Page 83 of Requiem of Silence

“Thisisgood.” She drained the rest of the cup. There was no bite of alcohol in the drink but he felt a little slower and looser all the same.

Someone speaking in Elsiran caught his attention. A young man dressed all in white stood on a platform off to the side of the street. They’d passed others like him shouting, though none in a language they could understand.

“Visitors, friends—the Rumpus is a time to lay our burdens down!” the man shouted. “As an acolyte of Saint Gilmer, I have dedicated my life to carrying out his mission. During the Rumpus, we celebrate him and all he has provided to strengthen the ties that bind us together.”

They stopped to listen, though most of the crowd continued walking. Zeli looked up wide-eyed, tilting her head and trying to understand the words.

“Over the course of a decade of toil and travail, our links weaken,” the acolyte continued, clasping his hands together, then breaking them apart. “But never forget, to celebrate is to live, to love, and to be merry. Rest your weary shoulders and take part, and you will feel the benefit. You will feel the blessing of Saint Gilmerthe Searcher. The pursued and pursuer. Whether you seek entertainment, a partner to walk this life with you, or the knowledge to create both, you may find it here. Lay your burdens down, seek and find and rejoice.”

He held his hands above his head, palms up, then clapped them together and brought them to his lips. He closed his eyes and bowed. When he opened them again, he looked at Varten and smiled.

Then he looked away and began speaking in another language. Perhaps the same speech repeated? Varten recognized only the wordsGilmerandRumpus.

“People from around the world come,” Zeli said. “They must translate some things into various languages.”

Varten nodded and caught sight of a stream of blue-clad people turning up ahead. “Come on!”

This new side street was narrower and less crowded. As they headed away from the music in the square, a new set of musicians began playing nearby and the dancing changed. Around them, people started singing a Yalyish song. It was bright and folksy, very catchy even though he couldn’t sing along.

But Zeli was laughing as an older man beside her did a series of spins. He turned to her and motioned for her to spin as well. At first Varten thought she’d be too shy, but then she relented and turned around on her toes once. The man clapped and did another turn, so Zeli did, too.

Not to be outdone, and caught up in the joy and exuberance and warmth running through his veins, Varten started spinning as well. Zeli’s laugh was even more infectious than the music. He reached out for her, took her hand, and they spun together.

The entire crowd danced as they moved toward their destination. It was a mobile party parade in the middle of the street. Now dizzy, Varten did not stop dancing. He let his arms and legs glideand move along with the melody of the guitar, drums, and horns he still couldn’t see.

Beside him, Zeli moved freely as well, graceful and rhythmic and easy. She stumbled on a crack in the street and ended up crashing into him. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around her to keep her from falling. Laughing, her eyes met his. She seemed closer, standing on her toes.

He couldn’t help himself from leaning forward. When their lips touched it was as if a blanket fell over the world. The music faded, the revelers quieted. Everything stopped, even his heartbeat. Her arms moved around him, bringing him closer. He lifted her to bring her even nearer. Holding her there, something new and indefinable moved through him. Something like music or electricity made his very bones begin to sing.

When their tongues touched, Zeli startled. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, breathing heavily. The crowd moved around them, water around a boulder. They gaped at each other for a moment before he put her down.

She touched her lips, appearing stunned, but didn’t say anything. He held his breath.

The invisible musicians were closer now, drowning out anything she might have wanted to say. She blinked as if waking from a dream, and looked around. Then she turned and started walking again. Slowly, not leaving him behind, but not touching him anymore.

The crowd had thinned somewhat. There was enough space for them to walk unmolested, so he didn’t reach for her again. Though his hand itched and felt empty.

Every now and again she would look over at him furtively, as if trying to solve a riddle he’d presented. He supposed hewasthe riddle, for he barely knew himself.

For a brief moment, he’d been just as unencumbered and free as the acolyte had advised. Caught up in a moment of singular joy. But a person can’t just set down their burdens, not when they’re tethered to you. Dragging themselves behind you.

Not when the weight of them pulls against you with every step. Even the wonder and merriment of the Rumpus couldn’t change everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When you play, do it not with

people’s minds or hearts or feelings.

Play to win, or play the drum,

the horn, the keys.

Play rousing, soothing, raucous, lilting melodies.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Jasminda sat stiffly on the ungenerously cushioned chair. She supposed she should call it a throne, but shouldn’t it be more comfortable to achieve such a lofty title? Next to her, Jack’s seat was conspicuously empty.

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