Fire in the Sky

1

As the caцpa train rounded a hillock crowned with kerre trees, Shadith saw a Dumel ahead, nestled in a bend of the Menguid River, half a dozen sail barges tied up to the wharves lining the riverbank on both sides.

For some time now, they’d been out of the bottom-lands into rolling countryside-brush and grass with browsing beasts, instead of wide fields of plowed and planted land. The road ran west with little deviation from the straight line, up and down, over hills, across small valleys, always gaining altitude no matter how many dips it made, though the gain was slow and subtle enough to be nearly imperceptible; the Menguid sometimes ran beside the road, sometimes curved away so that they wouldn’t see it for several days, though more than once Shadith watched the tips of the stubby sails of the barges gliding past, just visible above the brush growing on a hillock, or the bright flutter of a burgee to remind her that there were other folk about.

There were no more lay-bys kept supplied by the Ordumel they were traveling through. No more Ordumels, only scattered farm houses and stock cabins.

This section of the road was poorly maintained, more ruts and potholes than paving, and few used it. Now and then they passed a farmwife on her way to market in a caцpa cart or a boy herding small animals that looked like cotton poufs on dainty black legs that her wordlist eventually told her were called cabhisha. Most of the traffic was on the river.

The Dumel ahead was flying bright pennons and oriflammes, burgees from the barges tied up at the river landing. Flowers blooming brightly on their heads and shoulders, Meloach were playing in circle games with Fior children dressed in red and orange trousers with brilliant white smocks embroidered in blue and green.

Overhead the two Eolt rose to a faster airstream and went gliding swiftly toward the Dumel.

Danor brushed his hand across his eyes.

Shadith winced as she saw how it was shaking. The happy scene below must be like ground glass on his nerves.

She kneed her caцpa closer to Maorgan. “What’s this place called and why the celebration?”

“Dumel Olterau. I think…” He clicked his tongue as he counted days on his fingers. “Time. How it slips and slides away. It’s the first of Seibibyl… that means this is the first official day of Summer-and if I haven’t lost track completely it’s also Rest Day. Supposed to be good fortune next year when Summer begins with Rest.”

As they rode into the town, a ring of dancers came from a side street, laughing and clapping, several of them singing, others beating out the rhythm with wooden clogs and tambourines. One of the singers was a pretty Fior girl with bright red curls and a spray of freckles across her nose; she glanced at Maorgan, looked up and saw the Eolt, then thrust two fingers in her mouth and produced a loud whistle. When she had everyone’s attention she pointed at the Eolt, then at Maorgan. “Ard,” she shouted.

“Ard. Ard. Ard.” The shouts passed on and came back as more and more people crowded around them.

The singer caught hold of the caцpa’s halter, looked up at Maorgan. “Will you come?” She sang the words, a ripple of pleased laughter in her voice. “Will you come stay with me, Ardcoltair?”

He laughed, lifted her onto the caцpa’s withers, and kissed her thoroughly to the shouts and cheers of the crowd. “Take us to the blai, Sun-blessed. My friend there’s in mourning and in no mood for pleasure. But once he’s settled, we’ll sing the Summer in for you.”

Fingers sore, throat raw from the hours of singing and playing, soul still aglow from the joy of the music, Shadith moved wearily along the deserted walkways of the blai. There were no nightlights, but the blaze that was the Bйluchad night sky made them unnecessary. Looking up was like gazing on a permanent fireworks display.

Where Maorgan was now she’d hadn’t the faintest idea, and she was too tired to care. On the other hand, she had a very good guess what he was doing-the Bйluchar weren’t used to female harpers, but they didn’t let that put them off. During the first break from playing, the Olteraun Fior had crowded round her, men and women both, offering themselves as bed partners, brushing against her, hands moving on her breasts and buttocks until she slapped them away and got the idea across that she wasn’t interested in kaus and kikl.

She shifted the strap of the harpcase, dug in her pocket for the odd cylindrical key the Blai Olegan had given her, started to insert it into the lock hole-and stopped, sniffing. There was a peculiar pungent smell coming from the next room over. Danor’s kip.

She frowned. The way he was acting… She eased the strap off her shoulder, set the case down, and walked the short distance to Danor’s door. She tried the latch. Locked. The smell was much stronger here, made her feel… well… odd. The closest she could come was that time on Avosing where the planet’s air was permeated with hallucinogenic spores.

She leaned against the door and tried to get some sense of the man, but all she could read was a jumble of pain, rage, and a flood of grief so terrible she cried out against it. She closed her eyes, tried to concentrate, her head so tired from the music and the exuberance of the dance, from the excited attentions of Keteng and Fior, from the glory of the Eolt song, that her brain felt like mush. Focus. Exclude. Strip away the flourishes of emotion, feel the beat of the body.

By the time she managed to reassure herself about the strength of Danor’s life flow, she’d breathed in enough of the smoke to send her floating.

She contemplated stretching out there on the walkway, melting with the smoke, absorbing just enough to keep her drifting, in a state where nothing mattered, all the twists and turns of need and rejection wiped away… Her knees stopped holding her up. She didn’t fall, it was a slow-motion folding down. It amused her. She kept folding until her face was pressed against the tiles. That was amusing. And pleasant. The tiles were cool and smooth.

She drew in a long breath-and sneezed violently, the spasm triggered by the pollen grains she’d sucked in with dust from the grouting between the tiles. She sneezed again and pushed onto her knees, appalled at what had happened to her.

Bones feeling like half-set gel, she used the latch to pull herself to her feet, then staggered back to her own door. She stood leaning into it, her forehead pressed to the wood, half forgetting what she was there for until her nose prickled again and broke her out of her trance. She unlocked the door, hauled the case inside, and stood slouched in the doorway, gathering herself.

As soon as she managed to get the bar down and into its hooks, she stumbled across to the bed and fell facedown on it, sinking into a sleep so deep that if she dreamed she never knew it.