One of the lights burst, showering us with glitter—vibrant yet cool to the touch. Bits landed on Starfire’s upturned face, adding freckles to her cheeks. I reached up to catch the sparkles from the next one, then fling them skyward. Then I kicked off my shoes. “Let’s dance.”

  Starfire chewed her lower lip and slid off her shoes slowly. “Out here?” Then she shrugged and giggled. “I forget how much has changed. If you will, I will too.”

  Timidly at first, and then with more abandon, my friend kicked up the inert sand of the star rain and spun, casting rainbow light in all directions. I swayed, arms overhead, savoring the light and beauty that reminded me so much of the Maker’s love.

  On the periphery of my awareness, Belgor continued pacing the rim of the clearing and ignored our play. But when I glanced at Aanor, I caught him staring at Starfire, lips parted and silent. He quickly turned away and rummaged in his pack, unearthed a cloak, and moved off into the shadows to rest.

  Perhaps we should have rested too, but while the sky danced, we echoed its patterns, until at last the rhythm of the stars quieted, and we both sank down beside the campfire.

  I warmed my hands by the feeble flame, which flickered dully after the vibrant star rain. A night harrier cawed a warning deep in the forest. “This reminds me of all the times Brantley and I made camp when we were traveling across Meriel telling the villages about the Maker’s letter.”

  Starfire shook her head. “How were you so brave? The whole Order was furious.”

  “It helped having Brantley along. I could face anything when he was with me.” I picked up a stick and poked at the logs, frowning. “I hope he’s remembering to eat. He’s probably wearing himself out keeping vigil beside his mother. And I wish I could get his opinion about what is happening in Foleshill.” My throat clogged. “I miss him so much. Maybe too much.”

  My friend glanced around and leaned in. “Do you think it’s wrong for us to long for another to share our life? I mean, the Order always said . . .”

  I shook my head. “The Maker knows how precious human love can be. He created it. Those bonds are a fragile echo of His great love. A gift to cherish.”

  As long as I remembered to cherish my Maker foremost. With Brantley or away from him, help me trust You first.

  Starfire stared at the campfire, pensive. Was she longing to establish a family beyond the Order? Should I encourage her or warn her how difficult it was to overcome a lifetime of indoctrination? Before I could say more, she stood. “You need rest,” she said firmly. “I wasn’t much help in Foleshill, but at least I can remind you to take care of yourself.”

  As I settled under the tarp, I prayed silently for her, and then for Brantley, for Fiola’s health, the people of Foleshill, the dancers of the Order toiling so hard for our world, Saltar Kemp, and the unknown that we would face in the morning.

  My muscles softened, relaxing into the ground. But I missed the lively roll of the rim to lull me to sleep. Here in the midrim, the motion of the earth was barely discernable. I sighed and shifted to my other side.

  In the misty realm of half sleep, memories painted images behind my eyelids. I was back in class. One of the younger forms. The tunics around me were the pale yellow of a fading subsun. Sticks tapped out a tight pattern. Lanthrus. I pressed my right foot off the floor into a sharp point and quickly back down. “Faster!” Saltar River glared down her hooked nose. Tall. Rigid. Harsh. Fear joined our class like a tether as we all fought to escape her notice. No errors. No flaws. River walked up and down our rows, sticks clacking. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. “Other side!” My left foot obeyed, peeling up and pushing back into the floor over and over. I stared resolutely forward, my face in the perfect blank expression. Then a shadow colored my vision. The white robe of the saltar stopped directly in front of me and silenced the rhythm. “Novitiates, stop. Gather round. Watch this.” Heat crawled across my chest, and my heartrate doubled. She made me repeat the pattern with everyone else watching, as she berated me. “This novitiate will never graduate to the next form. Look how lazy her feet are. And her posture.” She poked at my shoulder. “Useless.”

  Hot tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I repeated the pattern over and over. My feet screamed. My calves spasmed. My joints locked. I kept doing the steps while she rained down abuse on me until the bell rang for lunch. The other students fled, afraid to glance my direction. Only Starfire cast me a sympathetic look. River leaned forward, her mouth so close to my ear I heard the pop of her lips parting and then the derisive hiss. “Ignorant rimmer. You’re hopeless.”

  I jerked awake. It had been months since a nightmare about my early days at the Order had tormented me. I rubbed my arms.

  “Stop! State your purpose.” Belgor’s shout brought Aanor to his feet beyond the campfire. I sat up, squinting, while Starfire clambered from her blanket beside me.

  Cackling, an old woman limped forward, listing to one side. “She’s here, isn’t she? The wind told me.” Another rasping laugh. The figure stepped closer to our fire, flames catching in her wild eyes.

  Dancer Subsun!

  I scrambled to my feet. “Belgor, it’s all right. I know her.”

  “Who is she?” Starfire took a step forward, fists clenched as if she didn’t trust our guards to protect us and was ready to pummel any threat.

  “She’s a friend.” I eased away from the others and reached a hand toward the woman. The lonely shack where she lived wasn’t far from here, but what had brought her out in the night? “How did you find me?”

  “The Voice. The Voice whispered to me.”

  Goosebumps lifted on my arms. Had the Maker sent her? I had been longing for help or reassurance. Was this His answer?

  Dancer Subsun cavorted in a tiny circle, then pointed at me. Her tangled hair looked as if it hadn’t been braided in decades. Her tunic and leggings were dirty and tattered. The first time I’d seen her, shock and pity had overwhelmed me. Now I felt kinship. I had joined the ranks of the castoff, the hobbled.

  Her gaze traveled to my wounded ankle. “I warned you.” She pinched her forehead and winced. “Didn’t I? I meant to.” Then her expression cleared. “Ah, but it speaks more gently now. It’s free!”

  She spun again, arms wide.

  Belgor moved himself between us. “What is she talking about? What is free?”

  “Meriel. She used to hear the cry of our world’s bondage.”

  Subsun shrieked and skipped in a strange pattern. Belgor bristled. “She’s touched. Demented.”

  I rested a hand on his arm and shook my head. “The previous high saltar sent her into the center ground over and over, demanding that she control the world. It broke her mind. But she’s not dangerous.” I hope.

  He grudgingly edged aside, and when Subsun stopped whirling, I opened my arms to her. Laughing, she skipped into my embrace.

  “The Maker does not forget His children,” I whispered against her ear.

  For a moment, her tension melted, and sanity flowed across her eyes. Then the torment of her years of suffering and loneliness again turned her gaze wild. She waved her arms, sketching a frantic design in the air. “Flee! The refuge is now a trap! Beware the river!”

  I tried to soothe her, but she only grew more agitated. Nearby, Starfire’s face paled. She took my arm, trying to tug me away.

  Subsun’s agitation built. “My existence insults them. They’ve tried to end me, but I hide.” She stirred her arms in the air again as if conjuring a mist. Broken chuckles shook her thin frame, her focus vague. Then she noticed me again and poked a finger against my chest. “Run. Run while you can. New dangers rule here.”

  Cold dread shivered up my spine. Salis was known as a place of refuge for castoff dancers. When Alcea Blue was hobbled and rejected, Brantley had given her a map and urged her to make her way here. Of all the places in Meriel, these people were the most likely to support the reforms and stay loyal to Saltar Kemp because they knew. They’d witnessed the atrocities of the prior Order firsthand. If even they now fought the changes, all was lost.

  Subsun contorted her body in a parody of dance, then scampered awkwardly into the forest. With her words of warning still ringing in the air, Aanor cast a protective arm around Starfire, and she didn’t shrug it away. Belgor pulled me back toward the fire, head tilted and listening for approaching enemies. But my focus wasn’t on Subsun’s vague cautions but on her suffering.

  My heart broke for the woman. Maker, grant her comfort. Ease her pain. Cast off, vilified. She needs Your love.

  I picked up my cloak and tossed it over my shoulders. “Maybe I should go after her.”

  Belgor growled low in his barrel chest. “We should break camp and return to Middlemost immediately.”

  I drew up my spine as tall as I could to confront him. “You acknowledged the decision to continue or return is mine.”

  “Did you hear what she said?”

  I sighed. I’d definitely heard. But if I showed any fear, Belgor would haul us back to Middlemost, and I would have accomplished nothing. “She’s confused. I met her once before when I was fleeing the Order. I understand her—to a point.”

  The white-knuckle grip on his sword hilt eased a fraction. “You’re saying it’s all nonsense?”

  I would have loved to lie, to offer an easy reassurance. “No. Her thoughts can be distorted, overwhelming to her. But we can trust the core of what she says.”

  His jaw thrust forward. “Then let’s be gone.”

  “Agreed.” Aanor strode away from us and tore down a sheltering tarp.

  I shot a glance toward Starfire for support.

  She wrenched the tarp from Aanor’s hands. “Carya tells us when to retreat.”

  He grabbed it back, and I rolled my eyes at their ridiculous tug-of-war.

  “Belgor, I trust you and Aanor to stand guard. If danger approaches and you order it, we’ll flee. But right now, we know nothing about what is happening in Salis. And our ponies are too exhausted to travel tonight.” I chose not to mention that I was too tired to travel any more, as well. The babe growing inside me demanded rest. Already my responsibility to care for this little one was at war with my longing to bring peace to Meriel and succeed at this mission for the Order. “Please. Let’s rest and make our plans in the morning.”

  Belgor appraised my drooping form and nodded. Starfire threw Aanor a triumphant look and tossed him her end of the tarp. He fumbled with it, tangled his arms, and finally freed himself.

  I choked back a laugh. It wouldn’t do to hurt the pride of a young soldier, especially in front of the girl he sought to impress. I limped over and helped him reattach two corners to tree limbs. “Thank you for keeping us safe,” I said quietly.

  With a terse nod, he huddled near the fire, leaving us to curl under the tarp. In spite of the disturbing events of recent days, I surrendered all my worries, imagining the Maker’s wings shielding us in place of the fabric, the tree limbs, and the night sky.

  The next morning we sipped tsalla around the embers of our campfire. The night had passed uneventfully. In the light of the primary sunrise, I felt refreshed, strong, and ready to discover what forces were conspiring against the new Order. “I’ll go into Salis on my own.”

  “Never.” Belgor brushed saltcake crumbs from his armored tunic.

  “The sight of soldiers might intimidate them. They’re used to hobbled dancers and will trust me more if I don’t arrive with guards.”

  “We can’t protect you if we can’t even see you.” Belgor’s jaw clenched.

  “I’ll go with her,” Starfire offered.

  Aanor scoffed, and she frowned in his direction.

  I sighed. “This isn’t a battle to be won with swords and force.”

  “I promised Brantley no harm would come to you.” Belgor lurched to his feet. “We can leave Aanor here to guard the ponies, but I’m coming with you.”

  The young soldier’s forehead bunched in dismay. Starfire snickered. An angry flush mottled Aanor’s round cheeks. “Wait a minute—”

  “If things go badly, we’ll need the ponies ready.” Belgor’s tone held a sharp edge. “Have you the nerve to guard them on your own?”

  Nostrils flaring, Aanor answered with only a terse nod. I shot Starfire a warning glance. If she kept mocking him, we’d waste time with more arguments.

  “All right.” I pushed to my feet, feeling every joint protest our recent rigorous days. “Belgor, you can follow at a distance. Give me a chance to greet people without them feeling threatened.”

  A wolfish grin pierced his bristled face as he stood and buckled on his sword belt. “Nothing threatening about me.”

  Great. This was going swimmingly.

  Starfire patted my back. “Let’s get on with it.” She skipped ahead as if we were on a class outing in third form.

  Maker, thank You for a friend. Thank You for her laughter, her spirit, her ability to lighten my heart.

  I smoothed my long braid and tightened my head scarf, then brushed at a smudge on my white tunic. If I kept traveling in dancer gear, I’d soon look as tattered as Dancer Subsun. But I drew in a deep, strong breath and followed Starfire toward the village.

  Salis was a sprawling collection of homes, much less compressed than other villages I’d visited. Perhaps their love for space and individuality is what had made them a refuge for castoff dancers over the years.

  We’d only moved a short distance from Aanor and the ponies when from behind a tall pine came a loud, “Psst!”

  I froze.

  Starfire swiveled, her eyes wide. She tiptoed back toward me. Now that she wasn’t trying to impress Aanor, some of her bravado slipped away.

  “Psst! Over here!” Fallen needles scuffed.

  I squinted into the shadows under the tree. Had a bog rat been given the gift of speech? After all the strange occurrences in recent months, it would scarce surprise me.

  A darker shadow broke free of the others and stepped toward us. Belgor drew his sword.

  A squeak answered.

  “Hold!” I hurried forward, peering at a pale, fine-featured face under a dark hood.

  The figure lifted her chin and offered a tentative smile.

  “Alcea!” My heart skipped at the familiar face. We hadn’t even entered the village, yet we’d found an ally.

  “Shh!” She cowered deeper into her cloak and cast furtive glances around.

  Starfire charged past me and threw her arms around Alcea. “How are you? Tell us everything. I’ve never forgiven the saltars for casting you out right before our final test.”

  Alcea shuddered in my friend’s arms. When Starfire released her, our former classmate took in my walking stick and awkward posture. “You too?” Grief leached from her words—a sorrow I understood and lived with each day.

  But the wound wasn’t her only problem. She’d been living hard. She wore a mottled brown dress, the long tunic of an attendant or servant. Her bare legs displayed scratches and bruises. No bandage protected her ankle, so the angry red scar was visible even in the shadows under the trees.

  I touched her arm. “I tried to find out what happened to you after that last time I saw you outside the Order.”

  She gave us a wobbly smile. “Brantley saved me. He told me where to find help, and I built a life here.”

  “He saved me, too,” I said quietly. Although to be fair, I’d rescued him just as many times.

  “Now everything’s changed.”

  I straightened. “That’s why we’re here. After all the reforms, all the improvements and hope, some of the villages seem to have concerns. I came to find out—”

  “Concerns?” Bitterness twisted Alcea’s lips. “That’s one word for it.”

  “Well, I’m going into to town to speak with the leaders and see if we can resolve this.”

  She leaned back, eyes wide. “Are you mad?” Then a sigh seemed to draw the last remnants of emotion from her. Her mouth flattened. “You understand nothing.”

  I took her hand. “Explain it to me.”

  “Only if you promise to flee after you’ve heard.”

  I couldn’t make that pledge until I knew the details, but we’d grown up together, studied together, moved up through the forms together. I trusted her and longed to help her. “Come with us when we leave.”

  She trembled. “If only I could.” A single tear traced a line through the dust on her cheek. Anguish swam in her eyes.

  Holy Maker, help her. Help me to help her.

  I settled on the ground in front of her and drew her down next to me. “Tell me.”

  Starfire settled beside Alcea, wrapping an arm around her. We could almost have been three young girls again, talking about the hard patterns we’d learned in class that day or arguing about whose turn it was to put oil in the torches. Showing each other calluses caused by mortaring the cracks in the walls. Whispering about the novitiates in older forms and placing guesses on which of our class would make it to the position of dancer. But the woman who sat between Starfire and me was a fractured shadow of the girl she’d been.

  Alcea sniffed. “I hardly know where to start.”

  I mustered a smile, willing myself to patience. “The beginning?” Footsteps rustled as Aanor paced a distant perimeter around us. Belgor crept closer to the buildings at the edge of town and then back again. The soldiers’ uneasy movements frayed my nerves.

  She nodded. “Since I’d been taken to the Order so young, I had no memory of my rim village, but the people of Salis were so kind to me. Then I met Habsom. He was a blacksmith here in Salis and cared about me in spite of . . .” She gestured vaguely toward her leg.

  My brows lifted. I wondered how much her life paralleled mine. I’d fallen in love and found a home too. “You love him.”

  She gnawed her lower lip. “We were bonded and had a child.”

  I gasped. “That’s wonderful!” I hugged her, but when I felt the tension in her back, I released her.

  “That’s why I can’t leave. Even now. Even when my life is in danger.”

  “We can take you all. Your husband, the baby. Get you somewhere safe.”

 

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