Watersmeet (19 page)

Haret stopped when she did, focused on the scene before them. The light of torches circled a clearing among the roots. As Abisina and Haret watched, figure after figure stepped forward to light a torch from a central fire, and then carried this light deeper into the trees, where it blinked out as its bearer moved among the enormous trunks.

“It’s Midsummer!” Haret exclaimed.

“What?”

“Of course! The bonfire—the lighting of the torches. It’s the Midsummer ritual. Don’t you celebrate it? The longest day of the year?”

“Vran’s birthfest? We celebrate that on the longest day of the year.”

“It has nothing to do with Vran! It’s a celebration of light—the sun rises the earliest and sets the latest. I’ve seen the fauns observe the ritual. They light the fire and carry it around their dancing grounds. Some even jump through it, and they burn a bit of holly, too. And look—there’s a faun!” They had crept down the bridge as Haret spoke, and the scene had become clearer. Haret pointed toward the bonfire where Abisina could make out a figure with horns on its head silhouetted against the flame.

“Fauns?” She hadn’t expected fauns in Watersmeet.

“Let’s go,” Haret said, all the worry erased from his voice.

Abisina hung back, but when Haret walked confidently down the slope of the bridge, she followed. He didn’t stop until he stood just outside the circle of light.

“And there are dwarves, too. And—and humans,” he whispered. “Look, Abisina!”

But she had already seen the human figures and taken a step back up the bridge. Entering the circle of light would mean humans staring at her again. Would they see right away that she was an outcast?

“What is it?” Haret asked, but before Abisina could answer, they were spotted.

“Hail the Midsummer!” A voice called from the fire, a human coming toward them with a flaming torch. Abisina tugged at the cord tying her hair back and let it fall in front of her face.

“In the dark, friends? This is the night of light!” The human was a woman, her tone friendly, but Abisina wouldn’t lift her eyes from the roots at her feet.

Light poured over Abisina’s boots as the woman held the torch high. Abisina stiffened, but the woman’s voice when she next spoke was curious, not cruel.

“Do I know you?”

“We’re—we’re not from around here,” Haret stammered.

“Are you from the northern wards, then? I thought I would recognize most from up that way.”

“That’s right,” Haret said hurriedly. “We’re from the northern wards.”

Abisina stole a glance at the woman.

Her skin was as white as bone, and her hair fell down her back in waves of ebony streaked with gray. But the way she speaks, the way she holds herself––she’s clearly not outcast!

“I’m Frayda,” the woman continued, and then, catching sight of their tattered leggings and stained tunics, she asked, “Have you been—”

“Hunting!” Haret jumped in, and Abisina touched her bow as if in agreement.

“Well, you’re back just in time. We’re ready to move on to the Gathering.” Frayda went back to the fire, picked up two smoldering torches, and blew on them. Most of the others had already taken their fiery brands and were leaving the clearing to head deeper into the trees. Abisina looked around her. Brightly painted doors peeked out from between the gaps, caves, and nooks created by the roots, opening right into the tree trunks.

“Here.” Frayda held out the now flaming torches. “You can have these.” As Abisina reached for the torch, her hair slid back, and Frayda, catching Abisina’s eye, smiled. With growing hope, Abisina followed Frayda into a maze of pathways paved with roots.

The trails wound in and around the huge trunks, smaller trails flowing into larger ones, and then into larger ones still, creating roads and boulevards that dipped and dived, arching over the rivers and their tributaries. Torchbearers traveled along the pathways, the light streaming like tails of fire off into the distance.

Abisina studied the human faces she passed, and each one filled her with more hope. One woman had loamy brown skin and hair only slightly lighter than Frayda’s; a young boy’s brown hair flopped over his Vranian blue eyes; a little girl had hair the color of sunset braided down her back. The dwarves and fauns traveling the trails were as varied as the humans.

But then Abisina stopped again. In front of her, four or five paces away, where their root trail joined a wider one, three centaurs waited.

A pair of dwarves had just stepped in front of the centaurs and though Abisina did not catch the words that passed between them, the lead centaur threw back his head, his laugh booming off the surrounding trunks.

Haret grabbed her around the waist before she fell, holding her tightly. “Steady, human!”

“Centaurs!” she gasped.

“I know. But human—they’re welcome here. There are some more—” Haret pointed to his left, but Abisina refused to look.

Frayda slowed. “Is everything all right? Is she ill?”

“Weak with hunger,” Haret said. “We were hunting pretty far out and had to push hard to get here by Midsummer. She’s worn out.”

A shadow of confusion crossed Frayda’s face, but she moved to the side of the pathway. Haret lowered Abisina to the ground. “I’ll step into this ward,” Frayda said, indicating a clearing with ten or twelve doorways opening on to it, “and find something for her to eat.”

“I’m sorry,” Abisina whispered as Frayda left and Haret raised his water skin to her lips. “I saw those centaurs, and I—” but Haret shushed her and made her drink.

By the time Frayda returned, Abisina had taken several sips of Vigar’s water—still cold and invigorating, and bringing Abisina a little of the garden’s peace.

“We’re lucky,” Frayda said as she handed over half a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese. “All the wards are emptying, everyone gone to the celebration, but I managed to find something for her.”

Abisina took a bite of the bread, trying to look famished, but she could barely choke it down.

“Er—thank you,” Haret began, “but don’t let us make you late. You go on ahead—to the Gathering. We’ll follow as soon as she’s up to it.”

Frayda looked at Abisina as if for confirmation.

Abisina took another big bite of bread and nodded.

When Frayda had gone, Abisina gave up the pretense of hunger. “Centaurs, Haret! Here!”

“It’s not what we expected, but these centaurs—they’re different than Icksyon’s herd. They’re part of things here. They look—I don’t know—civil.”

Abisina shook her head. “They’re
centaurs
.”

The light of the torches faded around them as the last stragglers hurried along the root roads toward the meeting place. Abisina got to her feet. “We’d better go. Before there is no one left to follow.”

They jogged the rest of the way, always choosing the larger trail when they came to a junction. They crossed at least three bridges, one disconcertingly high, and ran into several fauns and a dwarf hurrying in the same direction. One young faun mumbled, “Fell asleep! Father will have my horns!” as he rushed by them. Thankfully, the only centaurs they saw were far ahead.

At last, they came to the top of the highest bridge they had crossed yet. At the end, bars of light from thousands of torches glowed between heavy trunks. “That must be it,” Haret said. Abisina nodded, not trusting her voice.

The bridge brought them between two gigantic trees to the top of a great amphitheater. Fifteen trees stood in a perfect ring around the theater, and between each, root trails emptied the last of the assembling crowd. The sides of the theater sloped gently down from their feet. A whirlpool of roots created tier upon tier of steps filled with the folk of Watersmeet, each holding a burning torch. The light rose far up the trunks to the canopy of branches. The theater throbbed as humans, dwarves, fauns, and centaurs produced a note deep in their chests that rose with the light toward the sky.

Abisina and Haret joined two graying dwarves and a family of dark-skinned, brown-haired humans—a man with a baby, a woman, and two girls about Abisina’s age. The closest centaur was many paces away along the edge of the theater.

The hum of the crowd filled Abisina, lifted, and held her. She stretched her torch arm as high as she could and added her voice to the swelling sound. And then, in response to some cue that she didn’t see, the humming rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell until it was gone, leaving the theater silent but for the hiss of torches. All eyes focused on a point somewhere below and she stood on tiptoe, trying to see what held the crowd’s attention.

“Watersmeet!” came a strong, female voice, traveling around the sides of the theater.

“Hi-yah!” the crowd answered as one.

“Watersmeet!” the voice came again.

“Hi-yah!” said the crowd.

And again: “Watersmeet!”

“Hi-yah!”

“As is our custom, we gather together to welcome Midsummer,” the voice went on. “We’ve carried the light through our homes and through all of Watersmeet, driving out any darkness, chill, or illness left from winter. Tonight, we revel!”

Joyous shouts swelled as the folk shook their torches aloft. Two young dwarves a step below Abisina linked arms and spun around and around until one of the gray-haired dwarves to her left bent over and spoke to them. They stopped spinning and grinned sheepishly at their elders; Abisina couldn’t help but smile.

“But first!” the high voice rang out. “We have news!”

A murmur swept the crowd. The dwarf next to Abisina said to her companion, “Can he be back so soon?” and one of the younger dwarves turned to add, “That’s what I heard, but your ears were like rock when
I
spoke, Mama!”

“Folk of Watersmeet!” The crowd quieted, expectation thick in the air. “I give you the Keeper of Watersmeet, Rueshlan!”

For the second time, Abisina’s knees gave way. She reached out to Haret, but before she caught hold of his shoulder, the crowd around her shuffled to clear a space at the lip of the amphitheater.

“Step back,” the human father with the baby reminded his daughters. Haret, his hand suddenly on Abisina’s arm, pulled her a few steps along the rim of the theater.

A figure stood in the shadows on the bridge behind them. As an aisle formed, the figure stepped into the light.

Abisina heard a cry and realized it had come from her.

The tallest man she had ever seen was walking past her. He stood a full head taller than Misalan, the biggest man in Vranille. His skin was burnished copper, and his hair, raven-colored, fell beyond his knees. As he stepped past, he paused, and Abisina saw his profile—a strong, straight nose, full lips—and caught the glint of torchlight on his black eyes.

She knew immediately who he was.

Abisina wanted to leap forward and slink away at the same time. She was sure he would hear the pounding of her heart or feel her hungry stare—and what would she do then? But after a pause, he descended the tiers of roots, flanked by a centaur on either side.

“That’s him,” she breathed to Haret. “That’s my father.”

A few tiers from the top, a faun greeted Rueshlan in an embrace. Then the two centaurs at his side stepped behind him and blocked Abisina’s view.

A hush settled over the theater. “Watersmeet!” a new voice called in rich tones that made Abisina shiver.

My father’s voice.

“Hi-yah, Rueshlan!” the crowd responded, and the greeting was repeated twice more.

“Hail the Midsummer!” he called, and cheers echoed around the bowl. “I will not hold you long from your feasts and dancing and merrymaking!” Another cheer swelled from the crowd. “I am so glad to be back among you in time for our most joyous celebration.” Abisina could hear the smile in his voice. “And I come with good news from the fairies’ Motherland!” Rueshlan continued as the shouts subsided. “We have long hoped to bring the fairies to our Midsummer revels as recognition of the ancient friendship between Watersmeet and the Motherland.”

Excitement buzzed around the amphitheater. The dwarf-mother near Abisina said, “It can’t be!” while her child said, “I told you that, too, Mother!”

“This year”—Rueshlan spoke over the hum—“we will indeed welcome the fairies. At our final Midsummer Gathering in three days’ time, Lohring, Daughter of the Fairy Mother, and her attendants will lead our celebration!” The crowd’s response was jubilant. The light intensified as torches were raised again.

“Look around you, Watersmeet!” Rueshlan could hardly be heard above the cheers. “Look at the light you bring! Hail the Midsummer!” And the shouts redoubled.

Before the roar faded, the crowd was on the move, streaming up from the bottom of the amphitheater toward the bridges. The folk on the bottom tiers left first, working their way through hastily cleared aisles, calling greetings, clasping hands, embracing. Each tier followed in succession. Abisina was in the tier that would leave last, and if Rueshlan followed the same path out, he would again walk within feet of her.

Haret must have had the same thought. As the merry fauns, dwarves, humans, and centaurs paraded by them, he whispered, “You have to speak to him!”

Abisina’s stomach clenched. “I can’t!”