From the other side of the Great Lodge, Tamio saw Dindi faint.
Muck and mercy, was the girl drunk? Or had the heat in the packed Lodge, combined with the excitement, just overwhelmed her?
Poor Dindi. No one else even noticed her slumped on the floor. Two drunk men nearly stomped her as they passed by.
He would never have a better chance to make her his.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he could not bear to wait another day, another hour, another second before he possessed her. He needed her tonight. Now. He had waited too long already.
Even the journey across the room felt too long. He resented every obstacle keeping him from her, and pushed men and women out of his way without a care for their yaps of outrage. He crossed the room like a bird of prey and scooped her into his talons.
Something had tumbled from her when she fell: a tiny jar. He unplugged the stopper and saw a green power—it was the henna Kemla had told him about.
Perfect. He picked that up too.
He carried Dindi out of the Lodge in his arms.
The thought of sharing her with anyone repelled him. He wanted to take her far from here, out of the tribehold, but night had fallen, and he dared not take her into wolf- and raptor-infested forests outside the wall. He did not want to take her to his little hole of a dwelling, nor to hers. Where else could they be alone?
It hit him: the kiva beneath the Great Lodge. No one would be there. It would be perfect. This whole night would be perfect.
There were two entrances to the kiva, one a trap door in the stage and the other a trap door at the back of the Lodge. He used the back door.
The room below was still scattered with gifts to the Tavaedies. Tamio created a soft pedestal of furs and pillows, where he lay Dindi down. Her dark hair cascaded over the pillow like liquid night. Her skin was so pale, her form so still, that she looked like a virgin sacrifice stretched out on a bier.
He did not want to possess her in her sleep. He needed to see love infuse her face when she looked at him.
Restless and impatient despite his resolve to wait, he paced the room. He found some lemons, and decided to mix the henna himself. A bowl, the green powder and some lemon juice, and he had usable paste. He spooned the paste into a sausage-like gutskin tube.
Still, she lay still, like one dead.
He began to worry. Why did she not awaken? What dreams haunted her?
The loneliness didn’t hit Mayara until next day, when Joslo didn’t show up for archery lessons. Though often he had annoyed her, she realized she had grown accustomed to his presence. What would she do? She felt so confused. The one person she wanted to beg for advice, Umka, couldn’t tell her what she wanted to know. Does an Aelfae dare love a human?
Mayara tried to broach the subject one snowy winter evening as they both huddled for warmth close to the hearth. If she could trust the truth to even just one person, then perhaps she could trust the world again. Perhaps she could trust love. Perhaps she could trust Joslo. If she could never be herself, even to Umka, who had saved her from extinction, she felt something would die inside her as well. She had to try.
“There’s a secret.” She struggled for words. “Something I should have told you long ago. I need to say it. I owe you the truth.”
Umka’s eyes were cloudy these days, but her glance still felt sharp.
“Don’t,” said Umka. She smiled toothlessly, and reached out to pat Mayara’s knee. “Don’t you know I love you?”
“But…”
“Don’t argue.” Umka would have continued but she began to cough, and the cough turned to a splatter of blood.
“Mommy!” Mayara cried. “You need a healing dance. I’ll fetch the Tavaedies.”
“Don’t bother,” said Umka, as stubborn as always, but Mayara had already left the hut. She would face the Tavaedies if she had to, if that’s what it took to save her mother.
She hadn’t even past the garden when she ran into Joslo.
“I was in the woods nearby and I heard your cry,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“My mother is sick. I must find the Tavaedies.”
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I can run faster. You stay and care for Umka.”
She nodded, so grateful for his help she did not question her good luck in finding him so close by. When he returned with the Tavaedies, she stayed out of their way, and in any case, they allowed no one in the room when they danced their healing spells over her mother. Mayara hoped to find Umka miraculously improved, so disappointment hit her like a rock to find the old woman looked as weak and wan as before.
“Don’t blame the healers. This kind of hex, none can heal.” Umka shrugged. “Don’t think it will be long now before the black crow finds me.” She squeezed Mayara’s hand. “I want to talk to your young man, that Joslo.”
“He’s not my young man.”
“Don’t sass me, young lady.”
Mayara had to smile. “I’ll bring him inside.”
Umka insisted on speaking with Joslo in private. Mayara left the two of them inside the dim, smoky hut, while she paced the snow, promising herself as soon as Joslo went home, she would tell Umka the truth.
Joslo remained inside much longer than Mayara expected. His face looked ashen when he emerged at last.
“Your mother is dead,” he said quietly.
“What?” She began to tremble. “What?”
“She went peacefully.”
“I don’t care how she went!” she yelled at him. “She can’t be gone! I wasn’t ready! I had to tell her… I’m not ready for her to be gone!”
“No one ever is, Mayara,” Joslo said. He reached out to hug her.
She hated him. If he had murdered her mother, she could not have hated him more. She blamed him for it, she blamed him for all the pain she felt.
“Get away from me!” she screamed. “Why didn’t you tell me? When you saw she was so near the end, why didn’t you come get me? I didn’t even get to say good-bye. I didn’t even get to tell her I loved her!”
“Mayara, I know you’re upset, but—”
“Get out of here, get off my land, I never want to see you again!”
“Don’t be absurd,” he said. “You’re grieving, you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I don’t want to marry you. I never have. I was only waiting for my mother to die to tell you, because I knew she liked you. I don’t. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. I have a better place to be, I have a better future than with you. Leave and never come back, Joslo!”
If possible, his already grave face grew gaunter. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
Her whole body shook. She couldn’t take the words back any more than she could catch a basket’s worth of feathers upset by the wind. He was hurt, yes, but this was for the best. She didn’t plan to stay in the Corn Hills any longer anyway. It was long past the time she should have unburied her wings and embarked upon the journey to find her people.
“I’ll leave you to your better life,” he said bitterly. “But, Mayara. Remember. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got solid roots. I’ll always be there if you ever do decide you need me.”
A man leaned over her.
Fear, which had subsided during the Vision, flared up in Dindi with fresh strength. Dindi lashed out, but a strong hand grabbed her wrist.
“Dindi! Thank the Seven Faeries! I though you’d never wake.”
“Tamio?” Relief flooded Dindi first, followed by confusion. She smelled the musty air of an underground space, but a large one. Muffled sounds overhead of stomping feet and drunken singing. The ceiling planks trembled. “Tamio? Where are we?”
“Alone. Together. Does anything else matter?”
He beamed at her. Literally. Dindi had seen him glow before. Everyone’s aura glowed from time to time, Tavaedies more often and more energetically than ordinary people, but she had never seen the light surrounding Tamio as bright as now. His light was usually more purple than anything else, but now it was mostly green.
“Dindi.” He licked his lips. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“But before I ask,” he said, “I must know: Do you love me?”
“Painfully.”
“Would you do anything for me if I asked it of you?”
“Joyfully.”
“I hoped you would say that.” He placed a henna tube on the pile of furs beside her. “Let me tell you what I need from you tonight. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
He ripped off his fur tunic, baring his muscular chest. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear.
As much as she wanted to please him, she hesitated. “Tamio, I’ve never done it before. I might do it wrong, and disappoint you.”
He placed his hand over hers, to still her trembling.
“I’ll guide you,” he promised.
Later that night, Dindi returned to her Den, humming to herself. The Den was cold, and Jensi’s cot was empty. Oh, yes…Jensi would be with Yodigo. It was their wedding night.
Tibi yawned and sat up. “Dindi? It’s so late. Where were you?”
“Can’t tell you,” Dindi giggled. “He made me promise to keep it secret. And besides, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Ah, Tibi, everything is going to be different for me now. You and Jensi won’t have to be ashamed of me anymore. Everything’s going to be better.”
“Dindi, are you drunk?”
“Maybe.” She laughed again. “But not on beer.”
“You’re worrying me. I wish Jensi were here.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t approve, I’m sure,” Dindi said breezily. “The sour puss. But she’ll see. I’m finally going to possess a little happiness of my own. Everything will be perfect.”
The Orange Canyon tribesfolk had built bomas, platforms in the trees, to pitch their tents. A steady stream of warriors increased the population of their encampment every day. They had not only Raptors and Riders, but fair number of foot warriors, other Tavaedies and slaves as well.
Umbral did not know how the Mask of the Obsidian Mirror would fair against the mind magic of Orange Canyon. They were a cunning people, more dangerous in their way than any other tribe, especially the Thought-Eaters.
He hid doubt behind boldness and strode directly through their camp. The waking sun had not yet cleared the horizon, and most of the camp still slept.
“Where is Amdra?” he asked a yawning foot warrior.
The man pointed to the highest boma.
Umbral tapped the neck of the jet black Raptor he rode. “Take me there, Shadow.”
He missed his tail-wagger but a hound would not impress the bird-people. He needed to convince them he was one of them. The vortex of energy from which Shadow had been crafted still pulsed darkly in this world, so now Umbral had a giant raven.
Three octagonal platforms, connected by ladders, formed Amdra’s aerie. The uppermost platform was a landing and launching pad, the middle one a large nest for her Raptor and the third held Amdra’s tent.
Apparently, Amdra was not above improving her sleeping arrangements, however. A sleeping man and woman entangled their bare bodies in the nest under a fur. Since there was no sign of her Raptor, Umbral concluded that she found more than one way to ride her slave.
“Wake up!” he barked at them.
The first moment someone looked at him was the most crucial. People would see whomever they hoped or sometimes dreaded to see. Umbral did not control, or even know, whom they perceived until they cried out a name.
When Amdra looked up at him, all the blood left her face.
Sheer terror—she looked upon someone she dreaded.
Amdra scrambled out of the nest. Despite the cold, she was only half dressed. Her handsome slave appeared to be naked under the blanket. She pulled on her fur coat and pants. Then she prostrated herself before Umbral, whomever she imagined Umbral to be.
“I did not know you were coming, my lord,” she stammered.
A name, give me a name so I know whom you see when you look at me. Umbral had assumed all this time that she was working with her brother Zumo; but she would not have cowered before her brother.
Amdra had power. The mere mention of her name, the threat of her arrival, terrified ordinary men. Who terrified her?
Deathsworn Tip Number One: When in doubt, play the bully. Bullies were enough alike that it was easy to improvise.
“I did not send you here to waste time pleasuring yourself with your toys,” he said scornfully.
“My lord, if you kill my Hawk, where will I find another Raptor?” Her voice quavered. “Please, he is useful yet. If you are angry, punish me; but do not punish me by killing him.”
What nice friends you have, Amdra, Umbral thought.
“I should kill you both,” he suggested. Or was that going to far? Surely Amdra would sneer at that?
But she and her slave both groveled on the wooden platform, too petrified to even beg for their lives.
He pretended to relent. “I’ll spare you for now.”
The strain in her shoulders eased only a fraction. “Thank you, Great One.”
‘Great One?’ Are you jibbing? What kind of idiot insists on being called ‘Great One’?
“What is your plan?” Umbral asked. Deathsworn Tip Number Two: Ask for what you want, it saves much time.
“My lord, we cannot take the White Lady as long as she is protected in the tribehold of the Green Woods.”
“So why are you wasting your time camped here?”
“The contest…”
“Were you planning to compete, Amdra?”
She flushed. “Of course not, Great One. But it seemed that for the time being, a truce might serve both sides.”
“And after the time being?”
“In the summer, the White Lady will leave with her crop of dancers, the Green Woods clans will scatter and our Red Spear allies will arrive. The Vyfae and Malfae can devour this whole land come high summer, when the trees are dry as kindling. We have only to wait for the White Lady to depart. She will be vulnerable once more. The longer we are here, peacefully, the more she will become accustomed to our presence, and the less she will expect the attack when it comes.”
That might be true, but it did not suit Umbral’s plans to allow Orange Canyon and Amdra’s mysterious ‘Great One’ to capture the White Lady or her crop of Vaedi hopefuls. Obsidian Mountain would have that honor or none would.
“I want you to attack the tribehold,” he said.
Amdra balled her hands into fists. “No, my lord, I will not do that. Not even for you. We do not have the strength to take the tribehold. We would all perish.”
So you do have a spine, Umbral congratulated her. Good for you, except it makes my job harder.
“What if I were to say I planned to double the number of Raptors and Riders you have here now?”
“But from whence, Great One? So many have been…occupied elsewhere.”
“The details are not your concern. They will be here. But that is not enough. You must also weaken the defenses from within. Have you been making progress on that, Thought Eater?”
“We have a truce,” she said stiffly.
“Which you plan to break. Sooner is better than later, as long as the enemy suspects nothing.”
“Yes, Great One.”
“Come, Amdra, you are not a fool,” he said.
“Two layers,” she said reluctantly.
“Two layers,” he agreed. Whatever that means. I hope we are not swapping recipes for caramel corn cake.
The longer he stayed the greater the chance he might slip up and say something suspicious, so he turned to leave. Just as he mounted Shadow, Amdra blurted a question.
“My lord, what about the Black Well?”
“The Black Well.” Deathsworn Tip Number Three: Repeat questions as statements.
“Has anyone been able to close it yet?” Her voice cracked. The Black Well terrified her as much as the ‘Great One.’
“Just do your job here,” Umbral advised.
The Black Well. Has anyone been able to close it yet? He did not like the sound of that name, or that question.
Orange Canyon, who is your master now? And what darkness have you opened that you cannot close?
Kemla had seen Tamio pick up Dindi—the drunken trollop—and disappear with her the night before. Certain he had made his move, Kemla suggested to Margita and Yalena, her cousins who were also in the Tavaedi troop, that this morning they should claim the sweat lodge, cleanse and then paint themselves with henna, in preparation for the dance contest. All the young Tavaedi girls from their troop joined in, and after some Green Woods Tavaedi maidens heard about it, they wanted to join too. Kemla agreed magnanimously. The more yappity-mouthed gossips who witnessed Dindi’s humiliation, the better.
Dindi herself almost didn’t come. She thought she was not invited since she was not a real Tavaedi, and normally, Kemla couldn’t have agreed more, but today, Kemla smiled, “Dindi, of course you must come. You’re going to be in the performance too. Just to lay out props for the real dancers, of course, but you should still henna your hair.”
Kemla tugged her along to the sweat lodge.
The sweat lodge worked on the same principle as the steam pits that warmed the dugout homes, only the square pit in the center of the main room was much larger, so it held hundreds of hot rocks. Log benches encircled the depression. The bevy of maidens stripped nude except for a thin wrap around their hips and left their furs and leather piled in the antechamber. Inside, the rocks were ready for them. Red fire salamanders, dragons no bigger than Kemla’s hand, slithered in the pit. Their scaly bellies scratched against the pumice, shush-shush-shush. Green Woods girls poured water from small clay jars over the rocks. A cloud of steam enveloped them.
Dindi was too modest with her hip-wrap. Kemla couldn’t tell if Tamio’s clan mark was there or not.
Time to prod.
The maidens had been gossiping of this and that. Most of them were speculating about the erotic shenanigans of the newlyweds.
“I don’t think it was just the newlyweds who enjoyed a tumble on the mats,” Kemla said. “I heard Tamio boasting to his friends that he bedded and branded a girl last night.”
“Branded her?” Margita giggled.
“Not literally with fire, but he claimed he left his clan mark inside her thigh.”
The other girls squealed and made much of this rumor.
Kemla watched Dindi carefully. Her face was flushed bright pink, but was that from shame or from steam? Maybe Dindi had been so drunk the night before she didn’t even remember what Tamio did with her.
The conversation moved on, but the idea had been planted.
Dindi instinctively distrusted anything Kemla suggested. The nicer Kemla acted, the more suspicious Dindi grew. She also had her doubts about going anywhere with a crowd of her peers. During Initiation, her age cohort had chosen her to be the ‘Duck,’ the louse everyone bullied, and it was supposed to have been a lifelong stigma. She had by some miracle seemed to have outgrown it, but when Kemla snake-smiled at her like that, Dindi’s heart beat faster and the old memories flooded back.
However, except for Kemla, the other young women seemed genuinely friendly, and Dindi relaxed enough to enjoy herself. Between the maidens of both tribes, they had a whole morning’s worth of secret feminine rituals. The Rainbow Labyrinth girls had already learned the trick of the steam bath from their Green Woods hostesses. They taught the Green Woods girls a trick of their own, with hot wax and sharp flints, to create smooth, hairless bodies. Once the rocks cooled and the steam diminished, the girls rubbed each other’s bodies with oils. The Green Woods girls retrieved henna paste from in the antechamber, with the accompanying tools: skin tubes, wood bowls, brushes.
The Tavaedies with the most important parts in the tama naturally deserved the most ornate designs, but Kemla grabbed Dindi’s hands unexpectedly, saying, “Dindi, let us do you.”
Margita and Yalena flanked Dindi like guards, murmuring, “Yes, Dindi, let us paint you! We’ll do your hair too.”
“You would look lovely as a redhead,” Kemla said.
“I don’t know…”
“I’ll be dying my hair too.” Kemla tossed her long black hair. “It’s fitting, since I will be dancing Orange. We can be twins.”
“Thank you, but…”
“You can’t say no. Let’s start with your hair.”
Kemla sat behind her to brush her hair with a sheep horn comb. The prongs stroked Dindi’s scalp. The steady pressure felt pleasant, despite the unease in her gut.
She shut her eyes. In the steam pit, the fire salamanders shuffled against each other, curled up into balls of sleep. Their snores sounded like the rumble of pleased cats.
Fingers divided her hair into thick sections. The sharp scent of apple vinegar and lemon in the henna pinched her nose. The touch of it felt cold, like sticky mud. Kemla smoothed clumps onto each tress. As she finished with a hank of hair, she fastened it up on Dindi’s head with a wood pin.
Margita and Yalena, respectively, decorated Dindi’s left and right hands. A pinprick hole in a hide-bag squeezed out thin streams of henna to draw flowers, coils and zigzags. They lifted a single finger at a time, tickled it with cool taps of liquid, dabbed the digit with a rag, set it down and began again. The swirling pitter-patter climbed her arms halfway to the elbow.
Kemla finished with Dindi’s hair. She wrapped her head in a rag. Margita and Yalena set her arms above her head with instructions not to move them.
“Lie down, so we can finish your body art,” Kemla commanded.
“That’s enough, I’m sure…”
“We are less than half done.”
Kemla pushed Dindi back on the wooden bench. All around them, maidens murmured and giggled as they painted one another’s bodies. No one fretted, so why should Dindi feel so nervous?
Margita and Yalena cupped her breasts. Dindi tried to sit up.
“Don’t squirm, you’ll muss the design,” chided Kemla.
Dindi let herself be handled. Cold dabs traced arabesques and coliforms on her breasts, circling into a fringe of floral flourishes around each peak. Meanwhile, Kemla went to the other end of the log bench, to paint Dindi’s toes and ankles. From there Kemla climbed the design up parallel reticular ladders along the outer and inner seams of Dindi’s legs.
“You’re going to look beautiful, Dindi,” Kemla purred. “Have you ever had henna applied before?”
“No.”
“Are you quite sure?” Kemla whipped away the wisp of blanket Dindi wore around her hips, her last shred of clothing.
“Of course I’m sure,” Dindi said.
Kemla stared down at her bare thighs with a hard, angry expression.
“I see you have not,” Kemla said. A spasm of rage convulsed her. It came out of nowhere. She hurled the henna tube into the pit of hot stones. The fire salamanders jumped and hissed. Kemla stalked out of the sweat lodge without a word of explanation for her fit.
Margita and Yalena, after a moment of confusion, trailed her out.
“Here, don’t worry, I’ll finish you up,” a Green Woods girl volunteered. She raised her eyebrows at the still wobbling flap of the lodge door. “Her bowstring is tied a bit too tight, isn’t it? Those are always the ones that snap.”
She laughed, and Dindi couldn’t help but join her.
The maidens left the sweat lodge not long after that, though it took a few more hours for the henna to set.
At the communal mid-day meal, Kemla sat next to Abiono. They argued. Dindi did not want to smear her painted hands, so she picked at her food delicately. She felt Kemla’s anger, radiant red, prickle her from across the table.
After the meal, Abiono asked Dindi to stay and talk a moment.
“Dindi, we all appreciate the way you've been helping us out,” Zavaedi Abiono began hesitantly. “We all want you to know we're grateful.”
“Thank you,” she blinked. She managed a wary smile.
“But—”
Dindi's smile vanished.
“We don't think it would be appropriate for you to take any part in the Pattern during the Midwinter Rite. Not even to set up the rattles and such. Not with the White Lady there to watch.”
“Why not?” It was a cry, and all she could think of to say.
“It isn't traditional. We want to do everything right. Kemla pointed out that the Aelfae might take offense if she saw that we had taken liberties with tradition.” He cleared his throat. “She said if I kept you in, she would not perform. She and Tamio have the key roles. I can’t….”
Kemla's name iced Dindi like snow in her nose. She bowed her head, knowing that there was no use arguing. Besides Kemla herself, no one but Dindi knew Orange’s part, and because of how they had practiced the dance all season, the whole Pattern would fall apart without at least a placeholder for Orange. Abiono droned on for some time, without saying anything new. It was as if he thought that by repeating himself, he would make it all right. It wasn't all right. She would have been content with so little—she had not even dreamed of dancing!—but they had taken even that crumb from her.
As she shuffled away from the Great Lodge, Kemla sidled up to her.
Dindi stared at her beautiful, haughty face, amazed that Kemla's venom ran so deep the girl would wait in the cold just to toss a few more barbs at her victim.
“Dindi. Abiono told you?”
“Yes.” Dindi started to walk. Fast. She hoped Kemla would take the hint and leave her alone. But Kemla kept up with her.
“I'm so sorry,” Kemla said with false sweetness. “I know how much you were looking forward to it.”
Dindi kept walking. Faster.
“Not that it really would have made a difference in your case. Since you're not a real Tavaedi, they wouldn't have invited you to the Vaedi-Vooma regardless.”
Dindi resumed her fast walk. Kemla finally let her go.
It was silly how much she ached inside.
Tamio caught up with Dindi. The pines and oaks grew so thickly here no one elsewhere on the path would see them. He liked the tap of her dainty feet in the snow. She walked so lightly, she hardly made footsteps.
“You’ve done something new with your hair,” he said.
She touched her coppery tresses self-consciously. “Does it look absurd?”
“It brings out the color of your eyes. And look at your hands!” He lifted her palm and kissed it. “Beautiful.”
She blushed. “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone yet.”
“I’ll leave you alone,” he promised, “But only under duress.”
They arrived at the clearing in the woods where Abiono and others already waited. Each troop of Tavaedies had staked out an isolated spot in the woods to practice for the contest, since they could not all use the kiva at the same time. Practice dragged for Tamio. The contest of the White Lady had sent all of the Tavaedis into a frenzy of preparation, but he no longer cared about it. He resented every activity that separated him from Dindi.
To makes matters worse, Kemla was at her most shrewish.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I want the other drum?” Kemla berated Dindi. “Dindi, do try to pay attention, or you will give away the fact that you are stupid. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Now, get me the right drum. I certainly hope I won’t have to go over this with you every time.”
Dindi regarded Kemla with quiet hurt, but all she said was, “It’s the double drum you want, then?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Dindi nodded. “I’ll get it.”
Tamio had heard enough.
“No, you won’t, Dindi,” he said. To Kemla, he added, “She’s not your slave, Kemla. Stop ordering her around. And for your information, you asked her for the single drum before—I heard you. Next time you want a stupid drum, get it yourself.”
Kemla aimed her ire at him. “Some people can’t do their jobs. Some people can’t do one, simple little task. Fortunately, I never depend on other people. I take matters into my own hand. Which is why Dindi will not be performing with us in the Midsummer Rite. Isn’t that right, Dindi?”
Dindi hunched in on herself. Kicked dogs had that look.
“Uncle Abiono?” Tamio asked.
“Kemla said she would not perform unless Dindi were excluded.” Abiono wrung his hands.
“I see.” Tamio crossed his arms. “Well, then, I won’t perform unless Dindi is included. I don’t give a damn about the contest, whereas you’d sooner feed your own mother to sharks than miss your chance to become Vaedi. So I don’t believe you when you say you won’t perform. I call your bluff, Kemla.
“And I won’t let you bully the woman I’m going to marry.”
Kemla stared at him. In fact, every Tavaedi in the clearing stopped what they were doing to stare at Tamio—his voice had carried. Only Dindi couldn’t seem to look at him. She blushed furiously, and stared at the ground.
What’s wrong with everyone? he wondered in irritation. They should be used to Kemla and me fighting by now.
“The girl you what?” Kemla echoed shrilly. “The girl you what?”
Oh, right. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet.
Too bad.
The other Tavaedis drew into a loose circle around Tamio, gaping. Even Abiono was flabbergasted.
“Bold hoax, Tamio!” One of Tamio’s friends, a Yellow Tavaedi named Erto, laughed uproariously. “You and Dindi. You almost had my head turned.”
After a moment, the rest of the Tavaedis began to laugh too. Only Kemla continued to look more furious than amused.
Dindi didn’t laugh either. The blood drained from her face.
“Hadi warned me,” she said to Tamio too low for the others to hear. “I wouldn’t believe him.”
She shot him a single glance of profound pain before she pushed aside the crowd to run away. Tamio intercepted her and tugged her back.
“I have an announcement to make! It is no joke, and I’ll punch the next person who laughs,” Tamio declared. He yanked Dindi forward, though her embarrassment was almost tangible. He pulled open his fur vest, to reveal the new henna tattoo that Dindi had drawn there at his request: the swan symbol of her clan.
“Dindi and I are betrothed.”
Dropped jaws. Utter silence.
“I asked her to marry me last night,” Tamio said. “My only regret is that I did not ask for her before the marriage rite, and so we were not able to be wed immediately. Due to the customs here, we will have to wait until spring, or at least until we all return to the Corn Hills, to sanctify our union. When we do return, I will go with Dindi, join her clan as her husband, and help Lost Swan clan rebuild.”
Convinced though still stunned, the Tavaedis began to offer congratulations. All except Kemla. She stood with her hands on her hips, expression flinty.
“Don’t you have anything to say, Kemla?” Tamio couldn’t resist taunting.
Kemla faked a smile. “I hope you two will be very happy together.”
Her eyes wished them both a very different future.
On the back of her Raptor, she soared over the mountain.
To Amdra the least important elements of the forest were the trees. They registered only as brachial shadows on the quilt of her Vision. What she saw when she looked down were Orange threads stitched on a blanket of white snow. She could not see any other Chromas besides Orange and would not have wanted to, since that would have only obscured her clarity of Vision. Since her disturbing conversation with the Great One, she had been searching for a particular kind of pattern in the Orange stitches.
At last, she had found a Pattern she could use.
“Land!” she commanded Hawk. “Discreetly.”
Hawk didn’t need the qualifier. He knew she could not afford to be seen. Fortunately, the tribehold was so full that many of the guest Tavaedi troops were practicing outside the protective embankment. Like rabbits out of their warrens, ready to be plucked from the air by a predator.
“Change,” she commanded Hawk as she dismounted.
She did not look back to see if he had obeyed. She knew he would even before she heard his powerful stride in the snow behind her.
“Should I walk in front, mistress, to clear the snow for you?” he asked.
“No.”
The trees were harder to ignore at ground level. She resented the way they loomed over her to make her feel small. She could never live in a forest. She would suffocate to have things leaning over her all the time.
She focused on the glowing filament of Orange magic. She spooled it into her own aura as she walked. Ah, that bitter, familiar taste, the most plaintive of human questions: Why her, not me?
The gleaming envy led Amdra through the maze of trees to the aura she had seen from above.
She knew all she needed from absorbing the long stream of rationalizations.
“Hello, Kemla,” she said.
The young woman’s first thought was: An enemy! Does the bird-brain think she can attack me? I’ll show her a thing or two!
Kemla drew her bow.
“Put the bow down.” Amdra plucked the Orange strand that connected to Kemla’s aura. It rang like a bell.
Kemla dropped her bow.
“You have a problem,” Amdra said. “A burr in your wing. I can help you fly again.”
This time Kemla tried to run.
“Stand still and listen to me,” Amdra commanded.
Kemla stood stock-still. Sweat popped onto her brow; her fists clenched at her side. She was fighting the compulsion, as they all did, at first.
“You don’t like being forced to obey, do you?” Amdra clucked her tongue. “Of course not. You weren’t born to bend your knee. You were born to command. You would make a good Rider…if your Orange Chroma weren’t diluted by two other colors.”
Kemla tried to spit at her; saliva dribbled down her chin.
“It’s a simple trick,” Amdra said. “Even an Imorvae could learn it. I could teach it to you. Imagine having this power over your enemy.”
The pattern of Kemla’s thoughts was perfectly transparent. I could command Dindi not to perform during the contest. I could make her break her betrothal to Tamio…
“You could do that,” said Amdra, “but it would be a trifle obvious, don’t you think?”
Kemla’s eyes bugged. Did I say that out loud or just think it?
“No, you didn’t say it out loud,” Amdra answered. “I am not called a thought-eater for nothing. Fa, I could do much more than that if I wanted to.”
Amdra reached her hand forth, flexed her talon-sharp fingernails and pulled hard on the cord of Kemla’s aura. With swift, vicious motions, Amdra yanked the weave of her victim’s mind into knots. The girl screamed and buckled to her knees.
Behind Amdra, Hawk shifted on his feet. Watching her play with others always made him antsy. In any case, Amdra had not come to hurt Kemla. Amdra let the knots unwind. Kemla continued to sob.
“Don’t be a baby,” said Amdra. “I’m here to give you everything you want. Revenge on your rival. But it’s no good to me if you are caught at it, as you would be if you simply commanded her to do what you want.
“There is a better way. I’m going to tell you what to do. I’m going to teach you the hex you need to dance. Watch me dance and memorize the steps.”
Amdra demonstrated the moves of the tama of Compulsion. It was exactly what Amdra said it was, a weaker version of the hex Amdra had danced to find and control Kemla just now.
“Hawk, the jar.”
Hawk placed a small jar in the dirty slush at Kemla’s feet.
“Give her this,” instructed Amdra. “Tell her to take it home, then tell her to forget that you gave it to her or spoke with her. You will not need to command her to leave the Tavaedi troop or break her betrothal. They will both disavow her. She will destroy herself. No one will know of your involvement.”
Temptation and rationalizations crawled through Kemla’s mind.
Good, good.
However, Kemla forced herself to hold on to one worry. What if the bird-people are just using me to harm my clan and their Green Woods enemies?
Amdra reached in and pulled at that thread. She broke it off and tossed it away in the snow. It shriveled into black ash.
Kemla howled like a wolf on fire. No pain in Faearth rivaled a broken thought, except a broken mind.
“You are sure neither your clan nor your clan’s allies will be harmed by this,” Amdra commanded.
I’m sure neither my clan nor Green Woods will be harmed by this, thought Kemla.
“You will remember this plan, and this hex after I leave. But you will forget who taught it to you. You will forget this entire meeting.”
After practice ended, Tamio and Dindi visited the crude kraal outside the tribehold to brush down Clipclop.
“Let’s go for a ride,” he said.
“It’s almost sunset.”
“Curfews don’t apply to us. We’re in love.”
She laughed.
Tamio fixed on the blanket, grasped the riding hoop, and helped her mount behind him. The horse caught their reckless mood and cantered joyfully through the snowy forest. Tamio’s threads of awareness unspooled until he could not untangle himself from the wind, the speed, her sweet smell, her arms around his waist, the endless infinity of stars.
Tamio let Clipclop choose her own place to pause, a stream crispy with ice. They dismounted to sip the water. Dindi’s teeth chattered; Tamio put his arm around her. He kissed her neck, and her little moan of pleasure made him yearn to keep going lower until he nibbled her nipple between his teeth.
Abruptly, he pushed her away and splashed more ice water on his face.
“We should go back,” he said.
“Let’s do it,” she said.
He shook his head. “I told you last night, we’ll wait until we’re married.”
“That could take moons. I want to give myself to you now.”
He groaned. She only felt that way because of the hex he had cast on her. In the last day, he had come to hate himself for his whole wretched plan to ruin her. That’s what it was—he knew very well what Kemla was up to.
Well, he vowed he’d play that game no more. He would do right by Dindi.
“You don’t even have to marry me, you know,” she said in a low voice.
“What?”
“I’d give myself to you all the same.”
“Don’t say that!”
He kicked a rock into the stream. Up until a day ago, that had been his plan. Then at the wedding dance, everything changed. Maybe it was all the happy couples sitting up on stage, clutching hands, which had made him realize what a fool he was. Maybe it was because that crazed wolf would have ripped open Dindi’s throat if a dog hadn’t saved her. Whatever had happened, the realization struck him like bolt of lightning: he loved Dindi.
“We’re going to do this right,” he said. “No more night rides. I’m going to take you back to the kraal and we’ll go back to the hold separately. I don’t want anyone gossiping. I’ve waited this long for you, Dindi. I can wait a little longer.”
She continued to protest, but he was strong-willed (and rather proud of it); he insisted on taking her back and told her to go back to the tribehold first. He spent a long time checking Clipclop’s hoofs and brushing ice from her flank before he set out himself. By then it was close to midnight.
As he neared the wall, a sprite whizzed by his ear.
“Careful, Tamio! Ambush!”
“Ambush?” Tamio stiffened. “Who? How many men? Where?”
“One warrior. Where the path turns under a low hanging tree.”
Tamio circled around the path, through the brush, until he could see the shadows of the warrior crouching on a thick branch in the leaning tree. The darkness hid his features and the colors of this legwals.
The ambusher deemed himself clever, did he? Tamio climbed another tree, and began to crawl across the branches from tree to tree, until he was in the very same tree as the lead ambusher, but higher. With the silent grace and strength he had garnered from years of dancing, Tamio crept down the tree trunk. Tamio was now behind and just above the ambusher. Tamio grasped a branch with one hand... he moved his hands into position…
…Slowly…
…Slowly…
Then quickly. Tamio grasped the warrior around the mouth and poked the sharp branch into the small of his back, in one motion.
“I have a knife to your back,” hissed Tamio. “Don’t move or cry out.”
“Tamio, you piece of—”
Tamio recognized the voice. “Hadi?”
“That's right, you filthy—”
“Tell me why attacked me!”
“I wasn't going to attack you.” Hadi seethed, but he kept his voice to a whisper, as instructed. “I only planned to warn you to keep your hands off Dindi.”
“You object to our betrothal? Why?”
“You have no intention of marrying a girl with no magic. I know what you’re really up to, Tamio!” growled Hadi. “I won’t let you get away with it. As her clan brother, I swear it.”
Irony, fa. Tamio shook his head. Now that his intentions were finally honorable, no one would believe it.
“Hadi, look…” Tamio sniffed the breeze. “Something is burning.”
Black smoke swelled in the air. Yelps of alarm echoed from the same direction—it was coming from inside the wall. One of the conifers had turned into a giant torch.
“The tribehold is on fire!” cried Hadi. “That’s the tree over Dindi’s den!”
Their feud forgotten, both young men ran to help.
Dindi tingled all over after her ride with Tamio. Though she was sure excitement would make sleep impossible, in fact, she drifted off as soon as she snuggled into her warm cot near the steam pit.
She woke up coughing. The first thing she noticed was smoke. Smoke swathed the roots in the ceiling, but it emerged from below her. Dozens of fire salamanders scampered like rats out of the trap in the floor, which led down into the storage rooms. All their food and supplies were down there. The tiny crimson dragons pulled flames behind them like toboggans. The wood planks of the trap door collapsed with a belch of searing heat.
More aggressive fae jumped out of the hole, fire sprites and Red Caps and then a vicious, horned Malfae who spit fire at her.
Dindi pulled her night tunic up over her mouth. Smoke stung her eyes. Through the black cloud and her own tears, she was nearly blind.
“Tibi!” she screamed. She clawed her way through the heat and smoke, until she felt the still body of her younger cousin. She threw Tibi over her shoulder and felt for the ladder.
The Malfae grabbed her tunic. The wool burst into flame.
Dindi kicked the Malfae in the head. He roared and stabbed with his blazing spear. A piece of blackened ladder broke off. She used the stick to parry his blow, and then thrust the splintered end into his yellow eye. He screamed jets of fire, but Dindi was already pushing out the top entrance of the Den. She threw Tibi free then threw herself as well, rolling to put out the flames on her dress.
She inhaled fresh air under the night sky.
She had no more than a few breaths of rest. She put her mouth to Tibi’s to suck the smoke from her and breathe clean air in. Tibi hacked out another lungful of smoke, and sat up.
“Run!” cried Dindi, dragging her cousin away from the inferno just in time to escape an explosion.
The Malfae burst out of the Den. He had no more interest in Dindi. He was too busy fighting the Sylfae giantess who had awakened to his presence.
He had her by the feet. The tree faery bellowed a weird, indescribable cry. The Malfae expanded by the minute. She thrashed in his grip, trying to stomp him out, but he opened his jaws and chewed on her legs. The more he bit into her, the more he grew. He equaled her height now. He pinned her arms behind her and ripped off her dress of green needles.
Men and women raced from every den in the tribehold to help the Sylfae fight the fire. Dindi and Tibi joined the bucket brigade that snaked from the inferno to the well behind the Great Lodge.
Tavaedies began to dance against the Malfae. War Chief Nann and Finnadro were there. So were Kemla and Tamio.
All in vain. The Malfae towered over the Sylfae. She writhed and blackened in his punishing embrace. The other Sylfae tried to beat him off of her, but their fists only fed his monstrous appetite.
“Stay back, my Lady!” War Chief Nann urged. “It’s a Malfae, fat with power, and he’ll eat us all if we can’t smother him!”
Vessia spread her wings and lifted into the air. A winged deer with a peacock tail galloped through the air toward her.
“Will you help me, Sister?” asked the deer.
Vessia nodded. They flew in circles around the Malfae, raising a whirlwind thick with snow. The slush ropes bound the Malfae, much as he had clasped the Sylfae.
He sputtered flames at them, but could not keep up with their speed. The two faery sisters flew faster and tighter around him, until the ice ropes strangled him.
The humans clambered up the limbs of the Sylfae to pierce him with their spears. The fiery little dancer named Kemla hacked off his head, which the rest of the humans doused with water when it rolled on the ground.
The Malfae crumbled to ash. His Sylfae victim shook his dust off. Her skin crackled black; her body was brutalized and she leaned for support against her neighbor, a tall male Sylfae who cradled her gently.
The Green Lady assumed her human form and landed next to Vessia. War Chief Nann and Finnadro went on one knee before the Faery Ladies. Then all the humans did so.
“It’s been too long, Sister,” said the Green Lady. “We have missed you.”
Vessia inclined her head.
“It’s not too late to come back to us.”
“It is much too late, Sister. But I hope this will not be the last time we meet.”
The Green Lady growled. She shifted from human to wolf. “It will not.”
The wolf raced away and leaped over the stone wall.
War Chief Nann spoke quietly to the injured Sylfae. The human danced before the tree faery, healing some of her injuries, but Vessia knew only time would tell if the Sylfae would recover in this form, or if she would need to renew herself again as a nut. Though the Sylfae were immortal, like all fae, they had longer growth cycles than most.
After tending the tree, Nann moved among her people, clapping them on the back, thanking those who had helped throw water on the fire. She congratulated Kemla for beheading the Malfae. But though Nann’s thanks were genuine, she stashed a frown in between her praises. Finally, she told Finnadro and Vessia what troubled her.
“No Malfae could have gotten into the Winter Warrens unless someone brought outside fire into their home. None of my tribesfolk would have done that. I’m sorry, it had to be one of the Rainbow Labyrinth people.”
Dawn arrived listlessly. War Chief Nann asked the Tavaedies to sound the drums of assembly. Everyone gathered inside the Great Lodge.
War Chief Nann stood before her people on the dais. She held up a blackened jar. “We know that this fire was no accident. The Malfae entered the tribehold inside this. Someone placed a flame where no flame had a right to be, breaking our oldest taboo. Whoever did this will be hanged naked outside. Terrible as this fate will be, woe to you if you are guilty and you do not step forward, for that one will be burned alive. The Henchman of the Green Lady will search the aura of every person in this hold until we find the foul wretch.”
A young girl stepped up onto the platform and walked toward the three of them. Her movements were jerky. It was the serving girl who had given Vessia shelter—curse her failing memory—what was the girl’s name?
“Dindi of Lost Swan Clan. The fire started in the home given to you and your cousins,” said Nann.
The girl quaked. For a moment, her mouth worked itself open and closed, as if she fought to push out words.
“I think it was my fault, auntie. I may have… brought a fire into the storage room even though we were told not to.”
“You think?” Nann asked sharply.
“I don’t…quite…remember. I was tired.”
“That is no excuse.”
Vessia frowned. There was no reason to doubt the confession, and yet….
“Finnadro, is she telling the truth?”
Finnadro looked surprised. “Do you want me to delve her aura, even if she has already admitted the crime? It is not an intrusion I make lightly.”
“I must insist,” Vessia said.
“I am sorry, niece,” Finnadro said to Dindi. “I must ask you to kneel.”
Dindi knelt before him. He kneaded the air around her body without touching her. Vessia watched closely. She knew a little of the art, though she was even less inclined than Finnadro to use it. She could not see anything in the girl’s aura, however. Hopefully, it as more clear to him.
Finnadro frowned. “It’s thin, as if she were trying to block me…”
“I’m not,” said Dindi.
“Quiet! Her emotions are hard to hold, but I do sense regret and sorrow.”
War Chief Nann sighed. “Niece, if you have goods to barter, I will let you pay your debt to the tribe and the Sylfae with seven jars of goods.”
“We lost everything in the fire, auntie.”
“In that case, you must pay with your body. You will be hanged naked outside until you beg for mercy.”
A young man jumped up on stage. “I protest! It’s not fair to let her be hung from the arms of one of those tree-buggers. It was one of them that got burned and the others are sure to take it out on Dindi. Who’s to say they won’t bash her brains against the stone wall, or hold her out in the iciest wind! That’s not justice, it’s murder!”
“Your protest has been heard but rejected, Tamio of Broken Basket,” said Nann. “The Sylfae, as the aggrieved party, have every right to partake in her punishment.”
After the warriors took the girl away, Finnadro murmured, “Will that wisp of a girl last even an hour in this weather?”
“As soon as she weeps, cut her down,” said Nann.
“If the Sylfae let us,” said Finnadro. “The boy may be right about their anger.”
“If the Sylfae let us,” said Nann.
Tavaedies pounded drums. Warriors escorted Dindi outside, where they ripped off her burnt and tattered shift. Underneath, she wore only a loincloth, the crisscross of breast straps and henna tattoos.
They stood her underneath one of the healthy Sylfae. The fae lord reached down his gnarled wooden hand, grasped Dindi by both wrists and heaved her into the air. Her toes dangled several feet above the ground.
Then the wind hit, and the cold set in.