Blue Fire

2. The Wisest

2

The Wisest

Amlinn watched the bustling market roll past as her grandfather, Clan Leader Dainann, led the Freefolk caravan to its campground outside City Primaxis. Her eyes flicked over two boys about her age, watching from a grey wagon loaded with cabbages. They wore the blue tunics and trousers of Priest-Apprentices. She felt a fleeting pang of sympathy for their sad lives, trapped in the Temple day after day, trapped in the city even after they grew up.

But they disappeared from her mind almost the instant she saw them. With every yard they travelled, the time grew nearer to the premiere of the new dance she had been working on with the Sun Organist, Annjia, since they’d rolled away from City Trexis two weeks before. Last night, in the privacy of the rehearsal tent, he’d told her he’d never seen her dance better. Tonight, she would perform the dance for the first time in front of an audience.

Citydwellers. Like the ones in Trexis who . . .

She shook her head. She couldn’t let her anger at what had happened in Trexis affect her performance tonight. She should be thinking only of her dance, not of those who would witness it.

But first, she had to think about chores. Leaving the market behind, the wagons rolled into the open meadow where the Freefolk always camped. Every city had a similar clearing outside its walls, and every clan knew it intimately. The wagons spread out, each to its accustomed place, and the Freefolk set about making themselves at home.

For Amlinn, that meant jumping down and seeing to the horses, freeing them from the shafts of the wagon, giving them a good brushing, and then feeding them the mixture of oats and corn they’d earned. Once they’d been groomed and fed, she would release them to graze in the corral that was even then being made of rope strung between posts driven into the ground.

Grandfather hopped down the moment the wagon stopped moving and headed off to hear the outriders’ reports. The outriders ranged ahead, behind, and to each side of the caravan, watching for unusual activity, especially signs of Nightdweller activity. He returned just as Amlinn tugged a heavy feed sack out of the storage compartment in the bottom of the wagon. She let it thud to the ground and then undid the hook holding the hinged compartment open. It banged shut. “There’s only one more sack of feed left, Grandfather,” she said, looking up at him.

“We’re all short because of leaving Trexis so abruptly,” Grandfather said. “I’ve sent Orinn and his boys to the market.”

Amlinn pulled at the sack’s string to open it. The rich smell from the sticky mixture of oats and corn, laced with molasses, made her stomach grumble. It smelled good enough for her to eat, never mind horses. She took down the first of two nosebags hung on the side of the wagon and the wooden scoop that dangled between them. Then she jammed the scoop into the feed sack with considerably more force than was really required. “I wish we didn’t have to buy anything from the market,” she muttered. “After what happened in Trexis . . .” She pulled out the full scoop and dumped its contents into the nosebag. “We’re supposed to be ‘free’ folk. But we’re dependent on the cities for so many things. Even though they hate us.”

“You can’t blame all the Citydwellers for a few louts in Trexis,” Grandfather said mildly. “And remember, we’ve got eight wagons full of trade goods from the north that we’ll be delivering into Primaxis tomorrow. The Citydwellers depend on us just as much as we depend on them.”

“They don’t seem to realize it.” Amlinn scooped out another helping of feed. The “louts” in Trexis had jumped a couple of Freefolk boys as they’d hurried out of the city at dusk, beating them bloody. The city guards put a stop to it, and her grandfather protested strongly to the city authorities, but the consensus among the Freefolk was that the attackers had probably been let off with little more than a warning.

“King Stobor realizes it,” Grandfather said. “The Priests of Vekrin realize it, though they don’t like it, what with us being ‘heretics’ and all. They hate the fact the Goddess’s gift of the sunscales and the Blue Fire Fence protects us wherever we go, while they are bound to their clumsy Godstones. But without us, they would not enjoy the wines of Pentaxis or the fine cloths of Desmixis or a thousand other luxuries.” He smiled at Amlinn. “And without the cities, neither would we.”

Amlinn thought privately that the Goddess Arrica could have done a lot more to set her chosen people free than simply giving them a protective fence. That was its own kind of heretical thought, so she said nothing out loud. They might call themselves Freefolk, free to roam wherever they wanted in all the wide world, but in practice, all they did was travel the length of Nevyana, from Primaxis in the south to Viandaxis, the northernmost city still inhabited.

The Freefolk camped outside the city walls, not inside them. They hunted and fished as they travelled, but their nomadic lifestyle did not lend itself to agriculture, so they had to buy food and wine and horse feed and a hundred other things from the cities. They were not nearly as free as they liked to think.

Still, we’re better off than those living inside the walls, she thought, recalling the Priest-Apprentices she’d just seen on their wagon full of cabbages.

“You premiere your new dance tonight, do you not?” Grandfather asked. He probably thought he was changing the subject, but her dancing, though she loved it dearly, was another thing that tied them to the cities, and another thing the attack by the Trexis boys had cast in a new light. In addition to trade, the Freefolk’s other source of income was entertainment—jugglers and singers and fire-eaters and acrobats and instrumentalists and, yes, dancers. Amlinn’s mother had danced. Amlinn’s most precious memories of her mother—and she had very few memories at all—were of her leaping and twisting on the show tent stage to the music of the Sun Organ.

The better-received the entertainment, the more money the Citydwellers would give the Clan, and the more necessities and even, occasionally, luxuries the Clan could buy.

Amlinn loved to dance, loved the way music flowed through her body. But she also knew that the best way to ensure a good reception from the Citydwellers who came to the Freefolk show tent —mostly men—was to wear as little as possible. And so tonight, when she danced the new dance she loved so much, she would do so half-naked, trying not to think about what was going through the minds of the men in the audience as they watched her.

She knew Grandfather would not object if she chose not to dance. She’d had to overcome his resistance in the first place. He had never liked the fact her mother had danced, either. “I don’t like to think of men ogling you,” he had told Amlinn two years ago when she had first broached the idea.

“Mom danced,” Amlinn argued. “I’ve watched other dancers. Who cares what the Citydwellers think? I want to dance like Mom. It helps me feel closer to her. It helps me remember her.”

Grandfather had hemmed and hawed but finally consented.

“Who cares what Citydwellers think?” had proved to be a harder question than she originally thought. She’d been taught how to take care of herself. She could fight, and she always carried a knife when she wasn’t on stage, but if she found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time and a group of city “louts” caught her alone . . .

Those thoughts went through her mind in an instant. But all she said to Grandfather was, “Yes. It’s come together really well. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“And I can’t wait to see it.” He gave her a small, crooked smile. “You’re looking more like your mother all the time, you know. I . . .” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “I’d best go check on the fellows setting up the show tent. There might be some patching to do before tonight.” He glanced toward the city. The market, so busy and full of life not long before, had already largely vanished. Only a few vendors still raced to collapse their stalls, load their carts, and hurry inside the sheltering walls before nightfall. The sun had vanished early behind a rising wall of dark grey clouds. “Looks like it’s going to rain,” Grandfather commented, then headed off toward the centre of the camp.

Fifteen minutes later, with the horses seen to at last and the light quickly fading, Amlinn sought out Samarrind, Wisest of the Wise Women of Arrica.

As she crossed the camp, she glimpsed Grandfather by the show tent, carefully examining the canvas as the crew stood by. Before she reached the yellow-clad Wise Women, who were beginning to set up the Fence, the tent started to rise, its bright colours dimmed by the darkening sky.

Samarrind, shorter and slighter of build than Amlinn but white-haired with age, knelt in the dirt with her wagon-partner, Milla, herself twenty years Amlinn’s senior. Milla leaned back to wipe her brow and gave Amlinn a friendly wave before continuing to scoop out a shallow depression. Then she picked up the Fence’s keystone, resting at her side, and placed it in the depression. The complex twining shape of the copper-filled sigil carved into the black stone glinted dully in the grey light.

Samarrind slowly straightened her back, grimacing. “Daughter,” she greeted Amlinn. “How was your day?”

“Long. Boring,” Amlinn said.

Milla climbed to her feet, brushing the dirt from her hands, and helped Samarrind stand, too. The Wisest looked down at the half-buried keystone. “Very good.” Then she turned to survey the rest of the camp.

Other pairs of Wise Women worked on either side of them, about fifty steps in each direction. To their right, one of the women waved. A moment later, so did one to their left. Samarrind nodded. “The circle is complete. The lesser Fencestones are in place.” She glanced west toward the rain clouds that swept ever nearer. “The sun is almost down. Step aside, Milla, and I will activate the keystone.”

Milla took three steps back.

Though the gathering clouds were impenetrable to Amlinn’s vision, she knew that whether the sun was visible or not, Samarrind could tell to within a few seconds exactly when it would set each day.

“Almost time,” Samarrind murmured. She knelt, and from beneath her robes drew a rod about the length and diameter of Amlinn’s little finger, made of copper engraved with delicate, intricate symbols. She closed her eyes. “Almost.”

Amlinn might have been imagining it, but it seemed to her that the gathering twilight darkened at the same instant that Samarrind touched the rod to the sigil of the Fence’s keystone.

With a crackle, the Fence sprang to life, and a wall of glowing blue light surrounded the Freefolk camp. The hair on Amlinn’s head and arms stirred as though alive, and a sharp smell assailed her nostrils. Some Freefolk claimed to hate it, but she loved that odour. It meant the Fence was working. It meant the Nightdwellers couldn’t get in.

It meant tonight, no children would lose their parents to the monsters of the forest.

Twelve years ago, Amlinn had awakened to the terrifying sound of grown-ups screaming. Her parents had been just outside their wagon, enjoying wine and conversation with friends around the fire. The Nightdwellers had found a tree loosened by some recent storm and pushed it over. It crashed into the roof of one of the wagons, forming a ramp and opening a gap in the top of the Fence. Even as the tree burst into flames, the Nightdwellers raced up and over it, taking the Freefolk by surprise.

Everyone around the fire, five men and four women, had died horribly, torn limb from limb. Amlinn and four other children were orphaned in that moment. Not far away, three more women had died trying to protect their children, to no avail: three boys and two girls, all under the age of seven, had likewise perished. The Nightdwellers, four furred, screaming beasts, were slain with crossbows and their bodies flung unceremoniously over the Fence as a warning to their fellows in the forest, but far, far too late.

Except for the screaming, Amlinn’s only other memory of that night was Samarrind kneeling beside her, wiping her tears, and giving her Sisspeth, the small rag doll she’d kept in her bed ever since. The Wisest had picked her up and told her to close her eyes. Then she’d swiftly carried Amlinn away. That night, Samarrind had cared for and comforted her. Though Amlinn had soon moved into her grandfather’s wagon, Samarrind had continued to care for and comfort her ever since.

Now, with the Fence glowing blue, Amlinn moved forward and held out her hand to the woman who had been the nearest thing she had had to a mother for most of her life. Samarrind took it with a small smile and let Amlinn help her to her feet. She squeezed Amlinn’s fingers. Amlinn squeezed back before letting go and turning away to look toward the centre of the camp. Her throat constricted strangely, and she seemed to have something in her eyes. Dust, perhaps, from the rising wind beginning to whip the flags atop the show tent. “The east gate will re-open in a couple of hours,” Amlinn said, her voice rough. “The Citydwellers will descend upon us.”

“I know,” Samarrind said. “They will come to watch you dance.”

Amlinn heard the disapproval in Samarrind’s voice. It wasn’t what she needed to hear right then. “Will you?” she asked, not looking at the Wisest. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please?”

“Why does it matter to you?” Samarrind said softly.

Amlinn turned to face her again. “Because I don’t dance for the Citydwellers,” she said fiercely. “I dance for myself. I dance . . . I dance for . . .” Her throat tried to squeeze shut on her words. “I dance for my parents. For Mom, who danced before me. The applause of the Citydwellers means nothing. But . . .” But if you would applaud, it would mean everything, she wanted to say. The words would not emerge.

Samarrind’s dark eyes studied her face. “You know I disapprove,” she said at last.

“I know.” Amlinn tried a small smile. “But truthfully, Samarrind, making me a Wise Woman would have been a very un-Wise thing to do.”

“On the contrary, I think you would have made a fine Wise Woman,” Samarrind said. “You showed great aptitude for learning our lore. You’re bright and self-assured.” She c****d her head to one side and smiled a little in a return. “It’s still not too late.”

Amlinn shook her head. “I dance, Samarrind. I’m learning to sing. I’m even writing music. It’s what I really love. I appreciate what you do, what all the Wise Women do, and of course, I love the Goddess, but it’s not the life for me.”

“Ah, well,” Samarrind said. “You’re still young. I will not give up hope yet.” She gave Amlinn’s face another searching look, then sighed and gazed past her to the show tent. “I wish I could watch you dance, Amlinn. For you, I wish so much I could. But I cannot.” She took a deep breath and once again met Amlinn’s gaze, her face framed by the blue glimmer of the Fence. “I have spoken out against this undignified practice of entertaining the Citydwellers, the Vekrin-followers, too often to make an exception. Even for you. And to listen to the Citydwellers’ lewd comments as you dance . . . no. I cannot, Amlinn.”

Amlinn stared at the ground. “I’m sorry for asking,” she said in a small voice.

“No,” Samarrind said. Her hand touched Amlinn under the chin and lifted her head. “No, do not be sorry, child. Dance as you have never danced before. Dance for your mother. Dance for yourself. Ignore the Citydwellers and their catcalls.” She smiled. “And someday, when we are far away from every city, dance for me. I would like that very much.”

Amlinn’s heart lifted. “So would I,” she breathed. “So would I.” She threw her arms around Samarrind. The Wisest’s small frame felt almost child-like in her embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then a bell rang in the centre of the camp and Amlinn pulled back, clearing her throat. “Dinner. I’ll talk to you later and tell you how it went.”

Samarrind nodded. “Please.”

With a half-smile and a wave at the watching Milla, Amlinn turned and headed toward the fires blazing at the heart of the camp. As twilight deepened, the big tent glowed like a jewel from the sparkglobes within. A few tentative notes rose from the Sun Organ; Annjia, preparing for the evening’s program.

Amlinn looked west through the blue shimmer of the Fence to the walls of City Primaxis, little more than shadows in the vanishing light. Soon the city guards would re-open the east gate, which, like the Great Gate, closed at sunset. Crowds would stream toward the Freefolk camp, to sample exotic foods from the stalls being erected near the show tent, to buy goblets of exotic wines from the cities of the north, to buy broaches and earrings and scarves and a hundred other trinkets unavailable anywhere else . . . and, of course, to watch the musicians, jugglers, fire-eaters—and dancers.

To watch me, Amlinn thought. She hurried toward her dinner.