Princess Academy By Shannon Hale

Chapter 11

I'll raise the ladle to your lips,
Drip water on your fingertips,
And stay although my heart says flee.
Will you look up and smile at me?

  That afternoon, the sounds of song greeted them at the outskirts of the village. Dozens of voices carried the melody, and slapping drums and clapping hands thrummed the beat. The girls recognized the tune and rhythm of the empty barrel dance, the first dance of spring holiday.

"Hurry up," said Esa. "They'll need us, or most of the boys will be dancing alone."

  The girls broke into a run, and the noise of their boots on the roadway sounded like a night rockfall.

"We're here, we're back!" some shouted, and when they came into view of the village center, a cheer went up. The clapping broke from its dance rhythm into applause for their entrance, and parents and siblings shouted and leaped forward to embrace them. Miri looked for Marda and her father and was about to despair when they rushed her from behind. Her pa lifted her in the air and spun her around as if she were still a little girl. Marda was there as well, kissing her cheeks and warming her cold hands. Miri's eyes felt watery, and she put her face against her pa's chest.

"Are you all right?" asked Marda.

  She nodded, still hiding her face. "I just missed you all. I guess I missed you a lot."

  The holiday was the best in Miri's memory. Frid beamed so proudly when she took first place the stone-hurling contest, she seemed to forget that she had won every year since she was twelve. The food was better than Miri could ever have described to Britta, and the cheering never really died out. Everything seemed worthy of applause.
Frid's pa announced the ribbon dances with a strum of his three-stringed yipper, and Doter handed out the tattered red strips of cloth that were older than any grandparent. Jans, a pale, serious boy, trailed Britta around like a thistleweed stuck to her bootlace.

  He begged her for one more dance, and thistleweed stuck to her bootlace. He begged her for one more dance, and then one more, so for an hour she shared her ribbon with Jans, high stepping and twisting and smiling wider than Miri had ever seen. Miri herself danced so hard that she could scarcely breathe. She saw Peder dancing with Bena and then Liana and had given up hoping when a new song began and she found him on the other end of her ribbon. She would have talked and teased and laughed with him, but his sudden appearance had startled her, and she did not know if she could keep up her carefree facade. Her gaze fell on the ground, her heart beating faster than the drums.

  After a time, she did not see Peder anymore among the dancers, and she nestled close to her father and watched the toddlers twirl and hop. When night fell the story shouts began. The grandfathers told the somber story of the creator god first speaking to people,-then the mothers recited the one that began, "One lifetime ago bandits came to Mount Eskel."

  After the bandit story, Os said, "Let's hear a tale from our girls come home."

  Bena, as the oldest, stood and chose her story, a silly romp of a tale where each line was invented as it was told. "The girl with no hair left home to wander hills where she was not known," she shouted, then pointed to Liana, who sat at another fire.

"An eagle mistook her for her fallen egg and carried her up to its nest," shouted Liana, pointing to Frid.

"A quarrier plucked her from the eagle's nest, thinking her a good stone to break." Frid pointed to Gerti.

  The story continued, each academy girl selecting another to continue the tale. Miri inched up to sit on her heels, hoping to be seen. No one looked her way. Bena had three turns, and even Britta was chosen once, inventing a clever line about a bear mistaking her for a mushroom cap.