by Sharon Hinck
There! I spotted the source of the sound. Approaching from the rim, a finger of water rent the land. Awestruck, I gripped the parapet. The newly formed river chose a careful course, winding between trees. As it neared Middlemost, I held my breath.
Guided by the Maker’s hand, the tear eased between a stable and a smithy, separating them with a creek that soon became a river flowing in a deep crevice.
The channel moved closer. The tear cut all the way down to expose the ocean.
Would it split the Order tower in two?
The saltars who had followed me up to the roof huddled behind me. “Do something!” one of them cried.
I closed my eyes and listened for the Maker’s guidance.
“Join me,” I told them, holding hands with the two closest saltars. Soon a row of us stood together. We raised our arms, in a wide stance, then leaned first to one side and then the other. We weren’t touching the earth; we weren’t opposing the water. We were simply inviting the Maker to protect Meriel, and all the people in Middlemost and this tower.
As land opened below us, we could see down into the dark water. The last finger of the crevice moved to the archway of the garden, then stopped. Buildings groaned in protest, a wall creaked, but then everything fell silent. A relieved sigh poured through the saltars, and we let our arms go limp. Our world was forever changed, perhaps scarred as I was. But we were not destroyed. Perhaps later the Maker would explain this strange occurrence. I had no doubt there was a purpose to anything He allowed.
I climbed back down the ladder and peered into the center ground from one of the balconies. Now that the rumbling and shaking had ceased, one drummer who had remained thrummed a playful rhythm, eyes closed to listen to the tempo of the new current our world was riding. The dozen or so dancers who hadn’t fled in fear picked up the beat and flitted like carefree birds, seeming to fly as they darted around each other.
Laughter bubbled in my throat and I tore down the stairs to get back to that beautiful and changed place. The center ground no longer frightened me. The daygrass tickled my feet, and I found Starfire, took her hand, and joined her skipping steps.
Then Starfire gasped, and we all stopped. Overhead, another impossible event exploded in the sky. Star rain fell, even though it was midmorning. The sparkles were brilliant enough to see even in sunlight. We laughed, caught handfuls of light, tossed the glittering sand back into the air, and watched as the essence of stars coated our tunics. The white uniforms of the official dancers became iridescent. Even their mud-spattered leggings were beautiful in the shifting colors.
The door from the dancer wing opened and Ginerva took a few timid steps onto the center ground. She met my eyes. “If the Order had everything else wrong, were they wrong to only allow the perfect ones out here?”
I didn’t know how to answer. So many things were changing so swiftly. Instinct—or the Maker’s spirit in my heart—caused me to beckon her forward. “The Maker’s letter says He welcomes everyone to share His dance.”
Her eyes brightened like the star rain, and she tapped the earth softly with one foot. Saltar Kemp saw her and gasped, then looked to me. A mere attendant setting foot on the sacred ground? I shrugged. The implications would take time to sort out. For now, I beckoned everyone in sight to the grounds.
My work wasn’t finished. I reluctantly pulled myself away from the celebration in the center ground and hurried inside, through the hall, and to Tiarel’s office where the rimmers had been watching. Brianna stood with hands pressed against the glass, and turned when I entered. “I believed something would happen—but this?” Some of the village elders sat on the floor, gripping the doorframes or furniture as if unsure of what would happen next.
Brantley strode toward me, gathering me into a hug that squeezed the breath from my lungs. “What’s happening? What does it all mean?”
“Meriel is free. And we’ve won the right to read the Maker’s letter to the Order—to everyone.”
He shook his head. “I saw everything, and I still can’t believe my eyes.” He held me at arms’ length and looked down. “And your leg? You leapt and ran. Impossible.”
I shook my head, bemused. I’d forgotten all about my hobbled leg. Was I permanently healed, or had it been a temporary gift in a time of need? The question didn’t seem important. I could live the rest of my life fueled by the memory of today’s one dance and be content.
I laughed and stepped to the window. Dancers still improvised in delightful new steps. Some who had fled ventured back in to the center ground. I spotted Iris, the dancer who had endured shackles. She sprang with the lightest steps of all, seeming to hover at the height of each leap. Ginerva held hands with Saltar Kemp and they tiptoed in childlike circles.
“Where did Tiarel go?” I asked.
Brantley draped an arm across my shoulders. “She came through and into an inner office.”
“Will she honor the test? Will she let me read the Maker’s letter to everyone in the Order?”
He frowned. “I don’t think she’s in a state to decide anything. From the wildness in her eyes, she didn’t seem in her right mind.”
Outside, more attendants and even a prefect or two joined the frolicking in the star rain. I turned from the window with a sigh. I would have loved to dance out there all day, but I needed to complete the task the Maker had asked of me. “The whole school gathers for the noon meal. I’ll ring the bell and also call in the dancers and attendants from their wing. But first I’ll make sure Tiarel won’t prevent it.”
“Not by yourself.” Brantley’s grip on my shoulder tightened.
I smiled up at him, then sobered. I was enjoying his protectiveness far too much. Even though many things were changing, the Order’s original purpose had been valuable, and I’d pledged to serve the world as a dancer. That required forsaking all human attachments.
I slipped from his grasp and marched to the inner office, leaving behind his help and the sigh he gave. Saltar River crouched by the open trapdoor, her hooked nose and posture giving her the appearance of a carrion bird. Other than her, the room was empty. A chill raised gooseflesh on my arms. “Where is the High Saltar?”
Saltar River cut her burning gaze at me. “This is your fault. You invited the madness.”
Her anger was as potent as a leeward wind and blew me a tiny step back. I felt Brantley’s reassuring hand on my back to steady me. He’d followed me, and I couldn’t find it in myself to reject his support.
“Where is she?” I asked again.
River straightened to her full lanky height and jabbed a long finger toward me. “She fought the voice, but couldn’t overcome it. I tried to stop her, but wasn’t quick enough. She threw herself into the sea.”
I crouched by the trapdoor, peering into the depths. The well was cut through the tallest layer of our island clear through to the ocean. Deep in the darkness below, water rushed by faster than the liveliest stream. Anyone entering the sea would have been swept far under our island.
“Why?” My voice broke. She chose death over truth and freedom. Even though she’d tried to destroy me, I couldn’t shake my years of reverence for her. She’d guided the Order because she believed in it. If only she’d left one sliver of her heart open to consider the truth of the Maker who set our world into motion, who had a different purpose for the dance, and who had loved her. It wasn’t His voice that drove her mad, it was her adamant opposition to Him. She set her will against Him with such fury, His very presence made her destroy herself rather than accept what she’d experienced.
Inexplicable tears stung my eyes. I reached down as if I could touch the water, sweet and cool so far below. But only empty air trickled past my fingers.
Brantley pulled me back. “Save your compassion for others. Rumor was that she sent many through that trapdoor.”
I managed a stiff nod. He was right. After all the pain she’d caused, there was a justice in her end. Yet I still grieved for her. And I sensed the Maker did, as well.
Brantley stepped around me and closed the trapdoor. The loud clank as it slammed down made me shiver. How many deaths had this door witnessed?
Saltar River brushed her hands on her tunic. The grief that had rimmed her eyes seemed sincere but faded quickly, and she jutted her chest forward. “I’m the High Saltar now. Leave the Order. You’ve done enough damage.”
I planted my feet and faced her. “Not until I’ve read the Maker’s letter to everyone.”
Her fists clenched, flexing arm muscles strong enough to shove Tiarel to her death. I would never know what had really happened between the two of them in this inner room. Whether Saltar River was grieving her mentor or gloating over her quick action to take power, I’d do all I could to prevent her from controlling the Order. I spun on my heel and left the room where the blood from my injury had once seeped through my fingers and stained the floor. A pang from my ankle pierced upward, and I clenched my teeth, willing it away. Moments earlier, I’d danced with freedom and strength. Surely the damaged tendon was healed.
Saltar River followed and shrieked when she saw the center ground through the office window. Even more dancers were improvising new patterns, and a handful of bold rimmers had found their way to the door and stood, swaying, arms reaching upward in the space that had always been forbidden. “This desecration is your fault.” Her fist clenched and rested against the glass. “Every evil that befalls our world will be on your head.”
She couldn’t intimidate me, not when the Maker’s presence was still so tangible. A laugh bubbled free, and I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I headed to the dining hall, Brantley staying close beside me. I rang the bell for lunch. A worried attendant poked his head from the kitchen. “The meal isn’t ready yet.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re gathering early for a special event. You can serve the meal after that. And whoever can be spared can sit in the dining hall and listen too.”
The lad’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs, but he gave a quick nod and ducked back into the kitchen.
I stood near the head table and stared out at the many empty chairs.
Brantley braced one foot on a bench. “Will they come?”
Allowing myself a quaver of doubt, I met his level gaze. “I don’t know.”
I’d faced villages where people had been battered by weather, crippled by scarcity, and brutalized by the Order. Yet their faces had lit with hope and joy as they heard the Maker’s letter. Reading the letter inside the Order was different. Very different.
The firm, uncompromising walls of stone rose around me. A line of older students filed in, maintaining their precise walk as they took their table. The younger forms soon followed. Inexperienced, they hid their confusion with less skill. I saw the fear in their eyes. Every day of the Order followed the same pattern, but today everything had changed. The very ground had broken open.
Saltar Kemp strode in with a light step and found her chair at the front of the room. Several other saltars followed her from the dancers’ wing. Some timidly, some with determination. Most of them offered me tentative nods. Then Saltar River stormed in. She paused near me, spearing me with her glare. After she glanced around at the other saltars smiling in support of me, she backed away and pulled out the High Saltar’s chair. The legs screeched along the platform as she slid into place. She held her spine as rigid as the many rules that had shaped my life here. A bit of my confidence faltered.
Oh, my Keeper, let Your words form a new pattern in our hearts today. We thought we could thwart Your plan, but we are as feeble as flower petals. We need You to direct our world—and our lives.
I continued to pray silently as more rows of novitiates filed in. The traditions of structure had their uses. Everyone assembled efficiently and without speaking. Only the scrape or creak of a bench broke the stillness. I pulled the letter from the pouch around my neck and unrolled the parchment, but my hands trembled.
“Hard to believe this will make a difference,” Brantley whispered, tugging the collar of his formal tunic. “But then I’d never have thought a scrawny dancer could square off against the whole Order and free our world.”
I shook my head. I hadn’t freed our world. Brantley’s misstatement steered my thoughts to the One who had led me to this moment. My chest lifted. “It was the Maker who freed our world, and the Maker who will speak today. Not me.”
He gave me a crooked smile and small bow before moving to the side of the room and leaning against the wall. I narrowed my eyes. The man knew me too well. He’d flattered me on purpose, knowing that I’d remind him about the Maker, and therefore remind myself. He was too clever by far.
I shook my head and took a breath, absorbing a strange sound. Silence. No regular shift of drummers and dancers worked in the center ground, so the pulsating rhythm that had always undergirded my life here was strangely absent. Behind me at the head table, saltars waited, pretending a composure they had lost, but still fighting to hold on to their control, hands tucked into wide, white sleeves. If they couldn’t control our world, at least they would keep their expressions calm and confident.
Rows of novitiates stared at me, shaken by the strange events they’d witnessed. Their eyes cried out questions. Why was an outcast allowed to touch the center ground? Why were dancers creating new patterns? Why had the whole world shaken? Would the rift in the earth move forward and tear our island in two? Did the interruption to the patterns mean destruction, as they’d always been taught?
Compassion welled in my heart, as I remembered sitting on those hard benches, the weight of the world on my shoulders, believing I could make myself worthy if I tried harder. I hoped for a better future for these novitiates.
“I’ve come to bring good news.” Fingers trembling, I opened the pages. The parchment crackled, soft and familiar. Then, as I’d done in village after village, I began reading the letter.
The youngest children absorbed the words the most easily, expressions wide and eager, as if a beautiful bedtime story had been proclaimed as truth. Perhaps like Orianna, some of them had grandparents who had whispered stories of the Maker to them, and they still remembered. The older children kept shooting gazes to the head table, looking for a reaction from the saltars. They wouldn’t nod or smile or ask questions without the guidance of their instructors. The blue novitiates, including Furrow, sat the most stiffly. I knew what was churning through their minds, like the waves deep under our world. Not now. Why must everything change? I’ve worked too hard to reach this point.
When I glanced behind me to the head table, Saltar River’s lips pressed into a hard line, and a vein at her temple pulsed in its own furious rhythm. I paused, swallowed, and remembered the beautiful way the Maker had made His presence known. Our world was free. The dancers, the rimmers, were all free. They just didn’t know it yet.
I continued to read. Even the usual clatter of pots and spoons from the kitchen fell quiet.
My leg gave a twinge, then throbbed. I hadn’t had time to peer beneath the bandage. My ankle had supported me when I needed to dance. That should be enough blessing for me. Yet I pressed back a whimper as the pain returned. My palms began to sweat, moistening the leaves of the letter.
Page by page, sentence by sentence, I focused my determination on letting the Maker’s letter speak. I’d think about my own fears and needs later.
When I finished the last word, I wanted to close my eyes. Instead I dared to look at all the faces around me. Tears ran down many cheeks, the glistening drops speaking of wonder and new possibilities. Bodies relaxed forward as if remembering how to breathe. Dismay shadowed the eyes at the saltar’s table as many of them realized the tragic direction the Order had taken. Few showed outright doubt, because everyone had witnessed the breaking of the pattern, the great rending moment when our world surged forward in freedom. They had seen the strange star rain that fell in a clear morning sky.
And they saw a wounded dancer leap for joy in My presence, the Maker whispered to my heart
.
My own eyes flooded at His words. The injury that had shaken my trust in His love had been worth the pain. My weakness helped show His mercy and power to everyone in the Order. But now that the purpose was fulfilled, why was blood oozing through the bandage once again? Why not leave me perfectly restored?
A breeze tugged at the windows with a soft rattle. New cracks traced veins across the masonry of the walls. Scents of stew and burning saltcakes wafted from the kitchen. I waited, allowing each person to absorb what had been heard.
Saltar River stood, her outstretched arm quivering, fingers pulled into claws by taut muscles. “Prefects, take this outcast to my office.”
Brantley straightened, reminding everyone of his presence in the room. No one else moved.
“Call the soldiers!” Spittle flew from the new High Saltar’s lips. “I said get rid of her!” Her voice reached an irritating shriek, and those who glanced at her wore expressions of pity instead of reverence.
Saltar Kemp stood, the lines of age in her face framing a gentle smile toward me. “We thank you for sharing this important message with us. The saltars will meet to discuss our response. Obviously the Order needs to change.”
Red blotches rose on River’s cheeks. “There is nothing to discuss! We will resume the patterns and stop the dangerous course of our world. We’ll hold it in place again.” She clapped her hands. “Everyone, return to your classes. Prefects, clear out the intruders who don’t belong in the center ground. Call the soldiers to halt the invasion if necessary. Dancers, perform the turning pattern.”
Over her shouting and gesturing, the other saltars rose and gathered in a huddle, ignoring her. Saltar Tangleroot slipped away and approached me. “We need your input. Will you advise us as we meet?”
Me? Advise the saltars of the Order? My soul warmed that they were taking the Maker’s letter to heart, but as I took a limping step forward, unworthiness drowned me like a stenella’s underwater dive. A hand touched my arm. “Only if I accompany her,” Brantley said protectively. “I still represent the interests of the rim villages.”
