The Unfinished Song: Taboo (6 page)

When Dindi splashed across the stream, Jensi ran toward her. “There you are! Don’t think I’ve forgotten our bet. We’ll compare our piles after we join the others.”

At least that won’t take long
, Dindi thought.
My pile will have no grass at all
.

The maidens all gathered in a pleasant glade by the stream. Jensi had already staked out a place to sit by some round stones that made nice seats. She had also set out two mats, and now she unloaded her basket onto one of them. The neat sheaves of bundled sedge grass reached her knee.

“There’s mine!” she said. “Now let’s see yours! Turn over your basket!”

Heaving a sigh, Dindi took off her basket and lifted it over the other mat. Strange. The basket was heavier than she expected . . .

Sheaves of bundled grass dropped out. Then more sheaves. Then still more sheaves, until the pile reached well above Dindi’s waist.

Jensi’s jaw slackened. “I take it back, Dindi. You must have been working extremely hard all day. I’m proud of you. I really am.”

A Yellow pixie fluttered to sit on the pile with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Dindi covered her face with one hand. She asked the pixie under her breath, “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Not me.” The pixie shrugged. “My friends and I were going to fill your basket with some marvelous thorny thistles to thank you for dancing with us, but the Brundorfae filled up your basket with this boring grass before we had a chance.”

Apparently High Faeries proffered a higher caliber of favor than the low fae. Knowing fae, the price they demanded in the end would be all the steeper.

That whole week, Brena’s daughter made a point of ignoring her. Gwenika didn’t quite dare disobey direct commands, but in all other ways, the young woman made it clear to Brena that she’d not been forgiven. Brena struggled not to lose her temper over this childishness—or to feel guilty. Since the Tavaedi Initiates would not meet again until after the victory feast, she busied herself with the banquet preparations. The young men hunted game, and the Tavaedi Initiates sewed and mended costumes. The brunt of the cooking fell to the maidens. The other teachers also gave the maidens tasks—cleaning fish, grinding and bleaching acorns, weaving baskets and mats for use at the feast.  Brena took upon herself to direct the making of the sugar loaves.

Once the maidens hauled the sedge grass back to the Tor of the Initiates, plenty of work remained to be done under the eaves of the longhouses. Brena instructed the young women to spread the cane grass on bearskin rugs out in the sun to dry. The next day, the young women whacked the dried grass with wooden beaters. This freed the droplets of honeydew clinging to the tufts of the grass, a sugary dust that had to be scoured with a flint scraper from the hide. The women winnowed the collected dust in a loose basket and poured it into a tight, cooking basket. Next, they added cold water to mix the crystallized substance into
a stiff
dough. This tough stuff had to be smacked and wrestled into shape. The loaves were finally wrapped in a twined tule mat and left to dry in stacks under the eaves.

It also fell to Brena to pick the women who would be honored with serving as handmaidens at the High Table.
I am
not
feeling guilty
, Brena told herself, as she sought out Dindi.
I just feel sorry for the poor young woman.

Brena almost changed her mind when she saw Dindi. The befuddled young woman looked like she was doing battle with a stork nest. She sat surrounded by reeds sticking out every which way, trying to untangle the mess she’d made of her strands of split juncus. Brena would never have been able to guess what the young woman was trying to do if she didn’t know the juncus reeds were supposed to form a pleasing funnel shaped basket. Dindi’s basket more closely resembled
a tumbleweed
.

She’s just not too bright, is she?
Brena shook her head, but persevered. “Dindi, we need serving maidens to tend the High Table. Would you accept the honor?”

“Zavaedi Brena!” As always, Dindi seemed to notice her in the last possible moment with the shamefaced fright of someone caught poaching someone else’s dinner. “Er, certainly.”

She stood and immediately tripped over the half-formed basket.

Brena’s head began to ache.
I’m going to regret this
.

Kavio stood in the shadow between two megaliths at the top of a flight of stone steps, scanning the parade of people streaming up the hill to attend the feast. He couldn’t spot Dindi, but he recognized faces from his time as a captive eight years ago.

The Tor of the Sun was the largest of the hill settlements. A stockade of tree trunks protruded from the outer edge of the hilltop, protecting clusters of dome houses, eggs in a nest.
The hilltop was flat except for a raised mound of earth supporting the War Chief’s compound
—a longhouse, several beehive houses, a kraal with a dozen horses, and a gold smithy. All these houses were painted yellow with disks of gold embedded in the paint like sequins. Huge sun-and-ladder beaten gold disks tipped the roofs. When the sun reflected off the spangles, the houses sparkled as if they were fae-built.

Steep rock steps led up to the compound, and the place called the High Table, a huge black basalt slab of stone sprawled across two logs. At the top of the steps, Kavio could view the whole Tor from above. The dais of the Tavaedi dancers was directly below and in front of the High Table. On either side of the dancing platform, and extending well beyond it, were two rows of woven mats for guests. The rows stretched out across almost the entire diameter of the settlement. The more honorable the guest, the later they arrived to settle themselves into their seats, and the closer to the High Table.

The ordinary tribesfolk had already filed into the outermost rows. The Initiates strutted up to their seats, preening to the appreciative shouts of congratulation from the tribesfolk. Kavio searched the faces of the Tavaedi Initiates, certain that Dindi must be among them, and curious to know what Chroma she’d
proven
. He still couldn’t find her.

Someone somewhere beat a big, deep drum. Hertio shuffled out in front of the High Table. On the prominence, he was visible to everyone.

“Give honor to the brave Initiates!” Hertio cried over the applause.

The warriors arrived now, painted for victory, spears thrust in the air in triumph.

“Give honor to the warriors who fought to defend our people!” he cried.

The crowd clapped and cheered while the warriors took their seats along the mats. Behind the warriors, the Tavaedies arrived, in full regalia. Hertio called for their honor too, and the crowd duly cheered. Two dozen or so Zavaedies came next, and these men and women ascended the steps to join Hertio at the High Table while the crowd screamed and stamped their feet in adoration. Kavio stepped back, further into the shadows, to let them pass. Several looked at him curiously, in his mask and costume, unable to identify him.

“Revile our enemies! They tried to destroy our harvest of youths, but we dealt them death and slavery in place of the slaughter they plotted!”

The Blue Waters prisoners had been stripped to rags and tied with their arms stretched across wooden beams. They staggered forward, a villainous looking lot, especially Rthan. Despite being burdened and bound to a wooden beam, he walked unbowed, a mountain of muscle inconvenienced by a twig. The crowd of his foes screamed epithets at him and pelted him with pebbles and bits of food, but he stared past them disdainfully.

The prisoners were forced to the stage directly below the High Table, where the beams they carried were set like stakes at intervals. The captives were re-bound to these, with their hands tied over their heads. All would enjoy the spectacle of their humiliation throughout the victory feast.

Hertio refocused the attention of the crowd. “We also have a visitor from another tribe, a guest who will be staying with us for some time.”

Kavio straightened at this cue, prepared to step out into the light and ascend the final steps to the High Table.

“He comes all the way from the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold. Give honor to the Cloud Dancer!”

About to step forward, Kavio froze.

A man in the unmistakable attire of a Rainbow Labyrinth Zavaedi strolled down the aisle between the rows of feasting mats. His headdress did not cover his face, so Kavio could see the smirk of his cousin Zumo.

“I would also like to welcome back an old friend of mine,”
Hertio continued his announcement. “Give honor to the Herb Dancer!”

Kavio had been so obsessed with his
cousin,
he hadn’t noticed the less flamboyant figure walking a few paces behind him.
Nilo’s father?
But he’s a
n
Imorvae, one of my father’s allies.

The men ascended the steps. They both glanced at Kavio as they passed him, but neither displayed a flicker of recognition. They greeted Hertio with polite words for his welcome and hospitality.

“Finally,” Hertio said. “I want to present the man to whom we all owe a great debt. He has earned the highest respect and friendship of the Yellow Bear tribe. It was with his timely assistance that we defeated our foes! Step forward, my young friend.”

Kavio joined Hertio, who clapped him on the shoulder and turned him to face the assembled people below.

“My friends,” Hertio cried, “It has been twenty years since the downfall of the Bone Whistler, twenty seasons of peace since hundreds of exiles from Rainbow Labyrinth sought refuge in our lands. But a new exile has asked and been granted our hospitality. I am proud to welcome the strongest magic dancer in Faearth, a young man who is already a Zavaedi at an age when other boys are still Initiates; the only known Zavaedi with all six Chromas; the only living son of a faery and a mortal; the son of the White Lady, last of the Aelfae…”

Before Hertio could finish, Zumo, who had just sat down at the High Table, leaped to his feet again.

“This is an outrage!” He jabbed his finger at Kavio. “That man is an exile! To give him sanctuary is an act of war against my tribe!”

Though Zumo had raised no weapon, a number of the Yellow Bear Zavaedies jumped up and drew weapons, which they aimed at Zumo. Even Brena, Kavio noted with some bemusement, had pulled a wicked looking dagger out of her belt.

“Zumo!” The other guest said. “We are outtribers and guests. Do not make sparks without a hearth to contain the fire.”

“You knew about this!”

“No. I’m awaiting the explanation just as you are.” Nilo’s father gave Kavio a look that promised he would be nearly as hard to placate as Zumo.

Hertio looked, if
anything
,
pleased and faintly amused at the upheaval. He turned back to the crowd, who were still awaiting the culmination of his introduction.

“Give honor to the Rain Dancer!” he concluded with a flourish.

The crowd roared and clapped. Hertio raised his hands. The clapping increased in tempo. The Tavaedies jumped to their feet and gyrated in an impromptu victory
dance
. Hertio bowed in acknowledgment before he finally returned to his seat at the table with an urbane smile.

“Kavio, come, sit by my side in the place of honor. Let us celebrate.”

On the stage below, Yellow Tavaedies in bear furs and monstrous bear masks emerged to dance savage circles around the prisoners, a cruel and mocking dance, for at every pass near the half-naked captives, the dancers would slash their chests with three-pronged knives made from real bear claws. Howls of pain ripped from the tormented men’s throats.

At the High Table, the guests lifted bowls of hard cider and drank draughts to victory.

In the cooking courtyard behind the High Table, out of sight of the guests, Dindi could hear Hertio introducing his guest of honor, but she resisted the urge to join the other giggling handmaidens who tried to peek at him. Instead she concentrated on her task, decorously arranging sugar loaves on a large terracotta platter.
By the time she had placed the last hard, bronze-brown sugar loaf into position on top of a pyramid of similar loaves, the other handmaidens were already busy serving the guests dishes of acorn honey purée, yellowtail cutlets in saffron sauce, honey-coated walnuts and popped corn, caramelized baby onions and roasted squash slathered with butter, cinnamon and sugar.