Dance of the Dead

by Christie Golden

  Taken aback by the abrupt question, Larissa opened her eyes and said, “When I was about six, I think.”

  “And were you trained?” The Maiden’s voice was cool, as though she already knew the answers. She cupped her hands together, and they began to glow with a soft radiance. Curious, Larissa watched and didn’t answer. The Maiden glanced up from her gleaming hands. “Were you trained?” she repeated, more sternly this time.

  “Um, no,” Larissa answered. Something began to take shape in the Maiden’s hands. “I just—danced. It was fun. I enjoyed it and I seemed to be good at it.”

  The shape in the Maiden’s cupped palms solidified, its color turning from pale green to dark blue. With the barest of smiles, the Maiden extended her berry-filled hands to an astonished Larissa.

  “Dancing is your gift from the swamp, the gift granted you when you became a whitemane,” she said as Larissa began to eat. “We took the hue of your hair and left you the mark of the swamp’s favor. We also gave you a way to control and utilize your magical ability.

  “Your body has discovered its magic, and your soul knows the secrets, though your mind is as yet unaware. So I say to you now: You have magical skills. If I teach you how to unlock them, will you use your talents to fight the evil aboard La Demoiselle?”

  Larissa was surprised to find herself grinning. “Yes.”

  “Then let us begin. Tell me about what you do aboard the boat.”

  “I’m the Lady of the Sea in the musical The Pirate’s Pleasure,” Larissa said, finishing the last of the wonderfully sweet berries.

  The Maiden nodded, her mossy tresses swaying with the movement. “Since you are familiar with that element, we will begin with water.”

  Larissa snorted. “I hardly think you could compare anything in The Pirate’s Pleasure with real magic.”

  “Not necessarily true. Who choreographed the dance?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, then. You should realize that part of it stems from you. Do you see?” Larissa shook her head. The Maiden laughed, a sweet sound like rain on water. “It doesn’t matter. Here, dance your part for me now.”

  Larissa, suddenly nervous, rose and walked awkwardly to a flat patch of ground. She settled herself on her feet and imagined the prone body of Florian and the weeping Rose, trying not to think about Casilda and wonder what had been done to her. Think of the dance, Larissa told herself sternly.

  Her performance was rough at first, and Larissa winced as she moved, knowing how stiff it must appear. Then, gradually, she relaxed into the familiar patterns.

  The Maiden watched her closely, her eyes on the lithe body, the leaping feet, the flowing white mane. Oh, yes, the magic was there in that slender frame. How could Larissa not feel it? the Maiden wondered to herself. The girl practically radiated it. Larissa leaped, tossed her hair, and, sweating, executed a final arch and tumble.

  She looked up for the Maiden’s reaction. The pale green face was impassive.

  “You have much to unlearn,” the plant-woman told her. “You are stilted, practiced, predictable. You must learn to forget the steps, concentrate only on the rhythms.”

  “But there’s no music,” replied Larissa, catching her breath. She was a little vexed that the Maiden seemed so unimpressed.

  “Ah, but there is. I will have the quickwoods play for you while you are learning. After that, you must search your soul for the rhythm that grants the power you seek. Here, watch me. I have not your gift for the dance, but I have learned enough of it to teach you.” She rose gracefully, lifting a slender hand to indicate that Larissa should have a seat. “Quickwood-With-Burn-Scars,” she said to a nearby tree, bowing, “play for me, that I may teach the whitemane.”

  The huge tree, who did indeed bear the scars of a terrible fire, rustled obligingly. Two massive roots emerged from the soil and began to pound on the trunk.

  It was a deep sound. Something buried just as deeply in Larissa’s soul leaped to respond. Her breath came in short gasps as she watched the slim figure of the Maiden perform.

  The Maiden began to sway back and forth, her green eyes closed to better her concentration. Her hips began to move, fluid as poured water, and her hands rose up like waves. The tendrils that were fingers waved, as though she were trying to force raindrops from them. The rhythm had the ocean’s lull, the river’s laugh, and Larissa wanted to rise and dance with the Maiden more than anything.

  “Earth,” cried the Maiden abruptly. The quickwood obliged, the pounding becoming more muffled and, if possible, even deeper. It was like a heartbeat, the heartbeat of the earth. The dancer’s movements changed, became more deliberate, less fluid. She dropped to her knees, then lay on her back, filtering handfuls of earth through her fingers. Again, Larissa longed to join her, but remained seated. She had not been invited. Not yet.

  “Air!” demanded the Maiden. Again the rhythm changed, became light, soaring, like a bird on the wing. For the first time since Larissa had known her, the Maiden’s feet tore free of the earth, and the sylvan creature leaped lightly about. Her long, mossy hair caught the wind and floated in it. The slim frame seemed airborne itself. Larissa gasped aloud with the sheer, effortless beauty of it all.

  “Fire!”

  This, Larissa sensed, was the most difficult and dangerous of the elements to call upon. She tensed without quite knowing why. The drumming became sharp, piercing, louder, and the Maiden’s movements were like flame and lightning, all power and energy and sudden, sharp movements. Larissa closed her eyes.

  Abruptly all was silent. Larissa opened her eyes to see the Maiden standing before her. The young woman rose, shaking badly. All her life, she had unwittingly been striving for what she had just witnessed. Every leap she had ever made seemed earthbound to her now, every move graceless and empty. She could not bear her own ignorance of the Maiden’s dance.

  “I must know,” she said in a quavering voice. “I must know how to dance like you. Teach me.”

  THIRTEEN

  “First of all, you cannot dance in that,” the Maiden stated flatly, indicating Larissa’s dress.

  The dancer glanced down at herself. Her clothing was typical of the garb she wore aboard the boat: full skirts, a bodice that laced up the front, and a chemise underneath.

  “What’s wrong with it, apart from it being filthy?”

  “It binds you too much. You cannot wear anything that restricts movement.”

  To Larissa’s annoyance, the Maiden made the dancer remove her clothes and tear them into pieces for new garments. Larissa bound her breasts with a halter made of the skirt’s material and fashioned a skirt of the lighter-weight chemise. She fastened the skirt about her slender waist and glanced at the Maiden for approval.

  “No,” the Maiden chided. She tugged the skirt from Larissa’s waist and retied it so that it hugged her hips.

  “The only time I’ve ever worn this little is when I was bathing,” Larissa muttered, though she accepted the strange costume.

  “There is a reason for this. Each part of your body corresponds with an element,” the Maiden explained. “Your hair is air. How you toss your head, play with your hair—that is all for air magic. You can command the wind, conjure beings from the element of air, work with the weather.”

  “All with this?” she grinned, running her fingers through her still-grimy hair. The Maiden, however, remained serious as she nodded.

  “Arms are for fire,” she said, making fluttery, flamelike motions with her tendriled fingers and slim green arms. Larissa imitated her. “Fire, fire elementals, electricity, light, and heat come from their movements.

  “Water,” she said, swaying her hips, “is from your center.” She began to undulate her stomach, causing it to roll. “This is why your middle must be free to move. Here in the swamp, it is vital that you know how to command water. And earth,” she said, pulling her rooted feet from the soil and leaping, “is the feet, where you make contact with the mother of us all. Now, it is time for your first lesson
.”

  Larissa’s heart began to beat faster with anticipation.

  “Lie down on the ground.”

  “What?” Larissa was stunned and disappointed.

  The Maiden laughed at her impatience. “The dancing comes last,” she told the young woman. “A wizard does not begin to work his magic until he knows the danger he faces and how best to attack it. Nor does he cast a spell without gathering the proper ingredients.”

  “But this is dancing, not spell casting,” Larissa protested. The Maiden touched her cheek softly.

  “How much you have to learn, child. First, you must learn to root yourself.” At Larissa’s baffled look, the Maiden explained. “Your strength comes from where your feet touch, be it soil, or water, or the wood of a boat. I will take you on your first trip. Lie down and close your eyes.”

  Larissa did as the Maiden requested. The soil was damp, but not muddy, and when Larissa permitted herself to relax she found it quite comfortable.

  And then she began to sink into the ground.

  With a cry, she bolted upright, but the Maiden shook her head. “Trust me,” she urged in her leaf-soft voice, gently pressing Larissa back down to the soil again.

  This time, it took longer for Larissa to relax. As she did so, she realized that she was not literally sinking into the loam. Only her mind was making the journey. Trust me, came the Maiden’s cool voice in her mind. Trust yourself.

  She was deep in the cool, fragrant soil now. Larissa felt the impalpable heartbeat of the earth, steady and perpetual. Unconsciously her hands dug into the brown soil, as if to bring her body to where her mind was. There was not even the slightest breath of fear. Who could be afraid of earth?

  Feel the life, Larissa. Feel it, grasp it, use its power for your own shaping.

  That was the force, the energy. Life. Growth. Yes … Larissa could feel it now. She could hear the plants growing, their roots reaching for sustenance from the rich soil. She reached out with her mind and brushed against that force, finding that it welcomed her tentative probing. Then she directed her efforts to gently bending the energy.

  “Larissa,” came the Maiden’s soft voice.

  The dancer opened her eyes. Her body felt heavy, and for a moment it was extremely difficult to move. With a deliberate effort, she sat up, stretching.

  “Look by your right hand,” the Maiden continued, pleasure burning in her green eyes. Larissa did so. There was a tiny patch of violets in the otherwise bare earth. “They were not there when you lay down.”

  A tremulous joy spread across Larissa’s face, and she gently touched the tiny plants with a forefinger. “I made them?”

  “No,” the Maiden corrected her. “I cannot teach you how to conjure something out of nothing. The seeds were there, but not taking root. You did not create the violets, merely found their potential for growth and hastened it along. You worked with the force of life, not against it. Rise, my child.”

  Larissa got to her feet and waited expectantly.

  “Remember the feeling of finding and directing the energy, and remember which part of your body corresponds with earth. Now, child, you may dance.”

  Tentatively at first, Larissa began to move her bare feet in a circle around the tiny flowers. Her toes traced patterns in the moist earth, then Larissa trod heavily, deeply planting footprints in the soil. She felt the power tingle up her legs and closed her eyes to concentrate better. The rest of her body began to move, swaying gently, and she danced to the rhythm of the earth’s heartbeat, faster and faster, taking control, demanding response.…

  She halted abruptly when she realized there was plant life under her feet instead of bare earth. Larissa opened her eyes to find the entire area now covered with rich purple violets. The fragrance from the bruised flowers wafted up to her nostrils, and she glanced at the Maiden happily.

  “Your gift is great, but you must learn to control it and use it wisely.”

  A sobering thought struck Larissa, damping her enthusiasm. “Maiden … how can this—” she gestured to the violets “—help defeat Dumont and Lond?”

  The Maiden looked at her, disappointed. “You do not yet see the potential. Ah, well, that will come. In the meantime, do you wish to bathe and refresh yourself?”

  “Is the lesson over?” Larissa cried, fearful that her rash question had abruptly halted her tutoring. “Maiden, they’re looking for me right now, and the boat could leave the boundaries of—”

  “What they seek, they will not find. This is a safe place. As for the boat leaving, well, there is another in the swamp who might have something to say about that. Your lesson is far from over. Every moment you are with me, you will be learning, though you might not recognize it as such.” She smiled a little to herself.

  “There is a spring at the far end of this island. I will show you how to get there. Do you remember when I took you to the scrying pool, and I said you would learn to travel that way by yourself?”

  Larissa nodded, a bit uncomfortable. There had been something frightening about being closed up inside the tree, even if it had lasted only a few seconds.

  “Find a tree that you feel comfortable with, and let me know which one.”

  The dancer rolled her eyes. Find a tree she felt comfortable with? What kind of nonsense—

  “Whitemane!” cried the Maiden angrily, her voice no longer the murmur of leaves but the sharp crack of a breaking bough. Larissa’s head whipped around, fearful at the banked fury in the Maiden’s voice.

  “Nothing I say is idle prattle. Nothing I instruct you to do is for simple amusement. You risk much in asking to learn the dance magic, but I risk more in teaching it to you!”

  Larissa blushed with shame, unable to meet the blazing green eyes of the plant-woman. “I’m sorry, Maiden. I meant no disrespect.”

  The Maiden softened somewhat. “I know, child. And your heart is full of care for those you love. But you must learn patience and discipline. Come then, Whitemane, and I will teach you how to walk through trees.”

  Larissa looked at the trees that formed a circle about the clearing. At last she paused before a thick-trunked cypress. The breeze stirred the airmoss entangled in its branches, and it looked almost as if the tree was nodding in greeting.

  “Introduce yourself,” the Maiden instructed. “Root, and let the tree know who you are.”

  Larissa did so, closing her eyes and letting her toes sink into the soil at the tree’s roots.

  Welcome, Whitemane. You may travel through me.

  The young dancer’s eyes flew open. “It talked to me!” she gasped.

  “Of course it did.”

  “But it’s not a quickwood, or—”

  “No,” the Maiden agreed smoothly, “it is merely an ordinary cypress tree. All things in nature speak to one who has ears for their words. Now, walk through it.”

  Larissa took a deep breath and stepped up to the cypress, her arms outstretched. They touched rough bark. “I can’t.”

  “Because you do not trust the tree to open for you. That is an insult, Larissa. It has already told you it would. Leap into the tree. Dance into it. Think of it as a partner who catches you.”

  Larissa looked at the tree. If the Maiden was right, she would come through in another part of the island. If she was wrong, well, Larissa was prepared for a few bruises.

  “Be my doorway,” she whispered to the tree. She backed away, took a few running steps and leaped, arms spread gracefully behind her and her white hair flying.

  She landed securely beside a cascade that fed a deep, clear pool. The Maiden was already there, watching Larissa’s look of joyous incredulity. “A little trust, in yourself and what—or who—you work with,” she said gently.

  The pool looked indescribably beautiful to Larissa, who was very conscious of the mud and sweat caked on her lithe body. As she bathed, she also washed her clothes and spread them on a large rock to dry. The Maiden moved to the edge of the pool and inserted her root-feet in the water, drinking whil
e her student enjoyed her bath. Larissa gave a happy sigh and lay back, floating in the cool liquid.

  “Who’s she?” came a female voice.

  Larissa started, splashing. A pretty young woman about her own age sat on the bank, peering at her curiously. The girl’s shiny brown hair was long and thick, and fell around her like a cloak. She was clad only in a blue gossamer gown. Her lively brown eyes sparkled, and her arms hugged her knees as she rocked back and forth.

  “You are very rude, Deniri,” the Maiden reprimanded. “This is Larissa Snowmane, and she is my student. Larissa, this is Deniri, a friend—when she behaves.”

  Deniri tossed her rich brown locks and laughed merrily. A sharp, feral smile was on her face.

  “I heard a whitemane had returned to the swamp. Hello, Larissa.”

  “Hello,” Larissa managed, feeling a bit self-conscious. But the curious girl was no longer paying attention to the dancer. She stared intently at the pool a few feet away from Larissa, uncurling her body slowly and gracefully. Deniri crept toward the bank, then shot her hand into the water with astonishing speed. She bared her teeth in a victorious grin as she gazed at the struggling frog in her hand. Then, to Larissa’s horror, she bit it in two.

  As she ate, Deniri noticed Larissa’s shocked expression. She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m hungry,” she explained, taking another bite.

  Larissa turned away in revulsion. “Deniri is not human,” the Maiden explained. “Deniri, show Larissa your other appearance.”

  “I’m not done,” she protested.

  “She will be less frightened of you if she understands,” the Maiden continued, ignoring Deniri’s statement.

  Deniri took another mouthful of frog, tossed to the ground what remained, and slipped into the water. With a transformation that was too fast for Larissa to follow, the young woman became a giant mink. She surfaced, crawled onto the bank, and returned to her meal, holding it down with one paw.

  “Deniri is a minx—a creature who can take on the form of either a woman or a mink. Her mate is someone who might be able to help us, when the time comes,” said the Maiden. “Deniri, will you tell Kaedrin to come to the island? I wish to see him, if he has no objection.”