Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

43. Dancing in the Dark

11th of Nema, Continued

An hour later, a group of us strolled over the sea-laurel-covered rise above Fox Cove, and there it was.

Apparently, pirates used paper lanterns in all of their decorating. It was just like on the Angpixen, only bigger – hundreds of lanterns in every shape and color had been strung crisscross in a bright canopy over a broad stretch of raked sand. Under one end of the lantern canopy was a bamboo sonularri platform, with a grilling pit off to the side next to a row of trestle tables laden with food. At either end were bonfires in massive metal fire pots. Everything was lit up and glowing in the last rosy rays of a vibrant tropical sunset.

Umelle squealed, "Oh! Just look at all of them! Big ones, blond ones, tall ones, dark ones, oooh! There are even some in uniform!" She twirled around to give us all a giddy grin before taking off at a run down the sandy footpath to the beach.

Grenna stared after her. "I swear, there is a fuse shorting in that girl's brain."

Jinny shook her head, then gathered her skirts and started down at a much more ladylike pace.

Umelle wasn't wrong. There were many men on the beach, and a few of them were sporting naval officer's jackets. I spotted Raggan, his bow-legged frame recognizable even from a distance. There were lots of women and children, too. The entire Island had turned out for the festivities. Several hundred people were gathered beneath the lanterns, eating and talking, sitting on blankets, standing in groups and bunches, milling about in front of the sonularri. The sound of them was loud even from the top of the hill, and for a moment I balked, that weightlessness in my ribs suddenly turning into a knot.

I firmed my chin. There wasn't anything to worry about. And it was either this or sitting alone in a quiet room. Right. Go on. Get down there.

The musicians were arranging their instruments and working the crankshaft on the generator, warming up the coils of the transistor under the sonularri stage. As Jinny, Grenna and I reached the bottom of the hill and started across the sand, the lead musician finished what he was doing and turned to face the crowd, his fiddle at his shoulder. He spoke into the copper trumpet of the sonulator receiver that had been set up for him, his words amplified by the resonator drums in front of the stage. "Right. Ya know who I am, ya know who's up here wi' me, so let's just get rollin', aye?"

There was a loud chorus of 'ayes' and a loud 'get on wi' it then,' followed by quiet as he drew his bow over the strings, pulling long, sweet notes out of his fiddle. Then, abruptly, he set off into the wild beginning bars of an Illyrian folk song. With a lot of whooping and hollering, the crowd moved to form two lines facing off beneath the lights and the dancing began in a flurry of stomping and clapping as the sollenskriek player started up a toe-tapping beat.

It was very loud. And lively. And very definitely unlike any of the dances I had ever learned at Kingsbridge.

Oh dear. "I'll just wait over there," I announced, and attempted to veer off in the direction of the food.

Jinny grabbed my arm and said, rather resolutely for someone normally so calm, "Oh no you don't," and then she practically dragged me into line with her.

"But I don't know how to —"

"Nobody cares, Rikkafilla," Grenna shouted over the music, teeth flashing in a saucy smile as she slid her feet out of her sandals and faced off with us.

"It's not so much about the footwork as the clapping," Jinny said loudly, taking off her slippers and tossing them off to the side with Grenna's. "Just give it a chance! It's a lot of fun once you stop worrying about what you look like doing it!"