Reading the Wind (Silver Ship)

H
erb-scented smoke from the early evening fires lifted my heart while drumbeats lifted my feet. Cool spring air bathed my skin. My skirt swirled, slapping my calves as I danced behind Liam. A light sheen of sweat coated his back and thighs, shining nearly gold in the last full rays of the sun.

It was the end of our semiannual visit to town, a night reserved for the two bands of roamers to feast and compete together.

Twenty-five of us from the West Band had started this stick dance. Just an hour in, ten remained.

Our bandmates chanted with the drums, helping us dance the divide from dusk to night, holding bright torches. The pace increased yet again, the drums seeking to exhaust us, the chant to buoy us. Dark-haired slender Sasha fell away next, followed by red-blond blocky-and-strong Kiara. They rolled free of our feet and took torches, joining the chant, cheering for us, for the band. Every time I began to fade, Mayah’s voice wormed into the part of me that could quit, blocking it, whispering, “shuffle, two, kick, three, turn, jump, jump…”

As the stars winked awake, my kicks grew higher, my dip and swirl lower and faster. The drummers increased the tempo until sweat poured from them like it poured from us.

The clacking of wood on wood warned us just before long, brightly painted sticks slid under our feet, horizontal, a foot above the ground. The swirling sticks demanded precision and height from our jumps. A
crowd passed the sticks back and forth, hand to hand. The watchers were all roamers, most from our band, some from the East Band, friends and a few skeptics, two judges.

More dancers fell away, feet tangling, bodies rolling.

More sticks. The East Band had danced first. They’d managed five sticks—we already danced over ten. The joy of competition tore a grin from me. And it was the band’s win—normal band members danced with us when we passed the East Band’s mark. No one could blame our win on Liam and me. We were free to play; it didn’t matter now that we were faster and stronger.

Contest had changed to exhibition.

A few of the East Band left the circle. Not all. Just the ones who hated our differences.

Three of us remained, then two. Me and Liam, jumping, kicking, close to each other then away, a dance between us more than for the others. Fifteen sticks, and still we didn’t stumble. The stick-bearers grinned and raised them so high my skirt flew up past my knees. Drummers began to call for replacements. Chanters called our names: “Liam! Chelo! Liam! Chelo!”

Liam threw his head back and laughed, and I joined him, giggling, so short of breath the laugh tore pain from my belly. Pain or not, our laughter reflected joy in moving well, joy in success, joy in being with each other and surrounded by family.

I held out my hands, palms down and he shook his head, not yet.

Jump, twist.

He grinned at me, his dark eyes bright with exertion.

Swoop, turn.

Faces, grinning. Kiara and River and Sky and Abyl.

Hop, high, down, just the toes, then up again over two sticks. Cheers all around us. I reached a hand to steady Liam and we leapt together as one, holding hands. We side-hopped over the seated circle of watchers, just above their heads, landing hard, almost falling. After, we stood, slick with sweat and glowing in the firelight of twenty torches.

A cheer erupted, a celebration of our prowess and, perhaps, relief that we were done. The Last Night celebration of Spring Trading was
now officially over, and the rest of the evening could be given to seeing friends.

I
stopped by my wagon to change from my dancing skirt into pants and a shirt, and to slip light leather sandals onto my feet. My home was small, but it was mine—a tiny kitchen and an everything-else room just longer than I was tall and half as wide; light enough to be pulled by a single hebra. I’d painted the inside pale blue with clouds and birds and, here and there, the tip of a tree. A silver space ship arced across the ceiling, for my brother, who had gone into the sky.

Dressed for a trip into Artistos, I hesitated briefly in my doorway, centering. The wagon Liam shared with his parents, Akashi and Mayah, stood close to my smaller wagon, signifying we were all in the same family group. Maps decorated both, identifying us as geographers. Light poured from the window in Akashi’s wagon, illuminating the designs. My fingers caressed the paint, running across the slight ridges where mountains and lakes dotted the terrain here on Jini, the largest of the two continents on Fremont. I had hand-painted them on the side of the wagon, not sure even at the time if I was painting myself into a profession or into Akashi’s family. As usual, Akashi apparently knew my feelings, even the contradictory ones. He had simply smiled and helped me get tough parts, like Islandia’s Teeth, painted right.

I shook my head, pushing aside the memory. Right now, I had to find Kayleen.

Liam emerged, dressed simply in a pale green hemp tunic and brown pants. Like me, he stood a head taller than most of the original humans on Fremont. A shock of blond hair hung over dark eyes, and a long braid twisted down his back nearly to his waist. He broke into a warm grin as soon as he spotted me. My grin answered his, and I immediately felt almost as much like we were one connected being as I had in the dance.

“We did great!” He reached for my arm, his voice tinged with pride and satisfaction. “Dad said he was watching from the hill. He thought we’d dance all night.”

“Well, and I thought you’d never stop,” I teased. “I thought we’d just go until one of us fell.”

He laughed, not like in the dance, but soft and low. “We’d have worn out the drummers.”

“Or ourselves.” I stepped briefly into his arms, then pushed away, unwilling to be lost inside of his embrace. “Let’s find Kayleen. I’m worried about her. She seemed so…” I searched for a good word. “… so listless yesterday. She didn’t get excited about the maps we found in the cave on the way down and she barely ever looked at me.”

He put a hand on my shoulder and looked past me, as if lost in thought. “She’s trapped here. We’re free.”

For just a moment I was glad that she hadn’t seen the dance. Then a flash of guilt at the thought ran through me, making me shiver. “Let’s go.” I squeezed his hand.

We jogged side by side, heading into town from our encampment in Little Lace Park. The Lace River ran down a short cliff to our right, full with rushing winter-melt water, singing into the gathering darkness. Here, we could walk freely, without sorting every sound for the dangers that roamed or grew in the wilds.