Cold Fire (The Spiritwalker Trilogy) by Elliott Kate

Author:Elliott, Kate [Elliott, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2011-09-25T16:00:00+00:00

22

The next afternoon after work, Vai brought a fruit he called mamey. The smooth pink flesh had a rich flavor, spiked with the lime juice he squeezed over slices scooped out of the rind.

“Perhaps you would like to attend a batey match,” he said.

“Perhaps I would. Mmm. The texture is like cream.” I licked my lips. “But I have to work.”

The intensity of his serious gaze disturbed me more than did the sweetness of his charming smile. “You work hard, Catherine. You’ve sewn singlets for the little lads, and blouses for the little lasses. If I ask, Aunty will say no harm to miss one afternoon’s work.”

“If you ask?” I examined him. “Does this have anything to do with last night?”

The flare of his eyes told me something, only I did not know what. He obviously did not intend to discuss the incident with me. “Let me know.”

“I’ll go with Luce and her friends,” I said with a defiant lift of my chin.

He agreed so quickly I wondered if this had been his plan all along. “Yes. They’re tall gals, too. You won’t stand out so much.”

“Do I stand out?”

He rose and took a step away, and just as I thought he was going to leave without answering, he paused and looked back as if he knew what I was waiting for. “Always, Catherine. Always.”

With that parting shot, more like a taunting volley of stinging crossbow bolts in advance of a battle, he deserted me for the company of his friends who just then surged in through the gate. After an excited conversation they hurried out. For the next three days I barely saw him. Our regular customers talked of nothing except a huge outdoor meeting planned in support of the call for an Assembly. They began a betting pool on how quickly violence would break out and how many would be shot or arrested by the wardens.

“Can I go?” Luce asked plaintively, to which her mother and grandmother united in a staggeringly firm “No,” after which they confiscated the money collected by the betting pool and distributed the coins to the beggars and mothers of twins in the local market.

“Yee shall not go either, Cat,” Aunty said to me later, “for there shall be wardens out in plenty. Yee must do nothing to come to they attention.”

“I won’t go,” I promised her.

The morning of the day planned for the demonstration dawned red. The winds died, and the air’s flavor deadened and then came alive with an odd anticipatory snap. People hurried home early from work, and at the boardinghouse we shuttered all the windows and braced doors and furniture and storage barrels as well as tightly roping down the roof cistern.

I overheard Uncle Joe say to Vai, “They shall have to cancel the demonstration.”

At dusk a storm blew through with gusting winds and pelting rain. Flying above it, a shuddering voice sang in a language I did not know, with words like drumrolls and trumpet shrieks whose cadence made me twist and turn all night until dawn came and the winds calmed and the rain ceased.

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