Mumuksu ended the class by reminding them of the rules for attending the Chorzu festival. “No spirits, no fortune-telling, and no fighting. Wear your traveling cloaks over your robes, and keep your kataris and identities hidden. Of course, many of the Chorzu folk will still recognize us, but the outsiders won’t, and the villagers know to keep their silence. You must be in groups of at least three, and apprentices must be accompanied by a Markswoman. You need to return by midnight. Remember, the penalty for being late is that you spend the whole of tomorrow sweeping the caverns instead of enjoying yourself back at the fair.”
Kyra grinned at her friends and they grinned back at her. But the happy smiles were wiped off their faces at Mumuksu’s next words: “Kyra, I know you are planning to escort Elena and Nineth to Chorzu. You will include Akassa in your group. The three apprentices should stay together.”
She lectured them some more on the good behavior that was expected of them, but it was all empty wind as far as Kyra was concerned. She stared at Elena and Nineth in dismay and horror. The only silver lining was that Akassa looked equally horrified.
Sure enough, she blurted out, “Please, Elder, do I have to go with Kyra? I overheard the Mistress of Mental Arts saying that she needed to buy some things in the village. Perhaps I could help her carry them.”
Mumuksu frowned at the apprentice. Although they were of the same clan, the elder showed Akassa not the slightest favor. “The Mistress of Mental Arts has more important things to do tonight than go to a village festival,” she said. “You will go with Kyra and the other apprentices. Remember, stable your horses at the Kokand Inn.”
She swept away, and the students scrambled up off the grass, laughing and talking.
Kyra went to her cell to retrieve her cloak. How like Mumuksu to saddle her with the loathsome Akassa. Perhaps they could slip away without her?
But when Kyra emerged from the caves, all three apprentices were waiting outside, cloaked and ready to leave. Akassa tapped her foot and looked at the sky, as if she had been waiting a long time.
“Finally!” she said, rolling her eyes when she saw Kyra. “Let’s go get the horses.”
“We’re walking,” Kyra retorted. She had meant them to ride to the festival, but something stubborn and unreasonable inside made her want to punish Akassa, just for being there. She felt a small stab of satisfaction at Akassa’s look of dismay.
“You’re joking, right?” said Akassa. “Everyone else is riding. It’s miles to the village. It’s going to be dark before we get there, and it’s a full moon tonight. Do you want us to be attacked by wyr-wolves?”
Kyra ignored her and started walking. Nineth and Elena exchanged worried glances before falling in step beside her. Kyra snapped, “The festival doesn’t begin until sunset, and it’s a lovely evening for a walk.”
“We didn’t say a word,” muttered Nineth. Elena stayed silent.
But if they held their peace, Akassa did not. She kept up a loud and constant stream of complaints throughout the two-mile walk to Chorzu. The grass was damp, her feet were sore, they would miss the drumming at the start of the festival, they would be late coming back, they would be ripped apart by wyr-wolves, and so on and on until it was all Kyra could do to stop herself from slapping the girl. It quite spoiled the walk, which was a pity, because the valley was beautiful at this time of the year. The pink sky was a perfect backdrop for the distant snow-covered peaks, and the air was full of the scent of the red and white wildflowers that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Akassa need not have fretted about the time; they arrived in Chorzu at sunset, just as the first drumroll echoed across the evening sky. Forgetting their bickering, they picked up their robes and ran toward the field behind the village where the festival was being held. An offshoot of the Siran-dyr River rippled by the edge of the field. Later that night, young girls of the village would float flower offerings to the Moon Goddess on the water.
But for now, all attention was focused on the drummers: a group of bare-chested young men standing on a mound in the center of the vast field, drums slung around their necks and red scarves tied to their wrists.
“There must be thousands of people here,” said Nineth in awe.
Men and women dressed in the loose white shirts, sleeveless black coats, and wide trousers typical of the valley thronged the field. But there were also clowns on stilts, black-robed medicine women, and veiled merchants from Tushkan. Children ran underfoot, laughing and shouting.
Nineth’s words were drowned by the next drumroll. The drummers began to beat out an age-old invocation to the stars for friendship, light, healing, and unity. Elena slipped her hand into Kyra’s and Kyra held it hard, her heart accelerating to the beating of the drums. How far back did this ritual go? Did anyone even remember what it meant? She thought back to the vision of the past she had glimpsed in Anant-kal, and her throat tightened. Perhaps the Ones were still out there somewhere, watching and listening.
When the last drumroll died away there was a roar of approval from the crowd. The drummers bowed, their faces shiny with sweat.
“Wasn’t that beautiful?” said Elena.
“Not bad,” said Akassa disdainfully. “But it was better last year.”
Kyra shot Akassa a disgusted glance. “Where shall we go first?” she asked Nineth and Elena.
It was a good question. The field was dotted with dozens of little tents that were already doing a brisk business, to judge by the lines snaking out of them. Off to one corner, a tent larger than the others proclaimed “Marvels and Magick: Come and Be Amazed!” in golden lettering. The fragrance of freshly baked potato pies drifted up from a row of open carts tended by a group of Chorzu women.
“I’m hungry,” said Nineth, sniffing the air.
“After that enormous lunch you ate?” sneered Akassa. “Be careful or you’ll get too fat for Hatha-kala. As it is, you can barely spar as well as a novice.”
Nineth’s face went bright red and her eyes widened in hurt.
“Shut up, Akassa.” Kyra glared at the apprentice. “Or I’ll send you back to the caves right now.”
“Let’s go buy some pies,” said Elena hurriedly, before Akassa could snap back at Kyra.
Akassa didn’t want any, as expected. So the three of them joined the queue in front of one of the carts. The woman who was tending it gave them one quick glance and averted her eyes, obviously recognizing them. She handed them three potato pies and waited with discomfort as Elena counted out six bronze coins.
Kyra wished she could pat the woman on the arm and tell her there was nothing to be afraid of. They were just a group of friends out to have fun at the festival.
But that would not have gone over well. The Order of Kali had ruled the Ferghana for centuries, acting as peace brokers, protectors, and executioners. The Mahimata ensured that her Markswomen followed the law scrupulously, but as far as the villagers were concerned, they held the power of life and death over everyone else in the valley.
Kyra and her friends took their pies and stood beside the Marvels and Magick tent to eat. Akassa wandered away scowling, pausing to inspect a peddler cart stacked with colorful wares with such scorn that she scared away several potential customers.
“Mmmm, this is good,” said Kyra, biting through the crispy shell of the pie to the buttery center.