by Sharon Hinck
I crouched beside her and wrapped a protective arm around her. “She wasn’t speaking heresy. She was only asking questions.”
“She’s been warned. Time in the storeroom will help her remember.”
A tremor moved through her tiny frame, and a tear dripped from Nolana’s downturned face.
I had hated that dark storeroom with its musty air and uncertain passage of time, and most of all the horrible solitude. I’d learned to do nothing to draw attention to myself—an important skill.
I gave her a squeeze meant to comfort while pulling her out of the prefect’s grip. Her tunic fell off one shoulder, revealing a mottled bruise.
I shot up and squared off with the prefect. “Has someone beaten her?”
The lout shrugged. “Only when she deserves it.”
Fury burned like the second sun, heat traveling up my neck to warm my cheeks. “She’s only in the first form.” I squared my jaw. “Besides, she danced beautifully today, and that’s the most important measure of class ranking. And look at her. She can’t miss a meal. She’s new here and far too thin. Perhaps you are inexperienced in the work of prefect and didn’t realize that.”
His fat lips bent into a sneer. He didn’t bother to answer, but simply shoved me aside, grabbed Nolana’s arm again, and dragged her into the hall.
If I protested any more, he’d only take out his anger on Nolana. I had no power to stop him, and he knew it. Helpless, I trudged down the stairs.
Entering the long dining hall, I moved slowly to my place. Saltar Kemp nodded to me from her seat at the high table. What would she do when she received the prefect’s report? My small burst of anger and courage melted out of my bones, and my hand shook as I picked up a mug of water. I’d flourished through years of study at the Order, dedicated to its noble work. Why, with only six days left until my test, had everything begun to change? Starfire Blue passed me a basket of saltcakes. I placed one on my plate, then took an extra and hid it in the pocket of my tunic. Perhaps later I would be able to bring it to Nolana.
Or perhaps after the saltars heard about my class, I would be locked in a storeroom somewhere too.
Saltar River surprised us with an extra evening class, claiming it was her benevolent gift to help us prepare for our upcoming test. I was convinced, however, that she longed for one last chance to torture us. We held extensions as she counted out the beats until our muscles shook. Then we took turns crossing the room with running leaps. Saltar River stared down her beak-like nose, eyes narrowed to catch any error. I propelled my weary body into the air, cursing the gravity that made me plummet back to the floor.
Dawn Blue, whose jumps evoked envy, leapt higher than ever with her focus upward. A moment of inattentiveness cost her. The floor shifted a hair’s breadth, and she landed wrong. Her knee torqued. The sickening snap echoed through the room—the sound of another dream lost forever. My heart contracted like her crumbled body on the floor. Two dancers ran forward, risking River’s wrath to help Dawn Blue from the room. I stared after them, faint from shock and legs barely able to support me—until River ordered us to finish the sequence. Without a glimmer of remorse on her angular features, Saltar River finally dismissed us.
Too exhausted and demoralized for conversation, all the novitiates staggered to bed. In the darkness, I felt for the saltcake I’d saved for Nolana. Only smashed crumbs remained in my tunic pocket.
Even though my body screamed for rest, I couldn’t sleep until I brought her some food and comfort. The sideboard in the kitchen always held leftovers from a meal. No one would miss a few bits of food.
Hands in front of me, I felt my way to the door, tiptoed into the hall, and made my way downstairs by the last flickers of dying torches. After navigating the empty dining hall, I reached the kitchen. A few embers still glowed in the massive hearth, giving me enough light to find a bowl of persea fruit. Their knobby skin was easy to peel without a knife, and the meaty flesh would fill Nolana’s stomach.
I grabbed two perseas and padded back toward the dining hall. A whisper of sound made me freeze. A shadow moved behind the partially open kitchen door. I wasn’t alone.
A saltar or prefect? But why would they hide behind a door?
I turned and ran toward the back door. Heavy feet pounded after me. Arms surrounded me, and a rough hand covered my mouth.
“Not a sound. Understand?” A shake punctuated the harsh words.
Terror paralyzed me, but I managed a tiny nod. The grip loosened, and I spun to face my attacker.
“You!” I gasped.
Brantley of Windswell glowered. “Quiet. Do you want to bring down the wrath of the Order?”
“What are you doing here? Stealing food? Don’t they feed the landkeepers down in the village?”
In the orange glow of embers, his pointed gaze fell to the fruit in my hand. “I haven’t taken anything. You on the other hand . . .” His words trailed off in a veiled threat. We were a danger to each other. Again.
He must have reached the same conclusion. A wry smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “You’re quite the little rule breaker, aren’t you?”
“These aren’t for me.” Why was I explaining myself to a landkeeper? “What are you doing in the Order? It’s not allowed.”
His teeth flashed a predatory grin. “Call a prefect.”
My fingers tightened around the fruit. How could I explain my nighttime roaming to a prefect? Besides, this renegade would probably invent a tale implicating me in something worse than an after-hours snack. The saltars would banish me from the Order. A tremor rattled through my frame.
Under the shadows cast by his unruly blond hair, his grin faded and his eyes held something that might have been regret. He sighed. “Get out of here. And don’t tell a soul you saw me. Agreed?”
What option did I have? Every part of my body and mind were depleted, and I wanted to get away from him and continue my errand. My only hope of doing so was a truce. “Promise me you aren’t going to cause trouble for the Order.”
He tugged my arm and hustled me ahead of him toward the dining hall. “It’s clear. Go now.”
I hesitated at the threshold, peering out into the dark dining hall. “I’m serious. I want your promise that you aren’t an enemy of the Order.” I glanced over my shoulder. He had disappeared back into the shadows.
I couldn’t take the time to worry about his lurking. Instead, I wove past tables until I bashed my shin on a bench. I sucked in a breath, then hurried on. I hugged the wall of the broad stairs, winding past my floor and upward to the fourth floor. Muffled coughs and sniffles punctuated the silence from behind the closed doors of sleeping quarters. Feeble torches were spread farther apart, so I felt my way along the wall.
I’d lived on this level for several years, but with my heart pounding in my ears I struggled to remember which door indicated the right storeroom. The one used to punish young novitiates was small, musty, and bug-ridden, with shelves containing nothing soft to cushion the imprisonment.
I found a wooden door sealed with an iron bar. I pressed my ear to the surface, listening for tearful whimpers. What I heard was worse. A tiny voice hummed a forlorn melody with scattered notes like a morning bird song. I shifted the bar and opened the door.
“Shhh. Nolana, someone might hear.” My pulse sped faster. “Singing isn’t allowed.”
From the corner of the closet, Nolana hugged her knees, studying me with hopeful eyes. “Can I come out now?”
I chided myself for offering the girl false hopes. I did a quick scan of the halls in each direction and handed her the fruit. “No, I’m sorry. You’d only get in more trouble. But I thought a full tummy might help you get through the night.”
She tilted her head. “Why can’t I sing?”
“When did you come to the Order?”
She shrugged. “Feels like forever. But I think it was last week.”
Poor thing. She was completely new. No wonder she didn’t understand all the rules yet.
> “Singing is not allowed because melodies tempt dancers to move beyond the pattern. The drums are all we need. They keep us precise.”
A door or shutter creaked in the distance. I didn’t dare linger. “Try to sleep, and stay quiet. When the prefect lets you out, don’t raise your eyes to his face, and don’t argue. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Such a feeble comfort to offer. In my earliest weeks here, even though I was thrilled to be accepted as a novitiate, I had been battered by homesickness, endless rules, and strangers who seemed harsh and cruel.
I knelt in front of her, whispering. “You must trust the Order. Put away all thoughts of your old family and village. It makes life easier.”
She blinked. “I think I’ll talk to the Maker.”
I shook my head. She had to be taught to set aside those harmful myths so she could fully embrace the Order.
At my frown, she dipped her chin. “Don’t worry. I’ll be tiny quiet.”
The next morning, I prepared myself for trouble. My evening wanderings had been a foolish indulgence. Patrolling soldiers may have captured the trespassing landkeeper. Had he talked, looking to make me the scapegoat for his law breaking? I slid into my spot beside Starfire in the dining hall and joined the others passing bowls of porridge. From the center of the Order edifice, the reassuring drums beat the daily turning pattern that began each new day and ensured our world remained locked in place, spinning around the axis of the Order. But even the familiar rhythms couldn’t calm me today. At a table farthest from the kitchen, the little girls of the first form gathered. Nolana wasn’t among them.
“Have you learned all their names yet?” Starfire dipped her saltcake into the porridge.
“What?” My stomach cramped, and I couldn’t coax it to welcome any food.
She tilted her head toward the scarlet novitiates. “The little girls you’re teaching. There are so many of them.”
By contrast, our table held yet another empty space after last night’s injury. “And each year their number will shrink.” I didn’t bother to hide the melancholy in my voice.
High Saltar Tiarel tapped the head table with a rhythm stick, and I flinched.
Starfire shot me a curious glance as the soft murmurs of conversation stilled.
“Saltars, dancers, prefects, novitiates, and attendants.” The High Saltar’s chest puffed out and she lifted thin eyebrows at the room. Each syllable proclaimed that her words carried a vital portent.
My muscles tensed, and I stared at a knot in the wood of the table, trying to grow smaller. Tiny quiet, as Nolana would say. Would I be shamed before the entire Order?
“We’ve had news of an uprising from a rim village. Some of their men may be heading this way to disrupt our work.” She sniffed, her pale brows drawing together. “For those who are new here, rest assured that we’ve faced these ragtag rebellions in the past without any interruption in our rhythms. The soldiers of Middlemost will keep us safe. However, until further notice, please remain within the Order edifice.” Her stone-gray eyes flared, revealing a brief glimpse of buried rage.
I still braced myself, so tense that blood couldn’t reach my limbs. Had my choice brought danger on the Order? I knew I should have reported my encounter with Brantley. Her next words might yet condemn me.
“Now as you finish your meal, Saltar Kemp will play a rhythm and challenge you to state the pattern’s name as fast as possible.” Tiarel’s eyes turned flat and cool again, the gray of shadow instead of the glint of steel. She took her seat and passed her sticks to Saltar Kemp.
My breath released in a rush, and blood tingled back into my arms and legs. Bright spots like star rain cascaded across my vision, and I swayed.
Starfire elbowed me. “What’s wrong with you today? You should have listened to me. Taking on a teaching task is too much for you. Just look at yourself.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
“Well, you best gather your bearings before morning stretch. The saltars are watching everything.”
I studied the faces of the saltars at the head table. None looked my direction. Perhaps I was safe for the moment. Except that I still had to prepare for my test, avoid the mishaps that had cast off two of our form in two days, face the prefect I’d dared to challenge yesterday, ascertain Nolana’s welfare, and decide if I should report Brantley’s presence—even if that would mean my dismissal.
In the practice hall, I approached Saltar Kemp. “Do you know which rim village is rebelling?” Brantley had told me he was from Windswell. If Windswell renegades were moving to attack Middlemost, I would tell Saltar Kemp about Brantley, no matter the cost to my standing.
She stroked her thinning hairline, just visible along the edge of her hood. “Undertow. But don’t spare it another thought. Remember, your priority is the test.”
Relief fueled my smile. Whatever Brantley’s reasons for lurking around the Order, they had nothing to do with a rebellion or with me. “Of course. Thank you.”
“Stop by my office before you teach this afternoon. I have some parchment you can use for keeping track of the novitiates’ progress.”
I took my place on the floor and began stretching. Undertow. Why did that name feel familiar? It wasn’t Brantley’s village, and that had been my only worry. Yet a tug of memory nagged at me.
Late in the day, I changed out of my sweat-drenched leggings, tunic, and hood, and into my teaching garb. Arms laden with the history book, spare parchments from Saltar Kemp, and a willow pen, I hurried upstairs toward the first form’s practice hall.
In the stairwell, dozens of girls from the sixth form held buckets of mortar and worked it carefully into the fine cracks that spidered across the walls. Because of the subtle motion of our world, repairing the stone was a constant chore, especially after storms. How did people manage closer to the rim, where the ground rolled so unpredictably?
I wound past the girls, chiding myself for the question. Novitiates weren’t allowed to think about the world outside the Order.
A different prefect stood by the door today, an older man I’d seen occasionally. Novitiates rarely interacted with the prefects, so I didn’t know his name, but I was grateful the rotating schedule had brought someone other than the brute who had observed yesterday. Nolana had returned to her class, her gaze downcast, her spirit subdued.
The Order required exacting standards. I’d always understood that. Yet the last few days I’d seen the power of the Order crush those with the slightest flaws or mistakes. Had the rules become harsher, or was I noticing it more? Perhaps it was normal to have doubts before the test. I wished there was someone I could ask.
Using advice and supplies from Saltar Kemp, I asked each girl her name and created a chart. A few misspoke—so new they blurted out their old names. A small frown from me was enough to correct them. The willow pen was supple in my hand, and when I pressed carefully, it wrote fine green characters on the page. They deepened to a chocolate brown as they dried.
I quizzed the girls on the previous day’s history lesson and drew small marks by the names of those who needed extra help. Nolana answered each question posed to her without a hint of argument, although she still stared out the window far too often.
After reading another chapter on the triumphant establishment of the Order and the original High Saltar of generations past, I allowed for a few minutes of discussion.
“This morning Saltar Tangleroot began to teach us the fern pattern. The one you taught us yesterday.” Reseda Scarlet bounced in place, her braid flicking forward over her chest.
Filipena Scarlet giggled. “We surprised her.”
“She didn’t know how we could learn so fast,” Nolana said, a faint smile briefly erasing the shadows under her eyes.
I grinned. “Well, if you work hard at your history each day, perhaps I’ll give you a head start on some more patterns. It’s always good to impress your saltar.”
In the distance, the muffled drums from the center ground finished their
pattern. We all waited, and soon a new rhythm began. Gale pattern. Of course. The High Saltar wanted to stir up fierce wind to prevent rebels from traveling toward Middlemost. Within a few hours, the weather would turn.
The supper bell rang, and the girls filed out. I lingered in the empty room, strolling to the window ledge. Smoke rose from the smithy’s fire down in Middlemost, but there was no sign of approaching invaders. Carts rolled on narrow streets, some pulled by farmers returning home after a day of selling produce, others harnessed to sturdy ponies with short legs who could navigate the shifts of earth underfoot. Beyond the Order’s wall, an entire world went about its business. What were their lives like?
Frightened at where my thoughts were running, I checked the door, reassuring myself I was still alone. Then I looked outside again, letting my gaze follow a road that wound toward vast forests. Where did it go? Who lived along its path? Were they happy?
If I were a harrier bird, could I see all the way to the rim from here? Or perhaps if I had one of the High Saltar’s viewing tools? If I looked through the rooftop telescope, would I glimpse the wild and untamed ocean that always threatened us?
My hand caressed the leather cover of the history book. I pulled out the chart tucked into the front. Each of the girls came from villages and families whose names they could no longer speak. Did they understand the sacrifice they’d made by pledging to the Order?
I tore off a small corner of the parchment. With tiny letters, I wrote “Undertow?” and stared at the name. Then beneath it I wrote one more word: Carya.
I folded the fragment several times and hid it in my pocket.
The morning of our final test, tension hung over our sleeping quarters like the jaws of a forest hound about to snap down on our necks. I rolled my shoulders against the taut fear. Around me, the other women managed their nerves in varying ways. Some fell quiet, others chattered. A few reviewed patterns, using their fingers to walk through movements on their palms. Others coaxed an inch more flexibility from their spine or legs.
