Closed A Meeting of Rebels (Nyela)

[Nissabella Rose]

Season of Fall, Day 58, 512 AV Of all the festivals held in Kalinor, Nissabella disliked the festival of Notok the most, for all that it was the grandest celebration that their underground city had to offer. It was, after all, a celebration of the Harvest and the practice of using surrogates, of welcoming back with open arms the hunters who had seduced and kidnapped innocent women from their homes and then dressing up those poor women in lovely silks in an effort to pretend they were here to do more than die in childbirth. Nissabella hadn't been able to bring herself to attend the final day's contest to choose the most beautiful surrogates; it just seemed too cruel for words. What made this particular festival worse still was that there seemed to be more surrogates in the city than ever before. But then, considering the tales that the Harvesters had brought back about the great storms that had wracked the world earlier in the spring, even Nissabella could see why. Hearing the full story of the chaos and destruction aboveground had been harrowing enough; she couldn't imagine living through those storms, let alone managing to survive during the aftermath. Perhaps some of the new surrogates had wanted to come to Kalinor, where the storms had barely touched them and life went on much the same as ever. Still, Nissabella could not endure the thought that even these willing surrogates were doomed to die and she couldn't do anything to stop it. Even if she were willing to give up a future in aerial dance -- and she was not -- she was only one girl. One girl couldn't put an end to centuries of Harvesting tradition. Perhaps a group of women could, though. When she heard the whispered message that some Esterians were arranging to meet at a member's house soon after Notok, Nissabella had felt something like deep relief. It would be a joy to sit and talk among women who felt the same way about Notok as she did, instead of applauding and cheering the barbarism of the Harvest. It would be wonderful to unburden her heart to them and gain courage in their solidarity. This morning, instead of preparing for another day of rehearsal at the Coweb, Nissabella instead threw her cloak over her shoulders, tugging it as high and tight as it would go. Once she was sure her parents and brother in their adjoining homes had left for the day, she furtively slipped out the door. Even as she cursed her own cowardice, Nissabella made certain no one was watching her before climbing onto the thick black silken "street" connecting her home to the main "road." Instead of her usual deliberate grace, she moved with a slouch, her eyes down, keeping to the underside of the rope-like silk cord. She wanted to look as unlike her usual self as possible: dejected instead of lively, clumsy instead of nimble. Above all, she didn't want to stand out and draw anyone's attention or give anyone cause to follow her and see where she was going. Nissabella ducked her head as an Ochya guardsman passed by along an adjacent cord. When he passed, she let out a long breath of relief and hurried on. The long, teardrop-shaped house where the Esterians were meeting was just in sight, now. Pulling her cloak even tighter around herself, she approached the house where the Esterian gathering was supposed to occur. Nissabella's heart beat and sharply rapidly in her chest, though whether it was from nervousness or excitement, not even she could say.

[Nyela Carum]

There was a slow trickle of women into the house. Nyela kept to the edges of the room, not quite at peace with being there yet—still not ready to let her guard down around those that were already there. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted her way. They mostly spoke Symenos in hushed tones that filled her body with anxiety, but there was still excitement in the air. There was also a great deal of fear. She could hear it in their quick breaths. Nyela curled her clawed fingers around her drink and took another sip. As the wine rolled back her tongue and down her throat, her thoughts turned inward and her stress level ratcheted up a notch instead of easing back. The Nest was overflowing with surrogates and that meant the Purging was filling up fast. All of her days were long, but the recent few had been the longest and Fall had only just begun. She’d nearly missed the meeting because of it. As the bells got later, work piled up and she worried that she wouldn’t get out on time. As it was, she was one of the last few to arrive. She quietly surveyed the room. The loudest women at the meeting flocked together. The trio grouped in the center of the floor, chatting about their days like they were at the Market, not an Esterian gathering. Nyela sighed and hoped they’d been more discreet coming to the house than they were being inside of it. In contrast, she’d spent the entire day practicing calm and it was probably the reason her nerves were starting to wear thin. She hadn’t wanted to hurry away from work on the off chance that someone would ask where she was going. Luckily, they’d all been so busy, no one had paid her any attention when she left. But that didn’t mean she took any chances. Her beliefs grew more unpopular by the chime. She was beyond needing to be careful—she needed to be silent and hope no one smelled the fear on her skin. Her amethyst eyes searched out the door. Since the houses had no windows, it was easier to conceal what they were doing, but it was impossible to tell who was coming. Every time someone new appeared, she held her breath until she could see a face that she recognized. Her biggest fear was that someone from the Purging might have followed her. It was also the stupidest one. They were elbow-deep in surrogates. No one would have thought to spy on her. She stuffed her free hand into the pocket of her long coat, little of her blue dress peeked out the bottom of it, and tried to coax herself into calming down. I didn’t leave directly from the Purging. I went home first. This isn't the place to start panicking. She’d been careful to go through the motions, even though her heart pounded in her chest and her muscles were on fire with the need to hurry. She remained painfully slow travelling home by the red cords so that she’d be spotted doing her normal routine. She talked to everyone she normally talked to and no one that she didn’t. When the topic of the Harvest came up, she smiled and joined in, even though talking about it made her feel cold inside. Her third sip of wine went down faster than the second and became a decent distraction while she waited for things to begin.

[Nissabella Rose]

The first thing that Nissabella heard when she reached the house where the Esterian gathering was being held was a woman's sharp voice exclaiming, a little too loudly, "And did you see how they were all staring at the girls being judged for most beautiful surrogate? Like they just couldn't wait to add those azos to their bloodline!" She blinked and then winced when her gaze fell upon the three women grouped in the center of the silk-strewn room, recognizing them as some of the staunchest pillars of the movement, not to mention the most outspoken. One of them was even descended from Esteria, the woman who began the outcry and lent her name to the dissenters. Around them, Nissabella always felt a little uncomfortable, considering how she always feared contributing the physical support she knew the movement needed. And they rarely failed to chide her for it. Besides, they tended to lean a little farther on the "pollution of Symenestra blood" side than she really liked. At the sound of her light step on the bottom of the curving stairways, the chattering trio swiveled in her direction. "Why, Sabella of the Rose Web, isn't it?" one of them called out in penetrating tones. "It's so good of you to peel yourself away from your dancing recitals and dress fittings to attend this gathering, Endalla. I'm sure it must have been very hard for you." "It's Nissabella of the Rose Web, actually," she corrected them as sweetly as she could manage, though her cheeks burned at the implication of her frivolity. "And I'm glad to be here. I would not have missed this meeting for the world." "And what did you think of the Harvest Festival?" one of the women demanded. Nissabella swallowed, feeling the weight of their threefold gazes upon her and attempting to gather her dignity despite it. "I thought…I thought it was terribly tragic," she said quietly, unable to suppress a faint quaver. "The way that the hunters treat the surrogates like prizes or trophies to be gutted and mounted on a wall. And the way everyone else applauds them for putting the surrogates in such a plight." Tears stung her eyes as memories of the Benshira surrogate she had befriended, who was never far from her mind, rose to the surface. Nissabella had refused to attend the third day of celebrations for this very reason, because she knew she would see her friend's suffering in every surrogate's face. Hastily, she dropped her gaze, fearing that the other women would see her tears and interpret them as a sign of weakness. "I, um, I think my throat is dry," she mumbled. "Excuse me for a moment, ladies." She spun around toward a niche in the side of the room, where glasses of wine, juice, and water stood ready. Behind her, the three women returned to their loud conversation about the festival. Brushing at her eyes distractedly, Nissabella almost didn't notice that another young woman had taken refuge near the niche holding drinks and nearly ran into her as a result. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" the dancer exclaimed, holding up her hands by way of apology. "Did you drop your drink…no, it seems okay. I do beg your pardon, I should have watched where I was going." Flicking the last tear from her eye, she scolded herself mentally for her clumsiness. Everyone was always telling her she was too emotional, and here she was again, letting her emotions overwhelm her. Glancing sidelong at the girl, Nissabella covertly tried to place her, but couldn't remember hearing her name or seeing her at an Esterian gathering before today. Her forehead creasing, she noticed the girl was clutching her glass of wine with tight-curled hands, her clawed fingers wrapped tensely around the stem. She must be nervous, or maybe shy, Nissabella decided. She supposed the trio of chattering women could probably make anyone feel apprehensive. "I'm Nissabella of the Rose Web," she added, while her hand hovered toward the wine and juice before settling reluctantly on a cup of plain water. Dancers did have to mind their bodies, after all. She gave the girl her friendliest smile. "Have you been to one of these before? I don't remember seeing you before, though your face is familiar. Are you one of the older dancers at the Cobweb?"