The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1
Chapter 3

The bride looked radiant, as all brides do when the story of the day is told, whatever the truth of the matter. In this case however, the bride did indeed look very pretty in a shimmering ivory moonsilk gown, with jasmine woven through her long black braid. All the women in the Gathering Hall sighed and smiled as the bride walked through the door between her parents, as women are prone to do at such times. A few dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs. A few men rolled their eyes at such sentimentality.

Taya stood beside her mother and watched her cousin Lora walk between their friends and family. The whole village was present and stood in two groups, one on either side of the hall, to create an aisle down the centre. Lora and her parents were followed by Lora’s two sisters, in gowns of pink gossamer and carrying lilies of the same colour.

Jessen Flax stood at the front with his parents, wearing a mid length blue linen tunic. He hardly seemed to be breathing as he watched his intended approach. His father smiled and patted his shoulder encouragingly, remembering his own nerves on a similar day long ago.

“You’ll do fine, son,” he said reassuringly.

Lora reached the front of the hall and smiled bashfully up at Jessen. The elders stood and stepped forward to begin the ceremony. The man who had made the announcements that morning spoke first.

“Welcome friends, to this joyous occasion. You are called here to witness the joining of these two young people and to make a declaration of intent to help them in their life together. It is a serious vow to make, since no one knows what the future holds, and I charge you only to make it if you can do so sincerely and wholeheartedly.” He paused and looked around the faces before him. Many were nodding in agreement. He smiled. “But,” he continued, “it is also a wonderful opportunity to celebrate love and happiness! You youngsters may not believe this, but your parents will probably be feeling rather sentimental and indulgent this afternoon – and not just because of the blackberry wine they’ll be drinking at the feast! They will be remembering their own joining ceremonies, many turns ago in some cases, not so many in others.” He glanced at some of the younger parents around the hall who were carrying babes in arms or holding the hands of toddlers and chuckled, his white braid writhing snake-like from his shoulder almost to the floor in mirth. He muttered “A few more babies in around ten months, I shouldn’t wonder,” and wandered, still chuckling, back to the rest of the elders where his wife was frowning at his inappropriate humour. Elder Torin, who had delivered the New Turning sermon, stepped forward and cleared his throat as he noticed several of the villagers stifling laughter.

“Well now, shall we begin?” he asked, smiling encouragingly at Lora and Jessen. They turned to face him.

“First of all, Lora and Jessen, I ask you to declare whether you have come here today of your own accord and volition, freely and without reservation.”

“We have,” they replied, smiling beatifically at each other.

“And secondly I ask your parents, do you give your agreement and blessing as your children make this commitment to each other? Do you promise to help them as a couple, with love and without bias, as they negotiate the joys and trials of life? Do you agree that they have made a wise choice and decision in their life’s companion and believe that they are well suited to one another?”

“We do,” confirmed the four parents.

“So now I come to your family and friends,” continued the elder. “I ask every person here gathered; do you promise to support this young couple in their journey together through life? Do you agree to listen to them, guide them and above all, love them?”

“We do,” chorused the crowd of well-wishers.

“Then Lora and Jessen, I ask you now to make your vows to one another. Jessen, do you vow to be joined to Lora from today and for the whole of your life, in love, in unity and in a partnership which is exclusive and binding? Do you vow to support her and protect her, working with her to create a home and a family?”

“I do,” promised Jessen fervently, gazing adoringly into Lora’s eyes.

“And Lora, do you vow to be joined to Jessen from today and for the whole of your life, in love, in unity and in a partnership which is exclusive and binding? Do you vow to support him and comfort him, working with him to create a home and a family?”

“I do,” promised Lora in a quiet but firm voice.

“Lorra and Jessen, you have made a life-long commitment to each other, declaring your love for each other and your determination to face life’s trials in partnership, share its joys in fellowship and help each other in every way. Do you have gifts for each other as a symbol of these promises?”

Lora turned to her father, who passed her a wrapped bundle. She gave it to her new husband, who peeled back the waxed cloth to reveal beautifully handcrafted tools.

“Jessen, I present you with this axe, chisel and mallet, so you can build our home where we can raise a family.”

Jessen smiled appreciatively as he inspected the workmanship. Lora had been working independently for two Turns and was considered one of the more talented metalworkers, with a special gift for jewellery. This she demonstrated by giving him an intricately woven gold ring set with a Lorras-stone, a twist on her own name, milky white and perfectly smooth.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He produced a parcel of his own and handed it to Lora, who unwrapped it to discover a new leather jerkin and grieves, beautifully worked with delicate floral patterns.

“To protect you as you work,” he said. “And I couldn’t find anything as lovely as you, but I hope you like this.” The ring he gave her was a circlet of leaves, crowned with a flower whose petals were garnets, with a centre of jasper. Lora gasped with delight as he slid the ring onto her finger. The elder raised his hands to complete the ceremony.

“Having made their vows and exchanged their gifts, and with the blessing and support of their families and the whole community, Jessen and Lora are from this moment joined together. May they know every possible happiness in their life together. You may kiss the bride,” he finished, as if Jessen needed any encouragement.

Everyone in the room cheered as they exchanged a demure kiss, then the happy couple led the way out into the sunshine.

On the grass outside tables had been laid with a huge variety of foods, ranging from the mundane to the extravagant. Platters of bread, cheese and fruit intermingled with dishes of cakes and sweetmeats, including those made only for the New Turning festival. Platters of stuffed vine leaves and bowls of spiced vegetables vied for position with dishes of smoked fish or cured meats. Marinated legs of roast fowl surrounded a bowl of soured yogurt sauce, while the diced breast meat of the same birds floated in dishes of rich gravy along with vegetables and herb dumplings. Small lavender biscuits shared plates with rich currant pastries. A bowl of sweet apple and sour lemon slices was meant to represent that life had joyous times and bitter times together. There was a whole side of spit-roasted buffalo, which had been brought home by a hunting party led by Jessen himself, and on a side table stood jugs of potent blackberry wine and sweet raspberry cordial. In the centre of the feast stood a tall tower of round, honey-soaked cakes, enough for each person present to have one, to symbolise the sweetness of love and celebrate the joining. The air was heady with the scents of flowers and the delicious aromas of the feast. Taya listened to the birdsong from the nearby trees and bushes and the buzz of conversations going on around her. One in particular caught her attention; just out of sight around the corner of a building she heard her brother’s voice.

“I think we should be more careful, Aysh. I’m sure Taya’s growing suspicious about how often I disappear. And you too. I overheard her telling our mother she can never find you in the evenings anymore.”

“I know. I’ve neglected our friendship. I’ve just been so caught up in our... meetings. I should find her today and try to make it up to her.”

“You should. But first you have to do two things.”

“Oh? What are those?” Taya could hear the smile in Aysh’s voice.

“One, promise to dance with me later. And two, kiss me now.”

“Mikkol, someone will see! They’ll think you’re courting me.”

“Well, I am, silly. You didn’t think what I said earlier was a joke or a game did you? I hope you think I have more honour than that! I meant it Aysh. No going back.”

“Oh. Yes, sorry, of course. I didn’t mean to insult you... I just hadn’t thought about... you know.”

Aysh sounded surprised, even bemused. The voices had fallen silent and Taya suspected that if she looked round the corner of the building she would see Aysh fulfilling Mikkol’s second demand. She grinned and walked quietly away, so that Aysh could come find her and make up for her neglect. Suddenly she felt a great deal happier, as if all was right with the world. Aysh hadn’t meant to ignore her or deceive her; she had been seeing Mikkol and they didn’t want to make their relationship public until it was on a sure footing. Now that they were officially courting Aysh would tell her and Mikkol would speak to their parents, then she could look forward to having a new sister. What a wonderful way to begin the New Turning!

He had slept till the sun was high in the sky and woke feeling a little refreshed, although all of His muscles ached from his exertions in the previous days. He dressed and picked the rabbit bones clean of meat, adding to His breakfast some berries picked from a nearby bush. Feeling more hopeful than He had in a long time, He drank deeply from His water skin then refilled it from the river.

He had come ashore on the lower south bank of the river and He decided to walk down stream until He found a village, seeing nothing but grass ahead of Him upstream all the way into the hills. Downstream there was a dense forest and soon He was working His way between the closely packed tree trunks. He tried staying at the edge of the forest where the trees were thinner, but the cliff edge was barely two feet away and the drop soon became alarmingly large for a very tired man. Fearing that one stumble over a tree root might end His quest, he stayed among the trees, His skin and clothes being snagged and cut by the thorny branches of the undergrowth. He stumbled over roots and sweated in the heat. He had brought all His clothes, His water skins and a pack stocked with knife, flint and tinder, some fruit and other useful items. Soon though He stowed His wool jerkin in the pack and tied His rolled cape on top of it. Even in only His leather breeches and boots and a linen shirt it was too warm and He tired quickly, stopping to rest and drink often.

He covered several miles, but nowhere near as many as He could have at home, when at full strength and on His own terrain. When evening came He caught another rabbit, again roasting it over a small fire, and stretched out on His cape. His shirt was damp with sweat and the humid air, so He soon became chilled even though the evening was warm. He removed the damp shirt and hung it on a branch, pulling His jerkin out of His pack and putting it on, then curled up on His cape to sleep.

Early in the still warm evening the village accompanied Lora and Jessen to a large canvas tent which was pitched about a mile away from the village. Here they would spend their first blissful week together, away from their families and everyday tasks, ‘getting to know one another’ as it were. After that they would be living with Lora’s parents until Jessen and the other men finished building their home. Many young husbands had come to the conclusion that this tradition had been started as an incentive for them to build faster. Moving from total isolation with your new bride to sleeping in the same room as her parents was enough encouragement for any man to put in a long day’s work!

After the happy couple disappeared from sight amid cheers and good wishes, everyone headed back to the village to continue with the feasting and to play music and dance. Mikkol and Aysh tarried behind the group, while Taya walked ahead with her mother, rhapsodising about the wonders of true love. Aysh had spent the whole afternoon gossiping with her and had finally admitted that Mikkol was courting her and planned to seek her father’s blessing that very night, so she didn’t begrudge them some time alone.

“Mikkol are you sure you want to speak to him tonight? Isn’t it a bit soon? I mean we only realised ourselves today that we wanted this!” Aysh wrung her hands anxiously.

“But we have realised,” answered Mikkol. “And we do want this, don’t we?”

Aysh turned her head and bit her lip to keep the inane grin that had occupied her face for most of the day from taking up residence there again. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Well then, it all needs to be official and honourable. Your father has a right to know that if a man kisses his daughter, that man’s intention is to be joined with her, not to shame her. You don’t want people gossiping about us, do you?”

Aysh had to concede this point. The Equiseen villages were small and close knit. And as is usually the way in small, close knit communities, news spread fast and rumour faster.

“Of course not,” conceded Aysh. “Well, I suppose we should get it over with then. At least I know he’ll be thrilled.”

“You do?” Mikkol asked, surprised. “Has he said something about me?”

“No, no. It’s just... well look at you! Newly appointed to the bridge guard, all tall and handsome and honourable. You’re a father’s dream!”

Mikkol smiled, slightly abashed. “Well, that’s a relief. Although of course I’d rather be your dream.”

Aysh swatted his arm. “Don’t fish for compliments, it’s not becoming. Didn’t I say already that you’re handsome? Come on, let’s catch them up; I can almost hear that gossip starting already.”

They found Aysh’s parents fortuitously talking to Mikkol’s own. Although just looking at the two of them as they nervously approached was enough to tell them all they could want to know, Harrin Mayorr looked seriously into Mikkol’s eyes and allowed him to ask for permission and blessing to court and eventually be joined with his daughter. He turned to Keera, his wife.

“What do you think, my dear?” he asked sombrely. “Is this young man deserving of our daughter’s affection? Do you think he can make her happy? Are they well suited in temperament and nature?” He winked at Garron and Lena Moor, to reassure them that he was not truly in any doubt about his daughter’s choice, then turned an earnest face back to Mikkol.

“I think...” he said, then paused. “That is to say I am reasonably certain...” another pause. “I mean I truly believe...” he paused again, revelling in a little shown flare for the dramatic. “That I should welcome you to the family my boy! Well done, Mikkol, very well done!”

The relief on Mikkol’s face as the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding exploded from him in laughter, brought loud laughter also from both fathers. There was an exchange of hugs in all directions, slapping of backs and hearty congratulations, which radiated out from the two families like ripples in a pond until most of the village was appraised of the situation. Taya hugged Aysh till she could hardly breathe, already thinking of their joining where she, Taya, would be maid of honour. Aysh was a little subdued, which her mother dismissed to Lena Moor as “early wedding nerves; she’s probably just realising what she’s taken on – a home, babies and all that.”

She wasn’t far wrong. Not that Aysh didn’t want Mikkol, she certainly did and of course she didn’t want to do anything shameful. But hadn’t she just neatly tied herself into exactly the life she was so afraid of living? The forge, a house, babies, no time or freedom to run, no chance to even lift a sword unless she was forging it for another’s use. Mikkol saw a tear glistening in her eye and heard her mother’s comment. He went to her as she hastily brushed it away. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her hair and whispering words of comfort in her ear.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out, I promise. I’ll find a way to give you everything you dream of, to make you happy just like your father said. Please, trust me.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her as the music played and their parent’s looked on approvingly at ‘love’s young dream’ and planned out the rest of their lives.

In the Royal apartments of Theyos Raal three Norns gathered around the Princess who was resting in her chair again after soaking in the hot water. She was wrapped in a shimmering cloth of woven starlight and anointed with moonflower oil for tranquillity and persephone to ward off infection. One of the Norns, whose name was Eldana, worked a small crucible over a green flame on a small stone table. She added powders and liquids from several glass bottles, each of which changed the colour of the smoke rising into the air. As she worked she chanted;

“Sounds of colour wisdom bring, see the path of fateful truth.

Bless this daughter of our King, bring the power of saying sooth.”

The second Norn, Undara, held a wide necked bottle over the crucible to catch the smoke as it rose. When the bottle was full she plugged the neck with a cork and whispered an incantation over it in Elvish, of which Nula could not understand much. At once the swirling multi-coloured smoke became liquid, of a colour somewhere between turquoise and purple that Nula had no name for. She was familiar with the ceremony, having presided over several Elven births, and waited to hear the pronouncements hoping fervently that all would be well. Norns were unerringly accurate in their predictions and in Nula’s experience a pessimistic foretelling did not encourage the mother to engage with the birth process or bond with the baby. Still, it wasn’t her place to question long-standing cultural traditions; she was only there to see to Lorissa’s safety and that of the babies. The third Norn, Meluna, took a deep draught from the bottle of liquid smoke and placed a hand on Lorissa’s belly.

Lorissa herself was concentrating on breathing through the rushes and relaxing her arms and legs so that no unnecessary tension built up in her muscles, just the way Nula had taught her. She was only half-listening to the ceremony, knowing that her mother would remember everything they said and tell her later. Meluna closed her eyes and searched with her mind, using that mystical other-sight with which she had been training for centuries to see into the future. As she probed to find a vision of the baby’s path, she was confused by the images that presented themselves to her. She spoke in sonorous, other-worldly tones.

“Mist is clouding all I see; the future’s path is hid from me.

Be you now in safety resting, birth your children unprotesting.

Boy child, strong and growing mighty; maiden gracious, filled with beauty.

Still the path, in questions shrouded, stays unseen; the vision clouded.

Pushing further with my mind, truth to see and way to find,

Seeking far for any danger, none I see, but for... a stranger!”

As she spoke the last words Meluna’s voice rose an octave and she broke off with a shriek of terror, pulling her hand away and collapsing to the floor, sobbing incoherently. The anxious family crowded around her, asking questions all at once, trying to discover what she had seen. Lorissa had roused from her semi-hypnotic state at Meluna’s scream and her alarm was evident. Fearing that Meluna had perceived something terrible happening to her babies, she clung to Illion, all focus on her labour gone and the fear and stress she was now experiencing resulting in the next contraction doubling her over in pain. Nula did her best to calm the princess, telling her the confusion was probably caused by the Norns’ ignorance of the second baby. She continued to work with Lorissa as another contraction took hold, offering her a Norn elixir to dull the pain and doing her best to ignore the commotion on the other side of the room. King Tilarion and prince Illion were trying to determine what had frightened Meluna so, while Eldana and Undara begged her to slow her breathing and calm herself. They smoothed her hair and dried her tears, while Tilarion had to rein in his impatience so as not to frighten her more.

“Please Meluna, tell us what you saw,” he urged. “Was it to do with the birth?... or the baby?... or was it Lorissa?”

Illion, who was pacing the floor behind the King while pulling at his hair, stopped and paled visibly at this last suggestion. Meluna shook her head, finally regaining some of her composure.

“N..n..n..no,” she stammered, her voice catching. “I couldn’t see the baby clearly at all, first it seemed to be a boy, but then I saw a girl. I sensed no danger surrounding the birth, but there was a mist overshadowing the path and I had no sense of the child’s future. I pushed further and I saw a strange golden haze, then I felt frozen and everything became white. I had a sense of fear, no – terror!” Her voice threatened to break again as she remembered the vision. “A stranger appeared before me, a man very different in appearance from any I have ever seen, reaching out his hand as if appealing to me for help and he looked scared. He became tied up in the mists and then darkness obscured him from view and I had a very great sense of danger, almost of impending doom! Everything was tumbling in the darkness!”

She broke off again, shivering with fear. Her friends tried to comfort her but Tilarion knelt before her, frustrated by the lack of clarity, and questioned her again.

“Meluna I’m sorry, I know this is hard, but are you saying there is nothing to fear from the birth, that the danger is connected to something else? To someone you don’t know? But why was the vision clouded? Why couldn’t you see the baby?”

“I don’t know your Grace, I’m sorry,” wept Meluna in equal frustration. Everything I saw felt true, absolutely true, but how can it be?”

Aeleessa, who had been helping the groaning Lorissa over to her bed with Nula and Noor, joined the group on the floor.

“I can explain some of it,” she said to everyone else’s surprise. Meluna saw two babies because there are two babies. And now we know that the first will be a boy and the second a girl and the birth will be safe. I’m sorry Illion, Lorissa wanted to surprise you. And she didn’t want the council to start debating her children as a succession issue before they were even born!” she added pointedly, looking at her husband.

Tilarion harrumphed, grudgingly conceding her point. “I wish you hadn’t been so secretive though. If Meluna had known all this before she wouldn’t have pushed so hard and would have been spared a great deal of distress.”

“Yes, but then we wouldn’t have known about this new threat,” pointed out Illion.

“What threat?” asked Tilarion. “All she said was ‘a stranger’ and something about misty gold and white, cold and scary darkness. It’s neither detailed nor compelling enough for anything to be done.”

“Look, this is all fascinating,” called out Nula, “but things are going to be getting really interesting in here quite soon, so could anyone who isn’t keen to get their hands dirty please take the debate into another room? Thank you!” she added as people began to rather sheepishly file out of the chamber. Illion loitered at the end of the bed.

“I want to stay Nula,” he said. “Please. Give me something to do. I’ve been wringing my hands all day!”

“Absolutely,” replied Nula. “You can fetch a damp cloth and mop Lorissa’s forehead.”

The princess was now propped into a semi-sitting position on her bed, which was covered in several extra layers of sheets to protect the mattress. Nula didn’t really favour this position for a birth, but for twins it was useful as the mother could become too tired on all fours and when two babies and two cords were in the picture, gravity was not necessarily the midwife’s friend. Lorissa’s face was screwed up with effort, her brow slick with sweat. Although the day was wearing on, the air temperature had not decreased noticeably and Lorissa had thrown back the sheet that covered her legs, saying that the heat was too much. Her legs were drawn up at her sides and she gripped her thighs as she bore down. As the contraction ended she flopped back on the pillows, exhausted. Illion held her hand and swabbed her face, smoothing her bedraggled, sweat soaked hair off her brow.

“You are so beautiful, my darling. I am so proud of you,” he said adoringly, gazing into her tired, shiny face.

Aeleessa nodded approvingly at her son-in-law. “You’ll do,” she said quietly. “You’ll do quite nicely.”

The pattern of pushing with each contraction and resting between continued for another hour, Lorissa taking sips of the energy-giving nectar now and again, before Nula triumphantly declared;

“I can see the baby’s head! Keep going Lorissa, you’re doing so well.”

Another twenty minutes of effort and the first baby’s head was born.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Aeleessa. “It’s all covered with something slippery.”

“Nothing’s wrong, your Grace. That’s the caul; the bag of water the baby lives inside. It’s lucky. Another push and he’ll be born.”

Nula deftly nicked the membrane with a hooked stick from her bag and a gush of fluid poured across the bed. All in a rush Lorissa pushed again and the baby was born. Nula lifted him onto Lorissa’s chest, rubbing him dry with a sheet. Noor felt the cord to see if it had stopped pulsing, and when it had she tied it in two places and cut in between, laughing at the little prince’s lusty cries of protest.

“Would you like to hold him, your Highness?” Noor asked Illion, wrapping the baby in a dry sheet and passing the squalling bundle to his father. Illion hugged the tiny infant to his chest, startled to feel quite overcome with emotion. He was so proud of and so in love with his wife and had been frightened for her; quite irrationally so, she said, but frightened all the same. He had hardly thought about how he would feel about the child when it – they, now – were eventually born. What he mostly felt was relief, although Lorissa’s ordeal was not over yet, but around the edges of that he recognised a powerful connection to the wrinkled, noisy boy-child in his arms. He regarded the pointed ears and dark blue eyes, the dusting of damp brown hair, and smiled.

“My son,” he said.

Nula felt Lorissa’s belly again to determine what his sister was doing.

“The baby’s turned, your Highness,” she advised Lorissa. “When you feel you need to push again, do it just like before.”

Lorissa groaned with exhaustion, but pushed herself forward again.

“More pillows, Mother,” she begged and Aeleessa rushed to comply. The little girl arrived with seemingly less effort and fuss than her brother. After only a few pushes she lay blinking on her mother’s chest, staring at the people in front of her while Nula dried her off. Once her cord had been tied and cut Nula laid a sheet over Lorissa and her baby to keep any breeze off them. The baby princess sneezed, gave a little whimper and stuck her fingers in her mouth, sucking them enthusiastically.

“She’s perfect,” said Lorissa wonderingly.

“They both are,” confirmed Illion, watching his son sleep with amazement in his eyes.

Lorissa’s face suddenly crumpled again and she moaned in protest at anything else being demanded of her.

“What’s wrong?” cried Illion, starting to panic.

“Don’t worry, it’s just the placenta,” said Noor, who had been checking for signs that it was ready to come away. “You need to push again, Lorissa, so it will pass out. I’m sorry, I know you’re tired, but it’s nearly over now.”

It wasn’t long before the placenta was delivered and taken away, having been checked by Noor to make sure it was whole. Illion and Aeleessa held the sleeping babies while Nula and Noor helped Lorissa to bathe and dress, then changed the bed for her.

“I can’t believe it – the mattress is completely dry!” exclaimed Noor. “Even with two lots of waters.”

“Hmm. I think perhaps one rather forward thinking monarch had the bottom sheet enchanted to water-proof it,” mused Nula. Aeleessa winked in confirmation as she sang softly to her granddaughter.

Once the new family were tucked into bed, Nula helped Lorissa with the babies’ first feed while Noor finished tidying up. Having made sure that all was well with the mother and both babies and reassuring Lorissa that they would be back the next day, the two Pixies left. Aeleessa accompanied them to the door.

“Thank you, Nula, and you Noor. We will never forget what you did today.”

“Only what we do every day, your Grace,” replied Nula modestly. “Now if you need me, just send word, but send to the Carnival, not the cottage. And if not I’ll see you tomorrow.

They traipsed down the stairs to the forest floor, which was eerily quiet. The distant sounds of music and laughter floated by on a deliciously cool evening breeze. It was still light, although under Theyos Raal the shade made it seem much darker. The top edge of the sun hovered on the brink of the horizon and the moon was high in the pale sky, just visible through the branches.

“About three hours from midnight, at a guess,” observed Nula. “Twilight, and not long till it gets dark.”

The sounds of merriment started to grow closer as the Pixies wound their way home from a day long picnic, filled with games and swimming and lying around in the sun. Soon the trees would be lit up with lanterns and the dancing would begin. Excitement lit up Noor’s eyes.

“Enjoy the party,” laughed Nula. “I’ll see you in the morning, so don’t stay up too late.”

“I’ll be good, Nula, don’t worry,” grinned Noor. “In fact, don’t worry about the morning visits, I’ll see to them. There aren’t many, and I’ll leave the Princess’s evening visit to you. Go dance with Em and enjoy a lie in tomorrow. You deserve it.”

Nula swithered over Noor’s offer, but not for long. “Alright, thank you. I know you can handle that. I’ll come to your house shortly after noon to see how everyone was. Send for me if you need me, though, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she said, giving her a swift hug before running off to join her friends and family. Nula turned in the opposite direction and headed for the Bridge. She expected the Carnival party would be in full swing by now and she felt suddenly re-energised at the thought of dancing with her beloved Emerden.

The north end of the clearing was deserted as Nula entered over the Bridge of Aught Else. She greeted the two guards in the traditional way and they wished her joy in return, although neither looked particularly joyful. Nula wondered if they were sore at having drawn guard duty on New Turn’s night, but their stoic gaze revealed nothing. Nula looked towards the other end of the large clearing. She could just see firelight flickering on the other side of the show tent, whose sides had been tied back to create an open canopy. The sounds of music and joyful celebration floated across on the evening breeze. Nula crossed the grass towards Emerden’s vardo which was the closest one in the row east of the bridge. All the dwellings of the Carnival people were arranged in a large avenue in the northwest end of the clearing, some to the west of the bridge and some to the east. No two houses were the same. Jonor, who lived opposite Emerden on the west side of the bridge, had built a house similar to the one he grew up in, in the manner of the Equiseen cob houses with a thatched roof. The Elves had built their houses in the trees, with a winding staircase leading up from the ground. There were wagons and cabins in various shapes and sizes, Doorsh and Mirren’s underground house with its porthole style entrance under the little porch, and Beyon and Tisha’s aerial tower, with their practise silks hanging from the high roof beams and all their living space on ground level. Demet and Louenne, their boys and Louenne’s mother lived in an apartment over the cookhouse, which was the largest two storey structure in the clearing, with a series of outhouses behind it housing the barn, stable, animal pens, dairy, brewery and still. Emerden’s vardo had been inherited from his father, and his father before him, for generations.

Nula climbed the steps to Emerden’s vardo and opened the door. The inside was dark and quiet. She lit a candle and opened the clothes chest. On top of Emerden’s neatly folded shirts, britches and waistcoats lay a gown of iridescent midnight blue gossamer. Nula had commissioned Doorsh and Mirren to make it for her, as she often did for special occasions. Tunics and leggings were all very well for work, but Nula loved pretty things and mostly wore dresses when off-duty.

“Girls, you have excelled yourselves, oh I love it!” she squealed excitedly as she lifted it out and held it in front of her. Mirren had spun the web gossamer into silky thread and woven a fine, sparkling fabric from it, then infused it with the colour of the night sky. Doorsh was the seamstress and had created a floaty gown with a form-fitting bodice and a soft, handkerchief hemline that fell to Nula’s calves. Nula had not yet seen the finished article, having asked Doorsh to leave it with Emerden. She quickly changed and stood admiring her reflection in the mirror on the closet door.

“OK, finishing touches,” she said and pulled a pair of blue enamelled hair combs and navy flat shoes from her work bag. She had stuffed them in that morning before leaving the house for Theyos Raal, in the hope that she might still make it to the party. Nula switched her boots for the dainty shoes and slid the combs into her hair, holding back the chestnut curls from her face. She threw a flower patterned shawl round her shoulders in case the night became chilly later on and left for the party, blowing out the candle and pulling the door shut fast as she went out.

As she passed the empty cabins and vans Nula noticed how quickly full darkness had fallen and was grateful for the moonlight by which she could see the dips and hillocks in the grass. As she approached the lantern-lit cookhouse and performance tent she saw the acrobatic troupe; a Myrial family of four brothers from Lytos Bor far to the north. They were setting out some mats and props on the grass in preparation for a rehearsal. Jaquor, the oldest brother at 24, saw her and called out in welcome.

“Hey Nula! Glad you could make it.”

“Hi Jaq, are you performing for us later?”

“Yup, new routine. You looking for Em? I think he’s in the cookhouse with Demet and Jonor.”

Bod, the youngest brother at only 12, ran over and hugged Nula. Tall for his age, he matched Nula’s height easily, but his childlike enthusiasm lessened the impact of his height and the athletic build daily acrobatics had given him. Nula always saw the little boy in him shining through and had a particular soft spot for him.

“Nula, Nula, are you coming to see me? I have a special part in the routine! It’s very important.”

“Of course I’m coming Bod! I wouldn’t miss it.”

He whooped and executed a series of tumbles and flips in excited anticipation of performing to one of his favourite people. Nula laughed, finding his enthusiasm infectious. Telling them she would see them later on and waving to Fron and Hanble who were now practicing on the mats, she headed on to the cookhouse. The brothers were a close knit unit, but also fitted seamlessly into the wider community of the Carnival. They had arrived seven years previously from Lytos Bor after their parents died. Chan and Emyrrah had been a renowned aerial act in the famous Circqe Aen Bor, the largest carnival in the realm, until a tragic accident killed them both when Bod was only five years old. The older brothers, then ten, twelve and seventeen, were already working or training in the circus, but as much as they accepted that their parents had performed fully aware of the risks of their profession, they couldn’t face returning every day to the site of their deaths. When one of the tutors told Jaquor about the carnival, he made the decision to take his family there and start over. With their small inheritance he bought passage across the Daraeyi Sea to Lytos Meer then purchased a home-wagon and two horses to cross the vast expanse of the Near Plains to Theyos Raal. Gaining consent to cross the Bridge of Aught Else to the carnival involved meeting with the Council of the Great Summer Forest and auditioning for everyone from the Carnival, but permission had been granted and they had lived at the Carnival ever since. Feeling a little crowded in the wagon as they all grew older, they had built a large cabin next to it and lived fluidly between the two constructs.

As Nula neared the cookhouse she saw the big bonfire, tended by Beyon the stilt walker and aerialist. There were several spits alongside roasting various birds and large hanks of meat. Close by Soorah and Eliish, sisters also from Lytos Bor, had their heads together over a basket containing several jars and vials, the contents of which Nula could only imagine. The entrance to the cookhouse was a large wooden door in the middle of one of the shorter sides. The front half stood one story tall while at the back an apartment was built over the kitchen with three bedrooms and a sitting room.

Nula walked in through the door, which had been propped open, and if the noise had been audible across the clearing it was like a solid wall of sound as she walked inside.

The dining room was large with tables and chairs arranged over the floor in a seemingly random pattern. In front of the wall dividing this room from the kitchen was a long serving counter, currently manned by Timony and his son Jofus, who did not perform in the carnival but belonged to one of the families who helped Demet and Louenne to run the cookhouse and farm. They handed out glasses of Demet’s potent and delicious home brewed cider and beer, or Louenne’s elderberry wine and carefully distilled blackberry liqueur or apple brandy. Behind the counter a large serving hatch in the wall allowed bowls of steaming savoury stew and soup, plates of fresh bread and helpings of pudding to be passed through from the kitchen.

In front of the bar Emerden and Jonor were sitting on high stools, regaling a small but captive audience with a tale of daring and adventure. Nula smiled and was about to join them when her hand was caught by a plump, smiling woman with sparkling lavender eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Louenne! Joy of the New Turning! You look excited.” Nula had to raise her voice to be heard over the music and rowdy conversations. The six musicians were playing a fast paced jig in one corner on various stringed, reeded and percussion instruments, looking as though they were enjoying themselves immensely.

“Joy to you, Nula! And I am excited. Come,” she pulled on Nula’s arm, leading her through the door to the kitchen, past the bustle of Demet and his assistants as they stirred, kneaded, chopped and washed up, and up the stairs to the family apartment. Once they were settled in Louenne’s sitting room, Nula turned to her friend expectantly.

“Okay, what’s up Lou?” she asked.

“Demet is going to have to get the cradle out of the loft again,” replied Louenne, giggling.

“You’re pregnant? Oh Lou that’s wonderful. When will you be due?”

“Close as I can figure it, round about Mid-Turning. I’m showing already – third time round; I suppose my figure will never be trim and girlish again.” She looked down at her rounded belly and cuddly bosom and sighed, lamenting the slim girl she used to be. Looking pensive, she turned to Nula.

“You don’t think Demet would ever have his head turned by some pretty young acrobat or beguiling Pixie, do you?”

Nula tried not to be offended. “Louenne, Pixies do not beguile married men. It’s against our beliefs. And Demet adores you. Besides, you are still young and pretty.”

“Oh, goodness Nula, I’m sorry! Sometimes I forget that you’re a Pixie, what with you not living in the forest and being so serious and professional and having stayed with Em all this time...” she tailed off as she saw Nula’s startled face. “What?”

“You really think I’m always serious? Do you think I’m dull?”

“No! No, I never said dull, just business like, when you need to be I mean and capable, with the baby delivering and such. You’re one of my best friends Nu, I love you! Besides, no one who’d ever seen you dancing and laughing with Em could think you were dull.” She looked Nula square in the eyes and saw for the first time a conflict between the dedicated midwife and the adventurous, fun and freedom loving Pixie.

“You are as much fun as anyone I know – and you’re beautiful and spirited and ever so kind. You know, every time Em rides off through the falls gate I see that part of you wants to go with him and see what’s out there. Maybe you should think about it.”

“What, me? Go to the mortal realm? I couldn’t; I have my patients. What would happen if one of you went into labour when I wasn’t here?” Nula looked a little wistful despite her denials and Louenne decided to push the idea a little further.

“Noor would cope; you’re always saying how good she is. She’ll need to be, whenever you and Em decide to have one of your own.” She made the comment in an offhand way, but was watching her friend carefully out the corner of her eye as she pretended to pick some lint from her skirt. Nula visibly balked at the suggestion.

“One of our own? Don’t be silly Lou, I’m too young for that yet, and far too busy with my work. And Emerden spends half his time on the other side of the Fall’s Gate, he’s never even suggested it.”

“He’s thought about it though, I guarantee it. You should have seen him with Ronesh and Yanis today. He’ll be a terrific father.”

Nula’s eyes widened as she remembered the unfulfilled commitment. “Louenne! Babysitting – I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry; you were working. Like I said Emerden took care of them. They went on a long walk; he taught them all the plants and animals they saw, brought them home happy and exhausted. It gave me hours to help Demet in the kitchen. Em even sat with my mother and fed her soup while I put the boys to bed.

You know Nula, you may be young, but he isn’t. Oh, I’m not saying he’s old, not at all; he’s only a few Turns older than me. Just that he’s had his Turns of chasing skirt...” she was interrupted by a startled expletive from Nula at this frank remark.

“Well, I’m only saying what’s true; you know his history as well as I do. A few years back Demet told me that it was a good job the Fall’s Gate kept finding new parts of the mortal realm to open into, otherwise Emerden would run out of women to flirt with.”

“Louenne, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Nula was aware of Emerden’s reputation, of course, but she didn’t like to study the facts of it too closely.

“A bit, perhaps. All I’m saying is, he hasn’t looked at anyone but you in five Turns, and that’s quite a change for him. He’s looking to settle down with you, and you need to decide if that’s what you want too.” She looked earnestly at her friend. “He’s a good man Nula, and he adores you. Go on a trip, have an adventure, we’ll all survive till you get back!”

Nula laughed, but there was an edge to it. She felt a pull from both sides of her heritage. Her parents had been happily married for years and her mother had dedicated her life to the work of a midwife. Nula had also been raised by a gentle Manguin father, a farmer who had taught her of the land and his faith, instilling patience and a love of books in her character. On the other hand her sisters, aunts and cousins followed their own people’s ways as they lived in the forest, free and untethered, pursuing beauty, peace, pleasure and sisterhood. Nula’s somewhat solitary existence half way between the forest and the villages was a metaphor for that emotional quandary. Although she felt quite sure that she did want the settled existence her own mother had chosen, she felt quite young to be starting it. However, fate wove its own path through the cords of people’s lives and if this was her chance to know a powerful and all-encompassing love Nula knew she would have to give herself to it completely, allowing destiny to take her where it would. Even so, the thought of giving her body over to the ‘wonders’ of pregnancy - wonders which her professional experience showed her daily were not always so wonderful – was a little daunting. Seeking to change the subject, Nula asked after the health of Louenne’s mother, who had been ill with a fever the previous week and was still recovering.

“She’s getting stronger every day, but she still tires easily. Thalaenna gave me a tonic for her, so I’m sure she’ll be back to normal soon. Shall we go back downstairs? The men will be wondering where we are.”

“Oh, I don’t think Em even saw me come in,” shrugged Nula.

Louenne snorted.

“Silly girl, that man could have his eyes closed and his back turned; he’d still know if you were nearby.”

Nula blushed, but smiled at Louenne’s gentle teasing. As they entered the dining room Louenne squeezed Nula’s hand then went to clear dishes from the tables. Nula headed for the bar, greeting friends as she passed them, looking for Emerden where she had seen him before with Jonor, but his stool was empty. Jonor smiled at Nula and shrugged apologetically, tipping his cupped hand near his mouth to ask if she’d like a drink. Nula shook her head and glanced around in case she could see where he’d gone. Suddenly, a posy of wild flowers appeared in front of her and a voice whispered in her ear, “I wish you the most joyous New Turning there has ever been, Nula daughter of Maegren.”

“You’re quoting my ancestry at me? My, this must be serious!” laughed Nula, turning to face him. Her breath caught as she felt the intensity of his gaze and she yearned for a much later part of the evening. Showing what she felt to be an admirable degree of restraint, she planted a small kiss on his warm mouth and pulled back to ask, “Hungry?”

“Starved,” he replied, leading her towards the corner furthest from the musicians. “I didn’t eat yet; I had a feeling you might show up. Please, sit.”

Emerden had led her to a small table which had been covered with a linen cloth and set with a candle and a vase for Nula’s posy. Demet appeared with two bowls of fragrant chicken stew and a plate of bread, and Louenne arrived right behind him with glasses of wine.

“Enjoy,” she smiled, before taking Demet’s arm and sauntering back to the kitchen.

“What’s all this,” asked Nula, taking in the presentation.

“Something they do in the mortal realm,” he explained. “They call it ‘a romantic candle lit dinner for two’ or ‘a date’. It’s considered very romantic.”

“I have to admit, it adds something to a meal,” conceded Nula. The noise level suddenly dropped as the musicians stopped playing and took their instruments out to the bonfire, where most of the crowd was gradually migrating. She looked up to see that Emerden was gazing at her again, and she smiled, self-consciously.

“What?” she asked.

“I missed you today.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting that call today.”

Emerden covered her hands with his, as if to suppress her guilt physically with the pressure of his fingers.

No, Nula, I’m not asking for an apology. I know your work is unpredictable. I just don’t think I tell you often enough how much I miss you when we’re apart. How much I love you.”

Nula smiled at his words, the reassurance as unnecessary as the candle, the flowers and the table cloth, yet just as welcome.

“And I you. I hope you know that.”

Emerden smiled in return, his grey-blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and he felt brave enough to broach a subject which had been on his mind all day and also somehow for much longer.

“You know, we’ve never really talked much about the future, have we?”

Nula’s guard was up at once, and she paused, her spoon half way to her mouth. Phrases from the conversation she had just had with Louenne echoed in her mind and she wondered what he was going to say.

“The future will happen Em, why do we have to talk about it?”

“Well, wouldn’t it be a good idea to check that we both see it happening in the same way?”

Nula chewed thoughtfully. “Have you been talking to Louenne?” she asked suspiciously. Emerden reddened.

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. Nula raised an eyebrow. “Jonor, actually,” he admitted.

“I see. I wonder if they conferred.”

“Who, Jonor and Louenne? I doubt it. Jonor asked me this morning if babysitting today was practice for having one of my own – our own – and implied that I’m getting old and should probably think about it before I’m too decrepit.” Emerden pulled a face and ran a hand through his long, wavy hair, which was beginning to grey at the temples.

Nula laughed at his chagrin. “Louenne said that Noor is quite capable of taking over my work so I should go travelling with you and make babies,” she summarised.

Emerden blinked, surprised.

“She did, huh? Well meaning friends, both. I suppose the important thing is what you and I want though.”

“Yes, so what do you want, Em?” Nula laid down her spoon and gave him her full attention.

“Well, I would love for you to come travelling through the gate with me. There are so many amazing things I’d love to show you. And certainly I’m not averse to the practice of making babies, if you’d like that.”

Nula raised her eyebrow again. “You get a fair amount of ‘practice’,” she observed, archly. Emerden cleared his throat, smiling at her pun.

“I would like to have one, one day. A child I mean. Or more than one, in time. I suppose I made assumptions on that count. I mean, I took it for granted that with the work you do you would want to experience it first hand at some point. I rather hoped you would want it to be with me.” Emereden felt oddly vulnerable, having laid his heart bare to an uncommon degree, and found it almost hard to meet her gaze, fearing what he might read there. He was heartened to see that she was smiling at him, her eyes glistening with emotion.

“Em,” she whispered, “I do want it to be with you. And yet I’m nervous of taking that step. The work I do shows me all the things that can go wrong, as well as how wonderful it is when it goes well. I don’t blame you for making assumptions. I’m just not at the point when I can make that choice yet, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’ll get there, in time. Whatever Jonor says, I’m not quite past it yet! I know everything happens in its own time. I just always saw myself teaching all the stories to my own son one day.”

“Daughter,” corrected Nula with a catch in her voice.

“What did I say?” asked Emerden, aware that he had said something amiss.

“You said you assumed you’d have a son. I’m a Pixie, Em, we have only daughters, you know that. However many children we had, they would all have been girls.” Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she dashed them away, pushing her chair from the table and running to the door. Emerden caught up with her half way across the now deserted room and held her arms.

“Why are you talking in the past tense? I’m sorry Nu; I didn’t mean anything by it! I mean yes, when I was younger I pictured myself passing on my work to a son, but I will love our daughters and never miss not having a boy, I promise you that. Honestly, I would rather have just one daughter with you than ten sons with anyone else! And I am happy to wait till you’re ready, whether that’s now or ten years from now.”

Nula looked into his eyes and saw only sincerity there. The lamplight glinted off her tears and the hazel flecks in her own eyes, making them seem on fire.

“Ten years might be a bit long,” she suggested. “Why don’t we just see how we go?”

Emerden pulled her close and kissed her forehead, cursing his own stupidity for the mistake. Somehow the fact that she was a Pixie had never impinged on the long held mental picture of playing with a son of his own and teaching him to take on his own role, just as his father had done. He took a moment, just pressing her against him, to replace the small boy in those pictures with a little girl, one with dark ringlets and fiery hazel eyes, and felt curiously at peace. Nula took a deep breath, sighed and smiled determinedly up at him.

“I think we should enjoy the rest of the party, and then later we can talk more about ‘practicing’,” she suggested.

“Only talk?” grinned Emerden, following her back to their table.

Outside by the bonfire, Jonor had been watching the dancing, a small silver flask of whisky in his hand. It was a curious truth that they had to charge a fee for people to come and see their shows from through the Gate. They had tried, at first, providing them as a sort of service in line with what they felt to be their vocational calling to serve in the Carnival. Unfortunately people didn’t show much interest when they heard that tickets were free. A few enthusiasts would turn up, the sort of people who will always go where a bit of entertainment is promised, but crowds were few and far between. It was when one of their few attendees said “you oughta charge for this, it’s really good!” that the figurative penny had dropped. The fact that the Falls Gate always appeared in somewhat remote locations, rather by necessity, paired with the fact that they didn’t charge a ticket price, seemed to devalue their show in the minds of the human public. (If the Gate suddenly manifested in the middle of a local high street people tended to be slightly perturbed, the sight of a waterfall suddenly falling from the sky and disappearing as it hit the ground being a less than everyday occurrence). And so they started charging a small amount for tickets and the crowds grew exponentially. This resulted in the Carnival folk having a steady income of human currency which was totally useless in their own world. A barter economy prevailed in the forest, while the nearby villages and the Meerans and Myrials naturally had their own coinage. As a result, each time a group from the Carnival drove their wagons through the Falls Gate to drum up business, they took with them a shopping list of things of things members of their community had come to appreciate from the human world. Louenne had a fondness for coconut scented shampoo for her long hair, Emerden and Jonor both particularly enjoyed a good single malt and Nula loved chocolate. Beyon’s wife Tisha loved a particular perfume, Demet wanted cooking spices and so it went on.

Jonor sipped his whisky and tapped his knee in time to the beat of the frenetic reel as the dancers whirled around the fire. Gurel provided the rhythm on his hand drums while Venna and Chessie played the pan pipes and the coora, a low pitched, reed instrument. Gerid, Venna’s husband, took bow to fiddle expertly and the group’s two Elves, Marielle and Hyranna, sang beautiful harmonies to any piece with lyrics. Hyranna also played the harp on occasion, but for now the two Elves joined the dancers, kicking up their long skirts and linking arms as they burled each other round and about.

A short while later, Jonor noticed Emerden and Nula emerge from the cookhouse. Emerden looked serious and Nula appeared a little quieter than her usual chirpy self. He caught Emerden’s eye and raised his eyebrows, but was answered with a nod and a wink which reassured him that all was well. He was sure Emerden would tell him later if there was anything wrong. Nula’s foot began to tap in time to the music, which was now a jig, jaunty but paced a little slower than the preceding reel. A slow smile lit up her face and she squeezed Emerden’s waist and looked up at him beseechingly. He laughed and they joined the dance, weaving in and out of the other couples as they turned the steps of the jig. When the music ended Hyranna took up her harp and joined her voice with Marielle’s in a haunting ballad of love and yearning. Emerden held Nula in his arms and they danced slowly to the music, gazing intently into each other’s eyes as if determined to recapture the mood in which they began the evening. They were joined by the other couples in the group, including Demet and Louenne, Beyon and Tisha, Gerid and Venna, Jaquor and Eliish, Timony and Alishore and finally Lucan and Mardenny. Fron was sitting on a log, looking speculatively at Eliish’s sister Soorah. Jonor wanted to give him a nudge, to encourage the young man to ask her to dance as he so clearly wished to do, but he was several meters away and didn’t want to be obvious about it. He hoped Fron would work up the courage later. Jonor was heartened and comforted by the atmosphere of friendship and affection filling the air like bonfire smoke. They were a close-knit community, sharing everything. Everyone who lived there contributed to the carnival in some way, either in performance or support. The large kitchen garden behind the cookhouse, the animal pens, dairy and brewery, the orchards and the crop fields; people helped where and how they could. They cared for one another; they were, in effect, a family. More so than his blood relatives, Jonor thought with just a slight twinge of regret, just the merest echo of a sadness he had put aside many Turns ago.

As the song ended Bod, who was bored with all the mushy stuff, stood up and called out to the group at large:

“Can we start the show now? It’s time, right?”

There was a ripple of laughter and Emerden winked at the youngster, raised his arms and declared theatrically:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, if you will all make your way to the tent, some of our number wish to entertain us with their acrobatic accomplishments and feats of fiery fortitude!”

They walked the short distance across the clearing and sat on the rough log benches under the tent canopy. The air was scented with a mixture of smoke and the sawdust on the floor of the performance ring, with a hint of the indefinable tinge of late evening.

The bubble of jovial chatter subsided as the four brothers from Lytos Bor walked into the ring. Bod was almost bursting with nervous excitement as he waited in expectation of his greatest performance. They began by tumbling and flipping across the floor above, below and around each other, coming within a hair’s breadth but never touching.

Fron and Hanble juggled axes, individually then between each other, blades flying deftly through the air. Bod juggled four coloured balls, then five, then switched them for knives, while Nula gripped the edge of her seat fearing for his fingers. Jaquor concluded that part of the act by lighting several clubs on fire with mixtures from one of Soorah’s jars that made them each burn a different colour. He tossed them up one after the other, catching and throwing with a confidence born of many, many hours of practice. His brothers joined him and the clubs were now passed from one to the next, spinning through the air in rainbow arcs of flaming comet tails. They grinned with exhilaration, concentrating with everything they had, lest some terrible accident occur. Bod’s face shone in the firelight, the different colours reflected in his eyes. Nula, perched on the edge of her seat, was watching Bod intently. She had seen his juggling before and knew this was not his new routine, so her sense of anticipation was palpable. Emerden, seated next to her, was losing the sensation in his fingers so tightly was she squeezing his hand. He whispered in her ear.

“Nu, is something wrong?”

“No,” she replied, surprised. “Why?”

“It’s just I can’t feel my hand anymore, so I wondered if something was worrying you. He’s very good, you know. He won’t get burned.”

“Oh I know that!” she whispered, blushing and releasing his fingers. “It’s only that I saw him earlier and he told me they have a big new routine for tonight; something he has a big part in.”

“Oh, I see,” smiled Emerden and let her get back to watching. He had seen the rehearsals and knew what to expect. It would be an impressive finish and Bod had indeed worked very hard.

The musical accompaniment changed in tempo, becoming more serious and climactic. All the juggling equipment set aside, the brothers returned to the mats. Jaquor set his feet wide and braced his legs, so Hanble and then Fron could climb up. They created a tower with Hanble sitting on Jaquor’s shoulders and Fron standing on Hanble’s thighs, steadied at the shins by Hanble’s strong grip. Bod then climbed nimbly up the tower until he stood on Fron’s shoulders. There was barely a tremble in Jaquor’s legs as the tower grew higher, so strong and powerful was he. Bod placed a hand on Fron’s head, holding out his other to be steadied by his brother’s protective grip, and turned himself completely upside down. He let go of Fron’s hand, balancing all his weight down one arm and splaying his legs. He turned again, righting himself so that his legs were held out perfectly straight on either side of Fron’s head.

The watching crowd gasped in wonder at the sheer physical strength and agility on display, but they were by no means finished. Effortlessly Bod dropped to the ground, the rest of the tower collapsing gracefully beside him so that all four stood on the mats again. Nula was about to applaud rapturously but Emerden stayed her hands, shaking his head to tell her that the best was yet to come.

Next, Jaquor and Hanble made a basket with their interlocked arms and Bod jumped up to stand in it. With a gentle bend of all their knees he was thrown high into the air, turning somersaults as he rose and fell, landing perfectly on their arms again. Twice more they flung him skyward and yet more aerial twists and flips were executed. Nula found she was holding her breath and had to let it out in a rush. Finally Bod leaped to the ground, rolled and came up on his feet, arms exultantly held skyward, grinning widely. The joy on his face was infectious and Nula laughed aloud. Again Emerden stilled her hands and held up a single finger to indicate that yet one more feat was to be accomplished.

This time Jaquor and Hanble faced each other once again, but each folded his own arms. Fron climbed up, setting his feet on these as steps. Each of their faces was set in concentration, making sure the distances between their feet and each other were exactly right. Bod took a deep breath and reached up, grasping his brother’s hands and beginning to swing back and forth. Gaining height and momentum, Fron swung him high into the air, where he turned two full somersaults before catching Fron’s hands on the downswing. Up again and Bod turned and twisted at once, so that he was facing Fron this time for the catch. The third time he was thrown up he turned twice over again, and this time Fron jumped down and rolled clear while he was aloft, so that he was caught now on the braced arms of his other two brothers. With a final flourish, Bod leaped up and flipped over to land on his feet.

The brothers lined up and joined hands, raising them in the air and bowing low, amid enthusiastic applause from the whole audience, and especially from Nula who was finally allowed to let loose her delight in her young friend’s triumph. Bod’s eyes shone with pride as they sought out Nula’s and he grinned even wider to see how pleased she was for him. His heart felt fit to burst from his chest. The weeks of hard work and aching muscles had paid off and now that routine, with him as its star, would be part of the show for the otherworlders who came through the Gate.

The brothers left the floor as the applause faded and there was a fair bit of congratulatory back slapping and hand shaking, especially for the youngest acrobat. Best of all though, in Bod’s mind, was the exuberant hug he received from Nula, who nearly squeezed all the breath from him in her excitement.

“You were amazing!” she declared, beaming at him.

“Thanks,” he gasped. “Gee, you’re stronger than you look!”

“Sorry, I’m just so pleased for you. You did really well.”

“Thanks Nula, that really means a lot,” he managed; a deep blush flushing his light brown skin in self-conscious pleasure, which it is almost possible went unnoticed by everyone but Emerden in the half light. After Bod had returned to his brothers to watch the others perform, Emerden turned a knowing look on Nula.

“I think someone has a crush on you,” he murmured.

“He does not!” retorted Nula, embarrassed. “Does he?”

“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it in time, find someone his own age.”

“He’ll need to, since I only have eyes for one man at this Carnival.” Nula stared pointedly at him, winked and turned her attention back to the performance.

Next onto the floor were Soorah and Eliish. Using their fire magic they made tongues of flame dance on their hands, juggled them in the air like balls of fire and threw them back and forth to one another. Soorah transferred a small lick of orange flame from the end of her finger onto the tip of her tongue, then tipped her head back and blew the flame into a long line that bobbed and wove in the air like a serpent, while Chessie played a mysterious and enchanting melody on her coora. Gerid picked up the rhythm on his tambour, a skin stretched over a wooden frame and played with a double ended beater. Eliish appeared to command the fire-snake into a more energetic dance and it leaped from Soorah’s mouth and danced on the floor, finally darting straight forward towards the crowd before it disappeared. The audience gasped and reeled backwards, taken by surprise as the flames seemed set to scorch them, then laughed as the fire dissipated harmlessly into the air.

As they had been watching this spectacle Jonor had been arranging several glass jars around the edge of the performance area, the same jars he had been helping them with that afternoon. At a nod from Eliish, the band took up a tune with the fiddle, tambour, coora and pan pipes which was both haunting and energetic. It made Nula’s foot tap while her heart longed to soar in flight like an eagle. As the melody progressed Soorah and Eliish made each open jar burst forth in flames of different colours, painting a picture in the air. A blue flame rippled along near the floor like a river while a purple one zigzagged across the air like the peaks of a mountain range. Flames of orange, red and yellow painted the sunset above the mountains and across it all a solitary dart of bronze coursed its path like an eagle, soaring and diving, crying its freedom song. The sheer beauty of the fire painting played across the story of the music brought a tear to Nula’s eye. Finally the painting collapsed like paint colours running in the rain, then swooped across the canvas of the tent in stripes like a rainbow, arcing from one side to the other. Soorah and Eliish took their bow amid applause and cheers from all around the tent.

The final turn of the evening was Emerden’s. He told a story of love in adversity, trials overcome and triumph at the end. As he spoke Hyranna played her harp and Beyon and Tisha played out the story up and down their aerial silks. His voice held them all mesmerised, nuances of intonation and metre weaving a spell over their minds as the grace and beauty of the aerial dance captivated their eyes. The audience was utterly enraptured until the very last syllable, when it was pronounced that they would indeed all live happily ever after. A collective sigh of relief and contentment went up from all around the tent and the evening drew to a close.

Everyone slowly walked back to their homes in pairs or small groups, crossing the clearing arm in arm in the hazy contentment that suffuses the mind at the end of a great party. As the moon started its downward arc across the sky, they parted ways with hugs and handclasps, the extended family of the Carnival ready for sleep to claim them at the end of a New Turning well celebrated.

Nula and Emerden walked hand in hand to the last caravan before the Bridge and climbed the steps to the door, moonlight camouflaging the bright colours of the paintwork and casting everything in shades of grey. Nula paused to watch a pair of fireflies hovering near the door and Emerden tilted her head for a kiss, soft and inviting.

“Tired?” he asked, brushing a tendril of hair away from her eyes.

“Yes,” she answered, “but not too tired.” She rose on to her tip toes and wound her forearms behind his neck, pulling him close and stringing whispers of kisses down his face and neck, pausing at his collar bone to breathe him in; warmth and musk and wood smoke combined. Looking up again she took his mouth with hers, tasting whisky, flickering her tongue over his lips and meeting his own, teasing and tempting him to follow as she opened the door behind her back and stepped inside. Obligingly he stepped through the doorway and pushed it shut, one arm still around Nula’s slender waist. With the other hand he deftly unlaced the front of her dress. Their gaze met and held as he slid the fabric over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Moments later his own clothes were piled next to hers. Even in the warmth of the humid night air their skin prickled with goosebumps as they pressed the lengths of their bodies together. Their hands and mouths explored the well known territory of the other, eliciting small gasps and murmurs of pleasure. He lifted her slight frame and laid her on the bed. A sudden breeze filtering through the window shutters chilled Nula’s skin and she shivered. He covered her with his warmth as they slid between the sheets, melding their bodies together. Nula thrilled to every touch, every sensation. She was breathless as they moved together, gasping and grasping, losing herself utterly in the moment until she heard her own voice cry out. It was beyond her control, beyond his, but they were so in tune that just as the waves of her pleasure started to recede his own broke, reinforcing them and her heart raced, her gaze locked with his. And they quieted, breath slowing, whispering sweet nothings, kissing gently and holding each other, and allowed sleep to claim them at last.

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