A/N: I would like to thank on of my reviewers. Ok, one of my only reviewers, lol! E.M.K.81: Your reviews are more than appreciated; your conversation with me through private message and how you've assisted me have been absolutely priceless to me.
I would also like to apologize for the general crappiness of this chapter. I have been struggling for over a week to write a good transition, and NOTHING good has come out of it. I am afraid that for the moment we're going to have no choice but to settle for much less than inspired writing and go with what little the muses have provided. Please don't let it make you stop reading! I PROMISE I'm going to do better, but I couldn't let myself just leave a huge hole in the plot like I did last time I wrote this story!
Erik was taken aback when they entered Anton's tsera and found it empty of everyone but the chief himself. When they had spoken of a trial, he'd expected a large group of elders. He certainly hadn't expected there to be no one; particularly since he thought Yaakov probably ought to have been held in some form of custody for his crimes.
"What's wrong?" Tsifia asked Anton, clearly concerned for the same reasons Erik was. "Where is everyone?"
Anton let out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head.
"No one else will participate." He explained wearily. "They told me to use my best judgement; especially since to them it sounded as though I'd already made up my mind."
"Haven't you?" Tsifia demanded. "My granddaughter's wellbeing is at stake, Anton."
"Of course I have." He assured her. "Noleta will have to leave with her husband by nightfall. She will be dead to all of us… even to you."
Tsifia set her jaw stubbornly, agony written clearly in her eyes.
"She already is." She promised. "I don't even want to see her again before she goes. But I think Arabella has a right to face them one more time… and I'm here to support her… as is Erik."
Somewhat startled to be included, Erik glanced at the two women with a feeling of warmth and inclusion.
Arabella didn't look quite as pleased that he'd been included. She glanced between the two elders, and Erik.
"Why do any of us need to be here?" she asked uneasily. "My mothers' fate has already been decided. You don't need me. The judgement has been passed."
Anton nodded in agreement.
"W-what?" Erik asked, bewildered. "How can it have already been passed? There has been no testimony. There has been no trial."
"It doesn't work the same way here as it does in the world you come from." Tsifia told him gently, speaking as though he came from a different universe. "Our trials are usually just to make an example. Apparently, the other elders feel no need to make an example out of Noleta. She's spent the past many years already barely a ghost among us. Not all have been as forgiving of her as I was when she ran off and married Yaakov. Many wanted to banish her then… but the community respected and loved my husband. They wouldn't rob him or me of our only child. I was beyond being able to carry more children by then. It took us a long time to successfully conceive Noleta, and carry her through to a healthy birth.
"So… as long as I'm not the one passing judgement, they probably feel confident that no forgiveness will be shown for her crimes this time."
"Not to mention they've only committed their crimes against a half-breed." Arabella muttered under her breath. "Where is my mother? Shouldn't she be here by now?"
"She is probably still packing." Erik suggested. "Should one of us go and get her?"
Anton shook his head with a heavy sigh.
"I'm beyond even the pretense of a trial now." He admitted. "Let's all go to her, and send her off with the shame she deserves. It will undoubtedly make them hurry along if we are there to make a spectacle of their banishment."
Arabella stared at Yaakov as he and his wife finished packing their belongings. They had left behind Arabella's few day-to-day belongings, such as clothes, but had taken with them her one or two decent dresses for performing. No doubt they hoped to sell them. The only one that they did not manage to take was the one that Erik had given her only that morning. Although she'd changed into regular clothing in Tsifia's tent, Yaakov must have sent Noleta back to fetch the beautiful gown, because Erik had seen it in their hand-pulled wagon and taken it away from them.
"This is not yours for the having." He stated icily when Yaakov tried to snatch it back with a few angry words. "I bought this for her with my own earnings. You have no right to it."
"He's right." Anton announced from several yards away.
Arabella took the dress as Erik returned to her side, hugging it tight against her to try and distract herself from crying. No matter how much she hated what they'd done; Yaakov and Noleta were still her parents. When they left, she would no longer stand a chance at earning their affections or appreciation.
"How did he get hurt?" she asked Erik quietly, noticing her father's right eye had swollen and turned an ugly shade of purple. She didn't ask with concern, but mere curiosity.
"He said something foolish to Anton when we were gathered without you." Erik murmured back simply. "I won't repeat it."
Others gathered to scowl at the shameful couple as they completed their packing and began skulking away. By the time they were out of sight, the tribe had gone entirely silent and watchful… although many of them were staring at Arabella instead of her parents.
"Erik…" Anton walked up to the friends once things were beginning to return to a normal pace again. He eyed the tall boy, who by then stood with one arm wrapped tightly about Arabella's shoulders. His Phoenix cloak fell around her in such a way that she was sheltered from view by the rest of the tribe, helping her conceal her few quiet tears of grief. "I think I should have a talk with you in private… clarify some things I told you earlier. Tsifia has pointed out to me that you might be… misguided… about what will happen next for you. She was too distracted by The Woman's banishment to think about it earlier."
So there it was. No longer would the names Noleta or Yaakov be spoken by those who considered them truly dead.
Tsifia wandered up as he spoke, admiring Erik's cloak even as she pressed her fingers to it in effort to gain Arabella's attention.
"My granddaughter and I need to have some privacy as well." She told Erik quietly. "With all that has happened today, we have much to do… and discuss."
Arabella slowly lifted her head from Erik's shoulder and looked questioningly at her grandmother.
"What is there to do?" she asked. "We've missed most of the day to earn our incomes as it is. We should be returning to work."
"Tomorrow is another day to do that." Tsifia reminded her. "The sooner we purify you, on the other hand, the better. Until we do all we can… you will remain a fallen woman."
"My reputation will remain ruined no matter how many times you purify me." Arabella sighed; clearly exhausted from the recent flood of emotions she'd been through. "I am now constantly in the presence of a man considered a demon by most of the tribe. How do you think purifying me will take that away?"
"Please, my child…" Tsifia pleaded. "Do not fight me on this. I must purify you – for myself, if not for your own stubborn sake!"
Erik simply stood there, waiting for Arabella to make her choice. He wanted to make his own decision as to whether or not to go with Anton… but he knew that doing so was in his best interest. All he was worried about now was Arabella's wellbeing.
Sighing, Arabella pushed herself away from him and simply walked away. She looked almost angry as she stalked off, leaving Tsifia to hurry after her with her own frown of disapproval.
Confused, Erik peered at Anton.
"May I ask… how…?" he began uncertainly.
"Arabella will tell you, if she wants you to know." Anton stated. "Come with me, Erik. I'm afraid you may be expecting a bit too much from what I said earlier… and in reconsideration I was probably being far too optimistic just to irritate Arabella's father as much as possible."
"Ugh! It's horrible!" Arabella couldn't help gaging and retching, wondering how her grandmother had convinced her to go through with the purification. She had to enter it willingly, or it never would have been accepted.
The smell of the milk was hideous, and she wondered just how long some of it had been sitting before being collected. She wondered who had fetched it all for her grandmother, and how much they'd had to pay for it. What was the most remarkable thing was that Tsifia had pulled together so much of it in only a matter of hours, while she waited in her tent for it to arrive; and listened to Tsifia rant, rave, and scold about Arabella keeping so many secrets.
"Just another minute or two." Her grandmother soothed, feeling peaceful at last after purging all her grief and venom. "You're doing the right thing, my dear."
"I don't have another minute or two!" Arabella protested. "Bunica, it's the smell! I'm going to be sick!"
She had been sitting in the round metal washbasin for almost no time at all, wondering just what kind of stomach her grandmother must have in order to sit so close and easily breathe in the fumes that seemed nearly toxic to her. To make matters even more disgusting, her grandmother had taken a warm cup of it before adding the rest to the basin.
"Fresh." She'd commented with a satisfied smile… which Arabella felt now was a bald-faced lie to get her into the basin. She'd probably only pretended to sip the foul stuff.
Now Tsifia scooped up a pitcher of the substance, pouring it down Arabella's back and around her neck so it spilled over every inch of her naked body. The smell made her retch violently again, almost letting up what she'd eaten that morning right into the purifying liquid. To think that they weren't able to bath in still water, but her grandmother could all but force her to endure this.
"P-please!" she nearly sobbed, stretching her nose as far from the smell as she possibly could.
"What's the matter with you, girl?" Tsifia demanded. "It isn't the most pleasant of smells, but it's hardly curdling!"
Arabella shook her head and leapt to her feet.
"Get it off of me!" she pleaded. "Bunica, please! I'm going to-"
Without waiting for a towel or shawl, she leaped from the shallow basin and ran for the empty basin in which Tsifia usually washed her dishes and cookware. For a full minute she heaved violently, amazed at just how much better she felt afterward. The smell was still in the tent, and it was still foul to her… but it wasn't anywhere near as bad.
Tsifia gave her a sidelong stare of inspection.
"Bella?" she asked worriedly. "Are you ill? I mean, actually ill?"
"No… it's the smell of that wretched stuff!" she exclaimed, seizing up the tea her grandmother had left untouched for some time and rinsing her mouth with it. "Once I get dressed, I'll clean everything up, I promise… but I couldn't do it anymore. Is it… is it over?"
Tsifia sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of one hand.
"Yes, child, yes. You are pure again…"
"A goat's milk bath?" Erik chuckled that evening. "Really? How do you manage to get a hold of that much milk to begin with?"
"Don't ask." She sighed. "We didn't use as much as you're imagining, anyway. …I'd rather hear about your audience with Anton."
Erik smiled weakly, turning his face away for the first time.
"I'll never be a full gypsy." He admitted. "I can't be angry at Anton. He wasn't trying to mislead me… and I have to admire his way of trying to get your father into a fight - but the bastard is too much of a coward to have taken the bait. But I wish…"
"Is that how he got the black eye?" Arabella asked, trying to distract his disappointment. "Was Anton trying to provoke him?"
"Actually…" Erik laughed. "I think he threw the punch to keep me from doing worse. I told you your father said something stupid – and nasty."
"And you still won't tell me what it was?"
"Never."
The simple answer made Arabella wince. She could only imagine what her father had spouted to make Erik's already fragile control over his hatred nearly snap.
"We're moving on tomorrow." She sighed, deciding to change the subject. "I think Anton wants to put distance between the tribe and my parents. We'll be entering my home country by the end of the week."
"Spain?" Erik asked, his eyes lighting up. "It will be my first time out of France. Is it beautiful there?"
"Yes… very beautiful." She admitted with a smile. "You will love the music there, Erik. It has such a different sound to it. It's… a lot like what you played this morning, actually. There's so much passion in it. Personally, I always thought what little French music I've heard sounded so… bland."
Erik gasped, pressing both hands to his chest in absolute horror.
"How dare you!" he laughed. "What blasphemy!"
"Even I know that most of the great musicians throughout history aren't French, Erik – though there are undoubtedly some. I do manage to learn a few things if I pay attention, after all." She rolled her eyes.
"Most of them aren't Spanish, either." He pointed out. "But there are a few beautiful operas written in French. I'm not sure I've ever heard one written – or sung - in Spanish."
Arabella shook her head, trying to suppress her laughter. Erik had been trying to cheer her up all morning, teasing her about every last topic possible. To her relieved surprise, it was actually working. She'd expected to mourn the loss of her parents as though they'd suffered a true death… but Erik was doing a very good job at distracting her from feeling too much self-pity.
"Speaking of music…" he began suddenly, turning from where he sat on the edge of his stage to face her more fully. "I would like it very much, ma belle, if you and I could begin performing together regularly."
Her jaw dropped open, a helplessly shocked noise escaping her throat in a rather unattractive squeak. She scrambled for a response, but Erik was apparently not taking any chances of being refused before he'd had his say.
"You saw how that crowd reacted to us yesterday." He insisted. "It wasn't just my music, Bella. They worshipped you. Think of the income we could split between us - if yesterdays' take is any clue as to what we're capable of when we plan something together. We can probably make so much that the tribe as a whole will richly benefit. I mean… I'm not so greedy that I'm not willing to share with your people…"
"My people?" Arabella asked. "Aren't they going to be your people too?"
He hesitated, the light in his eyes dimming.
"Anton… admitted that at best the most he can offer me is the rank of a travel companion." he managed reluctantly. "But it is far better than where I was… and I could still… maybe…"
Arabella shook her head quickly, pleadingly, and he floundered a moment in silence.
"Fine." He sighed. "I won't talk about it again… But I'm not going to pretend I don't still… want the things I want."
"You don't have to stop wanting them." She assured him quickly. "It's just… all too much to think about right now. We've talked about it already… you've made your position clear. I just… need time to adjust to everything that's already so out of order in my life…"
Erik nodded, reaching out to gently brush the backs of his fingers down her arm. She was wrapped tightly in a warm knitted shawl, as the day was quite chilly for a summer morning. There was no direct physical contact.
"So…" he prompted. "What do you say to my offer? Will you dance for me, ma belle - I mean for the crowds?"
She laughed silently at his quick and bashful correction.
"I'd be delighted to." She admitted. "But I do have one condition."
Even behind his golden mask, she could tell by the tilt of his head that he was trying to raise an intrigued eyebrow at her.
"Yes?"
"You must teach me everything you know about the dances of your society."
"That isn't very much, you know." Erik sighed. "What I've taught you already is the most I really know about dancing. There are so many out there that require groups of people… and I doubt very much if there is anyone else in the tribe willing to partake in what lessons I have to give."
"Then do the best you can." She pressed. "If you do your best, and nothing more, then I will teach you a dance that I can guarantee will enthrall the crowd… especially if we do it together."
Erik thought for a long moment.
"If we dance together, who will play the music?" he demanded.
"I am sure we can convince someone to play for us occasionally." She smirked. "Even Vlad and Sven play instruments, although I can't say they hold a candle to your skill. It would even be fitting they put their own skills to use occasionally, instead of making everyone else do all the work for them."
Erik let his head fall back as he laughed.
"You're right." He agreed. "You're absolutely right."
Moments passed in easy silence, although Arabella's eyes began to drift around in distracted sadness again.
"Well…" he clapped his hands together once, rubbing the palms in a brisk manner to warm them. "No time like the present, is there? I can teach you a few extra steps my mother tried to entertain me with… but we didn't have the people we needed to learn the actual dances properly."
"I'm only looking for the best you can do." She reminded him. "And we don't have very long before the crowds will arrive… dancing with you again until we can work something out together doesn't seem right."
"Then you can dance for your own income elsewhere." He suggested. "I'm not looking for our every performance to be in tandem. I would just very much like to … perhaps… work up to that?"