Most of the sailors laughed and clapped, nodding at the fairness of his comeback. A few seemed to resent his jumping in, however. The same ones who, days back, had argued against counting the vote of a mere boy.
More songs followed. After a lighthearted beginning, Maia noticed the mood grow steadily less gay, more somber and reflective. At one point, the girl from Hypatia looked down, letting her hair fall around her face as she chanted a soft, lovely melody,
The wind picked up, lifting sparks from the ebbing fire. After that song, silence reigned until two older vars, Charl and Trotula, began beating a makeshift drum, taking up a quicker beat. Their choice was a ballad Maia used to hear on Port Sanger’s avenues from time to time, chanted by Perkinite missionaries. An epic of days long ago, when heretic tyrannies called “the Kingdoms” fluxed through these tropic island chains. The period wasn’t covered much in school, nor even in the lurid romances Leie used to read.. But each springtime the chant was sung on street-corners, conveying both danger and tragic mystique.
Sometime between the Great Defense and the Era of Repose—perhaps more than a thousand years ago— rebellion had raged across the Mother Ocean. Emboldened by their recent high renown, after the repulsion of terrible alien invaders, a conspiracy of males had vowed to reestablish patriarchy. Seizing sea-lanes far from Caria, they burned ships and drowned men who would not join their flag. In the towns they captured, all restraints of law and tradition vanished. Aurora season was a time, at best, of unbridled license. At worst, horror.
When Maia had once asked a teacher about the episode, Savant Claire had smirked in distaste. “People oversimplify. Perkies never talk in public about the Kings’ allies. They had plenty of help.”
“From whom?” Maia asked, aghast.
“Women, of course. Whole groups of them. Opportunists who knew how it had to end.” Claire had refused to give more detail, however, and the public library posessed but scanty entries. So curious had it made Maia, that she and Leie tried using their twin trick to feign clone status, briefly gaining entrance to a Perkinite meeting—until some locals fingered them as vars, and tossed them out.
During the lengthy ballad, Maia watched attitudes chill toward Brod. Women seated near him found excuses to get up—for another cup of stew, or to seek the latrine—and returned to sit farther away. Even the Quinnish sixer, who had flirted awkwardly with Brod for days, avoided his eyes and kept to her mates. Soon only Maia and Naroin remained nearby. Bravely, the youth showed no sign of noticing.
It was so unfair. He had had no part in crimes of long ago. All might have remained pleasant if Charl and Tortula. hadn’t chosen this damned song. Anyway, none of these vars could possibly be Perkinite. Maia contemplated how prejudice can be a complex thing.
No one said much after that. The fire died down. One by one, tomorrow’s adventurers sought their beds. On her way back from the toilet area, Maia made sure to pass Brod’s shelter, separate from all the others, and wished him goodnight. Afterward, she sat down again by the coals, lingering after everyone else had turned in, watching the depleted logs brighten and fade when fanned by gusts of wind.
Some distance away, toward the forest, Naroin lifted her head. “Can’t sleep, snowflake?”
Maia answered with a shrug, implicitly bidding the other woman to mind her own business. With briefly raised eyebrows, Naroin took a hint and turned away. Soon, soft snoring sounds rose from scattered shadows on all sides, lumps indiscernible except as vague outlines. The coals faded further and darkness settled in, permitting constellations to grow lustrous, where they could be seen between low clouds. The holes in the overdeck grew narrower as time passed.
Without stars to distract her, Maia watched as sporadic breezes toyed with the banked campfire. Stirred by a gust, one patch would bloom suddenly, giving off red sprays of sparks before fading again, just as abruptly. She came to see the patterns of bright and dark as quite un-random. Depending on supplies of fuel, air, and heat,
