“Second call for Round One contestants for the amateur competition!” blared the announcer.
Vantra tore her eyes from Lorgan and the three concerned beings he spoke with and studied the beach. The gold sand had flecks of brighter colors; greens, blues, pinks, purples, and she wondered if someone spelled it for the event. The subtle hues were pretty, and added a fantastic feel to the setting.
“BWAAAAAAAAAAAAPH.”
She froze, and if still living, red would have paled against the color her cheeks would have flamed into. Everyone looked at Fyrij as the little caroling finished the burp enhanced by his tooth. Kenosera and Yut-ta howled, and the Light-blessed covered their mouths and snickered, which would only encourage him!
“Fyrij, that’s not polite,” Vantra said, drowning in embarrassment. And he did it in front of Weather!
“Maybe next time you should slow down while you eat,” Katta said, turning in his seat, draping his arm over the back, and raising an eyebrow at the avian. He twittered as if to say he agreed, though she doubted he would take the advice.
Nem Hala put her fingertips to her lips and looked far too amused while the priests and the councilors stared, aghast the caroling had the audacity to make a horrid sound anywhere near a syimlin and an avatar. The two who had silently flayed Weather with their dislike moved on to him, as if their eyes could punish him for his impudence.
“I’m happy you enjoyed the fruit,” Nem Hala murmured. “It looks like you might need some water to clean up.”
Fyrij raised his wings and chirped.
“Thank you for the offer,” Vantra began. The syimlin waved her hand to interrupt her.
“It will be simpler for him to wash here than to fly to the nearest fountain,” she said. “Besides, you don’t want to miss the beginning of the competition.”
“Great Nem Hala,” one of the councilors began. She tipped her chin up and he sank back, refusing to finish what he wished to say, though his long, wolfen nose twitched and his nostrils flared.
A priest brought a bowl of water and a fluffy blue towel; Fyrij splish-splashed to his heart’s content, attracting all the attention he desired, and Yut-ta dried him. Damp meant he could not fly, but he did not appear upset about that as he crawled up the hooskine’s vest and took his perch on his shoulder.
He probably sat there because he knew she’d scold him, if he hopped over to her.
“Wave and Landwalkers! What you’ve all been waiting for; the start of the Windwave Dance competition!”
Vantra jumped at the sudden explosion of sound, and bent over, hoping not many saw her reaction. The crowd quieted to a dull roar, and the announcer continued.
“The contestants for Round One are ready to awe and entertain! For the experienced and first-timers alike, the Windwave Dance is a must-see event. It is a time-honored tradition first practiced by the Binori villages that once lined this shore. The rewards for their competitions were the best fishing spots for a year, and the winners became heroes to their communities.
“We may not award a fishing spot, but we do sponsor a diving cruise through the Shallows with a five thousand Death coin stipend. This year, our competition is also the first one that counts towards the wavedance leaderboards, so expect a fierce and lively event.
“And now, it is my honor to introduce the overseer of our dance, Nem Hala, Syimlin of Weather.”
The crowd’s immediate and ear-splitting cheer startled Fyrij into hiding in Yut-ta’s hair. Vantra winced rather than plugging her ears as Kenosera did; her faded self-esteem demanded no less. A tug from Laken and a shing of pain followed; she looked at him, but he shook his head, held his spear in the crook of his arm, and tightened his hood around his face.
She did not think that would muffle much, but good luck to him.
Weather gracefully stood and raised her left hand, the back facing the crowd, an ancient, traditional nymph greeting.
“The Windwave Dance thanks Weather for her sponsorship of our competition. This event would not be possible without her, the Islands Beach Authority, the Inter-island Boat Chain, and longtime Wind Dance Beach business Frozen Tollin’s Milkice Shack.”
Milkice? What was that? It sounded good, and Vantra wished she could have some.
“We now greet our grand marshal for the competition, Zeeya the Great Seastrake of Bask-ilisk!”
The ocean churned and burst upwards, rainbows trailing the splash back down as a grey-hued, humongous head and torso shot through the foamy waves. Fan-like, filmy membranes that resembled wings but attached behind the pointed ears spread wide, shimmering like washed shards of chipped, multi-colored glass. They raised their webbed claws skyward, and a green thunderbolt streaked down from the clouds above them and struck the water in front of their glinting chest. They slammed their appendages into the surf, and foamy waves raced from them, taller and faster than the previous ones.
No wonder they kept the crowd up the slope from the sand. Anyone standing on the moist grit would get swamped.
Weather swiped her hand to the left, and turquoise-tinged wind coursed around the strake and plowed into the waves, sending them even higher.
The cheering rose with the crests.
The strake tipped their head and bugled, and Weather returned to her seat.
“The competition is now open!” the speaker shouted. “Give a round of applause to our panel of judges. Seven-time Windwave Dance winner and two-time Wavedance Grand Champion, Nats Ma-zombie; retired wavedance coach who guided Mar Kade to three Grand Championships, Eltharana Re-at; Bask-ilisk’s very own, retired wavedancer Slips M’Kembre; winner of the Aimless Undercliff Beach competition five years in a row, Lady Sho Bae; and retired wavedancer and announcer, Sazid Kendekeze.”
Vantra hunched at the roar; she did not envy Qira attempting to sleep through the noise.
“Our contestants will begin on the western side of the beach, at the bright yellow buoy half-way between the shore and Zeeya. From there, they will ride waves of their choice parallel to the beach. The judges will give points one through twelve as they look at how long the competitors remain atop a wave, ease in which they ride below a wave, the acrobatics, how difficult the maneuvers, the power and flow and poise of the dancers.
“The first contestant, Bask-ilisk’s very own Mini Yabran, has reached the buoy and raised the flag to signal she’s ready. Let the dancing begin!”
All eyes snaked to the eye-numbing bright flag and the dancer waving beneath it. She, dressed in a neon yellow, form-fitting suit, took to the waves. She rode the sides, the tops, dove beneath a curl, sped up a taller one and flew over it, completing a somersault before landing and continuing on. Throughout, the announcer gave move-by-move updates in an over-the-top, excited tone.
BANG!
The noise, from the pirates, knocked Vantra out of her narrow interest. She blinked, shook her head, and realized the waves had a mesmerizing shimmer to them, brightening when they were a bit too low and fading when they were too high. Not that they conformed to a specific height, but they had a consistency; some were shorter, some taller, and they held their peak until they reached the shore. The strake must maintain the waves, keeping conditions perfect for the dancers.
Was sucking in a being’s attention part of that?
Another contestant in bright blue posed atop their board, completing complicated stretches that looked as if they came from landed dance moves. They nearly plunged into the water when they lost control of one, and the crowed gasped, expecting a splash. They squatted, arms out for balance, and saved themselves from a dip, leading to excited cheers.
The beings returned to the buoy and danced more waves. The displays became progressively more challenging, and several falls ensued. One, who liked riding atop the crests, pirouetted before raising her leg behind and bending their torso low. Vantra had seen similar poses in story dances on Talis, and she wondered if the contestants told similar tales with their movements. The stance lasted a couple breaths before they took the board to a lower position, eliciting applause and whistles from the crowd.
“First call for Round Two of the amateur competition!” the announcer shouted after the fourth pass. The speaker crackled and music played as the contestants rode waves to the beach, where others met them. Some appeared happy, some, with exaggerated arm movements, seemed angry. Coaches? Probably.
Vantra noticed a boat heading for the seastrake, and hoped nothing ill had befallen them. Maybe they brought edibles so she could recharge her energy; maintaining the waves could not be easy.
“This reminds me of the wind surfing on the plains,” Yut-ta said, lounging back. He had leaned forward as the round progressed, enchanted with the action, his attention flicking back and forth between the dancers and their upcoming waves.
“The Sun Plains?” Weather asked. He nodded and she smiled. “Wherever the winds blow, someone devises something dangerous to play with them.”
He chuckled at that. Kenosera raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged.
“We have boards with slick bottoms that ride on the grasses. We attach sails to them and the wind carries us around. There are competitions where the riders do tricks on them. It’s dangerous, because you’re going fast, and if you fall, it hurts. A lot.”
“Talis and I would ride the grass winds every so often,” Weather said with a sigh for the long-ago. “We stopped when the Beast took the reins because he would interfere.” She sipped her drink. “Perhaps that is why I enjoy this competition so much. It reminds me of those days.”
Katta shook his head. “I’m shocked neither of you broke your necks,” he grumbled.
“We wore padding,” she said, her wide grin proving she knew what exact incident prompted the words, and she did not regret it.
After the third round, the announcer reminded everyone about the food vendors. Those on the platform who ate headed for the restrooms or refilled their plates and their glasses, talking quietly about the contestants and who they thought, so far, had a chance to win.
Lorgan returned to his seat and leaned over his knees. Vantra turned about on her chair, waiting.
The scholar half-smiled. “Something’s up,” he whispered. “High Priest Cacarolisse says there is a gunky greenish-black mass in the water beyond the seastrake.”
“The clouds had the same sheen,” she whispered back. “Didn’t Xafane capture the weatherwitch at the docks?”
“He did, but it’s not surprising the enemy has more than one who knows the spells. There is a feel to the magic I associate with Rezenarza, too. Now that he’s annoyed enough to break ties, I wonder if he’ll take it back. It appears those he Touched are beholden to someone else.”
Vantra frowned. “I don’t understand why he supported them in the first place. He’s jealous of his magic and his position.”
“I don’t think he realized Kjiven and Skerezahn had another dictating their acts until he pulled us into that dream and you saw something different,” Lorgan said. “He’s more powerful than either of them, so he thought he was using them. Instead, another manipulated him through lesser followers, playing on his resentment and anger to get him to act against his own interests. Because of that, I don’t think he knows who the enemy is. He may pretend he does, because otherwise he looks foolish, but he doesn’t. Joila and Vesh agree with that. Anyway, the high priest wanted to ask if you wouldn’t use Clear Rays on the stuff. We know the rays can obliterate it.” He paused, glanced at Nem Hala, then leaned closer. “Joila told me Weather’s still keeping the storm at bay and Katta’s feeding her power. Something more is going on with that, too, but the syimlin aren’t bringing us into their confidence—and that worries her even more.”
Nerves twisted her tummy. Would Clear Rays be enough? “How do they want to work this?”
“Between the amateur and professional competition is a performance. Ghosts sing and dance mid-air, and there are a lot of lights and explosions of colored magic. If you blow the gunk into the Void at that point, few will realize something’s amiss.”
She rubbed at her chest. “But why me?”
“Because Katta and Qira trust you. Weather can’t say the same for anyone else but a few exceptionally close priests, and none of them have the ability to sear bad magic like you.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. So will Jare and Mica. Between us, we’ll see this event safe.”
She glanced at Fyrij, Kenosera and Yut-ta, then eyed Lorgan. “When are we going?”
“In a few. Cacarolisse will alert us, and we’ll follow her.”
