The Black Room by Gillian Cross Page A

the air was alive with the warmth of their bodies and the smell of their sweat. They needed ... they needed ...
    I can’t do it for them, she thought. I don’t feel like that....
    But she knew it didn’t matter how she felt. She made herself open her mind and spread her hands—and the power came to her, as it always did, out of nowhere. Her exhaustion disappeared, and she knew, without thinking, what she had to do.
    She began to smack her left hand against the palm of her right in a steady rhythm, just slower than her heartbeat. At first, she could hardly hear it herself against the buzz of voices around her. But she kept the noise going, and gradually, the others stopped talking and turned toward her in the dark.
    As they turned, she began to move, shifting from foot to foot in a way that was not quite marching and not quite dancing. No one could see what she was doing, but the people nearest to her felt it, and they squeezed out of her way. Turning her back on the new wall, she began to travel forward, toward the ramp.
    The others shuffled aside, opening up a path. As she moved down it, they began tapping out the rhythm she was beating. They fell into step behind her, and she led them up the ramp and out into the light, slipping past the brazier and into the main cavern.
    It was crowded and congested, with every spare inch full of stored food, and floss for weaving, and fur blankets folded up together. Lorn wove a path between the heaps, and the dancers followed her, in a line that grew longer and longer as they came up out of the storeroom.
    When they were all up, she led them into a great trampling circle in front of the brazier. Gradually her steps grew smaller, until she was moving on the spot. Then she turned in, toward the center of the circle, and made herself tread faster and faster, beating the ground with her feet.
    Faster and faster, keeping time with her hands, clapping and stamping until all the others were copying her and the whole cavern was full of noise and movement.
    Faster and faster and faster and faster, until they couldn’t accelerate anymore. Until the movement and the speed and the noise were almost too much to bear—and she had to resolve the whole thing into a single great shout.
    â€œWe did it!”
    She threw up her hands and yelled, and the others copied her, shouting as loudly as they could.
    â€œWE DID IT!”
    And then they were all laughing. All except Lorn. The crowd broke up into small groups of chattering, excited people. It had been a massive, exhausting effort, but they’d built the wall, and the storeroom was safe, sealed off from the darkness on the other side.
    â€œWe need to eat,” Tina said. “We’re all starving.”
    Lorn nodded. “Get them to sit down, and then give out double shares of everything. We’ll have a feast.”
    There was a huge cheer and more laughter. But as people began to sit down, Lorn stood off to one side, struggling to smile. Even that felt false and forced. The others were celebrating because the tunnels had been shut off—and she knew that wasn’t true.
    She’d deceived them all.
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    WHEN THE FEAST WAS OVER, PEOPLE LAY BACK SLEEPILY, talking to each other and glancing surreptitiously at Lorn. She knew what they were waiting for. After a meal like that, Zak would have taken out his drum. Softly at first, and then louder and louder, he would have beaten out a rhythm with his fingers, letting it swell until every face turned toward him.
    And then he would have put the drum down and begun to speak, starting out on a story. He always knew the right story for the moment. That was his job. Knowing how they felt and what they wanted—even when they didn’t know it themselves.
    It had been Zak’s job—and now it was Lorn’s. She didn’t understand how the power had come to her, but ever since Zak went traveling she had found herself with the right words for whatever