Ocean of Dust (15 page)

A pair of the tall creatures passed her,
conversing in their high-pitched language. They moved with
graceful, loping strides. She pushed into the middle of the crowd
and followed its drifting pace, trying to mute her panting. At the
end lay a wide street leading back up toward the arena, but just as
she reached it, Lyndon turned the corner. Their eyes met just six
feet apart.

"Ha," he said and grinned.

Squealing, she spun about and raced into a
side alley. The hair on her neck prickled, anticipating him
grabbing her at any moment. He panted behind her. She leaned
forward and increased her pace, the boards bouncing and kicking up
dust as she thundered past a surprised Imyan woman with her
child.

An oglon cart had crashed at the next
intersection, and split sacks of grain sprawled everywhere. A dozen
locals fussed around it. Right before the obstacle, she put her
hands on a window ledge and spun herself ninety degrees onto a
ridiculously narrow stairway. She looked ahead and groaned. A
daunting array of steps climbed the hill with no exits before the
top, every door closed. Panting hard, she urged her aching legs on.
Behind her, Lyndon cried out with equal dismay as he followed.

Halfway up, her legs sagged like jelly, and
she gasped for breath. Using the wall for support she forced
herself up one more step, one more step, her face contorted. She
didn't dare pause, knowing that she'd lose the will to continue,
but she did peer over her shoulder. Lyndon stood a long way behind,
doubled over, wheezing and panting.

"I'll... get you... later," he spluttered and
then collapsed.

Sweaty, tottering and clasping her hand to a
persistent stitch in her size, she reached the top and sank to the
ground. She sucked in the chill air and wiped the sweat from her
hands on the wooden boards. A stranger handed her a mug. She didn't
even smell it before guzzling its contents, sighing at the
wonderful taste of cool water. The local man helped her to her
feet. She touched the mug to her hot brow and returned it. He
flashed perfect white teeth. Finally, she hurried back into the
arena and fell onto the cushion next to Branda.

"Where you been?" Branda asked.

"I went for a walk," Lissa said, "which
turned into a run when Lyndon chased me across town." She poured
and drank another mug of water.

"Why? What happen-? Oh, echpla."

Lissa followed Branda's gaze and saw Farq
pushing his way along the terrace toward her. Behind him stood
Lyndon, red-faced with sweat-soaked hair.

"Oh no," she murmured. She stood, legs
shaking. What now? She couldn't run forever. Maybe she could deny
everything. Lyndon had no proof of her spying, or did he?

A local man came up the steps toward her.
"Yoon woman, are you volunteering to perform foor us?"

"What?" She stepped away.

"All oor welcome to entertain, now the
official festivities have coom to an end. Would you like to
represent yoor ship?"

Farq was ten feet away. His face was puckered
and red.

"Yes," she squeaked, and then louder, "Yes. I
would be proud to represent The Fair Maiden and entertain
everyone."

"Wonderful," the man said.

She slipped her arm into his, grateful for
his support on the steps.
If only I could never see a set of
stairs ever again.
She glanced back. Farq had stopped, hand on
his hips. He turned back toward his seat.

The sandy area at the bottom of the arena
seemed huge as she stood at its center, alone, yet she was trapped.
Hundreds of faces leered down at her. They jeered and made remarks
about her 'purty' dress. What had she let herself in for? She
rotated slowly, fumbling with her braid, pulling it this way and
that. What now? What was she supposed to do? She couldn't dance or
sing in key.

The female announcer coughed loudly. "We have
a young woman from the Fair Maiden of Yamin."

She stared at Lissa expectantly. Beside her,
Lissa noticed a chalk scoreboard upon which had been drawn several
numbers.

An idea popped into her head.

She walked across to the men in the first
terrace. The amphitheater fell silent. She approached a man with a
drooping mustache, who smelled of meat and stale beer.

"Give me a number," she squeaked.

"Wha'?" He scratched his head. Laughter
rippled through the crowd.

"Wha'd she say?" another man shouted.

"Call out a number," she said louder, raising
her head. "Any number you like,"

"Five."

She stepped to the next man and repeated her
question.

"Nine."

Ignoring cries of "What's she up to?" and
"What sort o' game is this?" she obtained numbers from ten
different people. Then, in a random order, she pointed to each man
and recited his number aloud.

"That's easy," someone shouted.

"Stupid, more like."

"Make it harder."

She sucked in a breath and straightened her
shoulders. A sly smile formed in one corner of her mouth.

"Right. Keep up if you can," she said.

She walked around the entire lowest terrace,
asking every single person for a number.

Voices cried out, "Me," "Over here," "I've
got one."

She acknowledged each person with a silent
nod, and moved on to the second terrace.

"Stop," she said shortly. "That's two hundred
numbers."

The noise of the crowd subsided to a few
coughs and whispered conversations.

"Knock 'em dead, Liss. For The Maiden!"
Pete’s shout was heard by all.

Laughter followed, and a handful of cheers
and whistles.

She walked back to the center of the arena,
tidied her dress and stood with her hands in her lap.

"Those of you with numbers, raise your hand
one by one. Any order you like."

Three hands shot up immediately.

"Seventeen. Five. Three," she said, whirling
on the spot as she searched for more hands.

As fast as hands went up, she fired off
numbers, one after the other, in all directions. Several people
raised their hands twice, or used their left one time and their
right another. Breathless, she called out their number.

"Oy," shouted a man with one ear and a burned
face. "You got my number wrong."

"Six," she repeated.

"No it ain't."

His friend slapped him over the head. "Yes,
it is, you dummy. You just forgot. Drunken fool."

The audience exploded with laughter.

The second man addressed Lissa. "You're
right, it were six."

Then the candidates moved back and forth
along the terraces, swapping places and raising their hands,
ducking and weaving, trying to catch her out. They grinned from ear
to ear like children. At times she hesitated, but she always called
their number.

After a long flurry of numbers, she had
whirled around so fast that the arena blurred and she crashed to
the sandy floor.

"Enough," the local woman cried,
standing.

Applause erupted. Lissa stood and brushed the
dirt from her dress, listening to the audience discussing her
performance excitedly.

"A most unusual but intriguing
demonstration," the woman said to her. "We thank you."

A man appeared at Lissa's side and assisted
her back to her cushion, where she endured back slaps and
shoulder-shaking by the ship's crew. She glanced sideways at Farq.
He nodded once and turned away.

"Where's Branda?" she asked the physiker.

He gestured toward the stage, where Branda
shuffled, like a speck of dust in the ocean. Lissa shivered,
remembering how she had felt so alone among so many people.

Branda held an instrument that resembled the
wooden sakdras that the musicians had played all evening. Hers
seemed cut from a single shard of crystal that shimmered green and
blue under the arena lights. Branda held one end to her lips, yet
its tip dragged in the sand at her feet. How could the tiny
Valinese girl possess enough breath to play such a thing?

Branda spread her fingers carefully along its
length, took a breath, and blew into the mouthpiece. The deep,
melodious note seemed to vibrate against Lissa's body, making her
gasp at the unusual feeling. Branda paused to breathe, but the note
continued, deep and long, until it drifted away on the breeze. She
played a higher note, and it too took on a life of its own. All
conversation in the arena faltered. People returned to their
cushions.

A series of chords followed, so precise and
clear that Lissa could easily distinguish five separate notes. That
wasn't Branda's only trick. While her next chord played, she sucked
on the mouthpiece and moved her fingers. A second chord joined the
first, each distinct yet harmonizing perfectly.

Branda continued weaving an ever more complex
melody, its melancholy pace so haunting that Lissa felt it tearing
through her soul. She closed her eyes and let the music flow over
and through her, until she lost track of the real world and
imagined herself floating in a gently undulating ocean of sound.
Time had no meaning. Had she been adrift in the melodic void for
moments or days?

Eventually, the tune ended on a single,
perfect note that wafted away like a final sigh. Lissa scanned the
audience. Even the rowdiest of the drunken crews sat silent and
mesmerized, shaking their heads as if awakening.

Without the music, Lissa felt a deep loss
stab her heart. Tears streamed down her face. Perhaps others felt
the same, because a long moment passed before a ripple of applause
began. The clapping rose to a crescendo until everyone was on their
feet, pounding their hands together, whistling and cheering.

Lissa gave Branda a huge hug upon her return.
The physiker's eyes were tear-filled as he expressed his thanks for
"one of the most memorable renditions in my humdrum life." He
poured Branda a mug of juice, which she guzzled gratefully.

"That was amazing," Lissa cried. "I didn't
know you played an instrument."

"All female from Valin are taught sakdra,"
Branda replied, not at all out of breath after her performance.
"People say no one play like we do."

Her fair skin blushed scarlet.

"I can believe that. Why didn't you tell me
you could play like that? Why have you never played on the
ship?"

"Farq took my sakdra when I come aboard."

"Why?"

Branda sighed and stared at her feet. "He
said it too valuable for a girl, that it belong to him now."

"We'll get your sakdra back." Lissa winked.
"You played your heart out, and look how much everyone enjoyed it.
You did your race proud."

Branda smiled. "Thank you. You my best
friend. I so pleased you like."

A pounding of drums started up. Two of the
tall, graceful creatures stood side by side in the arena. They
lifted their sleek heads to the sky, pushed their long ears tall,
and sang a duet.

"It beautiful," Branda whispered.

Lissa nodded. "What race are they? I met one
earlier."

"They called yee sel... seleech."

"Y'seliche, yes," the physiker added. "An
educated and thoughtful people from deserts far to the west. Here,
in the eastern lands, they are successful traders and trusted royal
advisors."

"I'd love to see their homeland," Lissa
murmured, staring into the distance.

He chuckled. "Your curiosity about the world
is limitless, Lissa. It's like you belong on a trading ship, though
I'd recommend a better choice than galley girl next time.”

Chapter 14 - Blue Fire

The next morning, the tiniest sound seemed to
pound in Lissa's head. Her throat was parched. Every muscle in her
body ached. She made a promise never to drink Hossiw again. Branda
was full of news that Alice had been locked up all night, and would
go before Farq today. Lissa winced. She hadn't wanted it to go that
far.

"Let’s hurry into town. I don't want to be
around here in case he wants to see me too." She wanted to avoid
Lyndon too but kept that to herself.

The day was bright and mild. Wearing the
green dress had been fun, but her regular clothes were more
comfortable. As they departed the ship, Branda pummeled her with
questions: Why had Alice stolen the jewelry? Why had she blamed
Lissa? What had the y'seliche said to convince the crew chief?

Lissa told Branda the full story, and by the
time she was through, they found themselves deep in the town. She
gave Branda a handful of coins, and explained that she wanted to be
alone to people-watch for a while. Branda hurried off toward a
store displaying an array of bright fabrics.

A couple of streets away, Lissa emerged into
a small plaza nestled between the buildings, with an incredible
view overlooking the town and ships. A gnarled, stick tree grew
from a hole in the center. No leaves hung on its branches, though a
green vine climbed the trunk, topped with a purple bud as large as
her fist.

"Come rest a while, missy."

She jumped before noticing the crew chief
sitting on a semi-circular bench. Sheets hung from the surrounding
buildings, providing shade and giving the plaza an indoor feeling.
Pete sat beside him, and a skin-pocked sailor named Nax, who
sprayed crumbs from the pie he was devouring. The creepy ship's
navigator sat opposite them, dressed in his heavy robe.

"Hey," Pete said. "Come sit with us. Sam was
just telling me more about the ship." He offered her his drink.

"Sam?" Her glance flicked to the crew
chief.

"Everyone calls him Sam off-duty," he said.
"Sam's promised to show me the power room later. It's in the
hold."

"What's in there?" she said.

"The equipment that makes the ship move.
Remember I told you about the flux vanes? They power these big
axles connected to metal screws, that turn round and round to move
the ship. See?" He made spinning gestures with his hands. How she’d
missed chatting with Pete.