Never Stop Dancing
Jagged bolts of lightning dashed through the summer sky, ripping it asunder if the roars of thunder that followed every yellow streak of lightning were any indication. Gigantic raindrops plopped onto the ground, transforming dirt into mud and drowning the plants the rain should have been nourishing. Thunderstorms were supposed to renew life, but this one was just murdering it.
Evvy knew this because the rocks told it to her. As she stood in the massive muddy puddle that was now the pathway that led to Discipline cottage, wrapped within a cloak that really had no hope of keeping her dry in a downpour like this, she clutched stones in each hand. When her fingers caressed the rocks with more affection than she would ever display for any human being, they discovered the contours that made every stone unique. The gentle intimacy of her touch would always assure the rocks that she understood them in a way that nobody else ever would, and they would never fail to whisper their stories to her. Oh, what tales of wildlife drowning in the torrents and stones being battered (and sometimes even broken) by the merciless rain pounding upon them the rocks shared with her now.
Of course, Evvy was well aware that the connection she had with stones was something that made her insane in the eyes of most people. After all, most beings didn't think about rocks unless they had to be used to build something, removed from fields, or taken out of a shoe. Certainly, nobody entertained the notion that stones had thoughts or emotions of any sort, and even if they were open-minded to consider such a prospect, they never would have believed that what a rock had to say would be of the faintest significance.
That arrogance was why they were deaf to the voices of the stones, and that was why Evvy didn't care if everyone assumed she was mad. The rocks were far more steadfast than most people, and she would rather have a stone for a friend than a treacherous person. In a cavern in the Old City of Chammur, the stones that everybody stupidly regarded as cold had done a better job of keeping her warm than the family that had sold her away because she was a burden. If understanding that made her crazy, she didn't mind being insane.
However, just because she wasn't troubled by her own particular brand of lunacy, that didn't mean that the obvious mental issues of someone else couldn't bother her, she thought as she glared down the pathway at Pasco. For a reason that probably didn't seem logical even to him, he was dancing up and down the path, spattering mud everywhere, and making it difficult for Evvy to concentrate on the stories the rocks were sharing with her.
"Any sane person would be indoors, you know," she shouted at him, wondering whether he could even hear her over the roars of thunder constantly sounding forth from the sky.
"You lost the right to scold like an old woman when you came out here yourself to whisper to your silly little stones," he retorted, the beam stretching from ear to ear not faltering an iota and the smile in his brown eyes never dimming.
He was definitely raving mad, Evvy noted inwardly, scowling. Worse still, he was the most dangerous kind of crazy—the jocular sort who was capable of inflicting unimaginable amounts of damage upon himself and others in his fits of merry irrationality.
The two of them couldn't have been more different if they tried. If her brand of insanity was such a strong hatred and distrust of humanity as a whole that it prompted her to seek out stones for solace, then his was an excessive amount of joy that made it impossible for him to stop dancing. Maybe differences were supposed to bring people together, but they didn't see that happening any time soon- which made it all the better when it did.
As she watched Pasco's feet weave a complex jig, Evvy bit her lip as memories she had struggled to forget for years rose to the forefront of her mind once more. The truth, however much she wished to deny it, was that she had once laughed as quickly and easily as Pasco. Once, a very long time ago, she had loved and had no fear. Many years ago, she had been such a different person that her past and present selves would never, without her memories, have been able to recognize each other if they had met by some terrifying bit of time-travel magic.
"I used to dance, too," she snapped, not knowing if she was trying to prove something to him or to herself. "It was because I danced and giggled that my parents sold me away so that I would never want to do either of those things again."
"That's nonsense, Evvy." Pasco waltzed up to her. "You were sold because your parents wished to make money off you, instead of having to spend it upon you. Your personality had nothing to do with your family's decision. In fact, your family would probably have been more likely to keep you with your old personality than with your new one. Upbeat people are so much fun to be around, but cynics bring down every conversation they join."
"Happiness doesn't last long when you have to fend for yourself in a vicious city," answered Evvy, glowering at him. "I could say that I hope you understand that one day, but I wouldn't wish what happened to me on my worst enemy. The streets didn't harden my heart that much."
"It's good to know that you don't have a heart as cold and hard as the stones you talk to, then," Pasco replied, pausing his dance long enough to offer her a cheeky bow.
"Stones aren't nearly so cold and hard as someone as ignorant of them as you are might believe," Evvy countered sharply, flaring up because by attacking the rocks, he was assaulting a part of her, and she had to defend herself.
"Really?" Pasco arched an eyebrow at her, as he resumed his dance. "I'm most intrigued. Tell me more. I am all ears."
"You are one big annoyance, that's what you are," scoffed Evvy. "Besides, you wouldn't understand what makes stones alive because you grew up in comfort and safety. You never wondered in what gutter you would spend the night, and you never wished that you could carve out your own stomach just so you could eat it since the hunger pains were that crippling. That makes you arrogant, and blind and deaf to the magic of the stones. Rocks only talk when they know their words won't fall upon deaf ears."
"Well, the horror of my childhood was that even though both my parents were Harriers, they couldn't make the world a safe place for everyone," Pasco responded, his manner almost serious for once. "There will always be tragedy, Evvy. The best any of us can do is laugh to keep from crying, make music out of our sorrow, and never stop dancing."
"Stones are my music." For some reason she couldn't begin to comprehend herself, Evvy abruptly wished for Pasco to understand what attracted her to rocks, because, oddly enough, she wanted him to see her for who she truly was. "Each rock is special. Every stone has its own story—its own tale of creation and destruction—which it whispers to me. Sometimes I take that story and use it to change or hone the rock, and other times I just accept the stone as it is."
"If stones are your music, you won't mind dancing with me." With a playful smirk, Pasco clutched her wrists and sought to sweep her up in a waltz.
"I haven't danced in years," protested Evvy, trying to act as though she found his vivaciousness as pesky as ever, when, in reality, her heart was inexplicably pounding so loudly that she was grateful to the thunder for masking the sound of its wild beat. She must have just been nervous about appearing clumsy next to a dancer as smooth as Pasco, she told herself sternly. She definitely wasn't attracted to someone who was as different to her as the day was from the night.
"Your body will remember," Pasco reassured her, his eyes sparkling at her in a way that made her skin tingle.
Before she could regain her wits enough to retort, he had gilded her down the pathway. She knew that she should have pulled away, but a traitorous element within her had no desire to do so, since it enjoyed the sensation of his skin brushing against her bare flesh too much. Dancing with him like this animated her in a way that nothing had in years, and her fears of ungainliness faded as she was absorbed into the magic of Pasco's dancing. When they danced together, they were no longer two separate entities, but rather one glorious body that could not possibly misstep. Even if they made a misstep, Pasco would have been able to turn it into a beautiful quirk in the art of their dance, or so Evvy believed, and maybe that conviction was all that was needed to sustain the magic of their dance. After all, it was their dance, not anyone else's, and so it only had to be perfect for them.
"You're beautiful, you know," Pasco remarked, staring at the hair that was suddenly freed from the hood of her cloak as the excitement of her movements sent it toppling away from her head.
"You must be blind," snorted Evvy. "I'm a crone before my time, and that shows in my missing teeth."
"Everyone who doesn't die tragically young grows old, Evvy," Pasco pointed out in a hushed voice that she had never heard before. "That's why it is what is on the inside of a person that counts, and, inside of you, no matter how much you strive to deny it, is somebody who never could forget how to dance."
"There's nothing to remember when you are dancing in the mud instead of a ballroom," blustered Evvy, even as she thought that gliding down a muddy garden path during a thunderstorm was infinitely more real and more romantic than twirling about a glistening ballroom in full court regalia. Most people, she thought, would never know how wonderful it was to dance in the driving rain of a summer storm. It was nothing at all like one would expect—nothing like one would expect.
Perhaps this thunderstorm had renewed life, after all, instead of just murdering it, and maybe Pasco could be another stone she could depend upon, whom she could caress, and who would whisper stories to her because she alone would truly understand the tales.