Steven Harper - Nightmare

Tress and Zayim continued talking about him and Mom, and he became pretty sure they knew he could hear. Ben wondered what would happen if he stuck his head out the window and yelled something at his cousins. Something witty that would flatten both of them.

Something completely out of character.

Ben stared at the window. It would all be bearable if he had some decent friends, even just one. But he didn’t. In the school for non-Silent relatives of the Children of Irfan, Ben had firmly established an identity as a loner. Tress and Zayim had taught him that friendly overtures could be disguises for jokes and teasing, and he had never been very good at talking to people to begin with. Being lonely was better than being a potential target.

Benjamin Rymar turned grimly back to his weights and let their clanking drown out the voices from the window.

Kendi wandered up and down the crowded evening walkways. Although the sun had long since set, everything was brightly lit. Paper lanterns hung from every eave and balcony rail, drenching the darkness with suffused golden light. Circles of drummers sat on balconies and staircases, thudding out steady rhythms and calling out encouragement to each other. Humans and Ched-Balaar alike carried a candle in one hand and a bowl in the other. The candle symbolized the campfire shared by the Ched-Balaar and the humans at the ceremony that had allied the two races. The bowl symbolized the vessel that had contained the ceremonial wine drunk by Irfan Qasad and the others-including Daniel Vik. The drugs in the wine and the drumming of the Ched-Balaar had brought a few of the original Bellerophon humans into the Dream and ultimately lead to the founding of the Children of Irfan.

Irfan must have had a hell of a lot of talent , Kendi mused darkly, getting into the Dream so easily like that .

His mood was at distinct odds with the people around him. Everywhere people were laughing and singing and dancing to the drums. Street-walkway? — vendors sold wax candles and clay bowls and hot food and cold drink and decorative trinkets and cheap toys. Music was everywhere, timed in rhythm with the drumming. Favored instruments seemed to be recorders and pennywhistles. Kendi wondered how they would react to a digiridoo. He knew somewhere, on the wider platforms, Festival games were held, but he wasn’t in the mood.

It shouldn’t have been that big a deal. A pod of dinosaurs-those big ones with long tails and necks-had thundered slowly by right under the dormitory. They were nothing like the fast, agile creature Kendi had encountered on the ultralight. These were big and slow and stupid. What was the big deal if Kendi ran down the stairs to get a closer look? And so what if he had climbed up on the back of one of the smaller ones? The thing hadn’t even noticed he was there. He had just wanted to see if he could do it, prove to himself that he wasn’t afraid. But Mother Ara had thrown a fit. Now, Festival or no Festival, he had even more work detail. In fact, he had been assigned to help clean up in the morning. It was stupid and unfair.

A familiar laugh broke through the drums and laughter. Kendi twisted his head around, his heart suddenly beating fast as he caught sight of a familiar figure on a platform a ways ahead of him. Pitr. Kendi had forgotten all about Pitr, how he had promised himself he would talk to Pitr tonight. It was Festival, night of beginnings and changes. Kendi’s palms sweated.

For someone who just rode a dinosaur , he told himself, you’re acting awfully scared .

Pitr was talking in a small group of people, each of whom carried a bowl and a candle. Kendi had neither, hadn’t wanted to get one until now. He remembered Dorna telling him that it would be customary to offer drinks from his bowl to other people as a way of greeting. Kendi cast about and saw a Ched-Balaar sitting dog-like behind a table piled high with Festival bowls for sale. Kendi hurried over and grabbed one. He thumbed the Ched-Balaar’s pad, charging the bowl to his student account. The Ched-Balaar filled the bowl with a purple liquid that smelled vaguely alcoholic to Kendi. Kendi thanked the merchant, who chattered something back to him. Kendi, who didn’t understand a bit of it, merely nodded politely and turned away. He took a big gulp from the bowl-it was indeed something alcoholic-and caught up an unattended votive candle burning on a nearby rail. Forcing himself to move forward with firm steps, he approached Pitr Haddis. This was going to be it. He would find out one way or the other. As he walked, a prayer came to his mind, one he remembered from the Real People Reconstructionists.

If it be in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere , he thought, let Pitr choose me tonight .

Mouth dry despite the weak wine, Kendi came up behind Pitr and cleared his throat. "Hey, Pitr. Want a drink?"

Pitr, who had been leaning his elbows on the platform rail with his back to Kendi, turned and smiled. So did several of the people around him. Kendi didn’t recognize any of them and he briefly wondered where Trish was.

"Kendi," Pitr said brightly. "Joyous Festival. I was wondering if I was going to run into you."

"Really?" Kendi raised his bowl. "I’m here. I was wondering if I-" he had to pause to clear his throat again "-if I could talk to you for a minute."

"Sure," Pitr said, and Kendi’s insides twisted at the sight of his smile. "Oh wait-I’m being rude. Kendi, this is Holda." He gestured at a petite blond girl who looked to be about Pitr’s age. She had brown eyes and a round, pretty face. "Holda, this is Kendi Weaver."

Holda held out her hand. Kendi automatically set the bowl on the rail so he could shake it. No jolt-Holda wasn’t Silent.

"You’re the guy who was attacked on the ultralight?" she asked. "Pitr told me all about it. You were pretty brave."

"Yeah, thanks," Kendi said, wondering how he could get rid of Holda so he could talk to Pitr alone.

"Tonight’s our one-month anniversary," Pitr said, and he kissed Holda loudly on the cheek. She laughed and pushed him away.

"Don’t," she admonished lightly. "You’re too cute when you do that."

Kendi’s heart froze solid in his chest. He stared first at Pitr, then at Holda. They were holding hands. He didn’t know what to do, what to say.

"Anyway-you wanted to talk to me?" Pitr said.

Kendi continued to stare, then something broke and his wits rushed back to him. His face began to burn. "It can wait," he said faintly. "It was just something about …about the ultralights, but it’s no big deal. I just remembered that I’m supposed …supposed to meet someone at the games. I’ll catch you later."

He caught up his bowl and fled before either Pitr or Holda could say anything. He kept walking, dodging around Festival partiers, until he found a place away from the noise and the lantern light. His candle had gone out. Darkness closed in around him. Insects called and night birds sang. Two walkways met here, and Kendi leaned on the rail to stare out into the night. The drums were only a faint sound in the distance.

Stupid , he thought fiercely. I was so stupid . It would have been the easiest thing in the world to ask Pitr if he had a girlfriend, a perfectly innocent question, a question people ask all the time in idle conversation. But for some reason it hadn’t occurred to Kendi to ask it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had come within millimeters of making a complete fool of himself, just as he had done with Pup. Thank all life something had stopped him. Otherwise he’d have never been able to look Pitr in the face again and flight lessons would have been impossibly awkward. Sudden loneliness welled up in him. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed like he was always alone these days. That was the worst part of it-being alone.