SummerDanse

by Terie Garrison

  Zhantar said nothing the whole time, not even when he delivered me to my room. Once the bolt had slid into place, I stripped off the repulsive dragonmaster clothes and put on my simple nightshift, then threw myself onto the bed and let my emotions have free rein.

  It had all been hateful, from seeing a fellow mage meet her death so bravely, through the various and sundry criminals who had actually done something wrong even if they didn’t deserve this, to the disgusting murder of the poor dragon whose only crime had been to grow too old to kill helpless people anymore.

  Did Zhantar think he could ever convince me to join the dragonmasters? Why did he want me to? What did I have that he desired so much?

  And King Erno. What of him? He had surprised me, for never did I expect that Alloway’s monarch could be such a fool. Fearsome, regal, powerful: these were things I expected a king to be. But petulant, childish, and weak?

  I had believed, too, that the dragonmasters were in league with the king, that they did his bidding and served him. But I’d never have thought that the DragonLord would despise his king so deeply.

  Not that it was hard to imagine a man like Zhantar despising one like Erno. But for what reason did Zhantar subject himself to such petty usage? On second thought, that was easy to guess. This life as DragonLord was far more glamorous than being a village magician or, worse, a traveling one. Yes, for a life of ease such as this, some people would put up with much.

  Not me, however. Nothing would induce me to become a dragonmaster. And thus my thought came full circle, then spun around again and yet again.

  Next morning, Nilla wouldn’t meet my eyes when she brought my breakfast tray. At least I was hungry now and ate enough to please her on that score. She took care of my hands, too.

  The rest of the morning was spent in Zhantar’s company. He brought his crystal and the Cursed Book of Knowledge. First, he showed me Mama again. It crushed my heart to see her looking so dejected, ankles chained to her chair. But she was still alive, and I swore to myself that somehow, I would find a way to free her.

  Zhantar wrapped the crystal in the black velvet and placed it on the bed before handing me the book and instructing me to read. Which I did until lunchtime. Occasionally he would stop me and sit quietly, pondering what he’d heard. And as before, I remembered none of it. When he finally took his things and left, I felt strange, as if several hours of my life had been blotted from my memory.

  A routine developed that went on for days and days. In the mornings, Zhantar began instructing me in magic, while afternoon were reserved for reading that horrid book—hours that dragged on and on.

  “We will begin by reviewing the basics,” he said.

  “I can’t do magic,” I replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

  He scowled. “What do you mean, you can’t do magic? Of course you can. You said so yourself.”

  I touched the wood collar. “Remember this? Anazian said it keeps me from using my power.”

  “Ah, yes. The black wood. But you misunderstood. It only prevents you from using your maejic power.”

  And I discovered he was right. I could do anything he asked, almost always on the first attempt. It took little power and less attention. Now that I had knowledge and experience of using maejic, I found magic, by comparison, to be like the difference between a farmer whistling a country tune and a trained soloist performing at Summer Solstice.

  Then, finally, something broke our routine. One morning, Zhantar was in the middle of explaining how to light candles with only magic—a handy spell I actually wanted to learn—when we were both startled by someone pounding on my door.

  “Father!” Anazian shouted. “Come right away! There is an ... incident up at the palace. Hurry!”

  Zhantar leapt to his feet, frowning, and left my room. I dashed to the window, but I couldn’t see anything. I sighed. When I turned back to the room, I sucked in my breath. Zhantar had left his crystal!

  I crept to the door, walking as carefully as I could so as not to make any noise, and pressed my ear against it. Nothing. I moved to the bed.

  Would the magic work for me? Only one way to find out. I unwrapped the crystal and held it up, looking into its murky depths.

  At first, nothing happened. I thought about Yallick, Traz, Xyla. The haze turned a little pinkish. I bit my lip and let out a breath. Wait. Be patient. Maybe it was working. Xyla was red, and the haze was darkening to red. Perhaps I just needed to concentrate harder.

  The red dragons. I imagined what they’d looked like, dozens and dozens of them filling the air when we returned from Hedra. An indistinct image began to form. I gripped the crystal harder. It grew warm. Then, deep within it, I saw the dragons. I almost whooped aloud, and the image began to fade.

  Xyla. I concentrated on her. The focus shifted, and there she was! My heart swelled and tears sprang to my eyes. It was really her! But how could I make her hear me? I couldn’t use my maejic.

  Yallick. Perhaps I would have better luck with him. I closed my eyes and pictured him in my imagination—his jutting jaw, his long white-blond hair swept back from his forehead, and his icy, blue-green eyes. I blew on the crystal, as Zhantar had done, and when I looked again, there was my old teacher.

  “Look at me,” I whispered to the image. “Look at me. Hear my voice.” His head jerked a little, and he began to look around. “Here,” I urged, “look here. I need you. I need the dragons.”

  His gaze finally fell onto me. I wondered what exactly he saw, but it didn’t matter. Somehow, we’d connected.

  “Can you hear me?” I asked, still in a whisper.

  “Donavah? Is it really you, my child?” His voice sounded far away and dim.

  “Yes. I’m in Penwick. At the DragonLord’s house.”

  “Oh, my dear. We are coming.”

  “Hurry. Zhantar—” But before I could say more, I heard the clatter of booted feet running down the corridor. “Please, come quickly!”

  I dropped the crystal back onto the bed and flicked the velvet over it. I’d barely got to the window when my door crashed open. Heart in my throat and trying not to look guilty, I turned to face Zhantar.

  His eyes blazed as he looked from me to the crystal and back. He didn’t even ask if I’d used it. He just snatched it up without a word and withdrew. The bolt slammed into place.

  I didn’t have long to worry about what would happen next. Nilla appeared within the hour, bringing me the black clothes I’d worn to the dragon fights. My stomach turned.

  When I had on the leggings and tunic, Nilla tied the sash.

  The door opened. In strode Zhantar and two others, all in their dragonmaster attire. Their power filled the room and made my skin tingle. With a gesture from Zhantar, Nilla left. At the door, she turned back to give me a pleading look that I didn’t understand.

  Zhantar spoke with a solemn voice. “The time has come for you to take your vows.”

  I stood tall and straightened my shoulders, though my knees shook. “Vows for what?”

  “Why, to be a dragonmaster, naturally.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaimed. “Never—”

  He slapped me across the face. Not hard, but enough to get his message across. “I said the time has come. Once done, you will be truly one of mine.” He snapped the fingers of both hands, and the air seemed to hum. “Prepare her for the ceremony.” The other two men approached me. Zhantar’s voice softened as he spoke his next words. “Fear not. When all is done, you will agree it is for the best.”

  Now one dragonmaster stood behind me and the other in front. I could feel the magic pouring off them. All three began to chant, and my heart beat in rhythm with the words, even though I didn’t understand the language.

  With no warning, the man behind me covered my eyes with a strip of heavy fabric.

  “
To symbolize the novice’s acknowledgement that she lacks knowledge,” he said as he secured the blindfold in place.

  Another strip of fabric gagged me.

  “To symbolize the novice’s acknowledgement that she lacks wisdom.”

  The one in front of me took my hands and bound my wrists together.

  “To symbolize the novice’s acknowledgement of her submission to our master.”

  A sack was placed over my head and its drawstring tightened, not too much, but enough to keep it in place.

  “To symbolize the novice’s suppression of her identity until she is born anew in her power and place.”

  I felt the two move away from me and Zhantar—as I guessed—come near. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

  “I accept these symbols of your vows.” He kissed the fabric covering my forehead. “Come now to the ceremonial place.”

  There was a moment of complete disorientation as the three men moved all about me, the air filled with the sound of their boots on the floor and with the magic that swirled around them and me. Then hands took my upper arms and forced me to go with them, guiding my steps and making sure I neither stumbled nor fell.

  We walked for what seemed like a day, though it was probably less than an hour. We went down several flights of stairs, then along what must be underground passages. Every so often, they would spin me round, as if they feared I might try to memorize the turnings.

  Little chance of that, though. For my mind was busy trying to figure out how to thwart Zhantar’s plan. Could I manage not to speak the vows? Unlikely. If forced to speak them against my will, would they be binding? That might be my only hope, for surely the dragons couldn’t arrive in time. But at least they were coming. I would have to cling to that thought.

  We stopped walking. No one made a sound. The dragonmasters let go of my arms. We simply stood there. Forever.

  My heart pounded in my ears, and it was the only thing I could hear. In the dead silence it seemed to reverberate. Had they just left me here? And where exactly was I? Was this a test, some part of the ceremony? I tried, with little success, to quell my fear.

  BOOM!

  I almost leapt out of my boots.

  Boom! Boom!

  It sounded like a heavy object crashing against a solid wood door. Then a creaking noise followed by a whoosh of warm air confirmed my guess.

  A loud bass voice spoke. “Come forth, supplicant.” The words echoed in the chamber before me and the passage behind. I waited for someone to guide me. “I say again, come forth!”

  The voice itself, tinged a little with impatience, had the power to compel me, and I took a small, tentative step forward. Then another. What was the point of this? They knew I couldn’t see, couldn’t know where I was going. A few more steps, then my senses told me I had come to a ledge of some kind. I stopped.

  “Ah, yes,” said the voice in a satisfied tone. “Let all present take note.”

  An odd sighing sound pulsed briefly, then died away into vacant silence again. I swallowed, wanting nothing more than to run away. My hands were bound in front of me; I could take off the hood, the blindfold, and the gag. My leg muscles twitched, waiting for my brain to give the order to flee.

  As if its owner read my mind, the voice boomed out, “There is no turning back now.” And with a clang that almost stopped my heart, the doors behind me closed. “Come forward, and delay no longer.”

  This time, I perceived that the voice seemed to come from a point below me. Perhaps the ledge I sensed was only a step. Well, if it weren’t and I pitched down a precipice to my death, would that be such a bad thing? I took a shuddering breath, gathered my courage, put out a foot, and took a step into nothingness.

  Or it seemed that way for a quarter of a heartbeat. Then there was the ground again.

  “Yes,” the voice said in approval, and another sigh swept around the room. “Come to me.”

  I summoned my magic and let it fill my senses to guide me down the uneven flight of stairs.

  When I reached what I knew to be the bottom, I halted, breathing heavily. There was power in this place, and it beat down on me, making me dizzy and faint.

  With no warning, strong hands grabbed my upper arms and lifted me off my feet completely. Startled, I cried out aloud, though the sound was muffled by the gag.

  Moments later, they set me down on a chair. It was as cold as marble but quickly warmed. I felt sure it glowed.

  “The Seat of the Dragons has accepted her!”

  And the people in the room broke into song. I didn’t understand the language, but its tone was joyful and celebratory. It went on and on, though blindfolded and disoriented as I was, I couldn’t tell how long.

  When it finally ended, footsteps approached me.

  “She is received to be born into her new service,” the voice boomed. The person loosened the drawstring and removed the hood. I took a breath, but the air was filled with an unfamiliar musky odor that left me feeling even more lightheaded than before.

  “Her submission to the DragonLord, in perpetuity, is accepted.” The cords binding my wrists were cut. “Her plea is answered and wisdom promised to her.” The gag was removed. “Her eyes shall be opened, and she shall see.” The blindfold was removed.

  Somewhere far away, perhaps only in my imagination, someone screamed, “Nooooooo!”

  Arrgghh! No, not again! You have done enough, you have broken my heart and my spirit. Put me back in the pit, and leave me to die.

  You are a traitor to all that is good, all that is decent, all that is pure. I beg only that you be consumed by your own fire, and if I am not already dead, I will then die in peace.

  I am shamed to think that I was once one of you. Your actions now only prove that I was right in my choice, right to leave, right to deny everything you had to offer.

  Go ahead, strike me again, coward. And again. As many times as you like, until my blood is on your hands.

  Atop a low dais across from me, on a throne made of gold and encrusted with every kind of gem, sat Zhantar, glorious in his power. Whether it was an effect of the magic that filled the air or a trick of the light, he seemed to be twice his normal size. He looked down on me with a benevolent smile, as if he had just bestowed the moon and her silver light upon me. And perhaps, in his mind, he had.

  He lifted his arms, palms upward, and the people began to sing again.

  The place was cavernous, filled with tier upon tier of dragonmasters. Most were men, but now I saw that some were women.

  Zhantar crossed one leg over the other, and resting his arms on the arms of the throne, leaned back. His eyes glittered in the light, which came from thousands of glowing crystals that floated overhead.

  I couldn’t guess how many dragonmasters were here. It must be hundreds and hundreds! Far more than I ever guessed even existed. They were, of course, the most powerful magicians in the realm, and the air was almost alight with their power.

  Their song swelled to a crescendo, then softened to little more than a whisper. When it finally ended, it took some time for the last of it to fade away completely. The silence that followed in the song’s wake settled on me like the weight of an ocean, making it hard to breathe.

  Anazian walked up. I met his gaze and neither flinched nor looked away. He reached out, as if he were going to stroke my face, but at the last second, his hand changed direction and he grasped the wood collar. I braced myself for him to jerk me to my feet, but he didn’t. When he stepped back, he held a stick of black wood. I gasped and raised a hand to my neck. Yes, the wood collar was gone!

  Almost by reflex, I opened my senses, ready to embrace my power. Only to be overcome with the blackest dread. Pain! Agony! A craving for freedom, just one second of true freedom before I died in this black hole!

  The voices, the terror, the plea
s pressed down on me and buried me under their horror. The dragons! I blocked them out before I lost my sanity, drowned in their pain.

  Zhantar laughed, and Anazian strode over to him. Zhantar leaned forward and in a low, conspiratorial voice said, “Do you think she has figured it out yet?”

  Anazian shook his head. “No, not yet. It will be amusing to see how long it takes for the truth to dawn.”

  The DragonLord rose to his feet in a regal manner and descended from his dais. He stood before me, looking down with his clear, green eyes. In a voice that only I could hear, he said, “You will join us now.”

  I clenched my teeth and spoke softly. “No, I will never join you. I will die first.”

  Half of his mouth curved into a humorless smile. “That could be arranged, but it does not suit my purpose. No, you will submit, or ...” He turned away from me, and his cloak billowed out behind him as he walked the several steps back to the dais and resumed his seat on his throne.

  He clapped his hands once and held them out to me. “Approach me, my child.” And his voice took on the loud, booming quality it had before, distorted so that it didn’t sound like him.

  Anazian’s eyes sparkled as he watched me, as if daring me to disobey so he could do something about it. I slowly pushed myself out of the chair and walked to Zhantar.

  With a broad gesture, he said, “Kneel.”

  I paused just long enough to make it obvious that it was intentional, then did as instructed. Anazian came up behind me and put his hands on my head while Zhantar recited a long chant in what I guessed was the same language the songs had been in. My knees ached long before he finished. I needed the hand Anazian offered me to help me to my feet, much as I would’ve preferred to spurn it.

  “And now, we go to the Chamber of Vows,” Zhantar’s voice boomed from above. He stood up and descended from his throne, took my left hand, and walked me around the dais, as if to show me to all those gathered there. I burned with anger and shame.