by Sever Bronny
“We send the Legion tokens of respect in the form of mead, gold and iron, but their thirst grows. Thus I say there may a come a time when we will have to decide our fate, for I know many of you would rather stand up for your neighbor than succumb to your enemy, and when a powerful force at last stands against the Legion, so, too, will we.” At this, many cheered and whistled. Mr. Haroun let them go on a little bit, glancing around, the fire dancing in his eyes.
Augum suddenly recalled Lord Tennyson delivering a speech at the Sparrow’s Perch naming ceremony. He remembered black-armored soldiers crashing through the woods riding great warhorses; crimson-armored death knights wielding great burning swords; his father in golden plate and sitting a deathly horse …
“Aug, you all right?” Leera whispered as Mr. Haroun went on. “Is there something in the trees?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, feeling the sweat on his brow.
Leera glanced at the same trees. “I remember it too.”
He looked at her. There was fear in those dark eyes. “They won’t come tonight,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“They won’t come …” but the truth was, he didn’t know for sure, and now that he thought about it, those three fires acted like great beacons. He wanted to shout how dangerous this all was and that they should run back to town and arm themselves. As far as he knew, there were few soldiers here and no warlocks, and the only person capable of holding the Legion horde at bay lay sleeping back in the Okeke home.
“… and so I now conclude with heartfelt thanks. Thank you for your company, your spirit, your trust, and for such a prosperous year. Although it is not quite yet over, let us look back on it forever with fondness and gratitude before bidding it farewell.” Mr. Haroun received a wine glass from a young helper. He raised it in the air. “In the tradition of those that came before us, let us play and let us eat! Happy Endyear!”
“Happy Endyear!” called the crowd. Glasses clinked and flatware scraped on plates; bowls were emptied and the roasted meat divvied up; blessings and well wishes were heartily conveyed. Musicians played their instruments as games began to take place at the tables—Cuppers, Pass the Present, Old Man Mule, and Piggy Run, the latter two very popular with the children. Tables competed against each other in trivia. Men challenged each other to drinking competitions while the elderly played dice or cards.
The trio ate their fill and then ate some more, laughing at jokes and exchanging stories. Everyone seemed merry, and throughout, the stars twinkled overhead as the moon crept across the sky.
Eventually, Mr. Haroun once again strode to the center, a hand held high to silence the somewhat unruly crowd.
“And now, my dear friends, I ask that everyone who brought a partner …” He raised a finger in anticipation of what he was to say next, “start the Endyear dance!” He began clapping his hands in rhythm, the crowd quickly joining in. The musicians took up the pace, playing The Swinging Lantern, a spritely tune to get people moving. Girls exchanged shy and giddy looks while boys asked for their hands. There were giggles and chortles, laughs and even cries of alarm as some of the younglings asked their counterparts to dance, only to be promptly denied with the words “Icky boys!”.
Augum had never danced before and thought he’d rather be wrestling Dap or one of the Penderson brats right then. Nonetheless, seeing Chaska leave the table with Bridget and Jengo with Priya, lent him enough courage to stand before Leera and extend his hand.
“Leera Jones, will you dance with me?”
Leera beamed, glitter-dusted cheeks shining in the light of the fire. She took his hand and shrugged playfully. “If I have to.”
Augum gave her a light punch on the arm. “Of course you have to.”
“Hey now, is that any way to treat a lady?”
“You have another year and four months before you can call yourself a lady.”
Leera sucked in her breath. “Ouch,” but she was smiling.
He led her to the center, where couples already danced, and awkwardly placed his hands at her waist. They avoided looking at each other, but managed to keep a rhythm somewhat close to the tune that played.
His main concern was not to step on her feet. The last thing he wanted to do was make a total fool of himself. His cheeks seemed on fire, his heart felt like it was going to explode, and a vaguely familiar butterfly feeling fluttered in his stomach. He was awfully conscious of himself; of the way her hands gently held his neck; of every sound and nuance, as if he was under the influence of Centarro.
Now if only there was a spell that made him into a good dancer …
When the dance ended, he felt it was far too soon, but as was proper and as Solian tradition dictated, they were to choose new partners from those that had not danced yet. They glanced at each other one last time before joining the crowd.
Leera asked Mr. Goss, Bridget asked Leland, and Augum, who could think of no one else, asked Ms. Singh. He immediately regretted that decision.
“If this demon child who purported to have interest in Panjita’s daughter thinks Panjita would dance with him, he would be better off running into the woods and freezing to death.”
Huan slapped his knee with laughter, almost spilling his drink in the process.
“That is so very rude, Mother!” Priya said. “Come, Augum, I have someone for you to dance with.” She led him to an ebony-skinned girl around his age with long tightly-curled black hair. She wore a square-neckline green dress and a thin golden necklace. Her dignified parents looked on—the mother smiling, the father glaring. Augum had to do a double take at the father, who was none other than the village elder, Mr. Haroun.
“This is Malaika. Malaika, meet Augum.”
Malaika curtsied and smiled, and soon Augum was dancing for the second time in his life. She had a confident poise to her and smelled like vanilla and honey. Yet he was so nervous to be dancing with a stranger that he did not say a single word to her.
“You’re an awful dancer,” Malaika said with a giggle. Before Augum could die from shame, she added, “But I can teach you. Here.”
“Psst, look at Leera!” Bridget said as she danced with Mr. Goss, who kept tripping over her feet and apologizing.
Augum used the opportunity to steal his attention away from Malaika—Leera twirled a moaning Leland like a maple seed. The little tyke tore free, stumbled and fell. She giggled, helped him up, pinched his cheek, and continued at a more leisurely pace. She seemed so carefree and … pretty.
Augum wondered what she’d look like in a more formal dress like the one Malaika wore. The thought almost made him burst out laughing. He was so used to her wearing either a drab nightgown or the same apprentice robe he wore.
Leera happened to glance in his direction. When their eyes met, both quickly looked away.
Malaika gave up trying to show Augum how to dance—he was hopeless, mostly because his thoughts were so frazzled. After a change of song, Malaika curtsied and Augum bowed stiffly. Neither said a word, though she gave him a pleasant smile. Then he and Bridget joined up with Leera and Leland.
“She was awfully pretty, that girl,” Leera said as they walked back to the table, Leland in her grip.
“Her name is Malaika,” Augum said.
“Well she’s a good dancer.”
Suddenly, a miracle—Mr. Okeke somehow managed to convince Ms. Singh to dance with him. It was enough to get the entire table clapping.
“Panjita thinks her table ought to mind its own business!” Ms. Singh said. She then allowed Mr. Okeke to lead her to the dance area on the crook of his elbow.
Jengo danced with a quiet Bridget while Chaska danced with a chatty Leera. Augum’s cheeks prickled every time he just “happened” to see her dancing in the big Henawa’s arms.
Leera soon returned to plop down on the bench by Augum’s side, full of smiles and giddy laughter. He recalled seeing maidens kissing knights in those old books of Sir Westwood’s and wondered what it’d be like to kiss
her.
She caught him staring and gave him a warm smile. He quickly looked away, mortified. “Wish we had more time,” he mumbled.
“For what?”
“Oh, uh … dancing.” He wished everyone would arcanely disappear, at least for one dance.
She stood up and extended her hand. “Augum Stone, would you take this fair lady and dance with her?”
He gulped and leaned forward. “Are we allowed to dance twice?”
“That’s just an old Endyear superstition.” She gave a wry smile. “Besides, who’s going to stop us?”
He took her hand. “In that case, my Lady, it would be a great pleasure,” and he playfully led her to a more somber affair named The Winds of Winter.
Leera placed her hands on his shoulders. “This song’s fit for a funeral. Who died around here?”
He could barely concentrate. She smelled faintly of blackberry and citrus. He thought his skin would surely burn through his robe. He even forgot to reply.
Suddenly she leaned back and gave him a troubled look. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“—mean to what?”
“I mean, I wasn’t referring to … you know …”
“Oh … Mya?” His stomach sank to his turnshoes. His grip loosened at her waist.
She stared at him stupidly before looking away, shaking her head. “I’m such an idiot—”
“No—” he said a little too quickly. “I mean, you’re not an idiot at all.” He wanted to say she was the cleverest girl he had ever met actually, and now that he had a chance to study the fineness of her raven hair, the way her mouth curled when she thought of something funny, the soft moonlight reflecting off her sparkling freckles, he realized she was the prettiest too.
But he dare not speak those thoughts aloud.
She looked him in the eyes as the song came to a darkly dramatic close. He felt his heart hammer, the blood rushing to his head. She was breathing very quickly too— her waist expanded and contracted under his sweaty palms, her skin almost as hot as his. Their faces inched closer together—
“Panjita thinks that most inappropriate!”
They recoiled apart—only to discover Panjita shooing off a large man with a slopping tankard.
“Just one kiss, m’lady—” the man garbled drunkenly.
“Panjita will give the mongrel the kiss of her cane!” She swung and this time her aim was true—SMACK!—right in the face. A tooth sailed out of the man’s mouth, landing in his tankard. The table behind burst in laughter. Even the man cackled. Then to the crowd’s amusement, he finished his ale in one gulp—swallowing his tooth.
“Panjita thinks this man a barbarian,” she said, striding off as people howled with laughter.
“Well at least that was memorable,” Leera muttered, looking a little dejected.
Bridget cleared her throat directly behind Augum. “Hey, are you forgetting something?”
Leera and Augum paled.
Bridget extended her hand. “Mind if I steal him? We haven’t danced yet.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Leera said quickly, and wandered off.
No, wait! Augum wanted to say.
Bridget placed her hands on his shoulders as a new song began.
“Which one’s this?” she asked.
“Chivalry’s Shining Armor,” he replied, remembering one of the few Sir Westwood enjoyed. “How is Chaska?”
“Good, he’s preparing himself for his nemana.” She looked down. “You’re dancing too stiffly. Here.” She adjusted his hands on her waist and kicked his right foot. “Lead with that one. And for the love of everything good, relax.”
“I thought I was relaxed.”
“Trust me, you weren’t. There, better already.”
Somehow he was able to follow Bridget’s instructions through his frazzled thoughts.
“She looking over at us now?” Bridget asked.
He glanced past her shoulder. Leera immediately looked away.
“Yes.”
“She likes you.”
He wanted to say he liked her back, but it seemed impossible just then.
Bridget sighed. “I hope we make it through this …”
“It’s just a dance—”
“No, I mean—” she nodded at the dark outline of the Muranians, looming in the distance.
“Oh … me too.” His heart constricted as he thought of Mya. If the same thing happened to Leera or Bridget … He swallowed hard, feeling his hands sweat again.
“We have to watch out for each other,” Bridget said quietly, looking off into the night. Then she smiled and composed herself, sniffing sharply. “And when this is all done, we’ll go to the academy together!”
“Right, definitely,” he said, nodding along and smiling.
They finished the dance in quiet thought, comfortable in each other’s embrace. Augum thought of the dark path that lay ahead; of Bahbell, the seat of the first great necromancer and the gateway to hell; and of the Occi … cannibals or demons or whatever they were. It was enough for him to wish the Star Feast had no end.
As the festivities continued and the night cooled, half-finished plates began to outnumber finished ones. The musicians played slower and slower melodies as the elderly, families and children began taking their leave. They waved their goodbyes and imparted Endyear best wishes. Tables began to empty as youths cleaned up. The trio helped, packing the baskets and blankets.
“Time to go soon, Leland, it’s a long walk back,” Mr. Goss whispered, but Leland was already snoozing on the bench, curled up in a Dramask blanket.
Duties done, Augum sat content, watching the stars twinkle overhead, moved by the delicate fading melody of a stringed instrument played by someone who has known loss …
As the tired musicians announced the last song of the night—The Dimming Fire, Bridget suddenly grabbed Chaska by the sleeve.
“Look—”
They turned to the forest where a snow-skinned man in traditional Henawa dress emerged, a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He was old and stooped, his perfectly groomed long milky hair touching his waist. Fur accented his shoulders, trousers and boots. Bones hung on necklaces around his neck, and beads decorated a long hide shirt painted with animals and leaves. In one hand he held a sack and in the other a hide shirt.
The man stopped before them.
“Father,” Chaska said.
“I not always treat Chaska with respect,” the man began, “but today, I say goodbye in the Henawa way.” He handed Chaska the sack. “Food and family charms for nemana.” He then unfurled the shirt, holding it steady before Chaska. It was marked with slashes, intricate beadwork, and burnt-in silhouettes of boar, horses, bears and axes. “Henawa war shirt.” He handed it over and unslung the bow and quiver. “Henawa war bow.”
Chaska swallowed as he took the items. He put the war shirt on over his royal blue tunic. “Father, I don’t know what to say …”
“Chaska promise to return. Chaska promise to grow his hair long like Henawa.”
Chaska’s lip trembled. “I promise, Father … Achishi Zafu.”
The old man gave a firm nod. “Father promise treat Chaska with respect. Chaska will be man. Chaska always father’s son.” He turned his attention to the trio. “Youngling maniye see Achishi Zafu before go.” His gaze wandered back to his son. “Now Chaska stand by fire with Father,” and walked to the dying flames.
Chaska gave Bridget a stiff nod and jogged off to join his father.
“I hope he’s successful,” Augum said, watching the back of the muscled Henawa as he and his father bowed their heads by the low fire.
Bridget watched after him for a time. “Me too …”
Decisions
Augum woke to a light wind whistling through the beams of the cabin. All was quiet except for the gentle crackling of the fire and the slow breathing of those asleep nearby.
As he lay in the dull morning light, he replayed the highlights of the Star Feast—t
he music, games, singing, food, and of course the dancing—especially with Leera. He took his time enjoying the memories, each forever seared into his mind.
Until he heard a jar being quietly opened. He raised his head to find his great-grandmother sitting at the table, gingerly spreading honey over toast, blue tome open beside a steaming cup of tea. She lifted the dripping slice to her lips and took a slow bite. “Mmm …” she toned, licking her fingers one by one like a child enjoying stolen candy.
When she finished, he sat up and whispered, “Morning, Nana.”
“Crimson heavens, you startled me, great-grandson. Morning to you.”
“Sorry, Nana.” He joined her at the table, still wearing Jengo’s oversized nightgown. “Where’s Erika?”
Mrs. Stone replied without looking up from the book. “I brought her in to sleep with me so that Mr. Okeke could get some rest.”
He glanced to Jengo’s closed door. “She slept beside Haylee?”
“I brought Haylee out here.”
He looked about and discovered Haylee bundled in a Dramask blanket on the settee. He had thought it was Leera, but Leera slept on the floor near Mr. Okeke’s door.
“Telekinesis?”
Mrs. Stone nodded as she flipped a page.
“How many times have you read that book, Nana?”
“One of the keys to greatness is review, Augum. Cleverness only gets you so far.”
He thought about that. “I’m not very clever …”
“It is as wise to know one’s weaknesses as it is to know one’s strengths.”
He chewed on his finger, wondering what his strengths were. Fearing a lecture, he decided not to ask. His thoughts drifted to Haylee and the way she had hung from those chains, her bruised face, and how much it had upset him to see her like that.
“Haylee’s suffered terribly,” he said.
“She has indeed. You all have.”
“Do you think … do you think there’s anything I can do to help her? They murdered her parents and grandfather.”
“Compassion, Augum. Compassion heals.” She scanned the pages with a bony finger. “There is much to be done before New Year’s. We have a very dangerous journey ahead of us.”
