More people had swung through trees, sailed by boat, ran down, or danced through to get to this festival, which was hosted in the unburned parts of Senai, overlooking the sea.
She was in the shadows, watching, observing each sob and each laugh.
Each hug and each pull away. Those that moved and those that wouldn't. Yet all were paying attention to the stages. For so much sound and movement passed through it.
At each interlude, a story was told, mostly mournful, though some tried to lift it up with humor or reminiscing of the ones they've lost.
Finally, a group of those whistling through some cowrie flute and picking at an uhadi and umrhube appeared.
Salīa recognized them as the performers who met here earlier. Especially the one who seemed so angry as if wanting to curse her, yet he didn't.
And it was here he bared his inflamed spirit and roared ceaselessly between the sounds.
Other instruments joined in to layer each new flow and whirl them into one another. Even if the light dancing beat like thunder against the floor.
Other singers joined this angered man. Their dress was even that close to zazi, and their instruments were all adorned like weapons.
The pain in their booming tones echoed throughout the crowd, and many chanted some of the poisonous words that bled out.
They kept saying, "We want it back," in their tongue – though the official translation left the interpretation to be quite open-ended.
They seemed ready to be taken off the stage, yet no such thing ever happened.
They ached and seethed through every fluttering and fleeting sound, yet they were left to indulge fully with the people who felt the same. This carried over for many songs until the red in their eyes had lost its hold.
Lulu took the stage after they completed and stirred cheer amongst the people.
She was the speaker ensuring the flow between performances and was quite good at it too, considering how she had gracefully blended her own language and that of the common tongue so fluidly and knew when to raise or lower, to talk fast or pause. She announced each performer with a few words around their name and what it was called.
Salīa couldn't think of a name more fitting than A Song For Our People.
In truth, this was not some song she had thought of just before the sun went down. Nor is it a song she knew she'd be performing for others. It's simpler than that.
It's a song she began when she was quite young, making many songs since then. Each utterance, each harmony, each rare word that came here or there in a mostly wordless song, was all like clay shaping into a pot.
Each instrument that she tried with it acted as a decoration carved into this pot, before glazing it over into something special and leaving it in the kiln of her heart. Yet now it was time to take it out of the fire and let it stand before itself.
"Here stands before us the heir of the land, Queen Salīa," Lulu announced.
Eyes instantly drew to where the curtain was held. They couldn't see what stood before it. A long silence was kept after a gasp. It was as Salīa intended.
The whispers took over, and she heard just what she'd expect.
"So, it's true, our Queen Saoa has left?"
"Is she alive? Please, she must be."
"I heard she was, but she is just away for a bit."
"I heard she wasn't and died here, but they're keeping it from us. How cruel. She is our Queen."
"How can this be?"
She bit her cheek, trying not to let her eyes get wet. She wished she could answer all their worries with comfort, but she herself was in worry. And as expected, the words that snuck in after were crueler.
While many called out for Queen Salīa in praises through their tears, there were a lot more clenching their jaw and sighing.
"Does it have to be that lecherous demon?"
"Her? Our Queen? Not to me."
"Are we really expected to bow to the one that brings evil to our land?"
"This must be a jest sent by our enemy to crush our spirits."
"She's not even one of us."
It's of no matter, she whispered to herself.
These weren't new words, yet they felt pricklier against her heart now since she had chosen to open it for the night.
"Shh," others quieted their voices. "Respect our Queen."
"What is so wrong with her? She has done many things for our people."
"All of you are blinded by ignorance. She has always honored the land we share."
"Do not close your ears before hearing what one has to say because you assume your tongue is wiser."
"Shh. Just listen."
Salīa's heart was still racing ahead of her, yet it felt lighter with some of the thorns having been picked out.
Lulu continued to talk and spoke on in her tongue and ended with the title, "…abantu."
That word alone had everyone quiet their own chatter and let the darkness and silence truly wallow. Salīa inhaled deeply.
The curtain dropped. Torches were lit. Light glimmered on them, filtering with the ripples of water that separated the lightly raised platform from its people.
The eyes of the people widened together. Before them were children in fabrics as vividly bright as all the fruits this land grew.
Their faces decorated in paints and powders to match and let each shine both alone and together. Each stood before their instrument, smiling.
Children weren't particularly known for keeping secrets well, yet this one they kept.
Each child who stood there also knew Salīa's song well. All because she was too shy to share it with those who were around her age or older out of fear of being teased.
So, when she passed the young music learners who didn't even know of the rumors of her and wouldn't care to be able to tell the difference between a noble and a commoner, she couldn't help but try something.
She'd wanted to hear what all the instruments sounded like in harmony with the song, as she'd never be able to play it all on her own. And so, she asked if they'd like to try it, and they were even more eager, playing with her as often as they could until it was perfected.
Now, many in the streets of Salazā had already known pieces of the song because these same children played it on and on, even when Salīa was unable to join them and often tried to sing it as she did.
Soon, other children playing ala-bala, tree-climbing through the forests, splashing in the sea, and hiking the mountains picked it up and hummed it often.
The bakers, blacksmiths, braiders, and more had all heard it in passing.
And so, it traveled to the inns and homes of many, loosely whistled without claiming the tune or ever questioning its name. It just was.
The people also saw the dancers. Some were children, yet many were close to Salīa's age, save for a year or two. Their colors were less bursts of life, yet were slightly kept to mutual colors of blues, greens, and reds, contained by black surrounding it.
All had jewels that were somewhat gold or copper, if not.
Not all that she wanted on stage was there. For some were dead, injured, or missing. Though this was all the more reason that she brought the remaining souls together.
Lulu smiled when her eyes met Salīa's.
There she stood with her golden hair braided alongside her scalp, lined in eight perfect rows, and blended halfway down with earth fruit fibers, which was dyed black to unify with the gold and cast all the way down to her hips.
Ornate gold hair cuffs were clipped around her braids and gleamed at each turn of her head. Lulu had carefully worked on placing each one after braiding and cutting off the strays.
"Ay, ay, ay," Salīa began undulating.
Her humming instantly perked up some heads. The children harmoniously tapped at the instruments, and the dancers perfectly synced in sway.
While the people stared, with wide mouths and gleaming eyes.
The spirit of all that she was and all that she's rooted to rose up to her chest and filtered through her throat and elevated through her mouth.
Her own heaviness lifted at her own embrace, and if she had dared to look, she would see that so many others were lifted in the same way. For this was a tune sung for many years by many of the people, whether mournfully or joyfully, by children and elders, whether with others or alone.
So, what else could they do but let it reach them?
As the song peaked, tears streaked down her face. Yet even as her voice cracked, she sang on until the tune simmered. Leaving the children to hum on as she spoke.
"I must be honest with you," Salīa sang in a half-talking way to the beat of the lowly drums. "Sxvages."
All looked right at her.
"Our Queen. My family is missing."
I know I'm not supposed to reveal it, but why should I lie?
"Some of your children are missing, too. Some of your loved ones did not survive. And for this I am sorry."
She finally faced all the weeping faces before her. And it was as miserable as she expected.
"It's true that I am the acting Queen," she said. "And I will do my best as she would've done until we find my family and all the missing children."
The children's humming took over for a long pause.
"We all know why we celebrate together for the Freedom Festival.
It's not to disregard the dead but to protect the living. I'd like to thank you all for coming here and trying to connect and unite, even in a time of great hurt.
I'd never make a mockery of the sxvages. I hope this is the one thing I can bring to honor you at this time."
Her gaze easily swept through the crowd now.
"By tomorrow, there will be more announcements on treating the injured, lists on who is gone, and all that we intend to do to find who is lost.
Know that your voice matters.
And so, I ask of you, to please come together, if only for this night, as we strengthen the celestial gate around us, first raised by our ancestors."
It's the least I can do to help prevent demons from coming in. As the likelihood of preta becoming vessels are bound to increase during times of distress and disaster. It might not be much, but it's something I can be sure of before I set off.
I must leave, but I will not leave you alone.
"Our zazi will protect you from any harm. Our magi will guide you at each turn. Our leaders will lift you at any fall. And our ancestors will remind you of who we are when it's easy to forget," she declared. "But will you, our sxvages, our people, be true to all that you are, no matter what we face?"
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