The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (38 page)

“I've never seen the like on Shard.” Dayn
could not believe his good fortune.

“Shard, you say? I've never met a Shardian
before.” The man made sure of his boy's balance before proffering a
hand. “Brant's my name. This here’s Kiel. Say hello, son.”

The boy gurgled cheerfully, and a string of
drool spilled into Brant's curly hair.

“My name’s Dayn.” He hid a laugh as he
returned the man's greeting. Brant frowned slightly at the clasp.
That's what I get for shaking hands like a Defender,
Dayn
thought wryly. He offered a hand to the man's son, too, although he
got a palm full of slobber in return. “Hello, Kiel.”

“Long way from home, aren't you, Dayn? What
brings you to Ara?”

Dayn considered his response, watching the
ember tossers stretch their muscles in preparation. The men all
wore purple vests and loose-fitting white trousers. “Peace favored
me enough to see the World Belt before I start tilling my own land.
I couldn't pass over the chance.” He knew the answer sounded
dubious, but did not want to appear rude.

More questions appeared on Brant’s face, but
fortunately the leader of the troupe forestalled them. The Aran
clapped his hands twice. Half of his men doffed their vests,
arranging themselves in a loose circle, batons lit and ready. The
rest moved off to one side, four of them began a light rhythm on
pale-skinned drums. The last five waited patiently with their own
batons, constantly checking how fast they burned.

“Olende! I am Rothash!” The troupe leader
bellowed. His clean-shaven head contrasted sharply with a curling
brown mustache and wild eyebrows. The man's green eyes looked like
they could spot a silver bit in the dust from ten spans away. He
wore the same purple vest as his performers, but of a decidedly
finer fabric. “Are you prepared to witness the most astonishing
spectacle in all of the World Belt?”

More people jostled to get closer, earning a
warning grunt from Brant. “Careful, now.” The Arans behind them
took greater care after that, which struck Dayn as odd.

The crowd clapped excitedly. Rothash scanned
the dim interior of the run before turning back to his circle of
sweating, bare-chested ember tossers. They traded worried looks
with each other.

“I think it’s too much for them,” he said,
shaking his head sadly. He still spoke loud enough so the crowd
could hear. “I think it’s too hot.”

“No, no!” Aran shouts echoed from the ceiling
of Rela Run, some ten spans above. Little Kiel waved his arms
frantically. His little green vest was damp with drool.

“Maybe we should take our fine show to
Porinis? I hear that world has perfect weather this time of year,”
Rothash mused aloud. “Or perhaps Montollos will like our fire?”

“Olende, that surely isn’t true!” one of the
drummers cried out. “Shall we stay?”

“Yes, yes!” The crowd responded. The troupe
leader gave a satisfied nod and clapped his hands three times.

The main circle of ember tossers let out a
shout that boomed through Rela Run. They crouched down, then in
unison heaved their lit rods high into the air. The drummers began
to pound in earnest.

Up the batons twirled, leaving streaks on
Dayn’s vision. The entire crowd gasped as the throw came close to
hitting the tunnel ceiling. Wide-eyed Kiel gaped as his head tilted
back, and Brant whistled appreciatively.

The ember tossers began to clap slowly as
soon as the fire left their hands. Once the rods dropped, they
clapped even faster. The drummers matched their speed.

The crowd buzzed louder as the fire fell, and
Dayn’s heart raced with anticipation. The ember tossers refused to
ready themselves. Many of the onlookers joined in their clapping,
adding to the excitement as every eye watched the ten batons
descend.

“Hot,” Kiel shouted warningly. The toddler
covered his face, but could not resist watching between his chubby
fingers. “Hot!”

Just when it looked certain the rods would
collide with floor and flesh alike in a shower of sparks, the ember
tossers reached up as one. Not one baton hit the stone. The men
shouted again, twirling their batons into wheels of fire so hot
Dayn felt the warmth on his face. The crowd cheered in approval.
Dayn clapped just as loudly as anyone.

“Quite a sight, aren't they?” Brant said with
a chuckle.

Rothash surveyed the crowd with a smug look.
“Why, I heard the volcanoes of Braende might as well be a cool
breeze to Olende folk! Do you want more?”

“More, more!” Brant and Dayn joined with
Kiel's shouts.

Immediately the circled performers flung
their batons, but this time in lower, faster arcs. They spun so
quickly that Dayn could barely tell which end was aflame, but the
men caught each other's tosses easily.

The rest of the troupe rejoined the circle
now, and just as the batons were thrown into the air a second time,
they lifted their own torches to their mouths. Huge gouts of flame
lit up the faces of every person standing near. A few Arans backed
away with fearful shouts, provoking friendly heckling from other
onlookers.

“What’s that smell? Someone’s cooking in the
run!”

“If you’re afraid of the fire, let someone
else stand closer!”

“Look, look!” Kiel cried.

The troupe exploded into a flurry of
pell-mell cartwheels and backflips with fire in hand or in the air,
circling and throwing to whoever stood free to catch another baton.
Dayn nearly backed away himself at the confusion.

Brant nudged him in the ribs. “Look there.
They’re placing bets on who will burn themselves first.” He pointed
out a cluster of young boys watching near the front. Their eyes
were fixed on the performers so intently that Dayn threw back his
head and laughed.

The men’s rush of movement returned to a
perfect circle. Not a single torch touched the ground. Everyone
cheered loudly.

The ember tossers started their measured clap
up again, and the onlookers did not hesitate to join in. Brant
reached up to help his son keep time. The troupe tossed their
batons across the circle to each other, back and forth.
Oohs
and
aahs
sounded every time the batons just missed
colliding.

The troupe stopped suddenly and Rela Run rang
with cries of disbelief. Every ember tosser held
two
batons!
Brant chuckled and shook his head. “Am I seeing things?”

Dayn had not even noticed the two
barrel-chested helpers from earlier, swapping out spent batons for
fresh. The flame eaters added the extra batons to their throws
without missing a beat.

“Now for the final toss!” Rothash proclaimed.
He began the slow clap once more, and every hand in Rela Run joined
him. The drummers hurled themselves into another thundering
beat.

Again, the ember tossers’ shout boomed
through the run. Their batons lifted high into the air, racing end
over end to brush the ceiling with fire.

A strangled cough brought Dayn's attention
back to the performers. One of the flame eaters held his throat,
choking violently. He shook his head, roughly shoving away the two
helpers.

“I'm fine!” he insisted between ragged gasps.
The man continued to wave away help, but his fellows eyed him with
growing alarm.

“That doesn't bode well,” Brant murmured with
a frown. “They need him to catch all of the rods.”

“He's alright,” Dayn said. “He's already
getting back in the circle, see?”

The man resumed his place with a sour
expression. The clap continued to speed up as the batons plunged.
The flame eater gave a distressed groan and suddenly belched fire.
The ember tossers to his right went running with singed breaches
and choice oaths. The smell of burnt hair filled Dayn’s nose. Panic
prevailed, and no one could move in the crush of people. None of
the scattered troupe stood anywhere near their original
positions.

“Oh no!” Kiel cried.

One helper crashed into yet another ember
tosser, and the measured clap broke off raggedly. Wild shouts
echoed through the run as the drums beat urgently in countdown.
Dayn started to edge away from the front, but onlookers were
squeezed together so tightly he could not move a step. Brant looked
ready to clear a path with his elbows.

“Remain calm!” Rothash pleaded, his words
split between the crowd and his own troupe.

“They need help!”

“Stay back, Shardian. I wouldn't go a step
closer to that flame-breathing idiot.”

The drummers pounded their skins with both
hands and shouted at the top of their lungs in a final go of
thunder. The ember-tossers let loose a shout of their own at the
same time, stunning everyone in the run.

Not one baton touched the ground! Dayn looked
around in utter astonishment. A drummer held one with a smile on
his lips. Several of the troupe members had somersaulted back into
position to catch theirs just in time. The two helpers and Rothash
himself accounted for two batons apiece. Two more ember tossers
held batons while lying on the ground!

Last of all, the flame eater held one also,
though he still wore a sickly expression. One of the young Aran
gamblers shook an angry fist at the man. A drummer brought the
flame eater a cup of sour juice. He drank gratefully and gave a
luxuriant sigh before bowing deeply to the crowd.

Dayn gaped in spite of himself. “They
planned
this?” The crowd exploded in laughter and
applause.

“Didn't I tell you?” Brant said with a laugh.
“Best in all of Ara!” The ember tossers, drummers and helpers
formed a line behind the troupe leader, bowing again.

“Good folk of Olende―” Rothash began, but the
flame eater belched again. Rothash jumped as fire brushed his
backside. The flame eater shrugged apologetically and everyone
roared. They gave a final bow, and coins began to sprinkle the
performers which the two helpers immediately set about gathering.
The betting Aran boys looked at the ground wistfully.

“Thank you, Olende! Thank you!” The troupe
leader bowed again with a flourish. “You shall see us again tonight
before the Dance of Shells. Peace upon the Sending! Peace embrace
Ara.”

“You didn't even blink,” Dayn said. “Have you
seen this show before?”

“I haven't, truly,” Brant replied. “But the
drums, you see. The drums never stopped.”

Rothash glanced about with a frown. The
crowd―along with the peoples' coin―was apparently leaving too
quickly for his liking. His eyes seized upon Dayn.

“We are truly favored today,” Rothash
shouted. The Olende folk paused to hear him continue. “I didn’t
realize our humble show was privy to a High-born offworlder. We
must show proper respect!” The performers snickered. Dayn looked
around curiously, but all he saw were other speculative faces
searching through the crowd. None of the High stood nearby, and
everyone in the run wore plain garb.

“Lowly Rothash sees past your disguise,
honored one!”

Brant coughed next to Dayn, failing to hide a
laugh.
Oh, clusterthorn.
The fool troupe leader was bowing
to him!

The ember tossers followed suit, each with a
ridiculously solemn face. Dayn cringed as peals of laughter burst
from the onlookers, filling the whole run.

“Don’t be angry,” Brant said, wiping tears
from his eyes. “There’s a saying, and old tales about a prince
that...”

Dayn did not bother to hear the rest. He
strode into the midst of the troupe, raising eyebrows among the
performers.
So they like pranks, do they?
he thought.
Someone deeper in the run shouted something he did not hear, and
laughter rose again. His face flushed, but the taunts did not
bother him.
I’ll do him one better and play along.

Speculative murmurs abounded as Dayn nodded
graciously to Rothash, who blinked uncertainly. The two helpers
looked at each other, probably wondering if Dayn actually was some
High offworlder. Dayn grabbed an unused baton from the troupe’s
handcart, then plucked a still burning rod from a dumbstruck ember
tosser to light both ends. He planted himself in the midst of the
performers, who snickered even louder than before.

“My lord will show us how it’s done,” Rothash
announced loudly, and the crowd rumbled with anticipation. Below
the laughter and catcalls, the troupe leader whispered to Dayn,
though his smile remained perfectly fixed in place.

“Look boy, those rods burn hot, and leave
pretty scars besides. There's no need to embarrass yourself. Let me
play down these folks and―”

Rothash cut off with a yelp as Dayn’s first
twirl sent him scrambling for cover. Olende folk howled at the
troupe leader's baleful glower but Dayn just winked at him. He spun
the rod fast enough to turn the burning ends into a brilliant wheel
of fire. The ember tossers gawked, and the crowd began to
cheer.

The baton was pathetically short, but still
balanced well enough to pass for a staff.
Milchamah would eat
his hat at the sight of this!
The thought made Dayn grin.
Their moves look like simple staff forms. I'll show them some
real ones!

Dayn spun the baton overhead in the King's
Circlet first, covering a bored yawn with one hand. People in the
crowd nudged one another, pointing at the ember tossers'
expressions. Those scowls were clearly unfeigned, and started to
earn their own heckling.

“At least the prince knows not to drop
it!”

“Maybe they can teach you lessons on
Shard!”

Dayn brought the burning baton to a stop so
quickly the flame almost winked out. He picked the flashiest forms,
twirling through Flutterbird Circles the Lily, then flowed into
Eddy in the Silk. He tossed the baton lightly into the air,
spinning to catch it behind his back. Even the performers could not
hide their admiration at that. He rolled through staff forms as if
in a dance, the Aran cheers urging him on.