Heroes Adrift (8 page)

“It is a place of turmoil, is it not?”

“I suppose one could say that.” Though not so much, recently.

“So, dark spirits linger there. Obviously.”

Obviously. If you're the sort of nut to believe in dark spirits. I looked to her bared temples but saw no sun-shaped tattoos. I supposed, though, that one didn't have to be a Reanist to be superstitious.

I was hoping none of those thoughts were showing up on my face. The woman's personal beliefs, provided they didn't include plans to sacrifice my Source, were no business of mine. “We're looking for family in Golden Fields.” That was the location of the Bryants, according to the information the Empress had given me.

“Ah,” the woman said with satisfaction. “That explains it.”

Cryptic babble. I hated cryptic babble. “Your pardon?”

“I have been calling for direction for nearly an hour.” A languid hand waved over the map. “Never has it so long taken me. You enter my tent, and krechek, direction comes to me. It leads me to Harvest Moon, which lies in the direction of Golden Fields.”

Coincidences. Had to love them. Those so inclined could make so much of them. On a positive note, they were heading in the right direction. That was something.

“Have you tents?” the woman asked us.

“I'm afraid not.” I hesitated to call her by her name. It seemed inappropriate to address a person of authority in so familiar a manner. But I didn't know her proper title. “All we have is what you see.” Well, except for our boots, which were hopefully still waiting for us outside the tent.

“Hm. I'm sure I can find someone willing to share.”

“Excuse me?” Had I missed something? “Are you hiring us?” It couldn't possibly be that simple.

“When the spirits send me a good omen, I don't send it away.” She rolled up the map with quick, efficient hands. “What can you do?”

“Uh—” While I could admit to myself that I could do nothing, I preferred not having to say it out loud.

She was looking me over again. I wondered if this was how a horse felt. “You will perform. You have beauty.” While I was trying not to swallow my tongue over that pronouncement, she turned her critical eye on Karish. “You are plain. I will find handwork for you.”

Karish's initial response to that was nothing more than the widening of the eyes.

Plain? Karish? Was plain? Was the woman
blind
? Yes, Karish wasn't at his best. But it was obvious once he was back in full health he would be stunning. Any fool could see that.

The woman's face softened from the clinical scrutiny she had been employing. “Your forgiveness, please.” She dipped her head a little. “Your shoulders are square. I thought straight speaking would not dim you.”

It wasn't the straight speaking so much as the wrongness of the straight speaking. Look at him. Do you not have eyes? And who in the world thought I was beautiful, when they were sober?

“No offense is taken, ma'am,” Karish said faintly. He was
blushing
. And suddenly I found myself wondering what the Stallion of the Triple S, toasted for his beauty, felt upon hearing that someone thought him plain. Not even his most jealous detractors could deny he was beautiful. “It is only that such a comment is not common where I come from. It surprised me.”

I'd wager it did.

“And I would be happy to perform any handwork you can find for me.”

The woman nodded, momentary awkwardness forgotten. “You have no gear and, what, no training?” We had to nod at that. “No decent clothes?”

That all depended on one's definition of decent, didn't it? “We have no clothes like we've seen on people here,” I said.

“They're all like those?” She gestured at us and curled her lip at what she saw.

Hey, one of my shirts paid our road tax, woman. “Yes, ma'am.”

“They are ugly.” More straight speaking. “And looking at you makes me feel hot. You cannot wear them.”

“We'd rather not, but…” How to say this without annoying our new desperately needed employer. “I couldn't comfortably wear the clothes you all wear here.” The short short skirts, the clinging tops. I'd feel naked. And ridiculous.

She waved that thought away. “You'll learn.” She bit on a red-colored fingernail, looking me up and down as she circled me. I did not like that.

“Can you sing?”

“Not really.”

“Dance?”

“No.”

“Well—” said Karish.

Atara looked at him. “Yes?”

“She can dance the benches.”

Well, aye, but that wasn't what she meant.

Or perhaps it was, for her eyes lit up. “You dance benches? Are you professional?”

“No.” And the light disappeared. “But I'm a Shield. We dance the benches a lot.”

“And she's good,” Karish added eagerly. “She's beaten professionals.”

“Our circuits here are poor compared to the North lands,” Atara mused. “Real skill will impress. With that hair—” I almost touched my hair at that. What was so great about my hair? It was red. “And a decent costume.” She snapped her fingers. “Music. Not the regular drums. Change the music. Some sand singers. You dance at night. Under the pull of the moon. We'll put silver and copper bobs in your hair and they will reflect the torchlight. Make it less of a sport. But, oh! We can offer a challenge—if you really are that good—after they've seen you dance they can pay to dance against you.”

It was a bit alarming to hear all those ideas coming out of her mouth. The pull of the moon? Bobs in my hair? What? “What do they win if they beat me?”

She shrugged. “The pleasure of knowing they beat you. All they are paying for is the right to dance with an exotic beauty of the night.”

I didn't like that. It sounded perverted.

Atara moved some of the candles, placing three of them in the center of the table. From a basket on the floor, she retrieved something wrapped in dark cloth. It turned out to be a small loaf of bread, thinner and darker than what I was used to.

Atara held the loaf over the candles, close enough to the flames that I had to wonder if it stung a little. She broke off a chunk and looked at me. I took the chunk from her. She broke off a second chunk, which was given to Karish. Breaking off a third chunk, she took a bite, so we did, too. The bread was dense and almost sweet.

“Welcome to our cause,” she said. Then she looked at me, obviously expecting a response.

When in doubt, go with “Thank you.”

“We are honored,” Karish added when Atara looked at him.

“Excellent,” said Atara, and she put the remainder of her bread on the table. So we did the same.

“Come, we will see how good you are.”

“Now?” Swallow down panic. “Really, ma'am, I am so far from my best right now. I didn't dance during our voyage here—”

“People are never at their best.” Atara grabbed my wrist, and I was too shocked to resist when she pulled me out of the tent. “People are always tired or ill or angry or grieving. You still must be able to perform.” She hesitated only long enough to pull on her footwear and allow Karish and I to do the same.

Hell. I was tired. I'd obviously come from a great distance. She expected me to work tonight? Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Ashti!” Atara called, and a young girl, about eight years old, came running up. “Fetch Fin, Panol, Setter and the drummers. Tell them to meet us on the practice grounds. Tell Panol to bring the dancing bars with him.”

“Yes, Ma.” The girl ran off with a ridiculous amount of energy.

Atara headed off in the direction of where I'd seen the children practicing earlier. “We will gather together what supplies we can for you, but that will mean that you are in our debt.”

I didn't like the sound of that. I didn't want to end up being indentured to these people. This was the only positive response we'd gotten, so maybe we had no choice. Still, not good.

“I don't pay you any coin. What you get from the speccies is what you get. A tenth of every taking comes to me, and if the tenth doesn't equal at least five grays for each performance, we leave you.”

I guessed good omens got only so much leeway.

“Excuse me, Atara,” Karish said. “Is there someone I can speak to about finding what kind of work I can do?”

What? He wanted to desert me? At this time?

“Fin. He'll be with us.”

“Oh.” Karish frowned.

What was the problem? Or maybe he just didn't want to witness the horrific performance I was going to be putting on. Must be awful knowing someone else's efforts were going to determine something so important. Then again, I'd trade places with him in a heartbeat. Why was I always the one who had to make a fool of herself?

I was out of condition. I was wearing the wrong clothes. And while I wasn't suffering from the heat to the same extent Karish was, it was unnaturally warm. And then, when a small group of men arrived, apparently the chaps the child had been sent to fetch, they had dancing bars, but no benches.

“We have no benches,” Atara told me when I asked her about it. “We have the bars because sometimes Rinis uses them for her performances, but we've never had benches.”

“I need the benches to stand on.”

“The ground will suffice.”

Spoken like someone who has never danced the benches. I hadn't danced from the ground since I was a child, first learning to dance. Dancing from the ground was awful. Uneven and broken and more punishing on the feet. Plus it was supposed to be part of the challenge, making sure you landed back on the benches well enough to leap again.

I pulled off my boots—no chalk to be seen—and retied my hair so it would survive the bouncing. I did a few warm-up jumps and stretched.

This was going to be bad. Bad bad bad bad bad.

And then a gorgeous mountain of a man—I was told his name was Leverett—began rattling rolls off his tall, narrow drum, and my breath hitched. The vibrations rolled down my back, loosening each notch, before shimmering low in my spine. That helped.

Panol, who turned out to be Atara's son, and Setter assured me they had seen enough bench dances to know how to handle the bars. Wasn't that heartening? I didn't point out that they were using only two stalkers for handling only two bars, when there were supposed to be four of each. I didn't want to come out of this with a shattered ankle. That would really be inconvenient. Two bars were safer.

As Leverett fiddled with his drum I tried to focus on the beats he produced and pull them into me.

I loved music. Whoever had invented it should be worshipped as a god.

People were wandering close to watch. Wasn't that just lovely?

Then Atara raised her eyebrows at me. That let me know she was impatient for me to get started. I walked over to where the men crouched with two rather beaten and cracked bars and assumed the start stance, standing as though I had two benches beneath my feet.

The men looked at Leverett rather than me for the cue to start. Which would have been normal in a competition but worried me right then. Fortunately, they started with the bars low and they moved them tentatively. They were afraid of hurting their hands as they smacked the bars together. Lifting my feet out of danger was easy enough, but predicting the movement of the bars was impossible.

“You need to move to a beat, gentlemen,” I reminded them. If I couldn't predict where the bars were going to be, I couldn't dance.

They improved immediately, moving with the music. Which wasn't exactly how it was supposed to work, but I wasn't going to complain about having both the aural and visual cues.

It was nice to stretch out and work the muscles. Leverett was a good drummer, and the movement of the bars was so slow and low I could close my eyes for brief snatches and just feel the gorgeous rolls against the surface of drum.

It would be too easy to let things continue at this easy pace. It wouldn't impress Atara. “Could we speed things up, gentlemen?” I called out. “Raise the bars just a little higher.”

Leverett obligingly segued into a gorgeous allegro. The other men raised the bars, but not by much, and moved them with the music.

That was better. Muscles moved into well-remembered patterns. The drumming, unfamiliar to me but effective nonetheless, coiled through my blood. Very good. Strength I had forgotten in the course of our journey jolted through me and I found myself grinning with the pleasure of it.

All I lacked was an opponent.

And then it stopped. It took me a few steps to realize the bars had been dropped. I glanced at the handlers, and then the drummer, who had also ceased. Everyone looked all right, so what was going on?

I looked to Karish. It appeared he hadn't been watching, his gaze directed off to one side and his back angled a little toward me.