The Drums Behind Her

The morn of the Festival came upon them before Sayun knew sleep had claimed her. As on each Festival day, Rudao left at the sun’s rising to take his place keeping watch at the east entrance. The air already was filled with a buzz of activity, for it was one day of the year that all their people gathered together for a day and a night, when duties were neglected, and children danced in the streets. They had spent the weeks preparing and now was a time of delight, somber reflection, and rest. Sayun knew what would greet her eyes when they had made their way to the hollow before the council chamber. A crowd of minglers would have gathered already around a dancing bonfire, the thick smoke rising through small holes above their heads to escape to the outside world. Flames would flicker, casting long shadows across the catacomb walls. After a time, a courageous few would break from the crowd to begin the dance, traipsing about the fire with hands high in the air to music of their people, beautiful and hauntingly sorrowful. Threaded between the revelries, council members would read again the history of their people that they would take warning, that they would never forget. So it had been all the days of her life, and so it would be again.

But she knew not what this day would bring. In the night her mind had searched for answers and had come away empty at each turn. In truth she must have known what she ought to do, where her heart was leading, yet her steps tarried, and at the precipice of choice her courage faltered.

Each ordinary facet of Sayun’s life seemed to her now more lovely now that she had resolved to leave it behind her, with little assurance that she would see it again. Nawi she held a little too tightly, such that he squirmed to escape her. With Apyang she did not bicker as she was wont to do, but only looked at her with so strange a gaze that Apyang asked her if she was taken ill.

“My dear, your hair!” her mother cried before taking a comb to it with such ferocity Sayun felt sure she would soon tear the hair from her scalp. “Remember now, it may be a day of pleasantries and no work, but it also is a time to be sober. The Festival is but a time to remember the destruction of long ago, and is not for children to take delight in the sufferings of our ancestors, lest they be displeased with our irreverence. Sayun, darling, I know it is a long time for standing with your poor leg, but if it becomes all too tiresome, then tell me at once and I will find a seating for you.”

Such were Hila’s words each year, and though Sayun had tired of hearing it long ago, and how late they would be (they were never late), the words did not irk her as they did so often. She only listened in silence and thought bemusedly that at least one point of her life she would not miss.

“If Yuni gets tired, I will carry her,” Nawi said.

“You will, will you, little gremlin?”

“Yes, I’m big and strong now.” The boy drew himself up and stood upon his toes, that he might appear taller still.

Sayun laughed. “Many thanks, young sir.”

“Oh, Sayun, I saw your gloves were worn out. How quickly you do go through them. I had a feeling you would need a fresh pair soon. Here you are, don’t wear those ragged things. They do your lovely hands no justice.”

The soft yet sturdy gloves her mother made felt different somehow, as Sayun pulled them on—warmer, better fitting. She touched Hila’s arm. “Thank you.”

Hila waved her thanks with a glowing smile. “Silly child, what are you thanking me for?”

Presently they made their way to the gathering where Apyang quickly disappeared into the crowd. Sayun held Nawi’s small hand in hers, keeping to the back of the throng. A trepidation grew in her. If she must act, then no better chance could she find than during the Festival, when all were gathered and immersed there before the council chamber. No attentive eye would be set upon her if she wandered the tunnels. Yet her limbs seemed rooted to the ground, and her will could not bid them to lift. She clung tightly to her brother and though he gazed mesmerized at the blaze and the mass of people before them, she cast her eyes on him only and wondered when she might see him again. The sound of drums and music rang through the tunnels.

But time ran on through her fingers. An urgency prodded at her from within, for to delay was to be caught, and better not to have set out on this course of certain madness. She hardened her heart to the path she had chosen.

“Nawi, go to Mami. I am weary and would rest a while.”

“Alright Yuni,” he said and tottered away.

She watched him go with bitterness in her mouth, then turned from all. Before she took a step, a fragment of the well-traveled line found its way to her ears: “…and the cost was hers to pay.” She’d heard this chant for years, yet now on the wings of flight, they stirred in her a strange, unwelcome feeling—like grasping for a fading dream, of which she only caught the very edges—and Sayun saw images of the dim glow of a purplish and green light emanating from dark, overhead branches, and an unearthly face with long black hair leering down at her. Sayun shivered.

The drums followed her steps down the road to where she knew her father waited.

The walk back seemed to her longer than usual, and she cursed each heavy beat of her deformed leg upon the ground, feared each rustle and shadow upon the walls. Time seemed to spin itself into ever longer threads as she clung to the wall to aid and quicken her movements. Her breath came in short gasps, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Upon her seemed a weariness beyond what she could remember.

When it seemed to her the day had spun to its end, her eyes at last found what she sought, and stumbled forward to meet him. He caught her in his arms and held her close. In such an embrace she did not remember resting since she was a young girl, and suddenly she wished she could linger. Too brief did it seem when he let her go.

“Will you not come with me?” she said in a small voice, as though afraid to put to words her own wish, yet even before he answered she knew.

He looked at her. In his gaze she saw sadness and regret. She did not need to touch his skin to read it. “There are others left in my charge, and I cannot so lightly abandon them. And dearly though I love you also, you are no longer a child, and,” he said softly, “I know your heart.”

His eyes turned to the pines in the distance where Sayun had set her gaze only a day past. “There they wait. The council will perhaps at first think they have escaped alone, though when they discover you too are gone, they may suspect deeper treachery.”

“And you? If they guess at the truth, will they seek retribution?” The thought now came to her mind and a coldness crept through her veins. By saving one family would she doom her own?

“I think not. We are Orons, and we do not harm our own. I cannot say there will be no punishment if we are suspected, but too few of us yet remain for them to let fall too heavy a hand.” He smiled bitterly. “In the end, it is protection of our own that will yet guard us.”

Sayun lifted her gaze, saw light brown eyes that mirrored hers, and knew him to be of one mind with hers, perhaps had known her intention even before she had known it herself. She felt him squeeze her hand again, saw a shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“I love you, Papi,” she whispered. “Tell Mami and Apyang for me, and especially Nawi.”

He nodded. “Go, child.”

Sayun longed to bury her face in the folds of his tunic, as a small child shielding her eyes from the world, but instead she released his hand and slipped from the flickering shadows of her home and out to meet the open sky.