Chapter 2 #4
After I emerged from the Graves unscathed, it wasn't hard to track down the cultural centre – mostly because there was an actual hum in the air, as if having that many abaya gathered in one place with their rumbling subvocals created a detectable sonic effect.
The centre was a low, utilitarian building – not freestanding, just set into the wall – that might have once been a warehouse.
As I approached, I could see that the massive double doors were thrown open and the inside of the building – two stories, a walkway ringing the cavernous space – was thronging with abaya.
The air buzzed with conversation in a way that I could feel inside of my chest, many heads craned together as people jostled for space inside of the centre.
A stage rested at the far end of the building, a simple raised platform that looked to have been brought in for this purpose, and it was currently empty.
As I drew near, I tried to passively let the crescendo of the conversations wash over me rather than trying to pick out words or phrases.
A few abaya near the door turned to look in my direction as I slid in past the big doors, their black eyes scraping over me – but they quickly returned to their conversations.
I slipped through the crowd with a practiced ease – getting from point A to point B in the middle of a busy room had been a pretty important skill at the den; I wasn't even carrying a tray of drinks or fending off wandering hands or tails – and found a back corner where I could see the stage without being in the thick of things.
There was a dark door behind me, the metal tarnished where it had been touched by countless hands; it looked to lead through to another set of rooms that had once, maybe, been offices.
The air had a palpable hum. I scanned the crowd, doing a quick tally. There had to be – what – two hundred people here? Maybe more? And I quickly realized, even at a cursory glance, that I appeared to be the only one here who wasn't abaya.
Something like discomfort itched at the back of my neck. Was I allowed to be here? Was I being nosy and inappropriate? I was just debating the merits of staying as I scanned the crowd when my gaze met a familiar mismatched pair of eyes, a jolt of recognition pulsing in my chest.
Elethenn was standing, tense, near one of the metal sets of stairs leading to the catwalk around the cavernous warehouse.
He blinked rapidly when our gazes met, then tipped his head to speak with an abaya standing near him, who was of slight build with a pale crest and a quick, darting stare.
They seemed to come to some sort of decision, and then Elethenn and his friend started making their way toward me.
And, look, part of me thought oh hey, it's nice to know someone here! – and there was another part, some important instinct that had served me well in the past, that told me very quickly that Elethenn wasn't coming over to say hello. He looked, at a glance, worried.
I shifted nervously, my fingers moving unthinkingly to hover near my wristband.
Should I tell someone where I was? I mean, I didn't know what this event was – the auvril vendor had said there was a speaker; what was the worst that could happen with someone standing on stage and talking?
– but there was something about it that made me uneasy.
I didn't understand a lot, but I did know that if you were an underclass and you were all gathering for what might be some…
organized action, that could piss people off.
And with a crowd like that, a crowd like this, things could turn quickly.
I hesitated over the message interface. I should tell Araxis where I was, just in case.
But then –
Then he'd want to know why I was here, right? And he was a client. He was a client and it was my day off – his insistence, not mine – so why did he need to know?
Instead, I flashed up Valerie Prior's name and sent her a lightning fast message.
Big gathering of abaya in Radiant Ward at a cultural centre.
Weird vibe. If I vanish, maybe look for me?
Before I could second guess myself, I sent it off, just as Elethenn and the other abaya pushed through the final section of the crowd and spilled into the little sliver of space I'd found.
I opened my mouth to say hello, but Elethenn stepped in close. "You should not be here, Sashen," he said firmly.
"Oh." I blinked at him, and the other abaya nodded at Elethenn's side.
"Yes," they said, voice soft and even. "This is yevladi. It means –"
"Private, I understand," I said. That was one of the words Inmadra had struggled to define for me, although she'd said it plainly when I'd brought down some articles from Xitera that I wanted help translating.
She'd refused to look at them, only saying that they were yevladi; when I'd asked if that meant private, she had frowned, and then Celravi had said that was close enough. "Sorry. I didn't know. I'll just –"
And then the door behind us groaned, the entire warehouse falling to uncanny silence in a rippling wave as two figures stepped through.
At once, Elethenn stepped in close to my side; one hand grasped my wrist, pushing me back toward the wall, out of the way of the door that swung open, out of the way of the figures that stepped through into the hushed crowd.
He angled himself in front of me as he turned to look at them, although – given that he was shorter than I was and I, being human, was going to stand out in this very abayan crowd – it wasn't an effective way to try and stop what happened.
The two figures – one a tall abaya with bare, muscular arms and a golden nose ring; the other slighter, incredibly pale with an unbound crest that rustled gently behind them – moved forward, the crowd parting as if they were walking the Red Sea.
But before they took even a dozen steps into the crowd, the shorter abaya paused, their head turning slowly, tilting with curiosity, as their endless black stare settled on me.
Their features were preternaturally still, their crest barely rustling as they looked at me.
"Hm." Although the sound was quiet and they were a dozen feet away, I could hear it just as clearly as if they'd had their mouth pressed against the curve of my ear.
They looked at their tall companion and said something in rapid abayan.
My mind had fuzzed out, so I couldn't really process it – except for the words virra and Thiel.
The tall abaya listened, then inclined their head. "You are the virra of Creche Thiel," they said in Standard, translating. "Do you come at the behest of your sinnenthi? Nizanin would be most interested to speak with your Araxis."
My mouth went dry, my heart hammering against my ribs. Elethenn's fingers were like a vise around my wrist and, although he wasn't looking at me, I could feel that he was trying to communicate something. A warning? I could guess that much.
"Ah, apologies for my clumsy words," I said in abayan, stumbling over the syllables. "I am – nearby. I am – curious." At least if I was speaking abayan, it would be clear that I didn't know what the fuck was going on.
My skin prickled with a sense of danger as the shorter figure – Nizanin – smiled slowly.
They inclined their head again toward their companion, speaking quickly, and the taller abaya said, "It is good to be curious.
There is much you might learn if you stay and listen.
We are certain we will speak again, virra of Creche Thiel.
" And then both figures turned and continued their walk through the crowd.
I swallowed, throat dry, and stared after their retreating backs. Elethenn's friend stepped in close. "We should leave," they said. "Before –"
Elethenn nodded, stiff, his fingers still biting bruise-deep into the skin of my wrist. I hissed out a little sound of pain, and he jerked, as if he'd forgotten that he was still touching me.
"Apologies," he muttered, hand twitching away.
"You are right, Rodil. Shall we?" He turned to look at me, and there was something like a plea in his stare.
I nodded, and the three of us slipped out along the back of the crowd as Nizanin and their companion stepped to the stage.
We were just leaving when Nizanin began to talk.
I was startled to realize they weren't using any kind of amplification system: they were merely speaking and the whole room had fallen into a perfect hush, their gentle tone carrying and filling the space despite the softness in their melodic phrases.
"I'm sorry about that," I said as we crossed the little square outside.
Elethenn had taken point and was leading us back into the tangle of alleys between the cultural centre and my apartment.
"I know better than to show up to places uninvited.
And you really don't have to walk me back – I didn't mean to take you away from the speech. "
Rodil smiled at me, their hands clasped behind their back.
They were dressed in a pale coat that was nicer than anything in Radiant Ward had the right to be, although the cuffs looked a little worn; the boots they wore were similarly pale, an impractical cream colour with bands of silver metal that flashed in the murky light.
Altogether, it gave the impression of someone who was put together, or who badly wanted to seem that way.
"It is quite fine. Elethenn and I were just saying that it was all a bit crowded, weren't we? "
Ahead of us, Elethenn nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin. His features were tight, his head on a swivel as we turned through a jumbled series of corners in the Graves.