‘I can set guards on the tables if you wish,’ Shamavah said when she caught Renna looking.
‘No need,’ Arlen said. ‘Ent no one gonna steal anything here.’
Shamavah nodded. ‘As you wish.’
It went on for some time, and Renna felt herself slowly unclenching as the Krasian woman handled everything with smooth efficiency. Whoever this Shamavah wife of whatever was, she was a lifesaver.
There was a shout, and a group of Wooden Soldiers broke through the crowd, their lacquered armour and polished shields shining as they pushed the revellers back. Renna felt Arlen tense a moment, and even Shamavah stiffened. But then the soldiers split, opening a path for Count Thamos, looking as dashing in silk and velvet as he did in his armour. His heavy medallion of office hung at his chest, and he wore a golden circlet of ivy in his hair, a mind ward moulded at its centre.
The count walked right up to Renna, dropping smoothly into a court bow that had one knee hovering barely an inch off the cobbles.
‘Congratulations to you on your wedding night.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Please accept this small token from the people of Hollow County.’ He waved behind him, and Arther ran forward, looking a bit breathless. He, too, wore finery, but it seemed more hastily thrown on. He held out a box of black velvet that the count took, opening it as he turned, still bowing, to present it to Renna.
There, on a bed of silk, was a necklace of delicate gold, at its centre a cluster of gemstones surrounding an emerald the size of a dog’s eye. Renna was still getting used to the idea of money – something they had little use for in Tibbet’s Brook – but she knew a fortune when she saw it.
She reached out, brushing the sharply cut stones with her fingertips. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Arther came smoothly forward once more, taking the box as Thamos lifted the necklace high for all to see. ‘It will look more beautiful still about your throat,’ he said loudly.
It was an incredible gift, worth more by far than all the others, but something about it rang false. The Hollowers were giving the most personal things they had. Thamos, his fingers bedecked with gem-studded rings, was just giving her money. Did he really care she was married, or was this just politics?
With the pad of her thumb, Renna rubbed at the woven band about her finger. The necklace was indeed beautiful, but she had all the jewellery she would ever need.
She smiled, raising her voice to match the count’s. ‘Thank you, Your Highness. I would be honoured to wear it tonight, but I cannot accept such a gift while folk still go hungry in Hollow County.’
Shamavah hissed, and there was a slight twitch at the corners of Thamos’ smile, but he recovered smoothly, bowing again as he fastened it about her throat. ‘It is yours to do with as you please, Mrs Bales. Sell it on the morrow, and you will fill many an empty belly.’
Renna smiled and nodded, and the crowd cheered again. Arlen took her hand, squeezing. She could feel his love in that simple gesture.
Leesha looked up as Wonda came to the door, knocking at the same time she opened it as was her habit. She and Rojer were back at the table, having spent the better part of an hour staring at their cups, lost in thought.
‘Sorry to disturb, Mistress Leesha,’ Wonda said, ‘but there’s a commotion down in town. Dunno what’s goin’ on, but you can hear it all the way out here, so I doubt it’s good.’
Leesha set down her cup and reached for the half-warded cloak she had been making to replace the one she had given Ahmann. The ever-present headache, faded for a moment, flared back to life. ‘Creator, is a quiet night too much to ask?’
Rojer was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing his cloak and fiddle case. ‘Amanvah and Sikvah are down there’ was all he said, going for the door.
‘Rojer, wait!’ Leesha cried, but he was already gone, running like all the Core was at his heels.
Wonda watched him go and sighed. ‘Hope those Krasian girls know what they’ve got. Give anything for a man to feel like that about me.’
Leesha put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Magic’s put you in body of a woman, Wonda, and I know you’ve been with boys in the … heat that follows a demon hunt, but you’re only sixteen. There’s time still to figure out men and try a few on for size. And you don’t need a man to run and save you like most girls.’
Wonda nodded. ‘Ay, think that’s the problem.’ She waved a hand over her scarred face. ‘That and this. I’m good for a sticking, ay, but no one’s looking to bring me to the solstice dance.’
‘If any man looks at you and only sees the scars, he doesn’t deserve you,’ Leesha said.
‘Might be better off stuffing a sock in my trousers and chasing girls than waiting for one who does,’ Wonda said as they started out along the path to town.
‘Nonsense,’ Leesha said. ‘You keep your head held high, and they’ll be fighting over you before long, Wonda Cutter. You mark me.’
They set a strong pace, but Leesha resisted the urge to break into a run. Years of keeping pace with Bruna’s slow shuffle had taught her patience. ‘If folk can’t live long enough for me to get to ’em, there isn’t much I could do anyway,’ her teacher used to say. ‘No good to anyone if I fall and break my hip.’
There was a large rock beside the path about halfway to town, and a silhouette stood atop it, barely visible in the wardlight. Wonda trained her bow on it as they approached, but as they drew nearer they saw it was only Rojer, listening intently.
‘Whatever it is, it ent trouble,’ Rojer said, hopping down beside them. ‘Sounds like a party.’ His relief was visible, but – never one to miss a party – he pressed for them to quicken the pace even more.
The music and cheers and laughter grew louder as they approached the Corelings’ Graveyard, creating an ever-present din. Leesha could see poles waving in the air as men hurriedly put up festival pavilions, and there were Jongleurs in the sound shell with women dancing on the stage.
‘What in the Core …?’ Rojer wondered.
Smitt’s young granddaughter Stela ran by, carrying a basket of freshly cut flowers. ‘Ay, Stela!’ Wonda called. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
Stela slowed and turned to look at them, but did not stop. ‘Ent you heard? Deliverer just got married!’ She turned back and took off, vanishing into the throng ahead.
Rojer and Wonda’s eyes snapped to Leesha. She could see them holding their breath, waiting to see her reaction.
‘Wonda,’ she said, ‘be a dear and run back to the cottage and fetch the festival flamework. Careful with it on your way back.’
Wonda looked at her a minute, then unstrung her bow, tucking it over her shoulder before setting off at a run.
‘You all right?’ Rojer asked.
Leesha shrugged. ‘He’s made his choice, Rojer. How I feel about it doesn’t really matter. Arlen Bales saved us, and this town, and if this is what he wants, what gives him peace …’
Rojer looked at her. ‘Then we shut up and dance.’
Leesha smiled. ‘Ay.’
Stela rushed by them again, and returned a few moments later with more flowers. This time Leesha stopped her, pressing a coin into her hand and taking a handful.
‘This way,’ Rojer said, moving towards a collection of Krasians, standing apart from the rest of the throng. At their forefront were Amanvah and Sikvah, a knot of dal’Sharum around them. Rojer quickened his pace, and Leesha had to lift her skirts to keep up.
Amanvah saw their approach and immediately went over to him, Sikvah a step behind. ‘Greetings, husband. It appears we have returned on an auspicious day for the Hollow tribe. It is said the Par’chin and his new Jiwah Ka gave no warning. Your tribesmen were not prepared, and were … chaotic in their joy. I sent Shamavah to facilitate for the bride before she was overwhelmed.’
‘That was very kind of you,’ Leesha said.
Amanvah bowed, but she did not take her eyes off Rojer. ‘It is an honour to observe your Northern wedding customs.’
Rojer shook his head. ‘We
dding celebrations aren’t meant to be observed, Amanvah. They’re meant to be enjoyed.’
Amanvah shook her head, and even Sikvah looked taken aback. ‘This is not our tribe …’
‘The Core it isn’t,’ Rojer said. ‘Are you my wives or not?’
Amanvah blinked. ‘Of course we are …’
‘Then …’ Rojer took her arms and drew in close to her, smiling as their noses touched through the thin white silk of her veil. ‘… please honour me by shutting up and dancing.’
With that, he took them both out into the wide space cleared in the Corelings’ Graveyard. People were reeling, spinning wildly into one another’s arms with practised efficiency. Amanvah and Sikvah watched the dance warily. No doubt there was nothing like it in Krasia. Any unmarried men and women so casually touching one another was against Evejan law, and no doubt touching a dama’ting who was not your wife would get a man’s hand cut off. Out of the corner of his eye, Rojer could see Enkido lurking nearby.
‘Look at me,’ Rojer commanded, and the women both turned to him. ‘I know this dance looks daunting, but it’s really quite simple. Watch my feet.’ He traced a quick series of steps, moving in a figure of eight. ‘You try,’ he said, continuing to move in the repeating pattern.
‘Good!’ Rojer cried as they did. ‘Now clap your hands and stomp your feet to the beat of the music.’ He began to clap as his feet beat a steady pattern on the cobblestones.
‘Ay, now you’re getting it,’ Rojer said and moved his pattern to intersect Amanvah. ‘When we swing close, lock my arm, and I’ll use your momentum to spin you about and back into place. Then you just keep on.’
‘Like in sharusahk.’ Amanvah nodded. She caught his arm smoothly, leaping slightly to assist as he spun her. She kept the beat easily, and a laugh escaped her as she touched down and kept on.
‘Now Sikvah!’ Rojer said, turning to his other wife and bowing as he danced her way. Sikvah squealed with delight as he lifted her.
And so it went, as they fell into a pattern with him alternating between them. Both women were laughing openly now, and Rojer felt his heart swell.
‘This way!’ Rojer shouted, and caught both their arms, dancing them into the crowd. The women both shrieked as other men came at them, but then a thick-armed Cutter swept Amanvah off, setting her back just in time for Rojer to catch her arm next.
‘Everam’s beard,’ Amanvah gasped, breathless, but there was joy in her voice.
‘You honour us by sharing in our traditions,’ Rojer said before she was swept off by the next man in line. He turned just in time to catch Sikvah from one of Benn Blower’s apprentices.
‘I can’t believe I just did that!’ Sikvah shrieked with glee.
It went on for some time. The sight of a dama’ting dancing drew other Krasian men and women into the crowd, clapping and stomping. They kept to families, but began to imitate the dance, laughing as they spun one another about.
One of the Jongleurs on the stage spotted Rojer and pointed with the bow of his fiddle, shouting, ‘Halfgrip!’
It went through the crowd with a roar. ‘Halfgrip! Halfgrip! Get up on stage!’ The dancing stopped cold, and all eyes turned to him. Rojer bowed to his wives, pausing to whisper briefly in Amanvah’s ear, then pulled out his fiddle case and leapt up the steps into the sound shell as the women moved away. The Hollowers cheered as one as he walked centre stage.
From the new vantage, Rojer could see the happy couple, Arlen and Renna, surrounded by a throng of people, waving and shaking hands. Shamavah stood on Renna’s free side, Gared at Arlen’s, keeping everyone respectful and tending their needs.
‘It’s an honour to be here on such a special night,’ Rojer said loudly. He didn’t have his magic chinrest to amplify the sound, but the shell was almost as good, and Rojer knew how to project in any event. The crowd quieted, and he saw Arlen and Renna look up at him. He waved broadly in return. ‘I wouldn’t be here tonight, ay, none of us might, if not for that man, there.’ He pointed. ‘Arlen Bales. He’s saved my life more times than I can count, once in this very place.’
From all over the square, there were cries of agreement. Rojer let them go a moment, heightening the sense, then patted the air till they died out. He cast about the crowd, and, seeing a man with a foaming mug of ale, gestured, taking the cup and raising it high. ‘And now, our friend has chosen a beautiful bride.’ He swept another hand. ‘I give you Renna Bales!’
There was a roar, and hundreds of Cutters drank as one as Rojer quaffed the entire mug, tossing it back to the man, who held it up like a trophy.
‘I see a lot of new faces on this stage,’ Rojer said, turning to the masters of the Jongleurs’ Guild and their skilled apprentices, ‘but I’m going to play a song I wrote, and I hope they can follow along.’ He smiled to the crowd. ‘Maybe you can help them with the words.’
With that, he took his fiddle and began the opening notes to The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. Folk recognized them and began to cheer anew, stomping their feet so hard Rojer could feel the sturdy stage rattling. He saw Kendall lingering stage right and beckoned her, twirling his bow until she began to play as well.
Together they began the melody, a song they had played together a thousand times. The other Jongleurs had obviously learned the song, because they joined the pair smoothly, accompanying their lead as Rojer began to sing. He kept the tempo slow, letting each verse be its own little world as he took the Hollowers through all the trials and triumph of that night.
There was a solo in the piece, but Kendall kept playing even as the other players fell silent. Her fiddling had improved greatly since he’d seen her last, and she smirked at him.
Never one to back down from a musical challenge, the solo became a battle, as each of them played increasingly complex tunes, Kendall keeping pace to the point where Rojer laughed aloud and let her have the final round before he went into the next verse of the song. People threw up their hands and cheered when the last note fell and the players went silent. Throughout the audience, folk were wiping at tears.
He caught a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye, and turned back to see Amanvah and Sikvah approaching, his Jiwah Ka in bright red and orange silks, his Jiwah Sen in blue and green. The cloth was opaque, but as thin and flowing as one would expect of Krasian silk. They were bedecked in warded jewellery, and wore their warded chokers.
They ascended the stage as the Hollowers stared and gasped. The cut was more modest than they wore in the bedchamber, but still showed far more skin than any Krasian woman, even a dama’ting, would dare in public. Even by Northern standards, the attire was scandalous.
Amanvah bowed, presenting Rojer with his chinrest. ‘Thank you, my Jiwah Ka,’ he said, taking the rest and attaching it to the base of his fiddle.
He turned back to the crowd. ‘I’ve learned a new song while I was away. I had to translate it into Thesan and make a few changes, but it’s about something important to us all, and I think the warded couple would like to hear it.’ He nodded to Arlen. ‘I hope you enjoy it.’
And with that, he began the Song of Waning. There was no hesitation now, and Amanvah and Sikvah joined him smoothly. With the wards amplifying them and the sound shell directing the sound, the song shook the crowd with its power.
The other players stayed silent, afraid to join in as they listened intently. The Hollowers did the same, their eyes wide.
When it was over, there was utter silence. Rojer looked up at Arlen and raised an eyebrow. The man was more than a hundred yards away, but Rojer did not doubt he caught the gesture. He nodded, and began clapping loudly. Soon the entire throng was clapping along, hooting and stomping their feet.
‘Now,’ Rojer called with a smile, ‘let’s shut up and dance!’ He kicked back into another reel, and the other players fell over themselves to ready their instruments and join in.
Leesha could have cut the line. She was Mistress of the Hollow, and these were still her children. If she had walked right up to
the couple, none would have barred her way. Indeed, they would bow from her path as soon as they saw her face.
But Leesha was in no hurry, content with time to sort through her thoughts. Her fingers worked nervously at the flowers as she watched Arlen and Renna. The young woman was smiling broadly, the thanks on her lips and in her eyes sincere as the Hollowers came to pay their respects.
You don’t know a corespawned thing about her, Leesha told herself, but even as she did, she knew it for a lie. She did know one thing. Arlen loved her. If she truly cared for him, that should be enough.
Still, even with Rojer’s playing, the line moved alarmingly fast, and before long it was her turn and she stepped up before them.
Everyone froze for a moment, even Gared. Only Shamavah was unfazed. ‘Mistress Leesha Paper, daughter of Erny,’ she advised Renna as she wrote the name on her list.
Leesha smiled and gave a curtsy. ‘A bride should have a proper wreath for her hair,’ she said, holding up the circlet she’d woven from the flowers in Stela’s basket.
Renna looked at her, and her eyes said so much more than any words could. They shimmered, wet with tears. ‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’ She bowed as Leesha reached up to place it atop her head.
‘Blessings upon your marriage,’ Leesha said, turning to Arlen. He opened his arms, and she fell into them, squeezing him tightly once and then quickly letting go.
She hoped he didn’t notice the tears on his shirt. Wonda appeared, holding the reins of a heavily laden mule, and Leesha excused herself to hurry over to the girl.
‘Got all the good ones,’ Wonda said.
‘Thank you,’ Leesha said, handing a passing boy a twist of festival crackers and a match. His smile took in his ears and he gave a delighted shout, running off with his prize. ‘Do you think you could see about getting me a drink?’