The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2)

by Russ L. Howard

  Greatly intrigued and curious to know what her future would be like, Taneshewa nodded and said, “Thank you, Lady Donya.”

  Taneshewa could tell by her lengthy melodious name that she was probably of one of the Mexus Tribes. Certainly, she had the dark beauty characteristic of the women called Espagñol.

  Next, Pyrsyrus drew forth a golden blond. “And this is the Lady Swan Ray, who graces my presence.”

  Taneshewa was not only struck by the golden beauty of the lady, but by the most hauntingly sad eyes she’d ever seen. The Lady Swan Ray stepped forth with hand extended. As they shook, Taneshewa felt an instant affection, as if they were already friends.

  The slim beauty greeted her with, “Os-Frith, Lady Taneshewa,” and returned Taneshewa’s smile with one of her own, but the deep sadness remained.

  Next a lovely tall wheaten brunette stepped forward to be introduced by Pyrsyrus. “This is Faewylf, daughter of Lord Saxwylf.” After she and Taneshewa exchanged greetings, Pyrsyrus turned and in a jovial, almost paternal manner, said, “And this young lady is our medicine woman, Face-of-Stars, the daughter of Raven’s Tongue, who is the much esteemed commander of my navies.”

  Taneshewa considered Face-of-Stars was barely on the edge of fifteen winters and thought it odd Pyrsyrus should keep company with such a young maiden. She didn’t know why it continued to bother her, but then she herself was taken by a man at age fifteen. At least Pyrsyrus married her. And yet when the young woman spoke she seemed mature beyond years.

  “I am so excited to be here.” Face-of-Stars declared. “This is such a marvelous lake and the mountains are so exquisite. My first wish is to meet with your medicine woman, Sagwi. Maybe you could take me to her, Taneshewa.”

  “That won’t be hard. She is due, even now. Though I don’t know what holds her up.”

  Finally, Pyrsyrus introduced the most beautiful red-haired woman Taneshewa had ever seen. With hair the color of dark molten copper, and as she smiled, Taneshewa sensed a warm, radiant spirit to compliment it.

  “Finally, this is Lana, the daughter of Friedrich the Quailor from up in Salem.”

  The bubbly redhead stepped forward and gave Taneshewa a friendly hug. “I am so happy to meet thee, Lady Taneshewa. Long Swan spent several days telling everything he knew about thee and how thou didst manage to unsaddle Sur Sceaf with thy beauty. I look forward to getting to know thee better on our journey.”

  Taneshewa said, “I am so happy to welcome you all to Eloheh. We intend to make your stay with the Sharaka as pleasant as possible and I look forward to getting to know all of you better.” In addition to the bond she felt with Swan Ray, she felt an inexplicable desire to know the warm and friendly Lana better.

  Swan Ray commented, “Look at these tipis, Star. Have you ever seen such color and powerful art? See how the Black Sun issues the electric serpents from it. I would love to do a tapestry of that image.”

  “An excellent idea, Ray,” Donya exclaimed. “and I would like to make a scarf with those same serpent designs.”

  Dancing Rabbit declared, “That is the sacred totem of the Snake Clan. It means we all came from the same place, but each of us choose our own path in life.”

  After several more formalities, Onamingo led the way to the mats, which had steaming dishes of potatoes, hominy, venison, elk, and salmon for fare. For drink, elderberry juice, a Herewardi favorite, was served.

  While settling next to Taneshewa on a mat, Lana said, “I can see a lot of work hath gone into preparing this dinner.”

  “We don’t always have this much for our midday meal,” Dancing Rabbit said with a laugh, “We assumed, you ladies must be famished from your long journey and trail fare.”

  Pyrsyrus teased, “Not just the ladies, we gents have built up a fine appetite.”

  “Then let us wait no longer,” Onamingo declared. He picked up a plate of salmon and passed it to Pyrsyrus. It was the signal for the others to fill their plates and start passing the bowls around.

  As they ate, Donya turned to Dancing Rabbit. “Never have we beheld such majesty of mountains and this lovely Lake of DiAhman. Pyr had described it, but never in such glorious detail as it warrants.”

  Lana nodded enthusiastically, “Glorious it is. It is also the birthplace of Surrey, for the records of Sur Spear say on the fourth day of the Dark Moonth, Sur Sceaf was born at Eloheh on DiAhman during the gathering of a winter storm that did not break until the third day after the winter solstice.”

  “I was not aware of that,” Onamingo commented with interest. “That would mean Sagwi was probably his midwife.”

  “Indeed she must have been,” Swan Ray said. “It’s such a shame that our other bride-sisters won’t be able to enjoy this place.”

  Faewylf let out, “Those horrible, horrible Pitters. They curtail the free movements of all freedom loving people. I can’t wait until they’ve all been skinned alive and burned in Hell.”

  Donya said, “I’d like to split the entrails of every one of them and hang them up on the trees for the birds of the air to peck their tongues out of their wretched mouths.”

  The other ladies expressed their like sentiments. Pyrsyrus turned to Onamingo and said, “I now see our error. We need to send these bride-sisters out to do our fighting. If only this was the case, there would be no Pitters.”

  “In truth,” Onamingo declared, “the women suffer the most. It is their children and husbands that die. They tend to remember the losses, we tend to remember the glory.”

  Pyrsyrus said, “And yet these women find great courage to move on through the Valley of Grief to new lives. Perhaps some find a happier life?”

  Swan Ray’s cheeks paled till she was almost ghost-like.

  Donya said, “At least we have each other. In times of sorrow we turn to our bride-sisters for support and comfort. Grief is an awful burden to bear alone.”

  Taneshewa was amazed that the ladies exchanged looks filled with affection. They don’t even bat an eye at being one of many wives. They all seem so happy, warm, and engaging. They even seem to be perfect friends with one another. Sometimes they even finished each other’s sentences. How fun it would it be to go everywhere with a troupe of friends. To be sure, I have good friends, like Meny, and certainly Sparrow Hawk. Where two are loved, many might be as dear.

  Face-of-Stars spoke to Taneshewa, “I’ve been given a commission to assist your medicine woman in the collection of her herbs and plants that only thrive in this area. I believe, Sagwi is the one who I am to assist.”

  “If she doesn’t arrive before we finish, I shall take you to her. I need to see her anyway.”

  Face-of-Star’s countenance lit up. “Can we go now?”

  Faewylf smiled to pat Face-of-Stars, “Patience my dear, we will all help with the gathering. Enjoy your meal and this wonderful place and company for a change. Life isn’t all about plants.”

  Sparrow Hawk said, “Sagwi has already enlisted my three girls in gathering the herbs and they can show you any herb you will need.”

  Taneshewa announced, “Father, here comes the rest of our family.” Turning to Face-of-Stars, she said, “Sagwi is coming now.”

  Dancing Rabbit waved, “Hail Sagwi, Little Doe, and Meny! Come meet our guests.”

  As soon as Taneshewa saw the worried expressions on their faces, her smile of welcome faded into alarm.

  As Little Doe reached the group she said breathlessly, “I’m so sorry we were not here on time. When I was packing for Mendaka’s journey this morning, we were visited by an emissary of Lord Ilrundel of Fort Rock, who reported that Sur Sceaf did not arrive at the appointed time.”

  Taneshewa held out the hairclaw for Little Doe to see. “Tell me Little Doe, did Surrey task Going Snake with delivering this hairclaw to my tent this morning?”

  Meny took a quick breath, “Going Snake could not have been so tasked, for I saw Surrey depart with that claw in his hair. That you should have it in your possession defies all reason.”

  Tears
welled in Taneshewa’s eyes. “How then are we to account for this?”

  Sagwi put her arms around her niece’s shoulder to comfort her, “The Nunnehi done sent us a message in dhat hairclaw. Dis be an omen of import. Give me dat hairclaw and I’ll read it.”

  Taneshewa said, “By Tah-Man-Ea, I had a horrible dream this morning that I thought was a premonition of Surrey’s death and now I fear it may be.”

  A burst of conversation arose until Onamingo silenced it with an upraised hand. “Are you getting any feeling from this hairclaw, Sagwi?” Onamingo asked.

  “I am, but I ain’t comforble wif it.”

  Taneshewa cried, “Oh, Sagwi, tell us what you perceive.”

  “I see Surrey be in grave danger. I feel dhis blinding pain, like him is under a great mountain or something underground. Him skin hurts. Him body be broken. I sense him fears dying alone. I keep gettin da impression of dhis awful voice from da dead man or a speakin skull braggin, ‘He is mine.’ Like sum debil be wantin to eat him.”

  Pyrsyrus’ expression was both grave and controlled, “Then we must be off with a scouting party to locate him right away.” He stood to his feet, turning to his commanders. “Prepare the trackers, we are to leave as soon as they are assembled.”

  Little Doe stopped him, “Mendaka is organizing a young blood twelver, even as we speak, to scout and discover what has come of Surrey.”

  Onamingo said, “There is no one more capable of locating Sur Sceaf than his blood bound brother, Mendaka.”

  Lana clung to Pyrsyrus’ arm, a worried look in her eyes. “Mendaka will find him, Pyrsy. I know it. Though my heart churns in me.”

  “Normally, that would not be enough for me, considering my brother’s life is in the balance,” Pyrsyrus replied, “but Sur Spear told me to rely on your counsel in all things, Onamingo, and that I must do.”

  Onamingo emphasized, “And I trust Mendaka in all things. Dak will find him. The Nunnehi have their hand in this. They will surely guide Dak aright. I will send a runner after Mendaka to deliver him this new information, forthwith.”

  * * *

  Deep in the dark pit out in the desert of the Cat Queen’s viceroyalty, Sur Sceaf laid spread-eagled in a pit, pressed face down on the gritty sharp gravel by the large, oppressive boulder on his back. Nearly driven insane by thirst and pain, he drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally slipping into a goblin-robbed mind of numb indifference. He had no conception of time, only a series of sharp pains and terror that marked any change. When next he awoke, he tried once again to tug at the stakes to loosen their hold or perhaps to break his bonds. But all his struggles only caused him to inhale more choking dust through the filth encrusted swaddling that clung to his face like grave garments.

  In the moments when he was capable of reason, he hoped he had accumulated enough luck from the good deeds he had performed during his life to gain the attention of the Watchers, those heavenly beings placed by the gods and elves as guardians over man. The skalds taught that sometimes the Watchers interceded for worthy souls, but none came this day to his aid. In his delirium he had believed the ravens had betokened the arrival of Yggd the Ancient One, somehow come back to rescue him. But they had only alighted on his head for a small space of time before leaving him again, but the old warlock was probably well underway on his journey across the desert. Still without the ravens’ oddly comforting presence, he was totally alone, a terrible burden when one is dying.

  Now, utterly exhausted with each agonizing breath coming harder, all hope was fast fading until it was but a very tenuous thin thread connecting him to this life and the will to live. Even that seemed to be eroding. What is man, whose breath is in his nostrils? Nothing, but the mould of the earth from which he arose.

  Still, he refused to let go of that thin thread of hope that the gods did not weave such a fate for him, that he should die in a pit. Once again he summoned the strength to claw the earth with his bloody finger tips thinking perhaps to loosen the stakes. Through the haze of excruciating pain he found his mind passing back and forth through the veil, drifting into some timeless space and dimension of the Other World.

  In the beginning was the Ur Fyr. And the Ur Fyr was the Gods. Male and female were the Ur Fyr. The same was in the beginning with the Gods, for they were the Gods. By the Ur Fyr was all things made and without them was not anything made that is made. In them was light and their light was the light of the world. And the Ur Fyr became flesh and they dwelt with us in tents and they grew into the Rams of Odhin and the Swan-Maidens of Freya. There are many Gods and the Herewardi are their messengers.

  He heard a rumble of deep thunder. Merciful gods, please bring your rains and moisture to soften the earth. He waited eagerly for the next clap of thunder, but none came. Feeling utterly forsaken, he clung to the mantra that helped divert his mind from the prolonged agony. In the beginning was the Ur Fyr. And Urfyr was the Gods. Male and female were the Ur Fyr. “Ahy,” he mumbled through dry and swollen lips. He turned to thoughts of Ahy in hopes of bringing her sharply into mind, but the darkness and pain blocked her out like a howling sand storm. He tried to cry out, but instead only uttered a pathetic whimper.

  As though from a great distance, he found himself looking down on his life, his carefree childhood, his grueling training as a warrior, his first marriage, how beautiful his faery-queen, Paloma, was then and now. How both of them loved the other wives without favor and always for their highest and best good. Yes, she will comfort my covey of wives when I am gone. She always thinks with her wise mind, and my son, Arundel, will shoulder my household duties well. Praise the holy gods, Paloma is my greatest friend.

  Sur Sceaf could picture his wives, as he saw them last, each so unique and beautiful in their own way. He imagined them in their aubergine robes gathered in a bride-circle, with his dear children standing at their sides.

  He reached for them, only to realize his hands and feet were still bound and numb. The grit of the pit floor chilled his flesh while the heavy stone seemed to grow in crushing weight from moment to moment. Shards of stones were still piercing his chest like broken glass, leaving him in unending torment and agony of soul.

  Woon, how is it, the hope of Heredom lies slain in the pit? Have I found disfavor in thine eyes? Why hast thou forsaken me?

  Then he thought about his cousin Ilker’s death in the Taxus lands and of his grieving wives and how scarred they were from their loss. He did not want this to be the fate of his family and he struggled again with his bindings, but all it did was galled him raw.

  His father’s voice rose in his mind,’The Ur Fyr is the life of all worlds. As long as one spark of it remains, all is possible.’ Fight! He must fight to keep that spark alive. But how? All his physical strength was exhausted. It had been poured out of him like water from a broken crock seeping into desert sand.

  There is no sense in trying to make a pact with death now. Death comes when it comes, and no man can stay its grip. I have been taught to embrace it, but it is too hellish of a monster. Even if it be but a few moments, it is already beyond anything I can bear. But nature defends none who do not defend themselves.

  Summoning the last shreds of his strength, he pulled once again with all the might he could muster until his muscles burned and felt like they would snap. But to no avail.Utterly spent, he felt himself sliding into a dark and yawning abyss.

  In the blackness he had strange visitors from this world and the other. Now and then kangaroo rats fell into the pit and scurried against his face or body for cover. Dark elves bent on his destruction, shadowy creatures, slithered and crawled over and around him with mocking, cackling laughter and picking and pinching at him with their sharp boney fingers. Suddenly, he felt a sharp stinging pain in his back. He tried screaming, but his tongue was so swollen that he could but rasp and make the sounds of what reminded him of the bugling of a stag.

  Hardness from above met with hardness from below, crushing him and his spirit beyond endurance. Oh where is t
he Ram of Gods? Must I suffer this fate alone?

  For an instant, he was sure he saw light, and his hopes soared, certain that his plea was heard. But as darkness enfolded him once again, he accepted that this was how his life would end.

  He drifted untethered by time and space. Suddenly, out of the darkness, he heard the clear voice of his daughter Brekka calling out, “Fa.” The sweet face of his daughter smiled out of the dark at him, and as he looked into her green eyes he heard, “Fa, don’t quit us now. Hold on to the thread of life a little longer. The Norns have woven another fate for you. The All-Father wills it so.”

  He felt the hard, heavy rock melting into his back as if it had become part of him now. He flew upward, expanding through myriad waves of stars. Thunderous waves of cosmic energy washed over him, infusing his mind and body with renewed strength. Exultation. Before him stood a circle of light elves.

  In the next moment, he was falling back to the Ea-Urth at great speed, deeper and deeper into a spinning spiraling black abyss until once again the mouldering dark walls of the pit filled his nostrils, and all the pain of his body washed over him in waves of agony as he crashed onto the hard earthen floor that now felt like it was rising to crush him against the stone crushing above.

  I shall endure.

  Out of the blackness, the ghost of Ilker appeared full of life, reaching out a hand to touch him. Like the roar of a great waterfall, Ilker declared, “My brother, we must unite our swords, you must come...”

  Sur Sceaf cried out in his mind, “No, No, it’s not my time Ilker. I will not let these fiends defeat me. I shall endure!”