Heroes Adrift (10 page)

Corla clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Go fetch them.”

Karish opened his mouth to object.

“I didn't give them to you to have them thrown away.”

Karish shut his mouth and rose to his feet.

“And you eat them,” Corla shouted after him as he disappeared around a bend in the road.

Then she settled back in her chopper and gave me an intense look.

“You're going to read my fortune, aren't you?” I asked with resignation.

“I already have.” She grinned. “Atara lets no one travel with us unless I see a clear reading.”

“You haven't looked at my palm or my tea leaves. I see no crystal balls or cards.”

“Are you going to pay me?”

“I'd rather not.”

“Then don't demand a show. I don't need any of that, and you know it. You're a fool, not an idiot.”

Zaire, what was with these people? “I see.” But I didn't, not really. Atara had been using candles and a stone to get guidance from some invisible force to learn where the troupe should go next. Surely that sort of thing was on an equal footing to telling fortunes.

“Do you want to know why?”

“Why I'm not an idiot?”

“Why you are a fool.”

Perhaps she had heard from the talkative Fin that Karish and I slept apart. Many would consider that foolish.

“You are letting your guilt crush you.”

Now that was a shock. “I'm not feeling guilty about anything.”

“You killed a man.”

And all of a sudden, just like that, I couldn't breathe. I pressed a palm to my chest, trying to push air through my lungs. Oh my gods. How did she know? Where had she heard? Oh gods.

Actually, I'd killed two men. Creol, and a Reanist. But I thought she meant Creol. For some reason, killing the Reanist hadn't disturbed me nearly as much as killing Creol. I spent a brief moment wondering why.

She rubbed my shoulder, trying to reassure me. Or something. “Now, now,” she said. “If you were not a good person, I would not have been able to see it. It is a shadow on your light.”

Breathe, damn it.

“You are a creature of balance. You crave it. You cling to it, when you can. But you had to leave your balance, to kill this man, and you haven't been able to find it again.”

I pulled in a breath. It hitched painfully in the middle, but at least I was getting in some air.

“And now you are afraid. You need to go so far the opposite way, yes? To restore your balance? But you are afraid to leave middle again. You will never find your balance if you are afraid to move.”

“I don't understand,” I confessed. And I couldn't believe I was listening to her with anything other than polite disinterest. But how had she known? No one but Karish and I knew I had killed Creol. How did she find out?

“What I said.” Corla appeared impatient with my lack of comprehension. “If you do not move, you cannot find your balance. If you stand on one foot, you need to move, just a very little, to stay balanced. If you are rigid, you fall over. Correct?”

“Aye. But what does going the opposite mean?”

“Did I tell you to kill that man?”

I wasn't going to answer that, one way or the other. I wasn't going to confirm that I'd killed anyone. I didn't know what the hell was going on.

She didn't require an answer. Thank the gods. “So I can't tell you how to balance it, can I?”

Nice dodge, lady.

Karish reappeared around the bend, bundle in hand. “I have to beg your forgiveness, Corla,” he said, and there was an ease to his voice I hadn't heard all day. “I ate one and it—” He halted, his gaze on me. “What happened?” And he narrowed his eyes at Corla. “What did you do?”

She smiled. “They're so pretty when they're fierce,” she said to me.

I did not smile back. I wanted her to leave. I pressed my hands together to keep from hugging myself.

“This man she killed,” Corla said. “He needed killing.”

Karish stared at her.

“Ah. So you…encourage her guilt?”

He looked at me. I looked back at him and moved my head to one side just a fraction. No, I'd said nothing to her.

“She has a bright core,” Corla went on. “If she did not, I would know nothing of her darkness. She needs to find her balance. You can help her, but you do not. You're afraid, cowering like a whipped dog. You stay outside the walls.”

Gibberish. Would she please leave?

“You look outside too much,” she said to Karish.

She'd found a new target. Hoo-ray.

“What?” He was confused. Imagine that.

“She tells the future,” I explained, my voice nicely sarcastic. “Only right now she seems more interested in picking apart the present.”

Corla ignored me. “Always with you it is what others think,” she scolded Karish. “Is not what you think important?”

He glowered at her, lips pressed into a thin line. “You don't know me,” he reminded her.

“I know you put on a fine show,” she said. “Always for other people. Why smile when you don't feel joy?”

“Diplomacy is such a harsh taskmistress, isn't she?”

“Pah! Diplomacy. Another word for lies.”

“Don't you miss the color?”

This time she looked confused. Turn about and all. “What?”

“If all you see is black-and-white.”

No, she did not like being the one on the receiving end of confusing statements. “You will never find your core if you always look outside,” she said sharply. “If you do not find your core, you will always be empty. A false face is an empty face.”

Karish pulled in a deep breath. “I have noticed among your people a tendency to be blunt.” Oh, had he been a victim of it, too? “In the spirit of embracing the customs of my new home, I'm going to ask you to leave now.”

That unexpected ending was almost enough to make me choke on my own saliva.

Corla, surprisingly enough, didn't find this offensive, if her cackling were any indication. “Not to worry, young man.” She rose to her feet and tugged the hem of her short skirt infinitesimally lower. “You are less foolish than most. You will find your way.”

“Your predictions for the future are less impressive than your perceptions of the present,” I muttered, too shaken and annoyed to worry about courtesy.

The old woman sobered up. “All right, then,” she said coolly. “You will be made an example of. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

I was struck speechless by her certainty, and the ominous jolt her words delivered upon me.

It had to be the darkness. And the torchlight. Torchlight always did things to my emotional state. And this whole crazy island. It was infecting me.

Karish scowled at his feet.

Corla nodded at us. “Fair eve, young ones.” And she picked her way back to her own tent.

I waited until she had disappeared from our view before I cleared my throat. “It's trickery and sham. No one can see into the future.” Or into one's mind, to see things they had no right seeing. Unfortunately, my voice didn't sound convincing to my own ears, and although what I said was the truth—of course it was—I was having a hard time believing it right then.

Of course I felt guilty about killing Creol. Who wouldn't feel guilty about committing murder and getting away with it? But it hadn't marked my entire life. The guilt was there, lurking at the back of my mind. Occasionally it flared to the front. But that was natural and healthy and right. It hadn't thrown my whole life off balance. It hadn't made me afraid to move.

Made an example of. That couldn't be good.

“Any of that wine left?” Karish asked, his voice rasping.

I handed him the skin, deciding not to remind him he wasn't in good shape for the consumption of alcohol. I just hoped he didn't drink it all. I had a feeling we'd both be needing it.

Then, all of a sudden, Karish announced, “There's an earthquake about to happen.”

I clamped down on a spurt of excitement. “Oh,” I said.

“It's a mild one, and”—he frowned—“quite a way off. I'm kind of surprised I can feel it at all.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“No reason not to channel it, though. Are you ready?”

“Of course.” It would be nice, actually. It seemed like I hadn't Shielded in ages. I felt Karish lower his protections and I erected my Shields around him.

Only nothing happened.

“Something wrong?”

He looked at me, appearing puzzled. “I think—I feel—someone else is channeling it.”

“Someone on Flatwell?”

“I guess.”

“But there are no Pairs on the Southern Islands.” So I'd always been told.

“Not posted, but maybe there's a Pair like us here. You know, just visiting or traveling or something.”

Or something. Perhaps banished here by a crazy monarch.

It struck me as strange, though, two Pairs to be somewhere where Pairs were neither assigned nor wanted.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Karish muttered.

“Lovely.” So did I.

“You see, you need a costume that looks good, but won't hamper your movement.”

The inside of Kahlia's tent was a mess. A single room, there were strips of cloth, strings of beads, and ropes of feathers draped over every piece of collapsible furniture. Some of the clothes were mine. At least, they were the clothes that had been given to me. I feared some of it might be absorbed into Kahlia's domestic mire. Not that I had developed any attachment to the garments, but they were almost all I had.

The chaos was hurting my head, but Kahlia seemed to have no trouble with it. Every time she needed something, she pulled it out without having to look for it. I found people like that eerie.

“Ma's right. Golds, coppers, maybe some light browns and oranges.”

I thought they really were taking the flame symbolism too far.

“Tattoos would show up really—”

“I am not getting any tattoos.”

She seemed surprised. As though what I said actually sounded odd. “Why not?”

“Marking my skin does not appeal to me.”

“Why not?”

It was wonderful that these people were taking Karish and I on, but they were starting to irritate me. Did she really want me to tell her I thought permanently marking the skin was hideous and bizarre? “Why don't I like red wine? It isn't to my taste.”

Kahlia didn't take offense. “Hm. Maybe a paste. Some kind of copper glitter. Not solid, but maybe curving lines along your arms and legs. And your face.”

“I sweat when I dance,” I told her bluntly. “Cosmetics will run.”

“They're not cosmetics. Not like what the townies wear, anyway. We all sweat when we perform.” She dug into a pile on the floor. “You don't wear anything on your feet when you dance, do you?”

“No.”

She held out her hand, loops of small copper beads dangling from her fingers.

Two small hoops on one end, a mass of beads, a larger hoop on the other. I had no idea. I raised my eyebrows at her.

She put her foot through the large hoop and hooked the smaller hoops on her largest and second-smallest toes. And there it was, a beautiful delicate sandal with no sole. “This won't slip your steps, no?”

“I don't think so.” The hoops might chafe a bit until I got used to them.

“And they'll catch the light well. Here's its mate.”

And so it went. I wasn't sure why I was there, really, except for reference for size. Picking through what she had and what had been given to me, and without asking my opinion, she assembled an outfit that was exotic, daring, and looked utterly ridiculous on me.

“I am not wearing this.”

She'd stuck to the color scheme. On my upper body I was wearing something little more substantial than my usual undergarment, a light brown halter that would offer my breasts adequate support for dancing but didn't do much to hide their shape. Kahlia spoke of having beads of a suitable color sewn onto it, but I couldn't have cared less because I was never going to be seen in public in it. Likewise the skirt—sort of—that rode low on the hips and consisted of wide flaps of light brown material that parted at the slightest movement. This was also to be beaded to be suitably flashy. Around my bared midriff Kahlia had clipped the lightest golden chain, just in case anyone was in danger of missing the fact that there was naked skin there.

There was no white braid telling everyone what I was. Kahlia was horrified with the idea of adding it. Maybe that was why I felt so naked.

Aye, that was it.

“The beading and the paste, and when your hair is done up proper, will make it all shine. The torch light will dance.”

Was she not listening to me? “I am not wearing this.”

“Of course you are.” She looked me over, her eyes narrowed. “You won't carry it off if you don't stand proud.”

“There is nothing wrong with my posture.” True, it wasn't as rigid as Karish's could be, but then I'd had a normal childhood.

She rolled her eyes. “Not straight. Proud.” And she pulled in a breath. Suddenly her breasts were much more prominent.

I raised an eyebrow. “My breasts are of what I am to be the most proud?” I asked dryly.

She grinned. “It is our asset most envied by men.”

I imagined that depended on the man. And the breasts. “I lack your stature.”

“It's not the size of them but how you display them that counts.”

“I'm not displaying them at all. And this skirt.” To demonstrate, I shifted a foot a hand span to the side. The cloth flaps fell away to reveal my leg up to the hip.

“A shorter solid skirt will ride up and leave you no modesty at all,” Kahlia explained. “A longer solid skirt will fence your steps.”

Unfortunately, she had a point. I took a few more experimental steps and hops. The cloth flaps always parted, and they threatened—or promised—a lot, but they never actually revealed anything other than leg. Still, “I'm not thin enough to carry off clothing like this.”

She frowned. “Thin enough? You have a pleasing shape.” She drew a fingertip from my ribs to my rather ample hips.

“I'm not slender like you.” And she was gorgeous, not a scrap of extra flesh on her.

“That is one of the reasons Ma wants you. Because you look so different from the rest of us. And people who come to see you will then come to the rest of us. It is good for all of us.”

Was she missing the point on purpose? “I look ridiculous in this, Kahlia. More important, I feel ridiculous. I'm not wearing this.”

“This is not so different from what we wear. Do you think we look ridiculous?”

Just a little, to be honest, but, “You people seem able to make it work. You have a kind of flair that I lack.”

“So you must learn flair.”

“I don't think I can do that.” Flair hadn't been part of my training.

“Leave behind the dead voice, for a start.”

I frowned. “Dead voice?”

“Your voice never changes. No pitch to it.”

“Of course it has pitch.”

“Kai kai, a very very little. Most of your words all sound the same. Even when you ask questions. Your voice doesn't go up.”

“I'm a Shield.” Of course, that, by itself, was not a sufficient answer for these people. “We're trained to speak calmly, to maintain a moderate tone of voice.”

“They should stop training you,” she muttered.

“It is so we don't impose our emotional responses on others. It's part of our responsibilities to keep the environment calm. Because sometimes our Sources are very excitable.”

“It's aggravating.”

“My apologies.” I made no effort to subdue the sarcasm ringing through my voice.

“Do you talk like that all the time?”

“I imagine so.”

“I feel sorry for your lovers. Between your face and your eyes and your voice, I would have no idea what you were really feeling.”

“My face?” What, there was something wrong with that, too?

“It's always blank. Everything about you is blank. Your voice, your eyes, your face. Your body, even, the way you move. So careful. It is discomforting.”

This had been a really bad day. Why did these people think they could say whatever the hell they wanted to me? “A lot has happened to me today,” I said. “And I'm not used to it. Perhaps we should delay this until tomorrow.”

Kahlia caught my arm. “Maybe you're tired,” she said. “Maybe you're angry with me. But I can't see it from your face.”

“So?” She was really testing my patience. “My feelings are my business.”

She whistled. “You don't want to be my friend?”

She was nearly as good as Karish in skipping from subject to subject with no thought to logic or how much it might hurt my head. And how was I supposed to answer that question? “I don't know yet.”

She pouted. “You don't like me?”

Purported wise woman to petulant child in under a moment. “I don't know you yet.”

“And you can't know me if I never show you how I feel about things, can you?”

Hell. Emotional people weren't supposed to have a good grasp on logic. “I was trained—”

“Your training doesn't matter here,” she announced imperiously. “As a performer, you must love what you are doing, and you must show that love to the speccies. The dead voice and the dead eyes must go.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Did I really have a dead voice and dead eyes? I was supposed to appear calm, not emotionless. I mean, dead. That sounded awful.

“And walk proud.”

“All right, all right.” I was not walking around with my breasts thrust out. That just looked ridiculous.

“Come, then. They're waiting for us.”

I followed her out of the tent. “Who?”

“Leverett, Sacey, Panol and Setter. You need to start working on your show.”

Damn it, I was tired. And without knowing exactly how, I found myself in public with that ridiculous outfit. And people were staring. Not laughing, which was a relief, but definitely interested. No polite aversion of gazes here. People were as frank with their eyes as they were with their tongues.

I clenched my teeth. I refused to strut. I'd better not be blushing.

Kahlia led me a little farther up the road, out of sight of the tents. I was introduced to Sacey, a burly woman incongruous with the dainty wooden pipes she played. I eyed Panol and Setter. “Usually there need to be four stalkers.” But then, there were usually four bars. I saw only two. That's all I had used at the trial the night before, but I had expected, for a proper performance, four bars.

“Well,” Panol drawled, “the more of us you have, the more of us you have to pay.”

“Ah,” I said. I was disappointed to hear they expected to be paid, and angry with myself for being disappointed. Of course they needed to be paid if they were going to take time from their own performances. Though I hadn't heard that Panol and Setter did anything but handwork. “I'm not used to dancing with only two bars.”

“That's what rehearsals are for.” Kahlia patted me on the shoulder.

They once more expected me to dance directly on the ground. I couldn't keep that up. It would make a mess of my toes and ankles. “How do I go about getting benches made? Or one, at least.” If I was dancing with only two bars, I supposed one bench might do. With some adjustments to the steps.

“Fin could probably make one,” Panol said. “You'll have to wait until we get to Shade Valley, to get the right kind of wood. You'll have to pay for that, too.”

I was caught between being irked at the reminder, and being irked at having to admit that I needed the reminder. “That'll be good.” I looked at Sacey. “I've never danced to pipes before.”

“Sounds like you've never done a lot of things, Leavy-kin,” she retorted.

True enough.

The rehearsal was actually pleasant. We experimented with different music, different steps, different ways of moving. It was difficult to convince my body that this was not bench dancing as it knew it. Kahlia expected me to do more with my upper body and arms than just provide a counter balance. She wanted meaningless curving gestures, and more sway to my hips. At times, I wondered if she was just having me on for her own amusement, but no one else seemed to find what she was saying odd.

The drumming was different from what I expected while bench dancing. A more syncopated rhythm, pretty and stirring, but hard to dance to. It helped once Sacey started playing, too. The pipes added a plaintive, soulful air to the music that made it easier to engineer the twists and convolutions Kahlia seemed to feel were necessary.

But then I landed wrong and wrenched my ankle, and I had to stop. Kahlia took me back to her tent, where she gave me a wrap and a green gel she told me to put on my ankle. When I asked her what I needed to pay for it, she was offended, which irritated me. She knew, by now, that I didn't have to pay for things in my own land. Obviously, I didn't know the etiquette concerning when to pay for things and when not to.

She forgave me when I begged sufficiently. Wasn't she gracious?

My fatigue, which I had forgotten during the rehearsal, flooded back to me on the way back to our tent. I couldn't wait to shut myself away from all the eyes. I couldn't wait to lie down and sleep and forget all this for a while.

Karish, hedonistic little rebel that he was, had once more laid his mat on the ground outside the tent so he could lie out in the open air and stare up at the night sky. He seemed contemplative. Not an adjective I would have applied to him, once upon a time.

Looking at Karish, I almost failed to notice the man who seemed to be examining the back of our tent. I didn't remember meeting him, but that didn't mean anything, as I didn't remember half the names or faces I had been introduced to so far. I was annoyed that he seemed intent on eavesdropping. “Can I help you with something?” I asked him.