Fia scooched up and let her head fall over the side of the makeshift stage. The world turned upside down with browning crops hanging down and concorde-shaped birds clinging from their pointed ends. Then, a scream tore through the quiet, and the birds flung themselves into the blue sky. Fia rolled her eyes, and Raija’s chuckle told her she’d been seen. She grabbed Raija’s knee, pulled herself up and around to sit cross-legged next to her, facing the open barn doors and the field outside. 

“It’s quite—” Fia was interrupted by another wail and a bout of laughter from behind them. “Noisy,” she finished, though she originally planned to say warm. 

Raija snickered. “They make it hard to like them, don’t they?” 

Fia glanced over her shoulder at the five Gifted who’d been playing tag between the half-piled chairs in the barn. Two of them now sat on one chair with their lips locked, while the others competed for who can climb the highest pile of chairs. She breathed out a laugh. “They’re alright.” 

“They’re bored out of their minds stuck in that city. Abraha needs to let them see the world. The real one, not the one he’s created for them.”

Fia shrugged. “I don’t know.” She gave a sardonic smile. “I should know, right? They all seem to know me.”

“Can you imagine Mikael running around chairs?”

Fia’s head jerked towards her. Raija stifled a smile, and they both burst out laughing. Fia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.   

“Ah Fia,” Raija said with a sigh. “I’ve buried more friends than anyone should have to. Sometimes I wonder when I’ll see them again.”

Fia gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t go dying on me, Raija.”

Raija cackled. “Oh, I gave up on that when I finished the third century.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Maybe we’ll find a way to make this world more interesting.” 

Fia grinned. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Raija hopped off the stage. “Be on time tonight. We’re finally getting the dance floor and you’ve seen nothing till you’ve seen the Carnation folk killing it on a dance floor.”

Fia nodded. “I’ll be here.” 

She had to give it to the woman for getting more than one lingering look and two smiles as she passed by the five members of what Akira now called the Carnation Carnage—despite the face Dara made when he heard it. They all had a knack for making people feel invisible, something Fia had never experienced till now.

They weren’t outwardly offensive, they just didn’t find anyone who didn’t have a Gift worthy of their attention. Occasionally, possibly intrigued by Fia’s proximity to Hamza or Dara, they would throw a question her way but their interest waned even before she opened her mouth to answer. It was the worst feeling. 

Fia hopped off the stage and went out the field-side door to avoid them. It had been eight days since Raija and Abraha arrived in Giza with their ‘troops’ and they’d been acting like they just ran into each other during a holiday. The atmosphere was so relaxed it made Fia nervous. It didn’t help that Pekka and Dara kept dodging her questions. 

She made her way around the barn and through the fields to the road to the inn. By the roadside she spotted Dara and Zarrar sitting on a rail fence and Hamza leaning against the post. She could take a right at the junction ahead to avoid them with no more than a two-minute detour. But for some reason—or possibly for someone—she just kept walking straight. 

Hamza was the first to spot her. “Have they built the dance floor yet?” 

“Not yet,” she said. 

“Fia!” said Zarrar lighting up, making her wish she’d taken the other route.

Zarrar was mostly cheekbones, a mouth that refused to stay shut, and impeccable style. In fact, everyone from Carnation was chic to the point of sexy, though Fia liked to believe she was immune to the dazzle of a coordinated outfit.

“You were at the training!” he went on. “You must know who wrote that poem for Dara.” 

Fia gaped like a deer caught in headlights.

Dara gave her an impassive glance and turned to Zarrar. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” 

“Not at the moment.” Zarrar turned back to Fia. “Was she pretty? She wasn’t, was she? The pretty ones don’t write poetry.”

“Zarrar,” said Hamza, stealing an apologetic glance at Fia from beneath his brown forelock. “You promised you won’t mention it.” 

“I lied, Hamza. I’m still pissed you didn’t tell me sooner. So, who was it, Fia? I must find that girl and thank her. Even I couldn’t come up with a better line and I’ve had decades of practice driving this man into the ground.”

Dara drew in a breath and jumped off the rail. “And yet I’m still standing right here. Above ground.”

Zarrar sniggered. “You’re not standing where you used to.”

Dara looked back at him and paused. “I don’t know if it’s such a bad thing. The place got littered.” He walked off towards the barn. 

Hamza gave a small smile to Fia and turned his eyes down. She drew in a deep breath and continued to the inn. They really didn’t make it easy to like them. The only positive side of meeting the Carnation Carnage was that Andrik had found people he hated more than Dara, and his attitude towards him had improved. 

She found Pekka next and tried to ask him what everyone was doing here for the umpteenth time.

“It’s too crowded,” he said. “I don’t know who might be listening.” Fia looked around the open fields with not a soul in sight and shrugged. “Some of them have… superpowers.”

At least Fia didn’t know any who had super hearing. She wondered how good Zarrar’s camouflage was. 

Around sunset, she and the others headed to the barn, as they had every evening for the past week. Love for music was one thing all these old folks shared, whether friends of Raija or followers of Abraha. Every night, Raija sang her heart out while the people from Carnation danced until their feet hurt, all the while complaining about the lack of a proper dance floor.

The folk dance of Carnation was known to anyone who had spent an autumn there. Fast-paced and full of kicks, stomps, and leaps, it was also one of the few things the Carnation folk never judged. Gifted or not, skilled or clueless, everyone who dared to join was welcome. They swept onto the dance floor to the beat of a daf and the tune of the pipes, the energy in the air unmatched.

“You should join them,” Pekka said to Fia. She was watching from the sidelines while all her friends danced—hand in hand with some of the people they’d been making faces at all week. 

Fia held up both hands. “Oh no, I’d never be able to keep up with them. Why don’t you?”

“This isn’t my song.” He cocked his head as if an idea had popped into it.

He strode to the band and said something in Raija’s ear. She nodded. A few minutes later, the folk dance ended with loud cheers. The dancers massaged their calves, some squealing praises, others laughing at their own abysmal skills. The dance floor cleared and a soft flute played. Raija smiled at Pekka as she began to sing. 

“That’s my song,” Pekka said, holding out his hand to Fia. 

“Oh, Pekka, I really don’t know how to dance.”

“You don’t need to for this one.” 

He led her to the floor. A few others were already there, some alone, others in pairs. Fia had always been fascinated by ballroom dancing. She never thought she would get a chance to experience it like this, in another world, with a man from another time. He was right though, she didn’t need to know how to dance for this one. She had enough command on her feet to fall in sync as he led and soon realized the steps just repeated. She smiled at Pekka. She hadn’t felt so good, so light in years. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“It’s so effortless. Like I’m floating.” 

“Now who told you, you can’t dance?”

Fia’s smile widened. 

When the song finished, she spotted Dara with Andrik, Noah and Akira, instead of his usual table with the rest of the Gifted. He clapped for the band and followed Fia and Pekka with his gaze, moving over to leave an empty chair on either side of him.

“Why does only he get a dance?” he said as Fia slipped into the chair next to him.

“Because you were too scared to ask,” Pekka said, taking the other seat. 

“I did ask.” He did. He had asked her to join the group dance and Fia had said exactly what she’d said to Pekka. 

“You gave up too easily,” said Pekka. 

Dara nodded to himself. “That can be remedied,” he said, lips curling into a dangerous smile. He rose to his feet and held out his hand to Fia. 

“Pekka was leading,” she said. “I really don’t know how to dance.” 

“I can lead better than Pekka,” he said and took her hand. 

They danced to three songs, back to back. 

“I’m sorry Zarrar found out about the poem,” she said, somewhere between the first or second song. “We let it slip one time while hanging out with Hamza. I never thought it would find its way back to you.” 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Zarrar’s right though.”

“About what?”

“The one who wrote the poem isn’t pretty at all.”

She frowned at him. 

“She’s beautiful.”

“More than Zarrar?”

“Nah.”

She burst out laughing and he joined her. It was the kind of laughter that came when her heart could no longer hold the joy it felt. The kind she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She understood why the old folks of the Garden loved the music. It had a magic that made one forget about rivalries and broken hearts, about misunderstood feelings and the fear of unrequited love.

And so they danced and he flirted, and she frolicked and enticed.

But come morning, it was a new day, there was no music, and nothing was forgotten anymore.