t just harness and focus and make things happen. I told you that before. I’m not a mana-holder. By definition, a manahi is also a mana-holder.”
Kassimeigh paused. Élan had a point, actually. “What do you consider yourself, then?”
“I’m just a girl who learned to do the best I can with what I have. I can’t use mana without music. When I have notes and structure, I can direct the mana, and convince it to work for me. But without music all I can do is sense mana.”
Kassimeigh considered. “Were you not properly trained when you were young?”
Élan blew out a breath in a scoffing sound. “I was trained backward, for
ward, upside down, and inside out. Believe me, I’d been tied into knots before every teacher finally threw their hands in the air and declared me hopeless. A couple years later I started performing music and somehow the mana started to flow.” She shrugged. “I’m learning disabled when it comes to mana. I can’t do it like real manahi, and the things I can do are different.”
“What do you do, besides affecting mood?”
“Mostly nature things. I can make flowers bloom, help an ailing tree, warm up a room just a bit.” She shrugged again. “Subtle stuff. Small degrees of atmospheric things.”
Kassimeigh stared at Élan with a thoughtful frown. “Can I link with you?”
Élan drew back, pressing against the tree behind her, and put her hands up in front of her in a protective gesture. “Why?”
“I want to sense the mana going through you.”
Élan sucked in a breath. “No. I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.” She edged away from the tree and seemed ready to run if necessary.
Kassimeigh leaned back against a narrow, knobby trunk, affecting a nonthreatening pose. “Because of your experiences with mana training?”
“I’m just not interested.”
“You’d be in no danger.”
Élan chewed on her lip. “If you say so, but no. Manahi tried to link with me when I was a kid and it was always jarring and unpleasant. I’m not interested in trying it again.”
“I don’t know what happened to you, but normally a link is simply a way for manahi to work together. It increases understanding and ability. I have a unique depth of ability. I might be able to succeed where others couldn’t.”
Élan shook her head quickly. “I’m fine with what I’ve got. No, thank you. No link.”
Kassimeigh considered saying something else, but simply nodded. “Very well.”
The sudden capitulation seemed to surprise and soften Élan. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s just . . . scary. Only bad things ever happened.” Her arms, which had been crossed over her chest, now dropped to her sides.
Kassimeigh let her voice warm with understanding. “I get it. It wasn’t long ago that I was also uncomfortable with my mana ability.”
“Is that so?” Now Élan looked intrigued.
When Kassimeigh said nothing more, Élan sidestepped the subject.
“So what did you think of my performance?” she asked Arc.
“It was a moving experience. Consider me a fan.”
“Thank you. If you’re nice, maybe I’ll sign something for you later.” Clearly, her mood had bounced back. Élan asked Kassimeigh, “When were you last at a song circle? I get the sense that you know your way around them, unlike the newbie there.” She sent a teasing look to Arc, who grinned.
“Not since I was a kid growing up in a cabal.”
Élan froze for a moment, her eyes widening. “You grew up in a cabal? Now I have a thousand questions for you. I would have loved to grow up that way! It’s a terrible shame they all broke apart and disappeared after the disaster at Umi Cabal. Such a loss to the arts community. So you were an artist before you became a shiv? I’d never have suspected.”
Élan’s interest in the cabals could be useful. Kassimeigh felt a bargaining chip fall into her pocket.
“Sadly, I never had any talent in art or music.”
Arc rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “You must have studied something artsy in the cabal.”
“Sure, I tried various instruments, painting, sculpture, and so forth. I just wasn’t good at any of them.”
Élan tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “So you grew up with artistic types, but weren’t artistic yourself? Seems like you might feel like an outsider.”
Kassimeigh turned sideways to survey the current gathering of artists while she considered the ones that now only existed in her memory. “No. I was perfectly comfortable and never felt like I didn’t belong.”
Sim’s arrival relieved her of this line of questioning.
“There you all are! No fair hiding away. The action’s this way.” With an infectious laugh, he slapped Arc on the back and led them toward a small circle of people.
When everyone had settled onto a blanket or cushion, Sim launched into a jaunty tavern song. Like his laugh, Sim’s music drew them all in, and Kassimeigh couldn’t resist clapping along to the beat.
Through the course of the evening, she watched two short plays, listened to three poetry readings, and heard a whole lot of music. She found it interesting to note how little such events had changed since her childhood. She enjoyed watching Arc’s enjoyment of the event so much that she stayed among the crowd much longer than she normally would have. Only when the sound level rose to a roar that began to assault her senses did she finally retire.
Arc was tempted to tickle Kassimeigh’s cheek to wake her. Staring up at the fabric of their tent had grown boring, so his attention naturally turned to the sleeping sage beside him.
At least, she seemed more sage than warrior or manahi when she slept. All of her focused intensity muted during the furlough of sleep. Her hair sprang around her head in a cloud that almost made a pillow superfluous. Arc wanted to weave his fingers into the mass of curls and fluff it up even bigger, just for fun. He wouldn’t mind making her laugh or annoying her just a bit. Both were good uses of his time.
He resisted his impulse to touch her. He didn’t know what it was about her that inspired all of his devilish impulses. But on the occasions that she let her dignity slip a bit and allowed herself to participate in his silliness, his heart melted. Goofing around was not something she’d have done before meeting him.
She’d relaxed a bit the night before, though, listening to performances and chatting with the people who drifted through their group. Sim had proved to be an intelligent, fun guy. Arc had enjoyed hearing his anecdotes of bardic revelry. Some of them had been hilarious. Bards were a unique breed of people, with an unusual worldview and a flair for engaging in outrageous things as though they were entirely commonplace. He could have listened all night, but Kassimeigh had reached her limit and he’d been reluctant to let her leave the gathering without him. They’d retired long before the others.
Arc glanced at the tent flap, wondering if he could ease through it without waking Kassimeigh. When he looked back at her, she was in exactly the same position but her eyes pierced him with bright blue attention.
“Oh. Good morning,” he said.
“Hi.” Her voice rasped at the edges with the lingering effects of sleep.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Well, but not long.” She cleared her throat.
“Tell you what, when we get home, we’ll spend a couple days in bed to catch up.”
“On sleeping?”
“Sure.” He nodded enthusiastically.
She laughed and sat up, shaking her head at him. “We have a lot to do before we can go home.”
He sighed dramatically. “Such a slave driver you are. Fine, let’s get up, solve all the world’s problems, and earn ourselves a couple days of being completely unreachable.”
“We can try.”
The amphitheater seemed a bit forlorn in the cool morning air. The audio equipment remained, but only a few other people were up. Fortunately, she spotted Élan eating an apple and talking to a young woman. Kassimeigh was relieved. She didn’t think she’d be willing to wait around for hours while the bard slept.
Élan caught her eye and joined her and Arc. “Bards don’t tend to be early birds. You’ll not see many of us up before noon.”
“And you?” Arc asked. “Are you usually up this early?”
“I like morning. Best part of the day, in my opinion. It’s a shame to miss it. Are you hungry? I can put some breakfast together. We have more than just apples.”
Kassimeigh shook her head and Arc said, “No, I don’t need anything just yet. But thanks.”
“Okay, then. What are the two of you hoping to talk me into? Arc might come out here just to check o
ut a song circle, but I know you must be after something more.” Élan nodded toward Kassimeigh. “You have some purpose, and it’s not a few vague questions about my use of mana.”
Kassimeigh’s head tilted at the blunt approach. She liked getting to the point. “We think you can help us figure out what’s happening with those dead zones. Or at least put us on the right track.”
“How would I do that?”
“We’ve learned that there’s some organic element involved. Something that has a mana signature. If you can help us find a spot that’s in the process of decay, we might find the clue we need to start unraveling the mystery.”
“Again. How?”
“I wish I could say we know exactly what we need to do, but we’re figuring things out as we go. Now that I’ve had a chance to watch you really use mana, I think your method could prove helpful.”
“Your honesty is good. Your lack of a coherent plan leaves a lot to be desired.” Élan frowned at her apple core, spinning it around and around.
“Do you know where the nearest area of high mana concentration is?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“If I searched around I could find it, but I thought you might already know.”
Élan scrunched her face up and peered into the trees. She flung an arm in a northeasterly direction. “That way, about fifteen miles. It’s not as strong as some of the others, but its proximity makes it more convenient for quick trips. I can show you on a hand comm.”
“Have you been there recently?”
“Not for a few weeks. I was going to drop by before the song circle, but I got hung up in Sanctuary and didn’t have time.”
“You live in Sanctuary?” Arc asked, retrieving his hand comm.
Élan’s mouth twisted, and Kassimeigh didn’t think she’d answer. “Like most bards, I travel a lot. But Sanctuary is always home.”
