To her surprise, she actually fell asleep. Not long after Bentel left, the wagon resumed moving and the soft rocking motion lulled her into a doze.
When she awoke hours later, the rocking motion was gone. They’d stopped again. She sat up with a start.
“Whoa, there, young miss. You keep startling me like that and I’m not likely to make it to my next birthday.” Lalu sat on the other bed, mending some red-and-orange garment. “Have yourself a good nap did you?”
The old woman smiled with amusement.
La’tiera had no idea what she found so funny. “I did.”
She swung her legs out, straightening her skirt and stared at where the privy pot was. Lalu’s amused eyes sparkled brighter.
“Please feel free. Don’t be shy on my account. I’ve seen more than my share of bare bottoms.”
La’tiera felt her cheeks grow hot. While she’d been naked before Mela countless times, the privy had always been her own private business. Yet her need pushed insistently, telling her it cared nothing about that at all.
Trying her best to ignore the old woman, La’tiera pulled the bowl from its place of concealment. She hid her business with her skirt, feeling awkward and ungainly having to squat over the bowl, used more to the seat arrangement at home. After she finished, she put the bowl away, trying not to swish the contents, then went to sit on the bed again. She stared everywhere but at her guard.
The wagon set off again.
After she’d committed the wagon’s interior to memory for the hundredth time, she found herself wishing for something to do. But she wasn’t about to stoop so low as to ask her captors for charcoal and paper.
“Do you have any special skills, my dear?”
The question caught her off-guard, so La’tiera found herself looking at Lalu though she’d told herself she wouldn’t.
“Special skills?”
“Sure, skills. What I am asking is, what can you do? Do you know how to sew or cook? That kind of thing.”
La’tiera wondered why she wanted to know. “I can make lace and am adequate with needlepoint. I also draw and paint.”
“Can you read and write?”
La’tiera frowned. “Of course. It was a kindness from my uncle, like the painting. Though neither are necessary for the fulfillment of my role.”
“How odd,” she said. Lalu’s face was pensive. “What types of things were you allowed to read?”
She found the question strange but didn’t see any harm in answering. “Books about drawing and painting, some on animals and plants, stories as well.”
“How curious. What kinds of stories do you read?”
“Kinds?”
“Of course, child. There are as many kinds of stories as there are colors in a rainbow.”
La’tiera remembered the tale Dal told her and how different it was from those she’d ever read. And Lalu was telling her there were more?
“The stories were about heroes.”
“What kind of heroes?”
There were different kinds of them, too? “Uhm, brave men and women who hold their duty above everything else. Heroes who do what they must despite the cost.”
They all had a purpose, a reason for being in the world, like she did.
“Oh, my.” Lalu gave her a look La’tiera didn’t understand. “So, you really are ready to sacrifice yourself, aren’t you?”
“One death in exchange for the lives of a whole world is a small price to pay. So, yes, I’m willing.”
Lalu slowly shook her head. “Even if it’s unnecessary?”
La’tiera looked away, realizing what the old woman was doing now. Well, they would find her resolve would not be cracked so easily. She made sure not to look Lalu’s way again.
Not long after, the wagon slowed then stopped. She could hear the laughter of children filtering in from outside. This was soon joined by the sound of a large bell.
“Ah, looks like we’ve arrived. Finished this just in time, too.” Lalu held up the shirt she’d been working on by the seams. “Be a dear and grab these, will you? Have to start getting ready for the show tonight.”
Before La’tiera had a chance to say anything, Lalu dumped a bundle of clothes on her lap and then moved to open the door. Not sure what exactly was going on, she followed after hesitating for a moment. If she was allowed to be outside, she might also get an opportunity to make her escape. When she reached the small covered area outside the door, though, she stopped and stared.
The troupe’s three wagons were drawn in a semi-circle just inside the low walls of a large village. The wagons were painted in bright colors, and all around them ran half-naked children as weatherworn men and women stood and stared.
Though she had seen crowds from afar before, this was the first time she’d seen so many people up close. Round, drawn, square, long—she’d never believed there could be such a variety of faces and expressions. Her hand itched more than ever to draw.
The bell, which up to now had resounded every few seconds, came to a stop.
“Good people,” Rostocha’s voice boomed from the top of the center wagon. “We’ve traveled from far away, through good weather and bad, to come before you. If you will have us, we wish to give you entertainment to lift your hearts and souls this very evening. And if you will, make sure to bring an extra dose of stamina because we will also play some rousing dance music to celebrate life and the act of living. So, what say ya?”
Excited cheers rose from the crowd in answer.
“It’s settled, then! Give us a while to set up then come back and a good time will be had by all!”
A second set of cheers cut through the air. Buzzing conversation spread through the crowd, a few running off for home while others milled about and studied the wagons. Following their stares, La’tiera studied the wagons closer herself.
Aside from having wheels, they looked like nothing she’d ever seen pictures of. They were square with a bowed roof, all painted as brightly as any rainbow. The wood was heavily carved with flowers and vines. On all of them, with red, gold-bordered lettering, the name Rostocha decorated the side panels. The horses were done up with outlandishly colored bangles, tall plumes decorating their harnesses.
It took her a moment more to realize what she was truly seeing—horses! These were the first horses she’d ever seen. Not a drawing on a page, not some fancy imagining, but real!
“It does all look pretty, doesn’t it?”
La’tiera jumped, almost dropping the clothes in her arms as Lalu spoke from beside her.
“It catches the attention of the customers quite well, which, of course, will increase the attention we get and therefore the money we make.”
Money was important to them? “So, you took me for money?”
Lalu snorted. “I believe my son has already explained why you were taken. And no, it has nothing to do with profits. Now, come along, everyone has to get ready.”
La’tiera got off the wagon and walked behind the half circle, Lalu right behind her. The rest of the troupe was already there, seven plus Lalu and herself making it nine. There was Bentel and the woman they’d called Tersa. Dal was there, and nodded as he saw her. Rostocha was next to a thin man La’tiera thought might be the lute player. There was also a bigger man she wasn’t sure she’d seen before who was currently holding Aya at arm’s length as he tried to put on a tassled vest.
The moment Aya spotted her, she ran over and offered to take some of her load.
“Are you feeling better now?” she asked.
La’tiera nodded slowly but said nothing.
“Well, come on, come meet everybody.” Aya dashed away with her part of the bundle to where a table had been set up. Reluctantly, La’tiera followed as Lalu gestured for her to go ahead.
As she came near, Rostocha gave her a big grin and offered her a seat. “We won’t have much time before the curious get bold, so let’s do this so everyone knows who is who and what is what.” He placed a protective hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, not used to this kind of contact.
The others came in close to hear what he would say.
“Troupe, this is La’tiera,” he said quietly, “the one the Order has been searching for these last eighteen years, the one who will save our world in keeping with the Gods’ promise.”
Aya grinned at this as if it were the best of news, while the other six nodded with serious expressions.
“Lady, you’ve already met Lalu, my mother. She’s in charge of the pursestrings, amongst other things.” The old woman gave her one of her piercing looks followed by a smile.
“This is Kyr. He’s very good with his hands.” He inclined his head toward the husky man, who looked embarrassed at being mentioned. He nodded in acknowledgement, not meeting La’tiera’s gaze.
“Next is Tersa…” He pointed to the dancer. “…and this is her mate, Mishal.”
The pair gave her an exuberant bow. La’tiera had a hard time picturing the thin lute player with such a forward woman, but then again, she knew nothing about such things, either.
“And you’ve already met Bentel and Daltimoneus.”
The woman gave her a welcoming smile, but Dal only nodded, his expression blank.
“And last, but never least, our own little sprite, Aya.”
“That’s me!” She grinned.
La’tiera said and did nothing, feeling strange inside. This was the closest she’d been to this number of people in her life. Though they were outdoors, she still felt somewhat enclosed.
“Now to business.” Rostocha rubbed his hands together eagerly. “The villagers seem eager and lively, so let’s do ‘the Farmer and his Daughter,’ followed by Dal and Aya’s juggling routine. Mishal, you’ll go next to wrap things up, and Tersa can do her favorite dance to get everyone in the proper mood. Then we can get them all to dancing till they collapse.” He laughed. “Is that all right with everyone?”
“Should work well enough,” Lalu said. “Though I doubt they’ll have much to offer.”
Rostocha beamed. “And for once it won’t matter. We have much to already be thankful for this day.” He glanced over at La’tiera.
She didn’t understand.
“Let’s get to it, then!”
Everyone dispersed except for Bentel, who stayed by La’tiera’s side as the others moved off to get ready.
“Why don’t you come with me? You can help me, if you want.”
Her kind expression made it hard to say no, though La’tiera possessed no idea what it was the woman wanted help with.
“If you like.”
“Wonderful.” Bentel stood up. “Let’s get the instruments, then.”
Leading her to one of the other wagons, Bentel retrieved a flute, some small bells and a mid-sized drum. Handing the first two to La’tiera, she also picked up a small stool to bring along. La’tiera marveled at the feel of the wood and the shiny metal of the instruments, never having touched any or seen them up close before.
On the other side of the wagons, Aya was busy sweeping the ground and chasing off some of the more curious children. Rostocha and Kyr unhitched the large board with the Rostocha name and symbol from beneath a wagon and set it up close to the back platform of the wagon La’tiera had been kept in. Dal brought out his juggling equipment, occasionally doing a toss or two. Mishal tuned his lute as Tersa stretched, much to the amusement of a couple of peeking teenage boys.
As each member of the troupe went about their business, it was almost as if a new bell had rung, for the people of the village migrated toward them, some carrying stools or benches, others just staking claim to pieces of the ground.
“You’ll sit here with Rostocha and me behind the cover during the performance. I think if you settle down right here you’ll have a pretty good view.” Bentel set the stool down close to the edge of the board.
La’tiera realized her placement would also keep her in view of the others while they played, giving her no opportunity to sneak away.
In short order, the troupe was ready to begin. Their colorful costumes were hung on the side of the wagon currently hidden by the screen. The players came behind it and grabbed some and put them on as Rostocha picked up the drum and began beating it in a slow cadence.
Peeking around the screen, La’tiera saw the villagers settle down, a feeling of excitement and anticipation filling the air. Their expressions were hopeful, eager, almost hungry, as if the performances were rare treats. It filled her heart to see it, for she knew their sentiments exactly. She’d never thought anyone else wished to see these things or needed them as badly as she did.
Tersa stomped out into view, following the beat of the drum. Her hair was in total disarray, her feet in giant, clunky shoes. La’tiera momentarily felt the same expectant excitement as that reflected on the villagers’ faces as they all waited to see what she would do.
The comedic skit was well received with hooting laughs, foot-stomping and hand-clapping. Though she’d seen the skit back home, being so close, being able to so clearly see the expressions and movements, made her feel as if she’d never seen it before at all. She’d never realized faces could be so outrageously expressive. She was hard-pressed not to forget her situation and laugh along with the rest.
Aya came up silently behind her. “Watch me, okay? I’ll make it extra special just for you.”
With a flash of a smile, she rushed past for her turn.
Watching the young sprite tumble and twirl between the throws to catch the pins and balls was more amazing this close. It made it harder to believe Dal and Aya had anything to do with her misery. Was there any chance they could be right about the things they’d told her?
No! There couldn’t. She knew her purpose. They would not sway her. She would do what was right.
So, she watched them tumble and play, and though Aya occasionally sent smiles her way, she told herself they meant nothing. They would be unable to stop what was to come.
Mishal’s turn came next, and Aya sat down at her side to watch. La’tiera tried to ignore her. And she did, for soon Mishal’s song distracted her more than she’d expected. This song was not one of the ones performed before her uncle. Being this close, it was easier to follow the rise and fall of his voice, to hear the magic in the telling and the music.
Mishal sang of the Gods—of Yrr who ruled the sky; Ath of the earth; Ryh, whose dominion was water; and of Hurr, who commanded the air between them. He told of their time upon the world, of the jealousy of the demons and of their leaving in order that mortals would not be destroyed.
Despite herself, La’tiera was entranced. Never had she heard a song about the Gods before. Shyly, she glanced out into the crowd and saw nodding and smiling faces, as if nothing being said were new, as if they’d known this all along. Yet such songs had never been heard within her uncle’s walls.
When Mishal’s song ended, the drum rang out again, and his new tune followed a faster beat. Suddenly, Tersa was before them, wearing something that seemed to cover little while at the same time everything, with bells at wrist and ankles. As she cavorted back and forth, appreciative whistles filled the air, and most of the audience began clapping to the beat of the drum. After a few minutes, Tersa then approached the closest of the benches and grabbing the hand of the nearest man drew him out to dance with her. As he began trying to mimic her movements, she went back for another and another.
Aya and Dal left the safety of the screen and went to grab their own villagers to bring into the dance. Soon, the villagers were standing up on their own.
Other instruments soon joined in the music, their sounds different, softer but no less lively. Mishal masterfully backed away from his song and let the villagers change it to one they knew, interweaving his instrument with theirs as the dance Tersa, Aya and Dal were performing changed as well. The crowd followed suit, and from the look of it, this dance seemed to be something they were more familiar with. They split into pairs, laughing and talking.
Rostocha, Bentel and Kyr emerged from behind the partition, dancing and playing. La’tiera felt her foot tapping to the addicting rhythm, busy watching everyone enjoy themselves. Deep inside, she felt a strong urge to join them but had no idea how. Instead, she just watched as she had always watched, unable to join in, apart from everyone.
“Would you like to try it?”
Surprised, La’tiera looked up to find a slightly winded Dal standing beside her.
“I—no. Thank you. I don’t know how.” She found her heart was beating faster.
“It’s easy. I’ll teach you.” He gave her an inviting smile, his eyes meeting hers. “Come on.”
Before she could protest, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet and out to the edge of the dancing.
“Dal, really, I don’t—” She felt her face coloring, afraid and excited by what he offered at the same time.
“Just follow the rhythm. It’s not hard. Just do what I do.”
He placed one of his hands on her shoulder then followed it with the other. Nervous, never having touched a stranger, La’tiera followed suit.
“Take two steps toward me, two back, two to the right and then two to the left. Now a half-turn.” He led her through the steps, giving her an encouraging grin. “You’re doing great.”
The more they danced the more at ease she felt with the process. A smile actually started tugging at the corners of her mouth. Though still not trusting him, she couldn’t help but feel slightly grateful he’d dragged her out here. She was really enjoying it, and from the relaxed look on his face, she had a feeling he felt the same.
They stepped and spun—always at the periphery, for which she was grateful. The pressing humanity in the dance floor’s center made her feel ill-at-ease, and she had no real desire to find out what it felt like to be in the middle of all those people.
Song after song played, the time twirling gloriously by.
“You’re looking a little flushed. Should we stop for bit?” Dal asked her.
La’tiera tried to tell him no, that she wanted to go on, but couldn’t catch the breath for it. She could feel perspiration on her brow and other places, though the darkening sky made the air cooler.
Dal led her through the revelers back toward the wagons. She felt her heart speed up as dancers came close to crashing into them more than once. The press of people made her feel more out of breath.
The villagers had brought out tables between the dances and now had them laden with cuts of cheese, heavy breads and jugs of mead and water. Dal scooped some up on the way past for them both before steering her back to the stool behind the partition.
La’tiera sat down with a grateful sigh. “Is it…always like this where you go?”
Dal dropped down on the ground beside her, offering her a filled cup. “By the Gods, no. Though I have to admit with Rostocha around it tends to happen more often than not.” He gulped down his own drink.
La’tiera peered out at the dancing throng. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. The dances at home seemed so much more somber. I never realized people could be so merry.”
“Their lives are hard and chances for celebration few,” he told her. “When they get one, they tend to push them for all they’re worth.”
She nodded, staring at the crowd. She barely noticed as Dal passed her her share of the cheese and bread. She found that, for some reason, it tasted marvelous—as if her exertions made the food that much tastier.
The laughter, the music, the lamps and the deepening night made everything seem magical. This was what she would be giving her life up for. Her heart swelled with gratitude at having been able to see it.
“If you’re feeling up to it,” Dal said, “there are other dances I can teach you.”
“Oh, yes, please!”
Laughing at her eagerness, he set his cup down and stood, holding his hand out for hers. “Then let’s.”
She put her hand in his, the warmth of it reassuring, somehow. She admitted to herself she liked him better like this than the sober manner he’d used earlier. Not that she would ever tell him so.
The dance had once again changed. The men and women formed concentric circles and danced forward and back and shifted positions. With an impish grin, Dal plunged them into the fray.
At first horribly nervous at the proximity of all these strangers, La’tiera was soon too lost in the dancing to worry about it. She was no longer on the outside looking in—this time she was at the very heart of things.
After much more dancing and laughter, the festivities eventually started to cool down. Bentel took charge of a reluctant La’tiera, who was dead tired but didn’t want the evening to end.