by Sharon Hinck
She sighed. “At rehearsal, I asked a question that Saltar River believed was impertinent. A week of leg bands has reminded me of the importance of perfection and respect.”
The resignation in her voice chilled me. Even in the mottled starlight, raw sores were evident on the skin where the heavy iron rubbed.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “They’ll be removed tomorrow.”
“My attendant gave me a salve for my ankle. It might help,” I offered. “I’ll bring it to your room later.”
“Thank you.” She stood and walked awkwardly to the door. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the star rain.”
Any other time, I would have loved for her to linger and tell me her experiences as a dancer, to warn me of errors to avoid. But not tonight. I longed to see Starfire. After witnessing Iris’s suffering, I needed the reassurance of a friendly face even more. As soon as the door closed, I hurried to the low wall separating the secluded courtyard from the larger garden of the school. The stone was uneven enough to provide footholds for my bare toes, and I scaled the wall and landed on the other side without crushing the bresh in my pocket.
A small animal stirred in the dried leaves behind one of the planters, and I darted deeper into the shadows of the building. Leaving the dancers’ courtyard was probably frowned upon, but the risk was worth a moment with my friend.
I wrapped my arms around myself in the chill evening air, scanning the area for any sign of Starfire. While I waited, I leaned against the wall and gazed at the dancing tapestry overhead. The pulsing lights grew, then exploded and shook off their colors in a sparkling cascade. Their beauty coaxed me away from my questions and fears. Green swirled and transformed into blue, which contracted and then leapt outward and showered golden dust toward the earth. I reached out my hand to catch the tiny particles. They tickled my palm before their vibrancy faded and left only sand. As a child, the star rain had always comforted me. Tonight it raised my spirits again. I laughed and tossed the star rain back into the air. Awe and wonder stirred my heart, and overwhelming gratitude swelled under my ribs. The beauty made me want to thank someone, as if the stars had been given as a gift. But where was a giver to thank?
More and more pinpoints swelled and burst, spiraling with magic fragments of color. Over the entire garden, over all of Meriel, light painted the air in designs more lovely than any of the Order’s patterns.
No, I must not allow such thoughts. The patterns of the Order were perfect.
A door creaked.
I pressed my spine against the stone and held my breath.
A woman in a long brown attendant’s gown stepped lightly into the garden. She moved like a dancer.
“Starfire?” I whispered.
She whirled, her wide grin greeting me.
“I hoped you’d come,” we both said at once, then laughed and hugged. I clutched her a second longer, drawing a deeper sigh than I had in days.
“Tell me everything.” I dragged her to a bench, jabbering breathlessly. “Where are you working? And everyone else? And do you happen to know how Nolana is?”
“Wait. I want to know how you are. Is your ankle better? Have you danced in the central ground yet?”
I shook my head. “You first.”
Her mop of auburn hair picked up glints from the sky’s performance. She shoved a few locks back with one hand, revealing a bruise on her cheekbone.
“Starfire, what happened?”
“Nothing.” She looked away. “We best talk fast in case we’re interrupted. I was assigned to serve a tender in Middlemost. But I still get lodging here.”
“A tender? Do you even like ponies?”
She laughed, although for the first time since knowing her, a bitter thread tinged the sound. “They aren’t so bad. The tender isn’t very kind. But then, there are a lot of angry people in town.”
She would loathe pity from me, so instead I nudged her. “You’ll put him in line fast enough.”
Now her laughter was genuine. “I will, at that. Let’s see, Furrow was allowed to join the new class of Blues. She might make it yet in another year. But can you imagine repeating last year?” She shuddered, then launched into a quick report of the other news I’d missed while sequestered with the dancers.
I soaked up the gossip like a reed does water. Some from our class were working as attendants in the school, a few had reentered the Blue class, others had simply disappeared. She knew nothing about Nolana, having little interaction with the novitiates since she spent her day in Middlemost and attendants ate in the kitchen.
“Speaking of kitchens . . .” I unearthed the bresh and handed it to her.
She tore off a bite and offered me some.
I shook my head. “I’ve eaten my fill. Enjoy.” While she ate I told her all I dared about my new life. Boasting about luxuries would be unkind. Sharing my uncertainties would betray the Order. I was left with little to say, but she seemed to enjoy hearing about my motherly attendant and tidbits about my rehearsals. “And I’m expecting to be scheduled for my first real shift soon.”
“Morning, late day, or night?” she asked. “If it’s late day, I could watch for you from a balcony after supper.”
“I haven’t been told yet.” I walked to the arched trellis that framed a view of Middlemost. The waning star rain cascaded over the town. “Seems like a long walk each day.”
She pulled up the hem of her dress. “I wear shoes now.”
My heart contracted like a bruised muscle. She was even further from the exhilarating dream of dancing barefoot on open earth. Again, I hoped she wouldn’t notice my pity.
She shrugged. “At first, young men harassed me as I was leaving the tender’s stables at the end of the day. But there’s this kind landkeeper who offered to walk me back to the Order. Said some of the plants do better if they’re pruned at night, so he was coming this way.”
A tingle stronger than a shower of star rain prickled my skin. “What’s his name?”
“Brantley of Windswell. Oh, and I heard—”
A shutter slammed open, and a prefect poked his head out of a ground-floor window. “Cook is looking for an extra attendant to help with some baking for tomorrow.”
Starfire sprang to her feet, blocking me from the prefect’s view. “Coming.”
I realized my white clothes stood out—shouting my presence to any casual glance.
“Good to see you,” she whispered. “Best run.”
When the man’s head disappeared, I raced to the wall, climbed, and landed safely in the dancers’ private courtyard. A particularly brilliant burst of color slowed my steps. The star rain was dissipating, but another swirl of light overhead coaxed me to enjoy the last of the show. Once more, I felt a sensation behind my heart that was half appreciation for the beauty and half an unfamiliar yearning—but I had no idea what I yearned for. Probably to dance. Certainly that would ease this beautiful ache.
Green and blue lights braided around each other, coiled, and unfurled. I laughed and ran to the center of the courtyard, letting the sparkling fragments fall over me. I swirled with them, spinning low with bent knees, then lengthening and stretching upward as I continued to turn. I leapt upward, as if I could join the stars in their dance, then arched back, arms open and welcoming to the light.
A gust of wind tossed the last of the star rain upward and over the roof of the building. I drew a slow breath of appreciation. Time to get to bed.
I turned toward the door as a form in the shadows shifted behind a potted tree.
“Iris?” Had she been watching my carefree dance? Had I broken a rule? Would she report me?
A masculine throat cleared, and Brantley stepped forward. “Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt you.”
His grin was far from apologetic, and an appreciative spark lit his eyes. He looked as rough-hewn as I remembered, and he carried a coil of rope over his shoulder.
I frowned. “What are you doing here? And don’t tell me you like pruning at night. That lie might fo
ol Starfire, but I know you’re here to cause trouble.”
“So is that how you dancers talk to the earth and sky?” His arms sketched a mockery of my movements.
My face heated. Had he watched me the whole time I’d played in the star rain? “No. We use precise patterns. Not that it’s any of your business. The work of the Order stays within the Order.”
He stepped nearer, glaring down at me. “I know far too much about the ‘work’ of the Order. But you insist on being blind to it all.”
I stretched to my full height. Even so, I still needed to tilt my chin upward to confront him. “I don’t want to hear more of your lies. Are you even a landkeeper?”
His eyes narrowed. His muscles tensed, and I braced myself for a blow.
Instead, he seemed to make a decision. He sighed, gentling his expression. “You’re right that I have a reason for being here. Besides work.”
I didn’t want to hear a confession from him. If he revealed a plan against the Order, I would have to tell someone, and then I would have to explain what I was doing talking to a stranger in the dancers’ courtyard. He was putting me in an impossible situation, and I didn’t appreciate it.
He sank onto a bench. “My niece is in the school. My family asked me to check on her wellbeing.”
I knew very little of men. Truth be told, I knew very little of anything or anyone, except dance. But his concern seemed genuine. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Which form?”
He stared at me blankly.
“Which color?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I let my breath out in huff. “How long has she been here?”
Creases puckered along his forehead. “She’d be new. Only a few weeks.”
I offered a reassuring smile. “I taught the first form briefly before I left the school. All the girls are fine. Happy, fulfilled, and learning their calling.”
His scowl deepened, or perhaps it was only the darkening night sky. He surged to his feet. “Good to know. Good night, and sorry again for interrupting you.” Hitching the coil of rope higher on his shoulder, he strode out of the courtyard.
Long after he disappeared, I continued to stare after him, bemused. There was a sweetness to his quest. How much comfort would I have felt, those early days at school, if someone had checked on my welfare?
A stray breeze swooped down and tossed fallen star particles, reigniting their light in a last flicker of colors, reminding me of my spontaneous dance. Odd. I’d danced under the steely, critical gaze of the saltars for years, and never felt as self-conscious as when I thought of Brantley watching my private celebration.
The hem of High Saltar Tiarel’s formal robe pooled on the floor as she sat on a low bench. Tiny perfect stitches. I had ample time to study them as I knelt at her feet in a private alcove near the entry to the central ground. Traditionally, she met with each new dancer before and after their first shift, and my turn had finally arrived. I should have appreciated the honor of time with her, but instead my muscles quivered with impatience.
“Throughout your training you’ve been kept from touching the earth with your bare feet. It takes great effort to keep our world turning and to keep it from flying loose into chaos. We didn’t want you to interact with our world until you learned the controlled and careful way to speak with your movements.”
I’d heard all this many times, but I nodded, keeping my gaze respectfully low.
Just tell me which patterns we’ll be performing and let me go warm up.
Her gray stare assessed me and her thin eyebrows angled down. “We have applied only the best practices to your training. You, in turn, have proven yourself both capable and loyal. Now, Dancer Calara, there are secrets we can only reveal to you at this important moment.”
My chin shot up. “Secrets?”
She rested her hand on the side of my face, then brushed her fingers down the white sleeves of my tunic, like sharp bare twigs scraping against a wall.
“Some dancers—not all, of course—have strange experiences as they encounter the earth. They hear from the ground beneath them.”
“Hear the ground?” No saltar had ever taught us about that.
“If it happens to you, don’t be startled. Continue your pattern. Continue to coax the earth to the bidding of the Order. Some of our most effective dancers have this sort of connection with our world, but it is an added challenge to overcome. After your first shift, you will meet with me and tell me what you experienced. You will speak to no one else about anything you hear or feel. Understand?”
No. I bit my tongue, trapping the word behind my teeth, then breathed out, “Of course.”
She let go of my arm and pressed the heel of her hand against my forehead. “Go and move our world.”
I rose to my feet in one smooth motion, grateful my ankle felt strong and whole. After a bow, I joined the other dancers lining up in the rehearsal hall. Iris was loosening her joints with large leg swings. She smiled as I took up a position beside her. Her ankles were free of the shackles, but even with the salve I’d shared, red sores testified to the toll they’d taken. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered.
I clung to her reassurance as I reached down to press my hands into the floor, deepening the stretch through my legs.
As the doors to the central ground opened, weary dancers and drummers exited and brushed past us into the tower. I shook out my limbs to loosen my muscles, but they fought me with their tension. After all my impatience, I was suddenly terrified and wished that time would slow down. I needed one more rehearsal. One more class. One more of Saltar Kemp’s pattern drills.
Too late now. The more experienced dancers for this shift headed out into the fresh air, and I followed them.
The primary sun was setting, and we would spend our first hours in the soft glow of the subsun, and then the sparkling stars of twilight and early evening. I glanced toward the balconies. Since this was the late-day shift, perhaps Starfire would get a chance to watch.
As I found my place in the formation among all the other hooded women, I realized Starfire might not be able to pick me out in the group even if she did watch. We were uniform in physique and identical in garb, as was needed to create perfect patterns.
Then my scattered thoughts were swept away by the warmth of Meriel’s dirt beneath my feet. After years of marble and cobblestone, the softness welcomed me. I curled my toes, enjoying the sensation of the soft earth shifting. I spared a moment to absorb the vast ring of the Order building looming above us and the open sky far overhead.
In the stillness before the first beats of the drums, the earth trembled slightly under my feet. Or perhaps it was only my eager nerves. I unlocked my stiff knees and found my balance.
A soft rolling sensation moved beneath me, as if the earth chuckled. A place in my soul responded, the same place that played in the star rain and kissed the new blossoms in the courtyard gardens. Warmth coursed through my chest.
Thank you for letting me touch you, strong earth. I’m here to speak to you.
The rhythm began, many quick counts followed by a pause, and then repeating. The sound evoked water sloshing back and forth in a bucket. Current pattern! This was the moment for which I’d prepared my entire life, and the first pattern was the powerful central theme that turned our world. Although the rules required I keep my face expressionless, inside my smile beamed. Destiny, indeed.
We began to move with small running steps to one side of the field, gave a wide sweep of our arms, then ran back across. Although it had been a lifetime since I’d seen ocean waves, or been rocked in a mother’s arms, the dance stirred those memories and more.
My body exulted as we moved on to the first variation of the pattern, adding a leap at the end of the rapid steps, landing like a soft exhale at the end of the phrase. The earth coaxed me higher with each jump.
The rhythm progressed to a driving, rolling pace, and our group loped in a wide circle bordering the entire area. I felt it. I felt
the earth give way as my feet pressed back against it. Around me, the blur of white dancers swirled me along. In my mind’s eye I saw images of our world, alone amid an endless sea. Our island turned around its axis, refusing the tug of deep ocean waves. Beyond the walls, miles and miles of field and forests, rivers and villages joined the dance, oblivious to the imperceptible movement that we experienced with such amazing power.
Yes! The world was ours, we set the direction, we charted the course, we—
Shackled! A deep voice rang through my mind, with a groan that shuddered through my bones.
I stumbled. My feet automatically recovered and kept moving, but I lost my place in the pattern. What came next? Ahead of me, Iris continued the steps confidently, and I followed her. We leapt lightly past the window of the High Saltar’s office. The bright white of her formal robe stood unmoving near the glass.
Had she seen me stumble? And that voice. Was this what the High Saltar had warned me about? A sound older, stranger, more powerful than any human speech. One simple word had left me shaken. I kept dancing, watching the others, searching them for a reaction. Their faces remained stoic.
We spiraled into a tight group in the center, and I drew comfort from being surrounded by others, breathing together, muscles reaching and straining together. Kneeling, we continued our swaying movements.
Release My world!
The voice was deep and heavy, as if projecting from the heart of a boulder, or sung from the ocean depths. I shuddered as the words rocked through me.
Tiarel’s warning played through my memory over the rumbling. “Coax the earth to the bidding of the Order.” But the strength of the voice made folly of her command. I could as easily tell one of the suns to stop traveling across the sky.
The other dancers rose, and Iris nudged me. A few of the women sent me worried glances.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered . . . to Iris, to the Order I was failing, to my dreams that were spiraling out of reach.
Somehow I stumbled to my feet. Years of repetition served me as I moved into the next variation, yet my movements lost their smooth texture. My feet feared each new step, worried I’d stir another proclamation from the voice. For several minutes I danced as though the ground were coated with embers.
