The sun is still high in the sky as we set off across the sparse grass and packed mud towards the festival. I feel strangely excited, a weird fluttering in my chest that could in other circumstances signal the start of a panic attack; but in this case it feels like something big is about to happen. Something significant.
Or maybe I’m overreacting.
I’m tired and a bit wired from lack of sleep and food, and there’s a painful ache in my muscles from the awful trek with the horses.
Carrie has changed into a dress, with leggings and her hiking boots. Her hair is pinned up roughly with clips, she says to hide the greasy roots, but it looks sexy and tousled and I get a squirming jolt in the pit of my stomach when I see Rory staring at her with undisguised lust.
I’ve changed, too, wearing a pale-blue vest that I took out of Carrie’s bag before we left UB. She looked at me a bit strangely when I took off my jumper to reveal it, but I smiled back – giving her a ‘you said I could borrow it’ look, and she obviously decided not to question it. I should be a bit more careful though. I don’t want her getting annoyed with me over something so insignificant.
Martin appears at my side, matches my pace. ‘You looking forward to this?’ he says.
‘I am. I’ve never been to anything like this. I went to a full-moon festival in Thailand, but that was just a bunch of drunk stoners stumbling around on the beach. I’m sure it was spiritual once.’
I don’t know why I said that. I never went to the beach in Thailand at all. But I’ve seen YouTube clips and I know from some of the idiots I met in Bangkok that this is exactly what the thing is like.
‘Apparently you can have a reading from one of the shamans,’ he says. ‘I really want to, but I’m also a bit scared. I’ve never had the guts to go to a fortune-teller or a psychic or anything like that. Part of me thinks it’s all nonsense, but the other part of me is scared about what they might say.’
‘They aren’t going to say anything bad to you,’ I say, not that I have any direct experience. ‘All that “something terrible is going to happen” is only in bad horror films. Besides, didn’t you say you were becoming more spiritual since your Buddhist experience?’
‘That’s not the same; that’s a proper religion.’
‘I think the nomads think the same about their shamanism,’ I say. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we?’
A giggling behind us makes us both glance around. Carrie has linked arms with Rory, and their heads are tipped closely together. I can’t hear what he’s saying. I ball my hands into fists, feeling my nails cut into my palms.
‘Is he always such a lech?’
Martin shrugs. ‘I don’t think Carrie is complaining.’
I frown, and ignore him. Then I pick up the pace and march further ahead.
Sarnai is walking along with a couple of boys I haven’t seen before. I don’t know if they’ve come from another camp, or if they just turned up for this, but she also doesn’t seem to be complaining. Her skills as a guide are quite lacking, and usually it doesn’t bother me, but I need something to take my mind off randy Rory and compliant Carrie.
If only I fancied Martin, it would be so much simpler.
‘Hey,’ I shout, ‘Sarnai!’
She turns around, her MTV grin already in place. ‘Oh, hey guys. This is going to be so much fun!’ The boys keep walking and she slows down a bit, waiting for us to catch up. ‘You’ve got free time to do as you please here, guys. You can watch the wrestling, the archery … there are lots of fun stalls and great food and drinks…’
Martin butts in: ‘I heard we can talk to the shamans – is that right?’
Sarnai laughs. ‘Of course! There will be a ceremony later on, and we can all join in. And then if you want to have a private meeting, you can arrange this and you can go to one of the gers. Are you thinking about this? I really recommend it.’
Martin shrugs. ‘Maybe.’ He glances at me, hoping for guidance and I nod.
‘Sure. Why not?’
Carrie breaks away from Rory’s side and comes up to me, throwing an arm around my shoulder. ‘We should do it together, V! Let’s see what they have to say about us both.’
I glance around at Rory, who looks like someone just punctured his football.
‘That sounds perfect,’ I say. My cheeks tighten. I can’t stop the grin.
Carrie grabs my face and gives me a hard, wet kiss on the cheek, making an exaggerated ‘mwah!’, then she skips off ahead, towards the stalls and the drums and the smell of smoke, and we all traipse along behind her, like the Pied Piper’s children: excited and mesmerised, and ready to follow her anywhere.
The drums get louder as we reach the epicentre of the festival. Red-faced, happy children run through the crowds, while the adults watch the entertainment – smoking, drinking, chattering. I feel my chest constrict as we squeeze our way into the crowd. A flutter of panic beats its tiny wings deep in my stomach. Then I feel a hand, clasping mine, a gentle squeeze. I turn quickly, to see Martin’s concerned face.
‘Let’s get a drink.’ He leans close to me, and I smell his sweat, leaching upwards through the open neck of his shirt. It’s not unpleasant. Perhaps it’s the rhythmic banging of the drums, the vibrations from the crowd dancing in time to the beat, but I feel a tingle spread through my body as I let him lead me through the throng.
He drags me into a small ger where they are serving drinks in wooden cups. The woman behind the trestle table that’s been set up as a make-shift bar hands us a cup each and smiles and nods.
‘Where are the others?’ I say.
‘Never mind that right now. Cheers,’ he says, holding his cup aloft. We smash the cups together and knock the drinks back in one.
‘Jesus, what the hell is that?’ I cough, and the swirl of herbs and strong alcohol makes my throat tingle.
‘Bloody good stuff,’ Martin says, grabbing my cup and offering his and mine over the bar for a refill.
The woman behind the bar pours in dark-brown liquid and says, ‘Very strong. Be careful.’
Martin laughs. ‘I reckon we can handle it.’
I sip my second drink, but I’m pleased. I hadn’t seen this side of Martin before. He’s broken out of the serious and let his hair down a bit.
The woman comes out from the other side of the bar, holding two larger cups. ‘Try these now, longer drink. Not so strong.’
I take a sniff, and it has a yeasty, hoppy smell. Some sort of beer, I expect, which isn’t a bad thing after the other stuff. I don’t want us to peak too soon. Outside the tent, the sun is still high in the sky and the drums carry on their steady beat. The crowd is chanting something hypnotic, and the smell of wood smoke and the effects of the alcohol make my head swim. Martin stands close to me, sharing my trance, and I feel the warmth of his skin against mine, and right now I want the night to last forever.
‘Hey! There you both are. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
Carrie’s skin is glowing, her cheeks flushed. Rory has an arm draped around her shoulders, and he’s grinning like the cat that got the cream.
A rush of pure rage surges through me.
‘What have you two been up to?’ I hiss.
Rory smirks. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘I couldn’t think of anything worse.’ I push his arm off, harder than I realise, and he stumbles back.
‘Hey…’ he starts.
But Carrie just laughs. ‘Wow, V. Miss me, did you?’
Rory’s face glows red, his eyebrows knitted. But he says nothing.
The tingling in my body seems to grow more intense. I throw my arms around Carrie, just managing not to spill my drink down her back.
She pulls away, startled at the embrace. Then she looks Martin and me up and down, and laughs. ‘Oh, wait … it’s more like what have you two been up to, eh?’
I open my mouth to speak, to correct her, but she carries on.
‘Where did you get the drinks? We have been hunting high and fucking low for a drink.’ She squeezes past me and into the tent, Rory following behind like the little pet that he’s become. He throws me a dirty look, but I ignore it.
I down my beer. It’s warm, and it’s not very nice, but I just want to get wasted now.
‘Hey…’ Martin puts a hand on my shoulder and I shrug it off. Then I have a change of heart, and spin around to face him, grinning. ‘Let’s have some fun tonight, OK?’
He looks wary of me now. He’s seen the way my moods can shift up and down like loose gears in a manual transmission. I don’t wait for him to answer – I head straight after Carrie.
Carrie and Rory are leaning on the bar, having their second shots of the weird herbal schnapps. The woman serving them gives them the same warning.
‘Oh don’t listen to her,’ I say, grabbing Carrie’s arm. ‘She’ll try to give you the beer next and it’s awful.’ I address the woman directly now. ‘I’ll have another of the small ones, please.’ I sense Martin at my shoulder. ‘And one for him.’
‘Woohoo!’ says Carrie. ‘Violet wants to party?’ She squeezes me, then nudges Rory, who’s looking a bit more excited now that he’s had a drink. ‘If Violet wants to party, then we will all party.’ She grabs a bottle of the schnapps from the bar. ‘How much?’
The woman looks uncertain. ‘We like to give in small cups.’
Carrie waves the bottle in front of the woman’s face. ‘How much?’ She turns to Rory. ‘Pay the woman, Roarster. A few Chingis.’
Rory starts pulling notes out of his pocket, handing them to the woman. She nods when she’s decided it’s enough, but we’ve no idea what we’re paying. I’ve already forgotten the different colours and the exchange rate, but it doesn’t matter because it’s not my money. I still haven’t paid for a thing. And it doesn’t matter because Carrie has linked arms with me and we’re running out of the tent, the boys following behind. The sun has dipped a little now, and the wide, cloudless sky is turning a shining gold and shimmering shades of peach.
The drums are getting faster now, reaching a crescendo, and people are all huddled together in the middle of the festival space. ‘I think the shamanic ceremony is about to begin,’ Carrie shouts into my ear.
The games are over. Now it’s time for the real party to begin.