The Daylight War

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. ‘Wedding 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.’