Phoenix

The Fire Dancers

Ash soon discovered there was an art to changing the coals on the big serpent-shaped chambers she'd passed on her way into the Palace to avoid burning the taste. She discovered shisha duty also required pulling apart flavoured tobacco placing it in the smoke flutes. She discovered this, of course, after it was too late.

The night began smoothly. Men in tailored cashmere suits walked beside women in glittering glomesh dresses that clung to their curves and shimmered in the dim light. They sat on the velvet couches closest to the stage and spoke amongst themselves in rounded vowels and cliff-hanger pauses. Ash recognised the accent as that which belonged to the Elite Caste—those who worked for the Establishment and lived in the Establishment building at the centre of the city. They wreaked of expensive perfume and fancy cigars.

After this first group, more men and women arrived, though their formal attire lacked the lustre of those who'd arrive first. They were the Middle Casters—business owners and socialites, who pandered to the Elites for privileges and lived in constant fear of being demoted to Outer Band should they put a toe out of line.

Since the shishas had already been lit, all Ash had to do was wait for them to burn out. She studied the people around her like specimens at a museum, fascinating at the contradiction of their body language. While their smiles said one thing, the tightness of their lips said another. Beneath the chin rubbing and chinking glasses, muscles were tensed for a fight.

Ash heard the word 'parade' mentioned by a group of Middle Casters near the bar and leaned forward to listen.

"Wasn't the parade a complete shambles," a woman wearing a cobalt blue shawl was saying to the man sitting next to her.

The man folded and re-folded his pocket square. "I could've done without all the... glitter." The last word said with an upturned nose.

The woman leaned in, speaking just above a whisper. Ash pretended to wipe down the bar in order to move closer. "Hopefully it puts a lid on all this revolution nonsense," the woman said.

The man replaced his pocket square and flattened his suit lapels. "Pshhh," he whispered back. "The Outer Castes know the Establishment doesn't care about their rights. If they gave Outcasts more rights, they'd have to diminish their own privileges. And they've got too much money and power to let that happen."

The woman said, glancing left and right to make sure they weren't being heard. Ash kept her head down and pretended to rub a particularly stubborn 'stain' on the counter. "But it's the promise of more rights that matters. They don't know it's all for show."

The man picked up his glass of whiskey and swirled it. "I hope you're right."

They fell into silence.

Ash frowned. They were talking about the parade as though it was a means to stop some sort of revolution. And the woman had insinuated that the threat of revolution was coming from Outcasts. But Outcasts wouldn't consider rising up against the Elites. Would they?

Her thoughts were derailed by the dimming of lights and a lilting melody drifting from a set of hidden speakers in the ceiling. It licked and curled through the smoky room, mournful, reedy, like a desert wind combing brittle scrub. For a fleeting second, she thought of Jai and everything they'd lost since that morning. It made her blink and angle her head upwards to stop a tear from streaking her cheek.

The curtains rippled, drew apart and the dancers Ash had met in Amerie's dressing room sauntered onstage in a colourful array of silk garbs that pulled in at the wrists and ankles and left the stomach bare. Jewels ringed their bellybuttons and strings of beads jangled on their bare feet.

They swayed in perfect synchronisation, eyes upturned, expressions glazed. Ash stood entranced in the same way she'd been entranced when she'd seen a smogless sky for the first time. It had happened years ago, but she could still remember it. The freak storm that had raged all day, the lighting strikes that shook their bunks, the heavy droplets of rain that battered the tin roof of their dormitory shed like frantic morse code. She'd stayed in bed that day, barely believing they'd got the day off work. Night came and the storm cleared, giving way to a clear, smogless night sky filled with stars, much like the shimmering silks and jewels on the dancers she was watching now.