47. Village People (Adranaya)¶
Adra’s favorite stall in the Cantereian Market wasn’t a fancy clothier, or a jeweler, or even an eatery, although she’d certainly enjoyed all of those. Her favorite was a tiny booth run by an old Cantereian woman who made intricate sculptures out of living plants. The art form went back many generations, and the sculptures were mesmerizing: busts of famous people that were somehow more lifelike than stone, or twisting abstract shapes the eye could barely follow.
The bridge across the Falpassoa was built using the same principles, but on an entirely different scale. It was woven together from the living branches of the huge stonewood trees that lined the riverbanks. Over many years, wispy root tendrils had descended into the river and thickened into broad columns, which now stood firm against the foaming water. The river itself was a swift brown smear, hissing like a nest of vipers as it carved its narrow chasm through the rock. Bright blue butterflies fluttered around the bridge, disappearing behind misty, ephemeral rainbows. It was the kind of sight that once would have taken Adra’s breath away.
For all its majesty, the bridge was narrow in the center, not even wide enough for the three of them to walk abreast. It was probably just as well, since Vaye and Gadarien had barely spoken a word to each other for hours, and Adra didn’t feel like talking either. Each attempt at conversation was a reminder of what she had lost, the once-easy banter replaced by a stale, timid hesitancy. She wanted to tell them to treat her like they had before, to tease her about her spending habits and her inability to show up on time, but that didn’t feel right, either. The truth was that they were right to treat her delicately. She felt raw and sensitive all over, as though sunburnt from the inside. Everything hurt.
Gadarien paused at the foot of the bridge. “It should be fine since there are just three of us, but try to walk, uh, randomly. Don’t match each others’ footsteps.”
“Why?” Vaye said, looking askance at the woven structure. “Isn’t it safe?”
“It’s designed to collapse,” he replied. “Marching feet trigger a reverberation that makes it split open.”
Vaye took a step back from the threshold and gestured Gadarien forward. “After you.” He shouldered his pack and started across, Adra following and Vaye trailing behind.
Adra paused in the middle of the span. The view was dizzying, the churning foam creating the illusion that she was moving upstream. The river seemed to beckon her, inviting the one small step that would make her disappear below its soft surface. She was so tired, as though her pack contained the weight of a whole city. She’d heard that drowning was peaceful, like going to sleep, although she’d never understood who had returned from the dead to describe it. Either way, perhaps it was time to rest.
“Hey,” Vaye said, startling her. “Are you okay?” Adra nodded and continued walking, Vaye frowning behind her.
“It’s not far from here to Valdeia, the first village,” Gadarien said when they had all reached the far side. Ahead, the trail led into thick forest. “But this area is dangerous. Stay quiet, and stay on the path. And we can only speak Cantereian. Sorry, Adra.”
“What?” Adra said. She knew a few words and phrases, but was far from fluent. “Why?”
“Acoustic mines, triggered by certain Sarmalan syllables. If you trip one, the splinters will tear you apart.”
“Lovely country,” Vaye said sourly, swatting a mosquito on her shoulder.
Gadarien grumbled to himself as he headed into the forest. The opening in the trees was dark as a serpent’s mouth, the path heavily overgrown. Branches and vines reached out to tug at their clothes and hair. In silence, Gadarien stopped and pointed to a vine with crimson flowers that seemed to burn in the shadows. He said something to Vaye in a low voice, and gestured to Adra that she should stay well back. The petals obscured long, curving black thorns, which dripped some kind of clear goo onto a glistening pile of bones at the base. Animal bones, hopefully.
By the time they emerged from the forest, the sky was beginning to darken. The first sign of habitation was a small roadside shrine shaped like a tiny house. It was filled with the porcelain bowls the Cantereians used for prayer, rubbing their thumbs along the rims until the bowls hummed. Above the roof of the shrine, a painted wooden sign displayed a crude likeness of a person with one hand touching her throat and the other covering her mouth.
Adra didn’t even notice the first few homesteads until they were partway into the village, and then only because Gadarien pointed them out. The buildings of Valdeia were, like the bridge, woven together from the foliage, blending into their surroundings. She likewise didn’t see the armed men and women until they stepped out from behind the trees.
The villagers stood casually, holding their weapons by their sides, but the threat was clear. Gadarien lifted his hands and smiled, saying something in Cantereian. His voice was relaxed, but Adra knew him well enough to sense the tension in the way he held himself.
A thin, elderly man stepped forward, laying a placating hand on the shoulder of the big woman beside him holding a heavy cudgel. He raised an eyebrow as he studied Vaye and Adra. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here,” he said in Sarmalic. His tone wasn’t quite rude, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either. “What is your business in Valdeia?”
“We’re just on our way to visit my family in Rilão,” Gadarien said easily.
“Taking a dangerous route,” said the big woman. She jutted her chin at Adra and Vaye. “With a Sarmalan. And whatever she is.”
Vaye responded acerbically in Cantereian, and whatever she’d said made the elder laugh, even as the big woman’s expression darkened.
“Apologies for my companion,” Gadarien said, glancing at Vaye with some annoyance. “We’re just tired. We’ve been on the road a long time.”
“Yes, I can hear that,” the elder said. “Well, Valdeia doesn’t turn away travelers, no matter how strange. My name is Careidu, I’m the headman here. You can sleep at the boarding house—my house.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Gadarien said with obvious relief. The villagers seemed to accept Careidu’s proclamation with only minor grumbling, and the three travelers followed him to his home. Although the men and women who trailed behind kept their weapons lowered, they didn’t put them away.
Careidu said something to the villagers as he ushered the three travelers inside. The big woman with the cudgel looked uneasy, but nodded and left, the others dispersing as well. Once they were out of earshot, Careidu said something softly to Gadarien, who responded with a look of surprise.
“Let’s speak Sarmalic, so your friend here doesn’t feel left out,” Careidu said, lighting a few candles and smiling at Adra, who reflexively smiled back. It hadn’t been that long since she’d experienced kindness from a stranger, but for some reason Careidu’s warmth felt like something dug up from the ground, a relic of another age, its shape alien and uncomfortable.
Gadarien nodded. “Thank you. Hard to speak Sussura in Sarmalic, though.”
Careidu shrugged, ambling over to his kitchen. “We shouldn’t use it here anyway. Not everyone in this village is a friend of the Feiçeira. I only needed to know if you were what I thought you were. And you are.”
The old man’s dwelling was surprisingly spacious. The living walls gave a somewhat wild feel to the space, but it was offset by the cozy tapestries and the assortment of knickknacks decorating every horizontal surface. In the back corner, a collection of brightly-colored birds made of wood, glass, and pottery filled a set of shelves.
“I saw the Tementeira shrine on the way in,” Gadarien said. “I don’t remember them having a presence this far south.”
“They’re everywhere now,” Careidu said. He grunted as he squatted to stir the coals of his fire. “People are tired of living under Sarmala’s boot, and the Tementeira blame the Feiçeira for everything that’s happened. They think they can succeed where the Feiçeira failed, that the Deucanta will grant them victory as a reward for their faith. But they forget that the Feiçeira are the only reason Cantereia is still a country at all.”
“Were you a Feiçeira?” Vaye asked.
“No, no, not quite,” Careidu said, throwing a pinch of salt into the big pot of soup. “I trained enough to learn a bit of Sussura. And how to know a Feiçeira when I hear one.” He glanced at Gadarien, who looked away as though embarrassed. “It’s dangerous to support the Feiçeira in the open now, though. There are people in every village who committed atrocities, on both sides, living next door to their victims, and the Tementeira are stoking the fires of that tension. We’re far enough from the city to keep the peace here, but I’ve heard ugly stories. Raids, purges. Neighbors turning on each other, selling each other out to the Sarmalans.”
Gadarien frowned. “I knew the Tementeira had grown stronger, but we didn’t hear about any purges in Thelenza.”
Careidu shrugged, using a large wooden spoon to stir the pot with both hands. “Perhaps your leaders didn’t know, or perhaps they didn’t want to undermine your morale. But the Tementeira rule in Rilão, and they’re returning to the old ways. Habsa Ravásie has taken the title of Ouvintero.”
Adra had never heard that word, but the shock on Gadarien’s face was clear enough. She exchanged a glance with Vaye, who seemed equally unnerved. “Ravásie? You mean the head of the nownow cartel?” Vaye said. “What does that mean? What’s an Ouvintero?”
Gadarien’s expression was grim. “It means the Helix isn’t our only enemy.”
Careidu finished stirring the soup and turned back to them. He touched two fingers to his throat, then reached out and placed them on Gadarien’s, smiling. “Courage, nephew. Sometimes the true melody is hard to hear, but it’s always there if you have ears to listen.” Gadarien placed his hand over the old man’s, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.
Watching them, Adra remembered what it had been like to believe in something greater than herself. The place where her faith had been was a hole now, a crack just big enough for something colder to claw its way through, and she shivered despite the warmth.
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