SummerDanse

by Terie Garrison

  I staved off thoughts of Grey and whether he was still alive by concentrating as much as I could on my surroundings. The trees were not particularly tall, but their trunks were vast and black. The path cut between them, but they gave up the space grudgingly, and their branches intertwined overhead, their dark green leaves obscuring most of the light. Hatred flowed off them—and one didn’t have to use maejic to feel it—and I wondered how much of the dimness was caused by that.

  Almost by reflex, I found myself fingering the wooden collar again. It was quickly becoming a habit. Did this wood come from one of these trees? And what about the bars of the cage? And why was everything so silent? I could scarcely imagine it was possible for a forest to be entirely devoid of animal life, but I’d not yet heard the song of a bird or the skittering of rodents or even the tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker. All was stillness and silence, except for the noise we intruders made.

  We went over an especially big bump, and I bit my tongue painfully. I hoped it wouldn’t be long before we reached a proper road, where the wagon could travel more easily. Maybe we’d be able to go faster then, too. I had no idea where we were or where we were gong, but the sooner this journey was over, the better.

  A few hours later, at what I guessed might be midday, we stopped. Anazian took some things out of a bundle. Without saying a word, he gave me a small bit of dried meat—for which I didn’t thank him—and a cup of water. So far, it didn’t look as if he planned to starve me. He set the brakes on the front wheels, then walked off into the trees. I stared after him long after I’d lost sight of him in the shadows.

  Then something occurred to me that, once thought of, made me feel a bit thick for not having thought of it sooner. Anazian clearly wasn’t planning on letting me die. If that were his objective—as it had been once before—he would’ve been done with it already. He wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of caging me and taking me somewhere. No, he would’ve killed me instead of Grey.

  And the admission that Grey must certainly be dead settled like a heavy cloud on my thoughts and didn’t let go for a very long time. Would they bury him, or would they burn him on a pyre? Which would he prefer? What kind of friend was I not to know the answer to that question? And yet, why should I ever have asked it? Whenever my mind returned to its hopeful imaginings that the others had found him in time, had saved him, I told myself to stop being stupid. Accepting the truth now would make it easier to bear later.

  Anazian reappeared with a spring in his step that had been absent before. He even had a smile on his face. When he caught sight of me, he stopped mid-stride. What now? I wondered. After giving me a confused frown, he came to the side of the cage. I held my ground, quelling the urge to back away.

  “Come here,” he said. “Come closer.”

  I approached cautiously, unsure of what he wanted. He put a hand through the bars, which quivered at his touch, and stroked a thumb across my left cheek. A shiver went down my spine. Of course: the mark Rennirt had given me. In the past two days I hadn’t thought of it once; now consciousness of it came sweeping back.

  “What is this?” he asked in a quiet, bemused voice. “Fascinating.”

  I didn’t flinch from his scrutiny, but I didn’t look at him either; instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the trees behind him.

  “Well,” he said, finally taking his hand away from my face, “I see there’s a story to tell here.”

  Much to my relief, he didn’t ask me to tell it then and there. He released the brakes, took his place next to the horse on the left, and made a clucking sound.

  As soon as we were moving again, my muscles began to complain; I’d just got used to the comfortable stillness, and now it was back to jolting along.

  I lay down on my back for awhile. It was impossible to sleep, but I closed my eyes and tried to empty my mind of thoughts of Grey and Anazian and this tiresome journey, which was little more than half a day old yet.

  After awhile, I noticed a change in our surroundings. First, the leaves overhead began to thin, and the light coming through took on a green cast rather than grey. The high-pitched call of a bird pierced the air, and it was answered by another, farther off but still clear and musical.

  The air itself felt easier to breathe, as if it were free of the resentment that had been keeping it bound. It was exactly like the change of season from Winter to Spring, and it happened over the course of just an hour.

  I sat up, though my back and neck protested, and looked around to find we’d left the black woods behind. Now I recognized the trees surrounding us: oaks, birches, and pines. A movement caught my eye, and I got a glimpse of the bushy tail of a squirrel just before it disappeared.

  Unfortunately for me, the condition of the path didn’t improve, but my hopes rose for better things ahead.

  We traveled on until almost nightfall. Anazian led the horses onto a grassy verge, then set the brakes, took a waterskin, and started to walk away. His feet shuffled now, as if he were tired, and he stumbled over a raised tree root. Odd, I thought. Surely if he were that tired, he could’ve driven the horses instead of walking with them.

  When he came back, he shoved the waterskin, dripping but full, through the bars of my cage. “Drink your fill,” he said, his voice drained of all vitality. I did, watching him as he unhitched the horses and hobbled them, allowing them to graze freely.

  Then, finally, he released me from the cage. For the next half hour, I did most of the work setting up camp: gathering firewood, unloading a few of the bundles, and cooking the evening meal. With that, at least, Anazian was generous; at any rate, he let me eat my fill. When we were done, I, of course, had to do the washing up, too. The whole time, Anazian did little more than direct me as he sat very close to the fire. That seemed strange, for I wasn’t cold despite wearing only a thin shift, while he, dressed in buckskin and boots, sat shivering occasionally.

  Once all the work was done, he finally stirred himself. Full dark had settled by now. He opened one of the bundles he’d had me unload from the wagon and rummaged in it. I caught my breath in surprise when he took out meditation candles and holders. Surely he wasn’t going to let me meditate, was he?

  No, of course not. He, too, was a mage, so naturally it was part of his own routine to meditate. He’d studied, many years ago, with Yallick—been his apprentice, even. And he’d become a master. His being a traitor didn’t change any of that.

  “I need to ...” He didn’t finish the sentence. His voice still sounded tired, as if he hadn’t been strengthened at all by the food. He pushed himself to his feet and walked to a nearby tree, from which drooped a tangle of vines. Speaking in a quiet voice, he tore away some of the vines, then came back to the fire.

  “Put out your hands,” he said. “I can’t be having you loose while I can’t attend to you.”

  Grateful that he wasn’t making me get back into the cage, I did exactly as he wished. And tried not to despise myself for my compliance.

  He used the length of vine to tie my wrists together in a complicated and very secure way.

  “There. If you cause me any trouble tonight, next time I’ll tie them behind you. And leave you in the cage, too.”

  I had no doubt he meant it, but his words had little force behind them. He picked up the candles and disappeared into the trees again.

  I sat for awhile, simply staring into the fire. The faces of my friends seemed to dance in the flames.

  Traz, who’d helped me save my brother and who wanted to be a mage, only to find when we were on Stychs that he had a powerful magic unknown in our world: the danse.

  Yallick, the master mage to whom I’d apprenticed myself. He often seemed grim and unhappy, but I’d come to realize that he really did care for me and wanted most of all for me to grow strong in my maejic.

  Oleeda, another master mage. She was kind and understanding, though sometimes har
d to predict. At any rate, she was less a cipher than Yallick was.

  Breyard, my older brother, whom, ironically, I always seemed to be looking after. He was a prankster and practical joker, but he, too, had maejic power. And something had happened to him during his own time on Stychs that had settled him down a little, made him more steady. I hadn’t yet learned what that was.

  Mama and Papa. They were exactly what parents should be: bossy and annoying and full of love and unexpected kindness. Papa, I’d figured out recently, was maejic, too, although he’d hidden this fact all our lives. Why? And why had dragonmasters kidnapped him and Mama?

  Grey. I tried to steer my thoughts away from him, but the memory of my last sight of him repeated itself over and over, leaving me, yet again, in tears.

  I lay on the ground near the fire and fell asleep. I came partly awake when Anazian returned. When his footsteps came near, I closed my eyes, not wanting him to know I was awake. To my great surprise, he lay a thin blanket over me. I almost thanked him but cut off the words. More sure now than ever that he didn’t intend to kill me, I fell back to sleep.

  But it wasn’t a restful night. Although only my hands were tied, I still couldn’t move naturally or get comfortable. My joints were stiff from having spent several days in that cage, and my flesh felt battered from the single day’s rough journey.

  And to make matters worse, my arms began to itch. Not severely, the way they would if I’d broken out in a rash, but here and there in tiny bursts, as if bugs were crawling on me. The bothersome sensation woke me up several times and even penetrated my dreams. It spread to the rest of my body: my legs, my back, my neck. But something kept me from being able to scratch. It was like a dream where you need to run away only to find your feet won’t move. A presence was there, threatening and watching and preventing me from moving. Slowly, something crept like a snake all around my body. I writhed around, thin tendrils tickling my skin and getting up my nose and into my mouth.

  I finally forced myself awake, only to find that much of my dream was reality. I couldn’t move. Something covered my face, preventing me from seeing anything. I could still breathe, but barely. Unable to help myself, I screamed.

  Anazian laughed in reply.

  “My, my. What do we have here?”

  He moved aside that which obstructed my vision, and I saw that morning had arrived. I also saw that I was encased, head to foot, in vines. They’d grown from the ones he’d used to bind my wrists. Overnight, they’d completely covered me.

  Anazian helped me to a sitting position but didn’t remove the vines. For some reason, the whole thing amused him, and he kept looking at me and laughing. Each time, my face burned hotter with embarrassment and rage.

  He cooked porridge for his breakfast, watching me while he ate. Then he took his candles off for morning meditation, leaving me to sit, unable to move as the growing vines covered my face again.

  I try to concentrate on the danse, but it’s impossible. How can everyone just sit around as if nothing is wrong? It’s making me crazy. Lini says not to worry, but she doesn’t know Donavah like I do. She’s out there somewhere, alone, without any of us to help her. I just wish I knew what happened to her and Grey, why she was taken and he was stabbed and left behind.

  Oh, how I wish I could speak to the dragons. I’m sure I could convince one to fly away with me to find her. But as it is, I’m stuck here with nothing to do but practice danse.

  Well, all right, let’s be fair. That’s pretty good and I shouldn’t complain. Already I can feel the power grow in me when I move. It’s also pretty great to learn all about Etos. I still can’t believe my staff was made of wood from his tree!

  But when I’m not studying danse, all there is to do is work. And not easy work, either, trying to build houses and stuff. I’d rather work in the kitchens, but they say there are too many other things I can do that the real cooks can’t.

  And the thing I do most is worry about Donavah.

  I knew Anazian would be back before long, but my anger boiled all the same. He would just laugh at me again. Well, perhaps I could turn the tables on him and kill his precious plant.

  Closing my eyes, I turned my thoughts deep inside myself and summoned my maejic, determined to free myself, at least this once, at least for a little while.

  As had happened last time I tried, pain ripped through my head. I drew up my knees and rested my forehead on them. I tried to take slow breaths, hoping that calming myself down would help. Eventually the pain subsided, and I sat exactly as I was, wondering what was going on. Why couldn’t I used my maejic?

  When Anazian returned, I said nothing as he pulled the leaves and restricting vines from me. Then he pulled me to my feet, his eyes dancing although he refrained from laughing out loud.

  Now that my hands were free, I rubbed my temples.

  “Ah,” Anazian said in a scoffing tone.

  “What?” I snapped, then waited for him to turn on me.

  He just laughed again with a condescending expression on his face.

  It didn’t take long to get ready to leave. Anazian hitched up the horses while I packed up the bundles we’d used and made sure they were secure. Once everything needful was done, Anazian made me get back into the cage, and another day of flesh-pounding misery began.

  I’d never imagined how uncomfortable and downright painful riding in a wagon could be. I felt every bit of unevenness in the road: in my muscles, in my bones, even in my teeth.

  This day went on much as the first, except that, unlike yesterday morning, the woods around us were bright and full of life. We stopped again at midday, and Anazian went off into the trees again. This time, I saw that he took meditation candles with him. Meditating three times a day? That seemed strange. I’d never heard of anyone doing that before.

  Then on we went through the afternoon. By the time we stopped for the night, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get out of the cage when Anazian released me. It took an effort of will, and I scraped my shin badly in the process.

  The mage was in a strange mood that evening. Once again he sat close to the fire while I did all the work. He kept muttering under his breath.

  As I put a bit of dried meat and herbs into the pot to cook, he said, “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?”

  By now I’d grown tired of having to listen to one-sided conversations, so speaking as meekly as I could, I said, “Tell me what?”

  “Ha! I knew I’d forgotten something. So I’ll tell you now.”

  And I waited for him to do so. Time stretched out. I stirred the pot. Just about the time I decided to ask, he spoke again.

  “The woods back there.”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  “No, no. Back there.” He waved an arm toward the road in the direction from which we’d traveled. “Those are nasty trees. Did you notice?”

  I nodded, my curiosity growing.

  He whispered his next words, and I had to strain to hear them. “They hate magic.” Then he nodded as if he’d revealed a great secret.

  I could well believe that what he said was true, but why was he telling me this? The whole time we’d been together he’d spoken to me only to give instructions or to mock, or both simultaneously. Why now did he seem to want to carry on a normal conversation?

  “And yet I tamed them,” he went on while I stared at him. “I worked them, and they submitted. To me. I bent them to my will, and then—” He broke off and started giggling. “I bent them, oh yes, indeed I did.”

  I was quickly beginning to wish that he’d return to his old conversation habits. His childish behavior unsettled me.

  He sat up straight and gave me a serious look. “The black trees, they are black straight to their hearts. They hate the magic that men do, and they reflect it back. There are few of them left in the world. That wood back the
re might be the very last of them. Most folk today believe them to have been wiped out completely. But I felt them; I knew they were there, and I sought them out.”

  Probably because your heart is as black as theirs, I thought as I gave the pot another stir.

  Then he scooted around the fire and came close to me. He put one arm around my shoulders and lifted the other toward my neck. I jerked my head aside, but all he did was touch the wood collar.

  He whispered again, his face close enough to mine that I felt his breath on my cheek. “Have you not guessed?” And in that instant, I did. “This wood, and the box in which I keep you safe. Both are made of the black wood. And that is why you can’t do any of your little maejic tricks. The wood simply reflects the power back onto you. Now, give me something to eat.”

  I shrugged away from him, got a bowl, and filled it with stew, then served myself and moved as far from him as I dared.

  Well, I mused, that explained the headaches. And why I couldn’t feel the life vibrations. But how strange that something as inanimate as wood could hate magic so. Yet, when I thought about it more, wood wasn’t really inanimate. It was a living and growing thing. On Stychs, I had met Etos, the spirit of a tree whose “body” was little more than a stump but whose soul lived on in mighty power.

  I touched the collar again. Now this wood, this wood that hated my power and probably hated me, too, this wood was my unceasing companion. By now I knew I couldn’t take it off, not by myself, not without any tools.

  When he finished eating, Anazian got another length of vine and came over to me. I slurped down the last of my meal before he bound my wrists together again.

  “I have told them to behave themselves tonight,” he said, as if I should be grateful, then went off for his meditation.

  Returning to the fire, I found a blanket and, curling up beneath it, I fell asleep. This time, I slept right through the night, and in the morning found that the vines had obeyed Anazian.