The Abulon Dance

by Caro Soles

  Cham nodded, but when he got up and reached for the rope, he stumbled and fell. Triani scooped him up in his arms and lifted him in the air. “Try again,” he whispered.

  “I can’t,” sobbed Cham. “Do something, Triani! Someone’s going to come! I know it!”

  “Oh, shit! Climb on my back. Put your arms around my neck. That’s it.” Triani eased the fingers that threatened to cut of his breathing and took hold of the rope.

  He hadn’t considered how he would get Cham out of here, assuming he could climb on his own. Now, Triani felt panic and fear, which he tried desperately to block so Cham wouldn’t pick it up. He was very strong, his muscles honed by years of punishing dance exercises, but apart from lifting his partner, he was not accustomed to carrying another person’s weight, certainly not this far, and although Cham might be small, he was solid. And Triani was very tired.

  Cham had a death grip on his neck. His body was convulsed with suppressed sobs. “Can’t you do it?” he whispered.

  “Of course I can do it!” hissed Triani. With a great spurt of energy, he hoisted himself and his passenger about half way up the rope and paused. His hands, slick with sweat, began to slip. Desperately he grasped the rope with his knees and ankles and regained the lost inches, only to slip again—further this time. He felt Cham’s hot tears on his neck. The kid was barely breathing. Triani gritted his teeth. He felt his muscles burn and pull as he desperately struggled to get further up the swaying rope. The constant motion made him dizzy and he had to pause again. A fatal pause. His hands slipped.

  “No!” Triani tensed his thigh muscles and pushed upwards. The rope began to move!

  At this point Triani didn’t care who was on the other end, just so long as he got Cham out of the darkness of this inferno! When his hands hit the metal of the vent, he pulled himself and Cham up and into its curving tube and lay flat on his stomach, still clutching the rope with his knees. The line pulled them steadily into the light.

  Luan’s strong arms hauled them into the fresh air.

  “You are all right?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Ask me again when we get back.”

  Luan handed Cham into the waiting arms of Marselind, and Triani was lifted down after him.

  “Now what, sweetie? How do we get the hell out of here? I don’t see any beasts around.”

  “We will go by S.D.T.” Marselind was rolling up the rope and fastening it neatly with a clip.

  “Translation?”

  “Short Distance Transit-car. They’re illegal now, but I have pieced one together from scraps, with the help of the Kolaris who understand such things. Come. It is hidden nearby.”

  “Won’t someone else think of this?” Triani asked. “I mean, they know about your creation, right? So they’d want to destroy it.”

  “They know about its existence, yes. Few people know where it is. Come. It’s on the other side of the gorge.”

  Several of the men rigged up a sort of litter for Cham and Eulio, leaving the exhausted Triani to stumble along on his own.

  When they finally reached a rocky hollow, strewn with great boulders, and Marselind uncovered the car, Triani gasped. He had never seen such an unsafe-looking vehicle in his life. It looked as if it had been cobbled together from parts left over from something else entirely.

  “And you expect that thing to get us all out of here?”

  “It should work,” said Marselind calmly.

  “Why? It looks like an antique desert glider after a major collision.”

  “I don’t want to hear this,” said Eulio.

  “Neither do I,” agreed Marselind, “so unless anyone has any other ideas, I suggest you all climb in—Merculians first.” The dancers huddled together, secured in place by a wide harness, made out of the rope Triani had used. Cham clung to him, his eyes tightly shut. Eulio couldn’t see anything anyway, so Triani was the only one who took in the frightening details of the ramshackle craft’s peculiar construction. He wondered if it would stay together, once it got airborne, if indeed it could get airborne. And how did Marselind know how to pilot the thing, since private vehicles were prohibited? He decided not to ask any questions. Marselind seemed to be full of surprises. And Xenobar, his Kolari Captain, seemed right at home in the thing.

  “Don’t worry,” Xenobar said to Triani, just before take-off. “We Kolaris have this knowledge in our genes.”

  With that, the craft roared into the air and dipped sideways, narrowly missing the top of the cliff. Triani closed his eyes and tried to remember how to pray.

  It was, without a doubt, the worst air tip he had ever experienced. He was relieved when the thing clanked back to the ground with an ominous rattle that sounded as if it had lost a few important bits of its anatomy. It was hard to understand why the Abulonians and Kolaris seemed so pleased with themselves. Their arrival was heralded with much back-slapping and growls of approval by the men and women who swarmed out to greet them. Triani bit back the acid comments and concentrated on getting Cham and Eulio out of the cursed thing.

  They were escorted to a clearing in the forest, where more men and women milled around. They looked as if they were used to a rough life but they were friendly and very curious about the Merculians. Several of the women brought some hard round biscuits and soup for them to eat.

  “This stuff is inedible,” muttered Eulio, dropping a biscuit discreetly behind the rock he was sitting on. “When will we get out of here?”

  “We will take a short rest, then travel down the river to the city,” one of the women informed him. She reached down, retrieved the discarded biscuit and put it back in her bag.

  “That sounds more like it,” Triani declared. After all, anyone can navigate a boat, he thought, dipping his biscuit in the warm liquid to soften it for Cham.

  But the tension and anxiety was all too much for the young dancer. Cham fell forward in exhaustion, into Triani’s arms. Eulio, too, was drained. His eyes were closing, even as he tried to get comfortable amongst the rocks and stumps where they sat. In a few moments, only Triani remained awake, one arm around Cham, as he watched the soldiers milling about Marselind and Luan. The scene was like some weird dream to him, the smoke from the cooking fires, the blackened earth, the giant trees reaching up towards the lavender sky and the murmur of alien voices just outside the range of his sub-trans, so he couldn’t hear any words. All that came to him was a deep murmur, as if the ocean were rolling in around him. His head nodded lower…lower….

  Luan felt increasingly confused by the attitude of the soldiers around him. It was unsettling enough being questioned by people he had always regarded as things, without this further insult to his honor. The questions rattled around him like gunfire. “Why are you here?” “Will you do anything for us?” “What is your motivation?” “Is this just an adventure to you? A way to prove your manhood?”

  “Stop!” Marselind raised his hand imperiously. “This is Luan, Am Quar, and he deserves the courtesy of a chance to answer your questions, in his own way. That I vouch for him should be enough.”

  “I stand with Marselind on this,” Xenobar said, taking his place beside his leader.

  “Well I want more proof! I don’t know this Marselind well enough to take his word on a matter this important!”

  “How dare you question one of your leaders!” cried another voice.

  “This whole movement is about questioning authority!” shouted a third man. “That’s the whole point!”

  “Wait!” Luan jumped up on a boulder that thrust out into the crude clearing. “I do not need anyone to speak for me. Listen, and I will tell you why I am here and what I dream.”

  The group fell silent, shifting back so they could stand in a semi-circle around the rock where he stood.

  Luan took a deep breath and raised his head to look into the distance where the sun slanted through the trees like spears of light. “You have a right to question my being here,” he began. “It is only recently that I have glimpsed the drea
m about the mountains. I do not have the right to claim this dream, but I can tell you what I feel. I am a youth, and I have the strength and vision of youth. I was born into power, and I have drunk deep of that heady water. I am the dream-son of Quetzelan, and he saw my vision of the mountains, although it was very unclear.” At this, a murmur swept through the crowd. Luan pushed on, not wanting to lose the thread. “I am not a Hunter, but I understand the code of honor. I am not a traitor, but I understand your position. I am here because I think my father is wrong not to try to talk to Yonan. There is a way to work things out between us!” At this, his words were drowned out by a growing rumble of approval. Luan felt a great wave of energy pulse through him. He touched the amulet at this throat and reached for the words he felt in his heart. Somehow they arranged themselves in order. He talked about an end to fighting, to innocent lives being lost for something which could be worked out. He talked about the shock he felt when he found out about the Kolaris. He talked about the long road ahead, because his father would not come around easily. He admitted he had no easy answers to the questions he sensed hanging in the air around him. The only thing he could promise, when and if he had the power, was an amnesty for the rebel soldiers. This, too, would take long and careful planning. “But it can be done! I see a land where Kolaris and Abulonians can live together as equals! I see a land where there is no fear! I see a land where we will be accepted into the I.P.A., where we will learn again the technology secrets lost when the Kolaris were enslaved. That is my dream! That is what I will strive for, should I be elected as Chief. I assure you, I am not a traitor—to any one!”

  At this a cheer went up.

  Luan looked down at the sweaty cheering faces and felt a power surge through him that he had never felt before. Perhaps Quetzelan was right. He looked around, and for a moment, he thought he saw the Dream Weaver standing far back in the crowd, leaning on his staff. As he looked closer, several people jostled in front of the figure, and he lost him. Luan shook his head and jumped down from the rock.

  Marselind was beaming, but all he said was, “Time to go.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “What? What?” Triani blinked up at Marselind sleepily. It seemed only seconds since he had drifted off, though it was closer to an hour.

  “The boat is ready,” Marselind said.

  “Boat?” Eulio sat up and felt around for his pouch. “If I’m expected to get into a boat, I’m not doing it without help.” He held out the pouch to Triani. “The pink capsules,” he said. “Pass them around. Two each, considering the circumstances.”

  Triani did so, and without further comment, they all climbed into the waiting boat. Luan lashed them to the side and covered them with a waterproof blanket. In spite of this precaution, they were soon soaked to the skin.

  Ever afterwards, the wild ride down the raging alien river was nothing but a nightmare of fear to Triani, interspersed with disjointed glimpses of lavender sky and frothing water; the sickening sensation of plunging into nothingness followed by the jarring splinter of wood against the rocks. The ramshackle air car had been bad but this was far worse. It was so immediate! Triani was more aware of the treacherous water than the other two, who were semiconscious from the pills. Triani didn’t want that, so he had taken only one. He wanted to know. Even if he was going to die, he wanted to know. Rigid with strain, he clung to the side of the boat and watched unblinking as the alien countryside swept by in a kaleidoscope of swirling shapes and colors. The deep-voiced shouts of the Kolari oarsmen beat an uneven rhythm in his head.

  Luan’s long, black hair was plastered to his skull as a wall of water broke over them. He was laughing. At the camp, something seemed to have happened to the boy. Triani dimly remembered some speech, but he had dozed off without taking in anything else. Now he realized that while he had slept, Luan had become a leader.

  Triani couldn’t hold out against the synthetic languor of the single pill he had swallowed, in spite of his firm intentions, and at last he slipped sideways against Eulio, one arm flung out protectively across Cham’s limp body.

  When he came to, the stillness beat against his ears. After the maelstrom of the river, the quiet of the sluggish backwater was unnerving. The light was fading, casting green shadows on the water and the high walls on either side. As he sat up, Luan put a finger to his lips. “They are taking us to a safe house,” Luan whispered, as the boat bumped softly against the wall of a stone building, covered with moss. A door opened in the wall and strong arms lifted the groggy Merculians inside.

  “Not more dark passageways,” moaned Triani.

  “The last one,” said Xenobar. “Let one of the men carry the little one.” A soldier reached down to lift Cham in his arms, but the young Merculian pounded him with his fists and fastened his teeth into one hand. Hastily the man set him down again.

  Cham backed up against the wall. “Don’t touch me!” he cried hoarsely.

  “It’s okay, lover,” Triani soothed. “You can walk if you want to.”

  They went up a dim flight of stairs and along a narrow hall. Then Xenobar, who seemed completely at home here, opened a door into light. Thankfully they stumbled through.

  “Xunanda,” said Xenobar in greeting. “I bring strange news from the mountains.”

  “All is not well?” she asked.

  “Yonan, our leader, is dead. Norh has taken command. Those of us who do not trust him are camped by the river, ready to follow myself and Marselind.”

  “Eulio!” Beny flew across the room and flung his arms around the exhausted Eulio. Numbly, Eulio returned the embrace. After a moment, Beny drew away and looked at him closely. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  “I can’t see.”

  “I’ll fill you in later,” said Triani.

  “I can fill him in myself,” snapped Eulio irritably. “But not now. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  “We mustn’t stay here too long.” Beny looked up at Xunanda inquiringly.

  “A few hours should be all right.” She nodded to a Kolari girl who was in the room, and she led the two away. “No doubt you, too, are tired,” Xunanda said to Triani. “We are pushed for space here but if you don’t mind sharing a room with some others….”

  “Any old corner will do. Just lead the way.”

  But Cham was not so amenable. “No,” he said. His arms were around himself as if he was trying to keep warm. “I’d rather not be with anyone else, please.” His eyes moved about the room so crowded with the tall, broad-shouldered men who seemed to fill him with dread.

  “Take my room,” she said at once. “It is the least I can do.” As she turned to lead the way, Triani expected Cham to object, but he said nothing. When Xunanda returned, she sat down at the table with the others and told them what had happened during the Festival of Dreams.

  “Who is responsible for this outrage?” demanded Luan at once, springing to his feet. “Who killed my father?”

  “We don’t know yet,” she said. “Obviously it couldn’t have been Yonan. And surely Norh couldn’t have had time to set it up.”

  “Norh blew up the reservoir, though,” announced a Kolari woman who was making some sort of a list. “We just found that out yesterday.”

  “I must go to the palace,” said Luan. “I must leave my token with my father’s body!”

  “Listen,” Xunanda said earnestly. “The First Minister has been broadcasting messages all afternoon announcing that you are a traitor, that you left the city with your rebel lover to join Yonan’s camp.”

  “Tquan can’t be saying this! Someone who is against me is doing this and using his name!”

  “No. It is Tquan. His voice, his image.”

  “But that is only a half-truth!” exclaimed the boy.

  “Welcome to the world of politics.”

  “But that’s nonsense! I must talk to the man. I have to explain how it really was. Then he’ll understand.”

  “Luan, it isn’t safe,” objected Marselind. “You are a th
reat to him now, don’t you see? He has everything to gain by your disappearance.”

  “How dare you! If it wasn’t for you, I would have been here for the Festival, beside my father! Did you engineer things somehow to get me out of the way?”

  Thar-von smoothed back his silver hair and looked around the table. “It seems to me that the First Minister has a lot to gain by the death of your father, Luan.”

  “What you’re saying is impossible!” exclaimed the boy hotly. “He was my father’s trusted friend.”

  “Really? Then why was the Dream Weaver appointed as regent in case you came to office while you were still under age?”

  “How do you know this?”

  “He told the Ambassador.”

  “Where is Quetzelan?” asked Marselind.

  “We don’t know,” answered Xunanda. “He disappeared right after it happened and hasn’t been heard from since.”

  “Your father was an astute man,” Thar-von said to Luan. “Perhaps he didn’t trust the First Minister as much as you think he did.” Luan didn’t answer. The conversation was absurd. He couldn’t believe that his father was dead. The words held no reality. He looked at Marselind, and felt the anger churn again in his stomach. Why had this man taken him outside the city and kept him from being with his father at the Festival of Dreams?

  Luan got up and walked out onto the terrace. Down in the street there were few people for this time of day. Otherwise, everything looked very normal. There were no signs of the desolation he was feeling. He kept saying over and over to himself; I’ll never see my father again. I’ll never be able to tell him that I love him. Just a few short hours ago he had felt sure and proud of his own power. Now he felt like a child. His grand gesture was looking more and more like betrayal.

  “Luan.” Marselind’s soft, intimate voice broke in on his thoughts. “I am very sorry.”