Falling Skyward

Chapter Fifteen: Festival of the Moons

"I had to let the hem down quite a bit and take it in. Heaven knows you are a good deal taller than I ever used to be," Emmeline prattled as she tightened the magenta lacings on Lana's dress. The satin skirts felt strange around Lana's ankles, less flexible than the hand-me-down leggings she usually wore.

Even surrounded by flowing fabric, Lana felt naked. She hadn't grown used to these light, delicate materials that flowed with her movements and clung to her curves. The neckline and back of the cerulean bodice plunged lower than anyone would dare wear in Brevishaven, and the sleeves drooped delicately from Lana's shoulders, leaving her neck and shoulders exposed. Looking at herself in the mirror, Lana noticed how the simple pearl of star ether drew attention to the daring neckline, and she blushed—but whether from modesty or exhilaration, she couldn't say.

Lana marveled once again at the vividness of the clothes, which reflected Altymia's landscape. The iridescent shimmer of the fabric made her think of the riot of light that appeared over Brevishaven in the dark season, settling over the fiercely brilliant stars like a rainbow fog.

The lights appeared like a masterpiece after bitter storms, the flurries of snow wiping the canvas clean so the sky could be painted with new colors. No sky was the same creation.

Taren and Lana poured over books and maps, searching for descriptions of such phenomena. Their findings were as detailed as the blank edges of the map. Perhaps her land lay in the untraveled seas of the north? Or far beyond the Shadowlands to the east?

"There you go dear," Emmeline said with a squeeze of her hand. Lana answered with a fierce hug. "You look even prettier than a pond flower," Emmeline said, hiding the watery sheen in her eyes against Lana's shoulder. "Taren is going to be simply dumbfounded when he sees you." Now it was Lana's turn to hide her smile and the color that blossomed along her cheeks.

On cue, there was a knock at the door accompanied by Taren's voice. "Are you ladies done with your primping yet? A festival is about to begin." As Emmeline scrambled to find her shawl, Lana flung open the door, answering with a teasing, "We're ready. We've just been waiting on you to stop grooming and come escort us."

Taren, who had been leaning casually against the door frame, stumbled back, eyes widening.

"What, no retort?" Lana asked. "How uncharacteristic."

"I just needed a moment to process the idea of you wearing a dress."

"That bad, huh?"

"On the contrary," Taren began, but Emmeline barged in, squeezing between the two.

"You two stop your bickering," she said. "We'd miss the whole evening if I had to wait here for one of you to get up the gumption to say what you're really thinking."

Taren offered his arm to Emmeline, then the other to Lana. "And what, exactly, would those thoughts be, dearest mother of mine?"

"Don't bait me. You know full well what I'm talking about," she replied with a good-natured huff.

The streets were full of tinted lanterns blazing in a garden of hues. The vast and brilliant stars of this land hung in ribbons overhead, suspended between the jewel-like moons.

As the three walked together, men and women flooded the streets, flaunting clothes more elaborate than dragon scales and phoenix feathers. At the town square, music played as the colors intertwined, collapsed, and then parted again in a kaleidoscopic dance. Even the faces exhibited an array of color. Dark, satiny skin, glowing bronze, peach, rose, dim gold, and skin as pale as a cloud filled the square.

The women let their hair run loose down their backs, swinging and even snarling in beautiful disarray. The only ornaments people wore were a few stray flowers. The cacophonic rhythm of the music, the soulful unchoreographed dancing, all of it was alien to Lana. And yet, when she thought of the sterile gatherings in Brevishaven—filled with perfectly pinned hair, long-sleeved grey wool, and painted faces—she felt those customs equally bizarre.

Once they reached the town square, the trio divided. Taren released Lana's hand with a delicate kiss on her knuckles and a smile before going to join his friends. As soon as Taren turned his back, Lana felt a sharp shove from behind that sent her colliding with a dancing couple. In her clumsy attempts to apologize, Lana glanced back to see a girl around her age with high cheekbones and yellow, perfectly ringleted hair smirk before disappearing into the din.

"That jealous pig," another girl fumed, bending down to help Lana up. "Imogene's just about as petty and cheap as that fake griffin-hide belt she is wearing. Did you see that?" The girl had hair as red as poppies that curled tightly around her face, though not as sleekly or gracefully as Imogene's.

"Thanks, Rose," Lana laughed. "But I think Imogene looks rather spectacular tonight—and she knows it."

Her third day in the village, Lana had noticed Rose when she had come skidding into the baker's shop ten yards in front of a pack of boys. "That's right," she had panted. "Pay up, boys. That teaches you just how slow girls can run." From that moment, Lana and Rose had become fast friends.

Now, they flocked together, joining Adelle and Ursula. The four girls laughed together, eating and drinking and dancing until the moons nearly touched the horizon. Young men would whisk Lana away for a dance, and she would catch Taren winking and smiling at her from across the dance floor as he danced with Imogene or Ursula or the 8-year-old flower girl who always turned red and starry-eyed whenever Taren came to market.

As the sky lightened with a pale pinkness and the music slowed to a gentle hum, Lana felt a tap on her shoulder. "Do you girls mind if I steal Lana away for a while?" Taren asked.

"No sir," Rose responded brashly. "You can keep her as long as you need. In fact, you better not bring her back until the sun's up."

"Well, now that I know I have your permission, Mistress Rose," Taren said with a bow. Then he gently grabbed Lana's elbow and guided her toward the square.

"What's the matter? Is it already time for us to go?"

"No, Lana. Nothing's the matter," Taren sighed. "Nothing except that you've stayed so busy talking with friends and dancing with other men, you couldn't spare a moment to dance with me. So, may I?" he asked, extending his hand.

"Oh," Lana said, flustered. "Of course. But . . . I don't know how."

"I've seen you smiling and dancing with men all night. If you don't want to dance with me, you can simply say it. You know you don't have to keep any secrets from me."

"But that dancing was different. It's lively, care-free—without any set movements. I don't know how to dance with a man like this—slow, close." Lana could feel her tongue stumbling over the words as she thought of Taren and the smooth, intimate dances these predawn waltzes inspired.

"I think you'll discover you have a knack for it," Taren said, putting her arms up around his neck and pulling her close. Lana didn't know where to look. She had never been so close to a man before, not even Direc.

"Did I ever tell you how stunning you look this evening?" Taren said, his breath soft against her ear.

"Your mother was right," Lana said, smiling into his shoulder.

"How do you mean?"

"It did take you nearly the whole night to say what was on your mind."

Taren laughed and pulled Lana closer. She could feel his chest pressed against her own, his heartbeat quickening, his cheek resting against her hair. For the first time since she awoke in the light, she felt completely at home.