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

by Russ L. Howard

  This time the laughter was even louder. The Sharaka men slapped each other on the back and the Tensees were slapping their legs.

  Hroar commented, “I now understand how this pageant helps them face their deepest fears. It lets them see how ridiculous their fears are, and laugh them away.”

  Alcuin frowned, “The Quailor don’t appear to be that amused, but I note they seemed mesmerized by the pageantry all the same.”

  “Is there anything else you want?” The Booger Chief asked as he eyed the audience. The children leaned forward as they waited in anticipation for the answer.

  The Sur Sceaf caricature yelled out, “We want land, give us land, land, land! Only the best will ever do for the Herewardi.”

  Long Swan noted that several of the Quailor now caught themselves laughing, but as he watched a stern mother directed a disapproving look toward her children, who immediately clamped their hands over their mouths and looked on with widest of eyes.

  “You’ve talked to him enough!” Another figure emerged from the dark dressed also in a red surcoat, a large hump on his back, and a twisted face with big, crooked teeth. The Booger Chief asked, “Do you know this rude fellow?”

  “Oh yes, his name is Crooked Jack. I’ve crossed paths with him before and have come out the worst for wear each time. Let’s see how you fare.” He disappeared into the dark.

  “Why do you interrupt our encampment? And what do you want, Rude Jack the Crooked?”

  “I’m Crooked Jack and I’ve come to eat all the sweet little children running around in the woods tonight. Argggh!”

  The real Crooked Jack could be heard to say, “I don’t look like that.”

  The actor ran out into the audience and started grabbing at the screaming children, growling while the parents and older children laughed and held them tightly to their bosoms until the scary booger hurled one child over his shoulder and disappeared into the dark of the wood. Laughing along with the others Long Swan noted that the Quailor children were genuinely frightened and clung to their parents. Hroar and Alcuin exchanged cheerful looks.

  The loud sound of a honking nose followed by a discernible humming such as that of an insect came from the dark wood. “What in the hell is that?”

  There was a buzz of anticipation as Sur Sceaf, still in the guise of the Herewardi White Eyes, came staggering out with a booger on his shoulders--a sloppily dressed man in black Quailor clothing with wings affixed to his back and wearing a mosquito mask complete with a huge ugly proboscis. The mosquito man appeared to be drinking blood from Sur Sceaf’s neck.

  The audience roared with laughter. Some of the children made a chorus of buzzing noises and imitated the Mosquito Man.

  The Booger Chief turned to the audience, “Aha, this appears to be a Quailor mosquito? Not often seen in these parts. If it had the strength it would hold its nose up.”

  “Heavens no! Oh, he’s an obnoxious Quailor dycon who was coerced to come along. But don’t worry or fret. If he bothers you too much you can blow smoke from a peace pipe at him and the smoke carries him away.”

  Long Swan considered, Have they gone too far with this one? But upon examining the Quailor audience, most seemed very bemused.

  “You sure do keep strange company, White Eyes.”

  “We’ve been leading them up and down, up and down the mountains and over and through the streams, but we still have no idea where we’ll end up,” Sur Sceaf said, “We may even be back in a pit again by tomorrow. Take my word for it, now that is a very fun place to spend your time, resting, and refreshing. Lounging under a big rock. And the after care—lovely fish nurses to smoke your wounds.”

  The Booger Chief said, “Oh, yes, I have heard of the pleasures of the Pit. I hear they have these very thick blankets made out of rock which they lay on your back. Supposed to help with the breathing, I’m told.”

  He gave a loud choking cough. “And they tickle and tuck you in with whips made of feathers.”

  Long Swan chuckled, his brother must be snickering under that mask. After all, he had discussed the problems he had with Fromer earlier and even referred to him as Mr. Mosquito Beak.

  The Booger Chief inquired, “Is it true White Eyes, this Mosquito rails against joining with any others on the wagon train, but when his wagon went down, he was the first to ask for help from those he calls savages and heathens?”

  “But we must pity the poor Mosquito, he buzzes around making a pest of himself, that’s his God ordained job according to the Paper Book, but one firm swat and he is a splotch on the wall. And no one mourns the passing of a pest. You see, that is the beauty of it. Relief marks his demise.”

  With an outraged roar, the Mosquito Booger slid to the ground, sprinted over to the Booger Chief, forced him to the ground and stuck his proboscis down the mouth of his mask.

  “Don’t pay him no mind,” the White Eyes Booger shouted. “Mosquito Beak is just trying to feed us a little Retrenchment.”

  The Booger Chief threw the Mosquito off and stomped on him. “Retrenchment sounds like three steps back and one step forward until you find yourself standing all alone crying for help from those you’ve discarded. But no one can hear, only because you stepped too far behind.”

  As the laughter swelled the White Eyes Booger grabbed the Mosquito by his heels and dragged him off into the darkness.

  The Quailor reactions during the entire skit was mostly positive, but he also noticed Fromer frowning and fidgeting before he stomped off with two other dycons. Still he was pleased to note that the other five continued to remain seated and displayed no visible offense. Hroar and Alcuin were enjoying themselves too much to have witnessed Fromer’s abrupt departure.

  Onamingo, Thunder Horse, and Sagwi were clearly enjoying every moment, often holding their ribs as they laughed. The Tensees too, were laughing loudly while passing around some sort of sipping jug. Presumably, what he had heard called, Tensee Whiskey or maybe the potent Bourbon.

  Accompanied by a swell of laughter, a figure on stilts covered in bark with long arms and bear clawed hands, a black smith’s apron and a large ax in one hand, stood next to the Booger Chief. For all his fearsome size and grizzly claws, the mask he wore was that of a gently smiling teddy bear with big brown eyes.

  “Are you tree, bear, or a tree-man?”

  “Oh, that’s just Herman the Quailor, don’t mind him, his job is to fell all the trees in your forests that didn’t burn along with the rest so that the Pitters will have nothing but ashes to eat.”

  The large bark-covered figure mimicked cutting down trees represented by the saplings and hurling them over into the campfire. The tree-man held up his arms, twirled his ax, and skipped off into the wood. The audience applauded and shouted their approval. The giant came back out of the dark and took a bow to which the crowd roared their liking.

  The Booger Chief exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, “Well, White Eyes, you couldn’t catch all of our women, you couldn’t eat all our children, you couldn’t burn all the land, and you couldn’t kill me with your religion, but now you have a man the size of a tree and with the claws of a bear. But you have wasted your time because we see behind the masks of you and the other boogers. We know you are our fears. Nothing more than a scary Booger in stories told to frightened children.”

  Sur Sceaf took off his mask. “I assure you all, it was all done in fun. But the message is a vital one, which we hope to portray. We hope we have portrayed how ridiculous our prejudices against one another truly are. When balanced against the defeat by the Pitters and the losses of everything we hold dear, these petty differences fade into insignificance. We are stronger united than we are divided. Let us always allow for individual differences but act as one.”

  Long Swan could not refrain from leaping to his feet and applauding. “Almighty Odhin, I loved it! Absolutely superb!” Universal applause followed.

  When the applause died down the Booger Chief held up his hands for silence. “White Eyes, we appreciate all that you have re
vealed to us. But now, my lord, your work is done. The day is long, the boogers have all grown thirsty and tired and I have heard whispers on the wind that you have a taste for high desert ale.”

  Amidst the clapping and cheers, Long Swan exchanged grins with his Brothren, while those in the audience who knew Sur Sceaf well, shouted their encouragement.

  Sur Sceaf said, “My dear Booger Chief, pour me a pint and we shall be friends forever.”

  Arm and arm they walked off into the darkness.

  An instant later, from the dark wood the Booger Chief shouted, “Whoa! See here, what comes now? What ever is it? Oh my, oh my!”

  Many of the children, including the Quailor young ones leaned forward eagerly to see what could possibly be coming out of the dark wood next.

  Suddenly, the Booger Chief with all the boogers behind him ran out into the light, shouting, “It’s Mendaka’s—fat sister! Boys you’d better run for those hills. She’s in a lovin’ and huntin’ mood. And she’s a tomahawk totin woman.”

  Mendaka came running out in a squaw’s dress stuffed with wool, arms and legs covered in long black horse-hair, and wearing a gourd face with big puckered red lips. Long earrings made of turtle shells dangled from monster sized ears. Mendaka’s legendary, and to the Sharaka, familiar fat sister, prodded the laughter into screams of joy as she hugged and kissed each one of the Boogers. Fat Sister Booger drew a Herewardi red scarf from her huge bosom, waving it in the air as she danced an outrageously provocative dance drawing in each of the boogers, one by one, until all the boogers were dancing around Fat Sister.

  In an instant the drums stopped and with warning shouts ran into the audience to scare the children, who pretended to be afraid until the boogers began hurling potato candy from their hidden pouches into the audience.

  After a few joyful tussles, which included a lot of childish giggling, and laughter from the adults, the boogers faded off once again into the wood. The red drummer resumed his beating and once again, the drummers reemerged from the dark, to assume their positions on stage. Soon, they were joined by other musicians with flutes, gourd rattles, and bone whistles. The Booger Chief removed his mask, revealing the talking chief, Deep Voice.

  Deep Voice took a bow. And when the applause died down again, he said, “That concludes our traditional Sharaka Booger Dance. Now we have a special addition, which many of you have never witnessed. Please, everyone, permit me to introduce the Herewardi’s Sacred Swan Dance, which will be performed by Yellow Horse, Lord Sur Sceaf’s honored court jester.”

  As a buzz of anticipation arose from the audience, the large red drum began a slow, measured beat.

  Out of the darkness danced Yellow Horse dressed in a white, beaded buckskin with swan feathers streaming from his arms. Bathed in the light of the campfire, the jester appeared like a sunlit white cloud against a dark sky.

  “That little snot nose brat has grown into quite the performer, I see,” Alcuin commented with a certain pride in his voice.

  “Just as Sur Sceaf predicted,” Hroar clarified, “and you doubted.”

  Alcuin declared, “I admit it. He was such a terrified little guy. As I recall, he didn’t speak for three moonths. I still marvel at the long suffering and patience of Redith with him, but she brought him around from his goblin-robbed mind. Didn’t she?”

  Long Swan nodded. “He has a talent to make one laugh, but he also follows in the long and respected Code of Jesters, which is to check the pride of the leaders and give voice to that which no one else dares to speak.”

  Long Swan had never forgotten that time when, after the Battle of Frink Glen, Sur Sceaf had found, a terrified little boy hidden under a hide in the forest, a witness to the slaughter of his entire family by the actions of that Traitor, Inteus Walker. Somehow Sur Sceaf had gently coaxed the traumatized child out of his hiding place. Muryh the Builder had just lost a son to a drowning and was happy to adopt the little orphan. But Muryh was rarely at his home in Hrusburg for more than a day or two at a time, so Surrey did most of the rearing along with his own horde of children. After the Rite of Magical Hair, the boy chose the calling of a jester. Long Swan had to admit, Jlin-Litzoque, who eventually took the name Yellow Horse, was the best jester he had ever known.

  * * *

  Seated in the darkened wood, with his back against the rough bark of a fir tree, just to the right of the staging area, Wose swayed to the drum beat of the Swan Dance. In the nine moonths since he had last watched Yellow Horse perform this dance, the young boy that Sur Sceaf had rescued had indeed become a polished performer under the tutelage of Faechild. Not only was he an accomplished jester, but of equal import, he was an unexcelled bard, giving readings, poetry, and riddles to amuse and educate the folks of Witan Jewell.

  The jester’s performance was a fitting addition to the Booger Play. To the Herewardi the Swan Dancer represented the highest conception of Herewardi aspirations. The closed wings followed by an upper thrust and the spreading of the wings before the light represented the opening of the mind to total awareness and then to be able to ascend on white wings with clean hands and a pure heart into the Celestial Realms of Osgard.

  Though he hadn’t come to be entertained, he had to admit that he enjoyed the evening. Even though he had known Surrey since his boyhood, he had never realized the extents of his talents, using laughter as parenthesis to the very serious message he wanted to drive home to the three tribes. He wanted the audience to take these lessons into their daily lives. He had to give credit to Mendaka, as well, for he had shaped this pageant well and had shown great foresight in making the Tribes feel as one tonight. Dak was, indeed, a spirit chief of the first order.

  As the music crescendoed, Yellow Horse went to his knees, bowed to the earth, and folded his large white wings over his head, thus ending the dance. The drums ceased.

  The audience was stunned into silence for several seconds before they responded with trills, bone whistles, and shouts. The fyrds shouted out their hails, while the Quailor clapped their approval, some politely and others enthusiastically. After a moment, Yellow Horse arose and took a bow.

  Deep Voice returned to the light and called out to everyone present, “Please, let us all join the Swan Dancer in the Dance of Friendship.”

  The drums began a slow beat and pleasant music accompanied them. Many more drums, tambourines, and rattles began accompanying the dancers as they rose to join the throng. It wasn’t long until most of the camp, except for the Quailor, were dancing, some in the staging area and others from where they were seated. The ground shook from the pounding of so many feet. Even many of the Quailor appeared caught up in the music. They were joining in, if only in their minds.

  As Wose watched the dancers, many of whom appeared to be lovers and sweethearts, he suddenly felt horribly alone in the dark.But it was the darkness within that seemed so unresponsive to light or love. There was a time when his first wife, Saxia of Zamora, would have drawn him out of this darkness into the laughter, dancing, and drumming, but that was in another life when he sat as King of Zamora. He watched two young dancers slip into the nearby darkness. Although Surrey had removed the red coat, he was easily recognizable by his strong physique and graceful movements. To his surprise the maiden with him was not one of his wives. As he studied her, he realized it was Chief Onamingo’s youngest daughter. It took him a moment to remember her name, Ahyyyokah, and a lovely maiden she was with eyes like mountain pools. Though he knew he should make himself known to them, he found himself unable to move. With eyes only for each other, they embraced and kissed fervently. Another memory rose up of the first time he kissed Angelonde. It was in the dark of the forest behind her father’s house in Zamora. A surge of grief shot through him, causing him to tremble. He shook his head and turned away. Moments later, when he turned back the lovers were gone.

  Damn, this is why I can’t stand to be around people. The sheer intimacy of it all kills me. I’d rather be roasted alive in the desert with ants running me up and down m
y legs than feel these twisted knots pulling my heart around over the hot coals of emotions, too painful to endure. I have to be a solitary man. I have to be a Wose.

  He wiped the tear from his cheek and got to his feet. Enough of this, it was time he went in search of his liege. Once he had delivered the intelligence he had gained, he would hie back to the solitude of the high desert where the loneliness kept the grief from intruding too much.

  * * *

  After the Dance of Friendship, Sur Sceaf stood with Ahy next to her father’s campfire. The sweet smell of autumnal leaf mould filled the air with its rich tea like scent. The Harvest Moon shone bright through the tall trees. Bathed in the shimmering light, Ahy was stunningly beautiful, her chiseled face with its high cheekbones and large stormy eyes were framed with the blackest of hair. Sur Sceaf was overcome with silent awe.

  He considered all the many things he loved about her. In addition to her beauty, her spirit drew him in. More than ever he wished he could once again take off into the darkness and bathe in that warmth and fire of her touch. Now that the crowd was dispersing, if they were to be seen, the tribal magpies would never cease their chatter. Not only were there too many people, but on the other side of her stood Onamingo, pondering and studying the flames. Should they disappear, he would certainly take notice. So he contented himself with merely being close to her.

  Nearby, Elijah discussed with Mendaka how well the Quailor, with the usual exceptions, enjoyed the pageantry of the evening, and how he thought this was a good start to getting acquainted with one another’s beliefs. He also emphasized the importance of Sur Sceaf’s message and how he was going to personally make an effort to incorporate it in his Tribe.

  Mendaka glanced toward Sur Sceaf. “I admit I was a bit taken aback when Surrey went off script, but I realize that he has more of a sense of the dramatic than I do.”