Watersmeet (23 page)

“Hi-yah!” the crowd boomed.

Abisina thought everyone would sit down, but all remained standing and she soon understood why. The echo of the crowd’s “Hi-yah!” had not yet died away before the dwarves struck a chord on two lutes and a faun sang a jolly, reverberating note. Abisina’s feet stirred beneath her. Four beats later and she was humming; four beats after that, she was dancing with the rest of the amphitheater. The first song was followed by another rollicking tune performed by two women on lutes and two of the fauns singing in close harmony. By the third song, Abisina’s face ran with sweat as she twirled with abandon, elbow locked with Glynholly’s. From Glynholly, she reeled to Meelah and then to Findlay, whose brown eyes held hers steady against the whirling scene around them.

The song ended, and Findlay and Abisina came to a stop, laughing. She had expected something like the recitation of the story of Vran—the ritualized call and response, the steady martial beat of the verses, the story that never varied. But like the enormous Sylvyads, the wide variation of Watersmeet’s inhabitants, and the wonder of Rueshlan, the music defied her imagination.

Then the mood shifted. Two of the men sang a heart-rending story of a faun’s unrequited love, followed by a dwarf narrating the tale of his ancestors’ search for the Obrun City. Abisina went cold as she thought of Haret on this same journey. Near her, unchecked tears streamed down Alden’s face.

She was still thinking of Haret when the two centaurs began to sing. She bit her tongue, but sensing Rueshlan’s eyes on her and remembering her promise, she did not look away. Their voices rang out: one a vibrant soprano, one a deep bass. They sang a song of the land—towering mountains surrounding deep valleys, rivers tumbling toward thundering cataracts, vast forests giving way to equally vast oceans. Their voices beat the air like hooves on stone, like Drolf’s hooves carrying her to Icksyon. The fear she felt as she approached Giant’s Cairn gripped her again. She slipped her hands under her hair and covered her ears—anything to block the sound.

As the song ended and the amphitheater shook with applause, she pushed her hair away from her face and glanced toward her father. Like the rest of the crowd, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes glistening. As he turned to her, Abisina forced herself to smile back at him. He nodded and looked again toward the stage, leaving Abisina both relieved and disappointed that he had not noticed her fear.

Several more hours of music, dance, and recitations passed. Abisina knew that dawn was near, but no yawn tickled the back of her throat, no heaviness pulled at her legs. Then one of the women on the stage stepped forward, and a hush fell over the crowd. She was tiny—shorter than the dwarves—with a waist Abisina could span with her hands. She had a white, pinched face lost in a sea of red hair. Abisina realized that of all the bards, only this woman had not yet sung or played.

“Oh, Abisina!” Meelah said, barely holding her voice to a whisper. “You get to hear Sahnda! She hardly ever sings—and then it’s only of Vigar!”

At that moment, Sahnda opened her mouth. The first note—high and sweet, but so lonely—hung in the air, and in it Abisina heard all the pain of her days in Vranille. The note rang on until Abisina thought she would cry out—then it faded to nothing.

There was a long pause before Sahnda sang again, and when she did, she sang of Vigar. As Abisina tried to focus on the words, the mood of the music moved into her head, peeling back layer upon layer of memory: her hand in Rueshlan’s at Alden’s hearth; the peace of the orchard; the stench of Icksyon; the comforting time underground with Hoysta; the flight from Vranille. Abisina waited for Sahnda to lift the last layer and expose the wound of her mother’s death, but instead the music became discordant and Sahnda spoke a name that stopped Abisina’s breath.

Had
she heard it? In coming so close to the pain of Sina’s death, did she imagine Sahnda had named its cause? But there it was again—Charach—the name that she had been avoiding since she got to Watersmeet.
It should never be spoken here
, she thought. Next to her, Rueshlan shuddered.

A third time Sahnda sang it, and this time Abisina understood: Charach had killed Vigar. Her own loss, Watersmeet’s loss, all stemmed from the same evil.

Then the song spiraled upward, growing lighter and more beautiful with each note. The pain remained, coloring the echoes that shimmered around the amphitheater, but there was resolution, too. Sahnda sang of Watersmeet, her voice as high as the Sylvyads, as gentle as the flow of the River Fennish, as airy as the bridges that connected the wards throughout the community. Charach was defeated! Watersmeet remained!

But Abisina knew that Charach lived.

She hated the fear that the name evoked in her, in the folk of Watersmeet. She hated the idea of telling her father of Vigar’s warning and reawakening the dread she had seen on his face.

The song ended, and the crowd stood in awe, unmoving, until Sahnda took a step back. It was a stumble really; she looked even smaller, her pale skin now a shade of gray. A faun and dwarf rushed to support her, and the crowd woke from its trance. Waves of applause flooded the stage as Sahnda was led off and the performance was over.

Abisina and Rueshlan didn’t need torches to get home—dawn lit their way, but for Abisina, the light was touched by the darkness of Charach.

Tomorrow I’ll tell him.

Abisina woke well past noon to the news that Alden was waiting for her. She rushed from her room, tying the waistcord of her new, pale green tunic, a gift from her father.

“Haret’s returned,” he said.

“He has! Can I see him?”

“That’s why I’m here. He’s with my brother Waite. But I have to warn you, Rueshlan’s daughter, he is not himself.”

Abisina hurried behind Alden through the shady pathways that were still a maze to her. They arrived at a ward on the western side where the River Lesser provided a backdrop of falling water as it joined the Middle and Fennish Rivers. The doorways in this ward were smaller, some obviously built for dwarves, others for humans and fauns as well. Outside a bright yellow door with a green W on it, stood a knot of dwarves, their faces serious. As Abisina approached, they stepped aside.

“You’ll want to prepare yourself,” Alden told her, and the rest of the dwarves mumbled their agreement.

At her tight-lipped assent, Alden opened the door and led Abisina through a chain of rooms to a bedroom with a small balcony overlooking the river. Haret sat in a chair on the balcony, wrapped in a wool blanket, though the day was warm. He looked tired, withered. Alden went to Haret and spoke softly to him, then left the room. Abisina stood alone in the doorway, waiting for Haret to look at her, to speak, to somehow acknowledge her presence.

He didn’t move for a long time, and when he did look in Abisina’s direction, a tremor passed through him.

She willed herself not to cry out when she saw Haret’s face. He had aged ten winters, his eyes sunken, his cheeks hollow. He tried to smile but grimaced. “Hello, human.”

“Haret.” She was unable to say more, unsure if she should go to him.

“Your face tells me that you are shocked. I know I don’t look myself.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Abisina noticed strands of gray against the jet-black. Had they always been there and she just hadn’t noticed?

“You need some rest,” Abisina offered. “We’ve had such a long journey, and now . . .”

“Yes,” Haret said harshly. “A long journey to find my heart’s desire. I just didn’t know how twisted my heart is.”

“No, Haret!” Abisina went to him now and touched his hand. It was cold. “Your heart is not twisted! Think of what you did for me. How many times you saved me!”

“As you pointed out then, human, I saved the Obrium.” He spat the final word. “No. I will not shy away from the truth. My grandmother said that finding what I was looking for might be worse than not finding it at all. I didn’t think I could live with not knowing, but it’s far worse to know—what I am.”

“Don’t say that! You tracked those centaurs for leagues to rescue me—a human! It wasn’t just the Obrium. You knew that no one deserves what the centaurs were going to do to me. You
cared
for me. And Alden said that all dwarves have the Obriumlust.”

Haret shook his head. “That first day—we didn’t have to travel all day and night. I wanted to show that you were weak, that you didn’t deserve all you’ve taken from us—and from the others who lived in the land before you. I wanted to break you, human. Was that caring for you?”

Haret’s voice had never been so bitter, but Abisina would not be put off. “Then I am guilty, too, Haret. I believed the worst of you—and Hoysta. Despite all that you did for me, I couldn’t see beyond what I’d been taught. But you both made me look beyond the Elders’ words. Haret,”—she took his hands—“you can’t let this one moment become all that you are.”

Haret sighed. “No. I’m—I’m leaving tomorrow. I can’t face the other dwarves.” He pulled a hand away and ran it over his face. “I will return to my grandmother, far from the Mines. Where it’s safe.” He straightened slightly. “I said I would get you to Watersmeet, and I have. You’ve found your father.” Then his shoulders rounded again. “But it was you who brought us here,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I would never have thought of going
up
the mountains. And the necklace—it needed to be with you.”

“And
you
gave it to me, Haret, despite the Obriumlust. Many dwarves couldn’t have done that! We helped
each other
get here. Please, please don’t leave. No one thinks any less of you. And—and you’re not strong enough to travel. Promise me you will wait till you’re stronger. You—you owe me that,” she said, desperately trying to think of something that would reach him—“if only for that first night of our journey when you tried to ‘break me.’”

They argued until Haret cried “Human!” with a touch of his old energy. But Abisina prevailed. He would stay in Watersmeet for another week.

A pudgy, blond dwarf led Abisina back home—after Alden reassured her that he wouldn’t let Haret leave. “The humiliation is common, Rueshlan’s daughter,” Alden explained. “It isn’t often that we have to confront the impure sides of ourselves.”

Abisina returned to Rueshlan’s ward and intended to find her father immediately to tell him about Vigar’s warning, but first she was greeted by Meelah. She received the girl’s ecstatic hug and managed to look directly into her blue eyes as Meelah chatted about the fauns’ and fairies’ dance that night. When Findlay approached them, Abisina was surprised at how easy it was to meet his gaze.

“I hope my sister let you say something.” He laughed as Meelah darted away to greet a girl her age. “She forgets that a conversation is supposed to go two ways!”

“Really, it’s so nice to have people to talk to. She does whatever she can to make me feel welcome here.”

“You are welcome here,” Findlay said warmly, and Abisina wondered if he noticed her blush.

By the time Abisina resumed her search for her father, so many visitors filled the ward that it was impossible to get him alone. The crowd moved between the bonfire in the center of the ward and Rueshlan’s laden table, talking, laughing, singing songs, and demanding Rueshlan’s attention every time Abisina opened her mouth to speak. She would have to wait a little longer.

Late in the evening, Abisina stood at Rueshlan’s elbow, listening to a dwarf sing about an ancestor who longed to dance with the fauns. The description of the dwarf practicing his leaps with false horns on his head was ridiculous, and the listeners were shaking with laughter. Abisina, laughing too, glanced toward the bonfire and caught sight of the sparks spiraling toward the Sylvyads’ tops. For a second, she stood again in Vranille’s burial ground, watching Charach’s eerie fire spike into the sky as the people fed the flames with bodies.

She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. “Abisina?”

She looked into his concerned face, felt the weight of his hand, and the world of the ward became distinct again.

“When you’re ready to tell me, Abisina, I’m ready to listen.”

Now. She had to tell him now. But Rueshlan’s focus shifted to something across the ward. Looking over, Abisina saw Kyron emerge from his door.

Some silent communication passed between Kyron and Rueshlan as the huge centaur came into the circle, driving all other thoughts from Abisina’s mind. She backed up into her father, and he put his arm around her, saying, “There is nothing to worry about, Abisina. I promise.” Kyron did not look at her and never moved more than a few paces from where he stood, but neither did he go away. Abisina stayed facing him and kept close to Rueshlan.

Just before midnight, Alden bustled in. She’d hoped he would bring Haret, but he was alone. “Still quite low,” he told her. “Not up to a party.”

“But he loves the fauns!”

Alden nodded sympathetically. “I hope to get him to the Gathering at dawn. It might revive him a bit.”

The arrival of the fauns cut their conversation short. One stood at the entrance to the ward, two torches held high above his head, his dark, handsome face solemn.

“Get ready,” murmured Findlay, who had been near Abisina much of the evening. “You’ve not celebrated Midsummer till you’ve seen the fauns dance.”

After the lead faun captured everyone’s attention, he strode into the ward at a regal pace, followed by eleven more fauns bearing torches in each hand. They stationed themselves at equal intervals around the ward, and the crowd stepped back to join the ring they’d created. Abisina was separated from Rueshlan by one faun, but Findlay stood on her other side. Kyron was across the ward.