Briaali’s eyes were like chips of black diamond, and she pulled her cloak of burrower pelts close. Her words were thoughtful, as if she puzzled it out while she spoke. The Tree People are born of Tremaris. Our magic, our dances of becoming, were born here. But the Voiced Ones came from the dark between the stars, and brought their sung magic with them. How can your chantments feed our world?
‘Hear me, wise one. Hear me, all of you.’ Calwyn’s words were emphatic. ‘TheWheel says, the song and the dance are one music. One music, one magic. Marna once told me that all kinds of magic are like different faces of the same jewel.’ She held up her fingers to count them off. ‘The Power of Tongue, which allows us to speak and sing together. The Power of Beasts, which tames animals.The Power of Seeming, which creates illusions and hides reality.The Power of Winds, which governs winds and weather. The Power of Iron, which can move any object, except for fire, water, air or living creatures. The Power of Becoming, the magic of life and change and healing. The Power of Fire, which makes heat a nd light. The Power of Ice, which is the magic of dark and cold. And the Great Power, the mystery that lies beyond us all, the mystery at the heart of every magic.’ She paused, to let her words sink in. ‘I have been blessed with the gift of Becoming, as well as the powers of chantment, and I can tell you, the same magic breathes in both. Chanters and dancers, it is the same. Tremaris is parched and dying. This world thirsts for the offering of our magic.’
For a few moments, there was silence.Then Darrow said in a low voice, from far back in his chair, ‘What must we do, Calwyn?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Briaali, Halasaa, all of you who have been to the Knot of theWaters, will remember the figures painted on the wall of the cave.They are dancers. I believe that the Tree People gathered there – perhaps once a year, perhaps more often – to perform a great dance of healing, a Dance of Becoming.’ She looked around, impressing her words into their minds. ‘We must do the same. We must dance, singers and dancers together. The interweaving of our magic is the only thing that will save Tremaris.’
A dance of healing? Halasaa’s forehead creased, and he exchanged a glance with Darrow.
‘You don’t want to try that again, lass,’ mutteredTonno, and his voice cracked as he added under his breath, ‘Can’t lose you, too.’
Calwyn said steadily, ‘Yes, I attempted a dance of healing before, in the desert, and it went wrong, but I know why. I shouldn’t have tried to do it alone.This will be different.This time the dancers must work together, so the magic will not be too strong for them.’
Lia said, ‘Here in Antaris, the priestesses sing together. Magic is stronger when many voices sing the same song.’
‘And strong magic does not harm those who sing with the protection of many voices,’ said Calwyn. ‘The same will be true of this great Dance of Becoming.’
Halasaa turned to Briaali. Wise one, you are learned in the old ways. Do you know of such dances of healing, with many dancers together?
My learning is like a net, more holes than string. Briaali’s words were wry. But Halwi, your father, who knew more than I, never spoke of such a ritual. A dance of healing is performed by one alone, not by several together.
‘But the paintings in the cave show many dancers,’ insisted Calwyn.
My child, there are dances for birth, and for death, and for the celebration of pairing. At these times we dance together. It is those dances that are painted on the walls.
Calwyn opened her mouth, and closed it. All at once she was sure Briaali was right. Her so-called vision had been a hollow dream, the message of theWheel no more than a plea for peace. She looked down, feeling the weight of theWheel in her hand, and said nothing.
But then Darrow whispered, ‘Sometimes the form of a ritual is preserved when its original purpose has been lost.The dances of celebration may be an echo of these great life-giving dances that Calwyn has described.’
‘She saw them in a dream,’ said Lia sceptically.
‘She saw a vision of the truth.’ Darrow cleared his throat impatiently, and whispered, ‘Perhaps your Goddess spoke to her.’
His voice was faint, but his grey-green eyes were as alive, as keen and bright as ever, and a respectful muttering ran around the room as he spoke. If she could, Calwyn would have seized his hands and kissed him. Thank you, she murmured to him in mind-speech. Aloud, she said, ‘Maybe it was the Goddess. Or maybe it was the caves, the Knot of theWaters, the forest that remembered, and spoke to me.’
Briaali nodded slowly. I have said it often, we must learn to listen. But what is the use of listening if no one heeds what is said? Her sharp eyes twinkled. Only you and your brother among us have the gift of the old magic.Who else will dance this Dance of Becoming?
‘The sisters have the gift of chantment, and Darrow… ’ His name slipped out before Calwyn could stop herself. When she saw how he flinched, she wished she could have bitten out her tongue. She hurried on, ‘Briaali, if you and your people will teach us the dances you have learned, and the High Priestess and the sisters join the Dance of Becoming, the magic will work. I know it.’ She looked at the village headwomen. ‘The villagers are welcome to join the ritual, too. I know you have your own dances, your own music and festivals. Please, bring your dancers and your musicians to help us.’
A mutter of dissent broke out among the priestesses.
Darrow said clearly, ‘This is work for everyone, not just chanters! The villagers were fit to fight, and die, to protect Antaris. Are they not fit to make music, to save all Tremaris?’
The murmur of protest died away. Briaali inclined her head. We will teach you. Let the Dance of Becoming be the rain that quenches the thirst of our world.
Trout murmured, ‘From the rains, the river; from the river, the sea; from the sea, the rains…’ His voice was thick with unshed tears. Tonno covered his eyes with his hand.
Calwyn said, ‘Yes. Chantment flows in a circle – a wheel.’ She pressed theWheel between her hands, fully understanding the meaning of its shape for the first time.
Lia said in her dry, matter-of-fact way, ‘The wheel turns, as they say. I must confess, I find it hard to believe that any amount of dancing will help us. But I suppose it cannot hurt.’ She shot a look at the senior priestesses. ‘I must consult with my sisters. Do you propose to travel beyond theWall, to this cave by theWaters, and hold the dancing there?’
Calwyn shook her head. ‘There’s no need for that. The valley of the blazetree is a sacred place, as sacred as the Knot of theWaters. In six days, the three moons will be full. That gives us little time to prepare; I hope it will be long enough.’
One of the priestesses cried out, ‘Lady Mother, the time of the full moons is reserved for Strengthening theWall! And the valley is sacred to the Goddess. Bad enough to invite in the common folk of Antaris. But you cannot allow these men, these Outlander savages, to enter there!’
Before Lia could reply, Calwyn cut in sharply. ‘The Outlander savages, as you call them, lived in these lands long before the Daughters of Taris came. No doubt the valley of the waterfall was a sacred place to them, before we ever set foot there. And what is the strengthening of the Wall, compared with the strengthening of Tremaris?’
Lia said quietly, ‘If any priestess considers this ritual to be an affront to the Goddess, she need not join us. But I will dance.’ ‘Sibril?What do you say?’ Calwyn turned to the leader of the warriors.
I will not dance. He stared at the floor, and the words were dragged from him. He seemed very young, a sulky boy acting the part of a man. My warriors will not dance.
Do not be so sure! Briaali’s black diamond eyes flashed at him, and she sent private words into Calwyn’s mind. Do not be angry with the boys. They are young and foolish, but they could see no other way.
Suddenly one of Sibril’s lieutenants stood up, straight as a spear, head high. We have had our taste of war, Sibril. It was not as you promised, and we want no more. We have held a council. You are not our leader any mo
re.
Sibril still looked at the ground, but he flinched as though he had been punched. The young lieutenant nodded toward Calwyn. The men have agreed to follow this daughter of the Tree People.
Calwyn tried to catch Sibril’s eye, but he would not look at her. I respect the ways of the Tree People. So do we all.We want to use the Tree People’s magic to heal Tremaris. Surely you cannot object to that?
Sibril made no reply.
Young man! rapped Briaali. You have been treated with more honour than you deserve. In any other place, you would be imprisoned, or worse, for the trouble you have caused. Lift your head! Show the Singer that courtesy, at least.
Sibril raised his head and darted a look at Calwyn. But then his eyes slid away again.
Calwyn turned to the young lieutenant, and said gravely, I thank you, and your men. I hope to be worthy of the trust you have shown me.
The young man flushed, crimson through copper, and abruptly sat down.
Briaali stood. We will all dance, Tree People andVoiced Ones together. The day you propose would be the longest of the year, if the seasons ran as they should.We will dance on that night beneath your sacred tree.
The young lieutenant and his friends ducked out of Lia’s rooms before the priestesses and villagers began to move. Sibril limped out painfully, his head hung low; the other warriors did not wait for him.
Darrow said quietly to Calwyn, ‘They will put all the blame on him, so they can cleanse themselves of shame, and begin again. That will be harder for him to bear than all his injuries, he is so proud.’
Calwyn stared after them. ‘They seem such awkward boys, for a war party.’
They were not awkward during the fighting. Briaali was behind her. It is you who have made them so.
Why should I make them awkward?
Briaali gave her a shrewd look. Child, you cannot see yourself. Magic flows so fierce in you that the ends of your hair, your shadow, the very prints of your feet are alive with it.
Calwyn remembered Samis’s words: I can hardly look at you … There was a stone in her throat as she swallowed. She was alive, more than alive, and Mica was dead. Mica was dead. But those words, too, seemed empty and meaningless.
Briaali took Calwyn’s hand, and spoke to her alone. In time, child, you will be stronger yet. The power of the woman is greater than the power of the maiden. Do you understand? The power of the mother is even greater, and the power of the Elder is the greatest of all. She smiled. When you are my age, you will be strong indeed.
Calwyn looked across to where Darrow struggled to his feet, waving Halasaa away with a crooked smile. He could still smile. If Darrow could not be healed, she would remain a maiden forever. She could never love anyone else.
Unbidden, the memory of Samis flashed into her mind, the taste of him on her lips, his hands on her body. She closed her eyes. Briaali patted her hand. Come, child. You and I and your brother must puzzle out the form of this great Dance together.We have much work to do.
THE SISTERS GATHERED in the great hall, murmuring with curiosity and nervous laughter. A handful of villagers had come up to the Dwellings, too: fewer than Calwyn had hoped. Perhaps there would be more tomorrow. The Tree People settled themselves around the walls to watch; most of the young warriors were among them. Keela had offered to be one of the teachers. ‘I don’t know anything about sorcery,’ she said. ‘But I do know how to dance.’
The priestesses of Antaris were not used to dancing. The villagers danced in their own festivals, after harvest, and at the coming of spring. But the priestesses did not join these celebrations of the seasons. All the sisters’ festivals were centred on the Goddess, and the turnings of the moons. We have been divided from the breathing of the land, thought Calwyn, with a sudden flash of insight. That is how we lost our way.
This great Dance of Becoming would bring together the rhythms of the moons with the turning of the seasons, the longest day, the shortest night. If the ritual worked, it would bring all the rhythms into harmony again.
Take off your shoes! ordered Briaali. Grip the ground with your bare feet. She threw off the grey burrower-skin cloak and stood before them bare-legged and bare-armed, a tiny, wiry figure with her feet planted on the floor. I will show you a dance of the women, the dance for a child’s birth. This will be the middle part of our great Dance. She nodded to the two Tree People crouched in the corner; one held a pipe to his lips, the other had his hands poised over a drum. Begin, my brothers.
The Tree Women danced with their feet rooted to the ground. Their bodies rocked and undulated to the simple music, graceful and sensual. Sway as the sea sways, Briaali told the watching priestesses, her body rippling as easily as a candle flame. The sisters looked at one another in confusion; they had never seen the sea. Briaali shook her head. Bend as the trees bend in the wind.
None of the sisters had danced since they were little girls prancing by the fire. They knew how to use their voices, but not their bodies, except for work, and their movements were jerky and embarrassed.
‘Briaali said, be like the trees, but she didn’t mean you should be made of wood!’ called Keela, and everyone laughed.
With that laughter, the stiff, awkward bodies began to relax. ‘That’s better!’ Keela seized the hands of two of the village girls, who moved with more grace than the sisters, and shook them vigorously. ‘Shake out your hands, shake your legs, make them loose, loose! Yes, laugh, laugh at each other, laugh at yourselves, enjoy it!’
The movement begins in your knees! called Briaali. Let it flow up through your thighs, into your hips and belly. The dancers jiggled helplessly, laughing as they tried to copy Briaali’s smooth, curving movements. Keela swayed easily back and forth; but she could not remember to keep her feet still.
Then Halasaa showed them the dance that men performed when someone died: the wild, stamping dance of mourning, arms outspread like birds’ wings, flying as the spirit flew. This would be the beginning of their Dance, grieving for the dead year.
Then Halasaa and Briaali danced as men and women danced together at marriage rituals, a complex weaving of the two forms, planted and whirling. This would be the climax of the great Dance, and soon the hall was filled with earnest, thumping dancers trying not to collide with one another.
After that, it was the turn of theTree People to listen while Lia explained, as simply as she would explain it to the novices, how the breath of the Goddess breathed through the chanters as they sang Her songs. She told how the hand of the Goddess reached down from Her realm between the stars to touch the sacred valley, and intensify the power of magic there. If Calwyn was right, this was the power they would summon with their dance, wreathing the movement, the music and the magic of chantment together. Those who had been warriors listened passively. Briaali’s followers listened, and nodded, as if they were remembering something they had half-forgotten.
The villagers listened in wonder, and Calwyn realised with a jolt that the work of bringing chantment back to Tremaris had to begin here, in Antaris. She had always believed that here, at least, where chantment was revered and protected, there was no more work to be done. But outside the Dwellings, chantment was as mysterious and fearful as anywhere else in Tremaris. Calwyn went away from that first rehearsal with much to think about.
AFTER THE FIRST day, Calwyn had missed some of the practice sessions. There were many wounded from the battle who still required healing, and Calwyn felt driven to use her gifts to help wherever she could, especially now Halasaa was needed to teach the dances.
But today Ursca had scolded her, and shooed her away. ‘Most of them will recover just as well with good clean bandaging, and herbal potions, and rest. But you’ll be no good to anyone if you’re tired out! Be off with you, go and visit your sweetheart. Day after day he lies there, biting off my head when I poke it around the door, because I’m not you!’
So she had gone to see Darrow. But though he tried to be cheerful, he was weaker than before. Mica’s death had been
a terrible blow, and the snow-sickness was progressing rapidly. Calwyn was horrified to see that he could no longer hold a spoon, or comb his own hair, and his voice was very faint.
‘The preparations are going well? For the dance?’ he whispered.
‘Yes. Yes, very well,’ Calwyn replied mechanically.
‘I must be there… I insist…even if Tonno has to carry me into the valley.’
‘We could push you there in Lia’s chair, if you weren’t so heavy!’
He smiled at her feeble joke, and she tried to smile, too, but she felt as if the stone that was her heart was cracking in pieces as she sat there.
After a time, he whispered, ‘You must be careful, Calwyn, in the days to come. This new knowledge will bring great changes to Tremaris.’
‘I hope so,’ said Calwyn in puzzlement.Why else were they holding the Dance of Becoming, if not to bring change?
‘I don’t mean the Dance. I mean the Tenth Power. The Power of Signs will change our whole world, perhaps even more than the Dances of Becoming.’ Darrow broke off into a cough. He motioned to Calwyn to hold the cup of water to his lips, and went on in an urgent whisper. ‘Anyone can learn to master the Power of Signs, just as anyone can learn the Power of Tongue. But with this difference: when I speak to you, what I say flies into your memory, or onto the wind. Once you have forgotten my words, they’re gone forever.’
‘I’ve never forgotten your words,’ said Calwyn with a smile, but Darrow made an impatient gesture.
‘This is important, Calwyn! Listen. If I write a message with the Power of Signs, the message remains for others to read after you. Do you understand? If everyone had known how to read the signs, the message of theWheel would never have been lost.’
The Tenth Power Page 22