Nights of Villjamur

THIRTY-THREE

‘Who are you, really?’ Eir whispered, her hands on Randur’s hips.

They were rehearsing a slow dance that evening, the Yunduk, and the only communication so far between them had been Randur whispering softly in her ear to correct her posture. No music this evening to accompany them, but they now understood the rhythms by heart, a liquid grace in every step. They were practising in one of the many unused corners of Balmacara, a disused chamber long forgotten by most of the inquisitive courtiers.

The more reticent he was, the more she wanted to know, the more she needed to understand him. After years spent in isolation among Imperial tutors and the urgent whispers of guardsmen, this islander had burst into her existence and already shown her more of life than she had ever known. Even his most casual comments suggested an exotic origin, his very presence spoke of some other place, a region perhaps physical or possibly mental, it didn’t matter, just that it was somewhere not bound by stone and ice like her childhood environment.

And she had seen beneath the veneer of his arrogance.

‘I thought we’d been through this stuff already.’

Her fingers tightened, gripping his waist. ‘We have, and yet we haven’t. I want to know who you actually are, Randur Estevu.’

‘You’d only be disappointed,’ he suggested dismissively.

‘I’m not so sure I could be. I find your efforts on behalf of your mother are very honourable.’

‘I’d rather not talk about that.’

‘Tell me,’ Eir changed the subject, ‘instead of just sleeping around, have you ever actually been in love?’

He stared down at her, and by his hesitation she knew that he was surprised.

She continued, ‘What I mean is, in love with anyone other than yourself.’

He laughed, drew their bodies even closer so that they were touching at the waist for the next dance sequence. Their steps flowed smoothly, beginning to be expressive of new depths, and wherever his feet went she was there with him, in unison, in perfect time.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Being in love hasn’t really been my style. I never really cared much for the girls on Folke anyway. To begin with, they were all a little unclean for my liking.’

‘You’ve very high standards for someone coming from such a poor region.’

‘Wasn’t always like that,’ he grunted, and she felt a sudden guilt that she had labelled him in such a way.

After a moment’s consideration she said, ‘I thought as much. Your manners are far too good, for one thing. You eat well. And I’ve noticed how you always let a lady step in front of you when proceeding down corridors.’

‘That’s not always for their benefit,’ he smirked.

‘Randur, come on, be serious.’

‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘We were once a very wealthy family, before the Empire really took a grip on our island. The one thing I’ve learned is that opportunity is linked to wealth in Jamur territories. Whoever owns the most resources has the most power and influence and opportunity, and that’s just not how life should be. You – you can do anything you could think of in these halls. But back then we once had servants and all that, then we lost our land – my mother never really told me how, but we lost it anyway. Everything was gone; but she brought me up well. She brought me up rather strictly, perhaps. My father, you see, died before I ever got to know him, and I had a couple of sisters, but we were never that close. So everything was up to my mother.’ After a pause, he added, ‘I owe her a lot.’

‘From all you’ve told me, you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened with her. You’re a good man, Randur Estevu.’

He shook his head, self-consciously, as if only just beginning to comprehend himself. ‘Not really. I’m a liar, a thief, a womanizer, and I get in too many fights – a good deal because of the way I dress. I try not to hurt anyone unnecessarily in the process, though.’

‘But it’s what you are attempting to do that carries real honour. This is an age with no great battles to speak of, no heroes for future stories. I think it’s intensely honourable that a son should want to give his mother the chance to live a while longer.’

He said, ‘It’s not as easy as that.’

‘Talk, Randur,’ she urged, dancing a thin line between mockery and seriousness. What would it take for her to get this man to really open up?

‘Have you ever come to feel so indebted to someone that, on reflection, everything you’ve ever done merely seems to have let them down?’

She said, ‘Is this your way of freeing yourself from that guilt then? If you can employ a cultist to add years to her life, then you feel you have redeemed yourself?’

‘Think you know so much about me?’ he bristled.

‘I find you fascinating, that’s all,’ she said, wanting to add, in ways you’ll never quite know, at this rate.

‘Well, if I’m that much of an open book, you certainly don’t need to try to get me to talk further.’ He then steered her into another sequence of moves, where the woman did the leading. She wasn’t quite managing it properly, forcing herself into awkward body-shapes, so he had to keep repeating those same steps until she could do them without thinking.

Eir suddenly felt the need to be more honest about how she herself felt. ‘Randur, I find you’re quite different from other men about Balmacara. You never try to impress me, and you don’t compliment me for every little thing I do. Quite the opposite, in fact, because you’re downright rude to me at times, and so flippant, and… Well, whatever in Astrid’s name you’re doing, it makes me more interested in you.’

‘Makes sense, I suppose, what with my dashing good looks.’

‘You know, I’ve also worked out that you only joke because you’re uncomfortable with being honest.’

‘Crap, my lady,’ he muttered.

‘Followed by rudeness when you’re obviously wrong about something.’

Silence for a while, their feet moving with precision across the stone floor.

‘One thing more,’ Eir finally said. ‘Given your certain, shall we say, moral indiscipline…’

‘Yes?’

‘Why haven’t you tried it on with me?’

‘Because I value my life for one thing. I don’t fancy being castrated and my manhood hurled over the city walls. Also, your position, you’ve got official channels, as it were, in which you must operate.’

‘So, would you otherwise? I mean to say, if I wasn’t the Empress’s sister?’

‘Well, you’ve got a great little behind, Lady Eir, a cute smile and more than a handful of the right things in exactly all the right places. Sure, why not.’

Something about his directness, the obvious fact that he didn’t care what he was saying, was so refreshing. And she liked that. She wanted to possess the ability to whisper dirty and loving things to him in return. ‘Officially, you have my permission to make a move.’

‘Fair enough.’ He shrugged. ‘That would be the easy thing to do, wouldn’t it? But I’m not that predictable.’

She stepped back. ‘Randur Estevu… you infuriate me at times!’

‘Hey, relax. I was only joking.’

After she had calmed, they resumed the dance steps and kicks and flourishes. He placed his body against hers, the palms of his hands resting on her shoulder blades. ‘I know you like me, Eir. This isn’t cultist science we’re talking about, just a guy and a girl, and it’s all a bit inevitable. You’re a handsome woman, I’m a pretty man. Anyway, the day you offered to pay my debts, that was a decent indication of your feelings.’

‘Well, why haven’t you reacted?’

He leaned in close to her ear, the space between the two of them becoming charged. ‘Because, Stewardess, we must think only of the dance and for success there are certain tensions that must be maintained. You do want to be seen as the best at the Snow Ball, don’t you?’

She was so stunned by his serious response she did not know how to reply. Instead she blurted her response. ‘So even if I offered myself naked, you still wouldn’t want to…’ She wanted to use his words, but couldn’t. ‘Take me?’

‘I couldn’t because I respect you too much for that.’

‘Oh. Right.’ She could not resist taking advantage of this closeness, because, to hell with the dance, to hell with etiquette of the court, she wanted him right there and then. His cocksure brashness had reduced her confidence, and now she wanted to impose upon him her Imperial stamp.

She slid her hands further up his lissom body, gripped him, angled her head, kissing his neck, and as she tasted his skin he gave a sigh. His heart pulsed against her breasts. His arms had fallen uselessly to his sides, but soon he took hold of her head, drew her lips closer to his own. A slight groan, more rapid breathing.

She moved away slightly to regard him, and all he did was stare at her in confusion, struggling to read her. Surely this inveterate romancer would know better how to react at a moment like this?

He tried vaguely to say something, but she pressed a finger to his lips. It took all the strength of will she had to turn away, to move across to a wall tapestry. She pulled it aside to reveal a window through which a wind blew from across the city. She waited for him to come to her, determined she would not turn back to face him, the spires and bridges meaningless and empty under her gaze.

But he didn’t come near, and she was driven to ask, ‘Has the great Randur Estevu finally been silenced?’

She heard his footsteps approach, felt his words brush against the back of her neck: ‘I don’t know what to do now.’

‘You’re no amateur, from what I’ve seen.’

‘Those women… they didn’t matter. It’s just that I’m not sure what I feel right now. I mean, ever since you offered to help me… well, I’m just not sure what it is that’s going on in my head. I don’t want you to think you’ve bought my attention.’

‘Perhaps you have genuine feelings after all?’ she said, expecting some witty response from him which was calculated to anger her.

Instead he said, ‘I know I’ll end up hurting you and I don’t want to do that. Like I said, I feel I’m in your debt.’

‘There are ways of clearing such debts.’

‘Wouldn’t that simply make me a man-whore?’

She shrugged. ‘Not if you wanted to do it anyway.’ She felt a little desperate and out of control.

‘I thought ladies in high positions had responsibilities about how they acted.’

‘After all this is over, the dance, I mean,’ she said, ‘when you travel back to Folke, won’t it be dangerous?’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘Time is fairly urgent, because she hasn’t got too much of it left.’ His tone changed, became brighter. ‘Anyway, if you want to, we can slip down Caveside tonight and practise before the ball. There’s a street dance organized, so Denlin said, and I think we should go, because it’ll get you used to dancing in public. You’ve enough time to slip into something a little scruffier – if you have anything scruffy, that is. It’ll be cold and dirty.’

‘I’m sure I can find something suitable for the occasion,’ she said. ‘You certainly take me to the loveliest of places.’

With some urgency they moved through the narrow streets, their footsteps light on the cobbles. They had tricked soldiers in Balmacara into thinking Eir was retiring early, wasn’t feeling well. Eir herself felt a warm thrill of anticipation at the venture. Occasionally, she gripped Randur’s hand when descending steep stairwells. The sky was a dull smear of blue-grey, the air filled with snowflakes that fell so hypnotically slowly they seemed stationary. Icicles glinted on the bridges as if they were decorated with daggers. People seldom ventured outside in the evenings these days, but you could see their faces peering from between curtains, gloomy silhouettes staring from their warm prisons.

Eir had chosen to wear a tight-fitting brown garment, and purposely made her dark hair a dishevelled mess so that she wouldn’t appear wealthy. It felt liberating, to strip herself of normality and forced manners.

They walked the vacant, snow-slushed streets leading to the caves, the real Villjamur. Being packed together so close, she liked to think that each house would share some heat with its neighbours. And at least here there was shelter, while other zones of the Empire would be struggling with the encroaching onslaught of ice, struggling to find adequate food. It was no wonder that despite such urban hardships she had witnessed, the refugees had accrued outside the city gates. The poverty in her own city had been revealed to her, and as they continued along the streets she passed more homeless people: young girls her own age asleep in decaying archways, rumel families staring lifelessly into contained fire-pits. Her wealthy existence had been so disconnected from it all. She had not known until Randur pointed this out, and just the one visit down here had opened her eyes. She never knew the city possessed such darkness. If she had known how the world really worked, would she have done more about it?

Through labyrinthine passageways, into a well-lit stone square, overlooked by cramped terraced housing, where women leaned out of narrow windows to men who called back up to them from below. A sense of ritual. Someone began beating a drum and a few of the gaudily dressed women sidled into the centre of the scene, whilst old men sat together on benches in the corner, smoking pipes and talking loudly, their faces displaying a happiness she had not witnessed since the temperature began falling.

‘Randy, you made it!’ She recognized the voice as Denlin’s. ‘And you’ve brought your girly. Ain’t that swell.’

‘Denlin, you old bastard.’ Randur turned instantly back to Eir as if to apologize for his language, then back to address him. The old man slapped Randur on the shoulder and gave a low bow towards Eir.

‘Not here, Denlin,’ she hissed. ‘Here I’m just like any other woman.’

‘Sure you are.’ He smiled.

‘No, really. Tonight I just want to dance.’

‘That’ll be the lad speaking, I reckon.’ Denlin turned to study Randur.

‘It’s not like that,’ Randur protested. ‘She’s her own woman, this one. Takes more than a fool like me to have an effect.’

She liked the reference to her being a woman. For some reason it seemed important.

‘If you say so,’ Denlin said. ‘Anyhow, looks as if they’re readying…’ He indicated the couples poised to take to the music.

Eir watched with wonder as the local women guided the men, so naturally led them. Rhythms became precise, fast, heavy till footsteps became quickly moving across the square. The dancers kept calling out to each other, drawing attention to the next flamboyant move. They kicked in the half-light and the scene filled Eir with a primitive excitement.

‘You ready?’ Randur whispered, and held out his hand to her.

‘I’m not sure,’ she faltered. ‘They’re so good. I don’t want to embarrass you.’

Denlin interrupted, ‘Whale cocks, lady. Get out there and enjoy yourself. This is about fun, not being all prim and proper.’

So they joined in the Formanta, more about leg movements than anything else. She didn’t like this one too much, hadn’t practised it to the extent of the others, and at first she felt awkward, to be dancing here in front of all these strangers. But with increasing confidence they weaved a complex pattern through the other dancers. There was exhilaration and tension and poignancy. Their contact soon began to transcend the postures. They held each other intimately, for an age it seemed, in that forgotten corner of Villjamur.

With these humble people she felt totally at ease for the first time in her life. This was an unlearning of her childhood, stripping away her pretentiousness, her airs and graces.

At the end of the first few dances, Randur poured the two of them some cheap wine, while she watched the revellers around her. People talked in shadows, laughter spilling across the cobbles. Children ran to meet the adults who had just performed, staring at them with a renewed sense of awe. No doubt at all about this, these people had more fun than any she had ever witnessed in the fore-city.

As the evening crept on, a wide variety of dances were performed. They both became inebriated and their rehearsed postures collapsed regularly. She found it hilarious. Inside her mind there was a letting go of something she didn’t realize she was unconsciously clinging on to.

Hours later, people began to leave. The silence of the drums left her feeling vaguely disappointed. Torches burned down low. Denlin had left earlier with an old woman, their arms linked, and Eir felt this was heart-warming somehow, and perhaps this was just how you felt about other couples when you were falling in love yourself.

Eir and Randur danced quietly across the courtyard. She was drunk, perhaps, but she desired him, right then, in whatever way it could be offered. She wasn’t aware of the rules of such a situation, and was tentatively exploring the limits of her own self. A line had been crossed and she realized that she could not simply return to being who she was before she met him. There was no going back. It surprised her pleasantly to understand that she could now only push forwards.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked. ‘I need to know.’

‘Nothing much.’

She liked the way that there were just the two of them here now. It brought a surreal texture to the scene, as if the sun had finally died leaving only the pair of them on earth. Utterly alone.

‘It must be something. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.’

‘You wouldn’t like to know,’ he said.

‘No, I would.’ She was willing the words into his mouth.

Randur absent-mindedly placed his hands on her waist.

Finally he said, ‘I was thinking how… how much I’d like to take your clothes off.’

‘Here?’ she said, considering her heart might stop beating. His language was so direct.

Eir looked around to make sure their conversation wasn’t being overheard, and by that gesture she let him know his suggestion was all right. Randur bent down to kiss her neck.

‘How do… how do I know that you’re not just treating me like any other conquest?’ She could barely voice the words, so tightly was she holding on.

‘If I said anything, would it matter anyway? You’d always suspect me of not being serious, wouldn’t you?’

Eir didn’t know what to say so she just moved towards him and kissed him with a startling gentleness. His hands shifted up around her back, slid down to her thighs as she shuddered in anticipation.

She led him by the hand to the corner of the square, then down a small alley that she had barely noticed earlier.

Randur said, ‘You sure you want this?’

‘Yes.’ She laughed at his sudden uncertainty.

‘You’ve never, uhm, done this before, I take it?’

‘If I said anything, would it matter?’ she replied, and he seemed to like that.

‘Wouldn’t you at least prefer to be somewhere more comfortable?’

‘I’ve spent my whole life being somewhere comfortable,’ she said, then pulled his shirt off him, dropped it to one side.

Randur spun her around so that he was stood behind her, a perverse version of one of their dances. Gently, he then guided her through manoeuvres that seemed so natural simply because he made it all so uncomplicated, his stubble brushing down her shoulder, his hand gliding across her stomach, then lower. She groaned with relief as it finally worked its way between her legs.

All sense of time disappeared entirely as she became lost in the rhythms of the most primeval movements yet… until afterwards, with Randur’s back against a wall and Eir in front of him with her head buried in his neck, surrounded by the darkness, and, aside from the thumping of her heart, she could hear nothing.