22. The Forbidden Dance (Adranaya)¶
“Morning,” Adra said, knocking on Vaye’s lintel. “Do you like dancing?”
She realized her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. This was the first time Adra had worked up the nerve to invite Vaye somewhere without Gadarien, and she’d already fumbled it. One of the many stereotypes about Anashim was that they used their preternaturally sensual movements to seduce innocent Sarmalans into all kinds of titillatingly forbidden acts. It was a popular trope in Sarmalan erotica, a genre with which Adra was embarrassingly familiar.
Vaye’s stiffness was quickly replaced by a placid smile. “Why do you ask?”
Adra resisted the urge to bolt. After an awkward dozendays, Gadarien had finally managed to get the three of them to start spending time together. Vaye had been cordial, but aloof, offering only tantalizing glimpses of her true personality, slivers of her fears and desires and sense of humor flashing past like veins of color in a black opal. Hoping to finally penetrate the Anashi’s wall of impassivity, Adra had spent the entire morning talking herself into starting this conversation, only to immediately say something offensive.
“Uh, well, I just noticed how you move. You know, in training. Not that I was watching you... Um. Yeah. So I thought maybe you might want to...” Adra stopped before she made even more of a fool of herself. What was wrong with her? She wanted to run to her room and hide under her desk, or perhaps find a nice pile of rocks and bury herself. “I’m sorry. Never mind.” She turned to leave, shutting her eyes and clenching her fists.
“Actually,” Vaye said to her back, “I love dancing.”
Adra turned, her hope rising like a cloud of butterflies. “Really?”
“Yeah,” said the Anashi. Her expression had softened, perhaps out of pity. “And I don’t remember the last time I let myself.”
“Great! I mean, not great that you haven’t... Um, there’s this troupe of musicians in town from Hoshin. They’re incredible, I saw them in Kizdesh once. And they’re performing in the Street of Sighs today. Want to come?”
“Today? Like, right now?”
“Um. Yes?” Adra said, realizing that she should have asked days ago. Sometimes she forgot that others weren’t as impulsive as she was. “Are you busy?”
Vaye looked down at the array of diagrams she was studying—meridians of the legs and feet, by the looks of it—and sighed. “I could use a break.”
“Great!” Adra said, her voice squeaking like a chair scraping the floor.
Vaye rose to her feet, making even that simple motion look fluid and athletic. “Gadarien didn’t want to come?” she said, a bit too nonchalantly. He had refused to divulge what had passed between the two of them, quoting some Cantereian saying about chirping birds getting eaten by cats. But Adra knew a budding romance when she saw one.
“He said he doesn’t like Hoshinese music,” Adra explained. “I doubt he’s even heard it, but you know Gadarien. He’s always so certain about everything.”
“His loss, I guess,” Vaye said. “Just let me mark my place in these diagrams.” She opened a small journal and began jotting something down for each sheet.
“What for?” Adra said, confused. “We’re coming back later today.”
Vaye paused, looking uncharacteristically flummoxed. “The School searches my things when I’m not here. Nothing ends up in the same place.”
Adra gaped, not sure what to say. “Why?”
“Because Yobaza doesn’t like me,” Vaye said, continuing to make her marks. She finished and shut the journal decisively, then put it away in her desk drawer.
“That’s awful!” Adra exclaimed. “We should complain to the—”
Vaye held up her hand. “Drawing attention will just make it worse. Trust me.”
Adra shut her mouth. “Sorry,” she said.
“It’s not your fault,” Vaye said, shouldering her pack. “Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it, so let’s go dance.”
Adra nodded, glad she didn’t have to figure out what else to say. Each dozendays, novitiates received a free afternoon to explore Thelenza, see their families, or do whatever else they wished, and the halls were bustling with small groups heading down to the city. “So you said you used to dance when you were younger?” Adra asked, eager to move on to a safer topic.
“Yeah, it’s called Kravadi,” Vaye said. “It’s a combination of a fighting style, a language, and a prayer. Every Anashi kid grows up learning it.”Adra had been unsure whether to ask the Anashi about her culture, but Vaye’s demeanor was slightly more energetic than usual.
“That must be why you pick everything up so quickly,” Adra said. “A couple repetitions and suddenly you’re doing the moves better than anyone. I’ve been studying those forms for years and you make me look like a piece of driftwood.”
Vaye glanced at her quizzically. “What are you talking about? You’re the most graceful person in our cohort.”
Adra almost tripped over her feet. She had always struggled with receiving compliments. If it came from someone she didn’t respect, like Hainzu, she could easily dismiss it as obsequiousness. But when it came from someone whose opinion she cared about, all she could do was change the subject. “So was there a big Anashi community where you grew up?”
The scuff of their footfalls bounced off the polished tile, fading as they entered the vast entry hall of the School, where the huge bell hung overhead like a thundercloud. On one of the walls, an elaborate tapestry depicting the rise of the first Vorkyrda shimmered in the bright light pouring through the doorway, the witchglass threads making the fiery whirlwind in the center appear to move. Vaye shifted her bag on her shoulder, squinting at the wall. “No, it was a small village, so it was just me and my mother. I never knew my father.”
“Do you...” Adra started, then stopped herself. “Sorry. I’m not sure what’s polite to ask about.”
The Anashi glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Well, you’re one of very few people who bothers to ask instead of just assuming you know.”
“Sorry. Or, um, thanks?”
Vaye grinned and nudged Adra with her elbow. It was the first time the Anashi had genuinely smiled at her, and it felt like clouds parting after months of gray. “Curiosity is a pillar of Anashi culture. Wanting to learn puts you well on your way to honorary Anashi status.” Adra flushed, smiling down at her feet.
The conversation flowed more readily after that, carrying them down the steep alleys into the heart of Thelenza. Vaye was happy to share her culture with someone who listened with respect, and Adra talked about her life in Kizdesh, gushing about the exotic foods she’d tried and the musical troupes she’d seen. It was easy enough to avoid talking about how it had all gone wrong. She could tell that there were things in Vaye’s past that she didn’t want to talk about either, and they both instinctively navigated around the treacherous topics lurking beneath the surface.
At the edge of the Cantereian Market, a vendor was advertising his cheap tin cooking pots by banging on them with a spoon. “Wow, that’s loud,” Vaye half-shouted, grimacing.
“Yeah, let’s go this way,” Adra replied, turning toward Daybreak Yard. “I need to make a stop anyway.” They curved around the edge of the market, pausing to admire some Cantereian root-weavings. The living sculptures were made from vines that had been coaxed to grow in intricate patterns, forming tables and baskets that produced their own colorful flowers, each with a base full of soil.
They continued around the edge of the main square until they neared Feather and Vine. Vaye pointed to the sigil and chuckled. “I used to collect trimmings from the bin behind this shop.” Adra unlocked the door, pausing only when she noticed Vaye gawking. “Wait. You have keys to this place?”
“Uh, yeah.” Adra cringed inwardly. She had been distracted by their conversation and hadn’t thought about what it would be like for Vaye to be reminded of the disparity in their affluence. “My parents own it.”
“Shit, that was you!” Vaye said, looking around in wonder. It was dark in the shop, the window only letting in a sliver of filtered light. Even in the gloom, the witchglass merchandise glinted like crystals in a cave wall. Adra turned a crank, opening a damper in the ceiling that allowed daylight to pour through the chandelier and burst across the walls. “You work for your parents?” Vaye said.
Adra slipped behind the counter and began putting in her piercings. “I used to, before I enrolled at the School. These days, I only come in when the staff can’t make it. The Cantereian ladies who work here keep my stuff safe in exchange for helping them out.” Her parents weren’t aware of this arrangement, but Vaye didn’t need to know about that. Adra grinned, feeling more like her true self with her witchglass in and her hair free. “Recognize me now?”
“You look so different,” Vaye said. “It really suits you. Still, I feel like an idiot. I should have put it together.”
“It’s not your fault,” Adra said mischievously, emerging from behind the counter and tossing her hair back to show off the ornaments. “Sarmalans all look the same.”
Vaye laughed. “No, there’s no one else who looks like you.”
Adra blushed again. The compliment was still hard to accept, but her piercings made her feel more confident, more like the person she had chosen to be instead of the one her family had raised.
The Anashi’s smile faded as she looked at the back door of the shop, frowning in thought. “What’s wrong?” Adra said.
Vaye shook her head. “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go catch the show.”
Adra locked up and they headed toward the far corner of the market. The Eyewall was barely visible in the gaps between the canvas tarps, its rumble obscured by haggling and laughter and snatches of song. They paused briefly to gawk at some crumbling, disturbingly erotic pottery purported to be from Old Tisuul. (The prices were authentically high, at least.) Like usual, an afternoon mist had formed, so light that it felt like walking through a cloud.
Just before they reached the courtyard abutting the Street of Sighs where the performance would be held, someone hissed at them from an alley. A knife appeared in Vaye’s hand before Adra even registered her movement. But the hiss was only an old, bug-eyed Cantereian man with scraggly hair, holding out a platter of sticky, silvery-yellow spheres and beckoning through the fog like a swamp spirit.
Adra’s breath caught in her throat. The temptation he was offering was never far from her thoughts, sprouting up in her consciousness no matter how many times she ripped it out. At the School, surrounded by her studies and away from her old haunts, she had been able to avoid thinking about it, knowing all too well what the stakes were if she got in trouble again. But having it literally waved in front of her was another matter.
“What is that?” Vaye said, pointing her knife at the spheres.
Adra gently pushed her arm down. “It’s a very, very good time.” As though pulled on a leash, she moved toward the man and his platter, Vaye following reluctantly. “Are those Moons of Paradise?” Adra asked in Cantereian. “How much?”
“For you, lovely niece, four silvers per moon. They’ll send you right to the stars.”
“You speak Cantereian?” Vaye said, surprised.
Adra shrugged. “Enough for buying certain things.” The price was reasonable, but Cantereians thought of haggling as a mark of respect. To accept a merchant’s initial offer was to imply that you thought them soft. “How about two for six?” she said to the dealer.
“I can give you two for seven. Pure and sweet. You won’t find better outside Rilão.”
“Okay,” Adra said, pulling out her purse.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Vaye said in a low voice, glancing around. The fog had descended in earnest now, isolating them on an island of pavement. “What if he has friends?”
“We’re novitiates,” Adra said. “No one will mess with us, they’re too afraid of the Sihiri.” She understood Vaye’s trepidation, although she no longer shared it. Her anti-Cantereian indoctrination had been as thorough as any upper-class Sarmalan’s, but her experiences in Kizdesh had ripped away her blinders, and she had gotten to know the Cantereian community in Thelenza well enough to feel comfortable in most parts of town.
Still, she hesitated before handing over the silver. She had been so disciplined. Did she really want to break her streak? Surely she deserved to relax every once in a while, though, to be kind to herself. And Vaye deserved that even more. Besides, it wasn’t like Adra had gone looking for this. The dealer had emerged from the mist like a divine messenger. If that wasn’t fate, what was?
The Cantereian took the coins. Producing a pair of surprisingly clean tongs and two sheets of waxed paper, he deftly wrapped up the spheres, twisting each package shut with a flourish.
“Are you going to tell me what this is?” the Anashi said, frowning as Adra handed her one of the balls.
“They’re called Moons of Paradise. They make you feel... well, like you’re on the moon. And in paradise. They make you want to dance, and your skin gets all warm and tingly.”
Vaye sniffed the package and peered inside. “Smells like honey. Are you sure it’s safe? How long does it last?”
“We’ll be back to normal before bedtime,” Adra said, ignoring Vaye’s first question. Now that she had given in, she felt an odd sense of relief. The decision was made, and this was a road she had traveled many times. “It’s great, I promise. I used to do it all the time back in Kizdesh.” She looked down, avoiding Vaye’s gaze. “And, um, it makes it really feel nice to be touched.”
Vaye pursed her lips, looking from Adra to the packet in her hand. Her brow was crinkled, her shoulders lifted in tension. Then she shrugged and put the ball in her mouth, pulling it off the paper with her teeth.. Adra grinned and did the same, licking the paper clean, and took Vaye’s hand. “Come on, I can hear them warming up!”
They waded through the fog and rounded a corner into a small, paved courtyard, one side of which had been given over to a makeshift wooden stage. Strings of hanging lanterns suffused the misty space with a warm glow. Within an elaborate bamboo scaffold, Hoshinese musicians perched suspended in webs of rope like bits of flotsam, each playing multiple instruments. Dancers strode around in front of them on tall, painted stilts, wearing long masks decorated with leaves and feathers, their fingers extended by claws of carved bone.
The music began with a slow, inexorable drumbeat, punctuated by clicks and snaps like a crackling fire. The woodwinds added an eerie drone, soon overlaid by bright strings, their plucks echoing like raindrops in a well. The beat was driving and irresistible. Adra began to sway, invisible hands guiding her hips.
Then the Moons of Paradise kicked in.
The rush accelerated like a runaway sled. She glanced back at Vaye, who was standing very still, looking alarmed. Adra grabbed the Anashi’s hands and leaned forward to speak into her ear. “Just breathe,” she said. “Let the music in.” A wave of warmth rose through her body, familiar as her own voice.
Vaye nodded and closed her eyes, beginning to sway. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed, her body loosening, her movements becoming sinuous. The drug widened Adra’s vision, allowing her to see the drumbeat slithering up the Anashi’s lithe body, from her feet to her hips to her neck.
Adra slid her hands up Vaye’s arms, letting her fingertips rest on either side of her companion’s neck, studying the lovely contrast between her own iridescent hands and the living slate of Vaye’s skin. Vaye opened her eyes, her wide black pupils eclipsing the thin rings of orange. Adra wanted to dive into those pools of warm darkness and swim until she touched bottom.
The Anashi put her hands on Adra’s waist, and they moved together as one. Around them, steam rose from the bodies of other dancers, mingling with the mist and forming a dense curtain of anonymity. Adra let the beat draw them together until their hips were almost touching. Vaye’s hands moved, one up toward Adra’s head and one down toward her tailbone, then lower. She slid her fingers into Adra’s hair and grabbed a handful at the nape, grasping it firmly and evenly, just the way Adra liked it, as though she could read Adra’s thoughts.
“Yes,” she whispered, answering the question in Vaye’s eyes. Vaye kissed her like a famished worker served a hearty meal.
The music stopped suddenly—or at least it felt sudden to Adra, since time wasn’t moving like it normally did—and the crowd erupted in cheers, and Adra joined them. Through a gap in the mist, one of the Hoshinese performers bowed from his stilts and removed his mask with a grin. He thanked the crowd in perfect Sarmalic, then put his mask back on and signaled to the other performers to continue.
Adra turned back to Vaye, grinning, but the Anashi looked troubled. “What’s wrong?” Adra said, taking Vaye’s hand.
Vaye took a drink from her water skin before answering, looking everywhere but at Adra. “I need to tell you something. I should have told you before, but I didn’t think...”
Adra stayed quiet, swaying to the music just a bit, giving Vaye space to speak. Everything felt so right that she wasn’t even concerned. “The other day,” Vaye said at last, looking down at their clasped hands, “I was with Gadarien, and we were smoking nownow, and we ended up kissing. No, that’s only half true. We didn’t just end up there. We chose to do it. I chose, even though I knew he was with you.”Vaye finally looked up, expecting Adra to be angry or shocked, but Adra smiled.
“I know.”
“What?” Vaye said, confused. She was still holding Adra’s hand, but she leaned back a bit.
“I figured it out,” Adra said languidly, tracing a finger along Vaye’s arm. “It’s okay, it doesn’t bother me.” A wave of rapture rolled over her and she shivered, laughing a little as the music swelled in synchronicity. The musicians were connected to her, just as everything was connected to everything else, a vast, sparkling web of being. She knew this the same way she knew her heart was pumping. But sometimes she forgot. Why did they all forget? Why didn’t they always understand?
She opened her eyes and realized that Vaye was still staring at her, perplexed. She was sure the Anashi would understand, once she explained. They were of one mind, after all. “I know you and Gadarien have something together, just like I have with him. But there’s no reason for that to be a bad thing. I want us to share everything with each other.” She grinned as she leaned in, peering into the depths of Vaye’s eyes. “Everything.”
Vaye released Adra’s hand and stepped back. “But that’s...”
Adra smiled wickedly, embracing the old thrill of danger, the spice of the forbidden. “Circamo?” she whispered, looking around theatrically. She had longed for this feeling, a sense of touching the forbidden, but hadn’t realized what living without it had been doing to her. She felt like a plant that had gone un-watered, filling back up now with vitality, unfurling into her true shape.
But Vaye took another step back, shaking her head. Sudden fear crashed over Adra like a bucket of cold water, washing away the warmth. The feeling was amplified by the drug, the way all feelings were. It reverberated along with the beat, filling her as thoroughly as the rapture had only moments before.
“I can’t,” Vaye said, her voice thick. “I just can’t.”
The Anashi turned and fled, immediately swallowed by the mist. Adra moved to pursue her, but the damage was done. It was too late. Too late to remember why she had forced herself to stay away from trouble, even if trouble was the only thing that made her feel alive. Too late to recall how close she had once come to being swallowed forever by the darkness within her own mind.
Too late to remember when the thrill of leaning over the edge had become the terror of the fall.
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