The Abulon Dance

by Caro Soles

  “Like Luan,” Eulio said.

  “We came here to represent our culture, to show them what belonging to the I.P.A. meant. To me, it means supporting other members. Luan needs our support to get him this last step of the way, so he can take over from his father and complete the work his father started. This young male went out on a limb to help us. Surely we Merculians can go out on a stage and do what we do best—entertain!”

  “What about the danger?” called a voice from the chorus.

  Triani spun around. “Who said that?”

  “He’s right,” Beny said. “There will be danger. But we knew that when we agreed to come here. Implicitly, at any rate. Precautions will be taken. We will have experienced Abulonians and Kolaris to guard us, people who know about such things. Merculians have not had to fight for centuries. The symbol of warfare, our daggers, has become nothing but an ornament to us, a symbolic present to receive on reaching physical maturity. The soldiers will do their job. Let us do ours!”

  It was Eulio who started the clapping, Cham noticed, but the others soon joined in, growing more and more enthusiastic. Cham wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

  “Holy shit,” muttered Triani. “I didn’t know you had this in you, Orosin.”

  “Neither did I,” Beny returned under his breath.

  An hour later, the company went into rehearsal.

  * * *

  Cham was happy. In spite of the armed guards at the stage door. In spite of the tension that crackled like static in the air. A few days ago he wouldn’t have thought it possible that he could feel like this, light and high, full of hope and plans for the future. Triani had brought him back to life, back to the world of the dance that they both loved with such passion. He thought of Triani, as he had seen him so often, backstage in the glare of the rehearsal lights, his body an instrument of fluid beauty under his total control, practicing alone by the hour, searching for perfection. He thought of him arguing for the final performance, not because he cared about Abulon, but because he cared about Cham. “That’s the person I love,” Cham thought. “And that’s what I want to be.”

  Cham sat in the narrow hallway leading to the stage, with his back against the wall, waiting for his call to go on. His stomach was doing odd flip-flops, but other than that, he felt reasonably calm. Beside him, his Kolari bodyguard, Jaxor, played idly with his long hunting knife.

  “I wish you’d put that away,” Cham said. “It makes me nervous.”

  Jaxor slipped the knife into its sheath at once. “Forgive me, master.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that any more.”

  “Oh, yes. I keep forgetting.” He smiled shyly and touched the soft fuzz of brown hair that covered his head. The feel of it was still unfamiliar to him.

  Cham had grown quite fond of his Kolari companion. While he was in the mountains, the Kolaris had been unfailingly kind to him and Cham now thought of them as protectors. Jaxor made him feel safe, especially now, when the tensions in the city threatened to explode into violence even in the theater.

  “I’m going to miss you when I go home,” Cham said.

  “Maybe I go with you,” Jaxor suggested, hesitantly.

  “You don’t have any papers. I explained about that.”

  “Dhakan Biandor is going with his ma—I mean, with the Ambassador.”

  “I know, but that’s a special case. I’m sorry. You have to stay here. Things will be different, now. Better. You’ll see.”

  “The man on the wall said we all have to go to school,” said Jaxor glumly.

  “That was Luan. And he meant just until you learn about things. People like Xenobar will teach you.”

  But although Cham cared about Jaxor and sensed his confusion clearly, he was too excited to concentrate on the young Kolari’s problems. He was finally going to dance a solo! Alone in the spotlight! Part of the famous Merculian National Dance Company, if only for one night. This role was always danced by someone very young, the ‘up-and-coming youngster destined for great things’, as the critics would say. It was a tradition. If only nothing went wrong…. If only he didn’t make any mistakes….

  A buzzer sounded on stage. Cham jumped to his feet. “It’s time, Jaxor! Wish me luck.”

  The young Kolari looked at Cham solemnly. “May you dance always in the sun,” he said.

  The Merculian paused, realizing the significance of the words for a man who had been born into slavery, destined never to see the daylight. “Thank you.” He bowed and raced back to the stage area. Jaxor hesitated, then followed at a distance.

  Cham had never danced on stage with Triani before. Now he was thankful for the long hours of practice they had done together. Without this, he would never have been able to cope with the utter impersonality. This was no longer his tender, teasing, demanding lover. This was a stranger. Triani, the great dancer, who lived only for his art. Cham was shaken. Before, when they had practiced together, Triani had played the part of the teacher. Now they were fellow artists. There was no personal link. He gave perfection and demanded it from others. After an hour and a half, Cham was exhausted, his bright pink top soaked in sweat. Adding to the tension, he couldn’t help being aware of the watchful, alien presence of the guards.

  Dancing with Eulio, he soon discovered, wasn’t much better. He was equally demanding, although not so verbal about it. Even though he couldn’t see, he seemed to be able to tell exactly the height of Cham’s extension or the curve of his back simply by the light touch they always maintained. It was uncanny. Both dancers had quick tempers and lost patience with him often.

  “You’re not this mean with Alesio,” muttered Cham to Triani, trying not to cry.

  “Alesio is a pro, for god’s sake!” exclaimed Triani. Finally, by forgetting who these people were and thinking only of the roles they were dancing, he was able to win their acceptance. Nevon even praised his work.

  At last, shaking with exhaustion, Cham dropped down into the fifth row to watch them work on the duets. The glare of the lights didn’t reach here and there were no armed guards in his line of vision. Nevon had finally banished them to the back regions of the theater, claiming they were too distracting.

  On stage, Triani and Eulio were discussing with Nevon what changes ought to be made, what sections cut in order to keep as much contact as possible between the dancers. There would be no physical set. The entire effect would be achieved by lighting, so Eulio would have one less thing to worry about. Lari was experimenting with the projectors and already the magic was beginning to happen.

  Hearing someone coming down the aisle, Cham turned. He got to his feet as the Ambassador stopped beside him.

  “I can’t believe it,” murmured Beny. “I was afraid for awhile I’d never see this again.” He watched the two elegant, remote, serenely smiling figures weaving gracefully between the blue shadows. “It must take one hell of a lot of concentration for both of them.” Cham nodded, but the Ambassador was already moving down the aisle. He vaulted on stage as the last chords of the music died away. Triani winked at him and moved away from his partner. Left momentarily alone, Eulio’s face lost its serene smile and a look of fear flashed into the staring blue eyes. This changed to surprise and then joy as Beny threw his arms around him and burst into tears.

  “Oh chaleen!” cried Beny. “It’s so good to smell your sweat again!”

  Suddenly, Cham sensed a presence behind him. He gasped, just as a large hand was clamped over his mouth. He felt sweat and fear and hatred. Although it was general, not focused on him, Cham went cold with terror.

  A rough voice whispered in his ear: “Tell the boy traitor that if he appears here on his Name Day, he will be killed.” Then the man was gone.

  It took Cham a moment to find his voice. He screamed.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Closing night! In spite of the threat of danger, there was a magic about the words. Cham had been through so much here, but being part of the final performance on Abulon would
make it all worth while!

  He had come to the theater early with Triani and had gone through a variation of the same long, rigorous warm-up. Now he enjoyed having the junior dressing room to himself for a short while. His table was piled high with cards and flowers, welcoming him back. Like getting a prize for surviving, thought Cham bleakly. Suddenly everyone had been so friendly, so concerned, and always underneath that cold, prying edge of curiosity that had nothing to do with friendship or caring. Except for Quana. She had visited the theater with her parents during rehearsal earlier that afternoon. She had given him what she called ‘a friendship token’, odd violet-colored things shaped like disks. He was unsure whether he was supposed to wear them or eat them, but he appreciated the gesture, especially since she would not be in the audience tonight. Although nothing was said, he suspected her parents thought it would be too dangerous. Now Cham stood in the wings, made up and in costume, listening to the wash of sound well up from the theater. The stage manager showed him where to stand to get a glimpse of the house, rising in long, gentle crescents of deep blue, lit with low hanging, glittering, star-shaped globes. The balcony seemed to float suspended in the center, sweeping off to both sides in a gilded curve. Dark, animated faces turned to talk and laugh to each other in the golden light. But even from his vantage point, Cham could sense more than just the usual eager anticipation. Everyone had come expecting something extraordinary to happen. Luan’s dramatic broadcast had been seen throughout the city. Now there were heavy wagers being made as to whether he would show up for this celebration of his Coming of Age, or whether the opposition of some of the major sub-chiefs would succeed in keeping him underground. The tension was electric. Cham could feel it in his stomach. He heard again that dark gravel voice, threatening to kill Luan, and he closed his eyes, fighting nausea. There wasn’t even standing room tonight, the stage manager informed him with satisfaction. Competition for tickets had been so fierce, fights had broken out earlier in the day and the officers of Concord had had to bring out the riot squad. Imperial Hunters were everywhere, especially around the glittering balcony where the Great Chief always sat, after making his grand entrance through the theater.

  Cham turned as Beny came up to him. “Chamion, I don’t think I can stand this!” He was clasping and unclasping his hands, his sherry-brown eyes anxious with worry. “Eulio fell this afternoon. It left a mark.” He rubbed one hand abstractedly over his right buttock.

  “It’s supposed to be a good sign when the final run-through of a show is a little rough,” Cham said in an effort to reassure him. He had never seen the Ambassador like this and it made him even more nervous. He was relieved when Thar-von appeared and laid a large steadying hand on Benvolini’s arm.

  “Ben, you cannot stay backstage. You’re the Ambassador. Your place is out front.”

  “But Von! I can’t leave Eulio at a time like this!”

  “This is a difficult night for all of us.”

  “I never should have agreed to this performance,” muttered Beny distractedly. “I thought things would be all right with the First Minister out of the way, but this place is a powder keg. I’ve never seen so many weapons in my life! The whole bloody damn audience is armed to the teeth!”

  “Nevertheless, you promised Luan your support. You told him you would be at his side.”

  “He might not even show up!”

  “That is beside the point.”

  “I’m resigning from the diplomatic corps, Von!”

  “That’s fine, but you’ll have to do it tomorrow, on the way home.”

  “If anyone’s still alive by tomorrow.”

  “Ben, you are being overly dramatic. No one is threatened here but Luan.”

  “And you want me to be beside him!”

  “Metaphorically speaking.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” muttered Beny, but he went with Thar-von, back to the auditorium. They had just reached their seats when a long wail of Abulonian trumpets sounded from the entrance. A hush fell on the theater as a slow, deep-throated drum started up, soon joined by others, weaving rhythmic patterns around the heavy beat. Finally, with a jangle of bells, Quetzelan appeared, carrying a bowl of incense in his outstretched hands. Behind him was Luan, resplendent in a long multi-hued cloak of feathers and a wide band around his head encrusted with large blue stones. He carried his father’s staff of office in one hand and wore the famous cats-eye pendant around his neck. Behind him walked Marselind, his Hunter’s knife sheathed in an intricately carved scabbard, and behind him walked Xenobar, his long wavy brown hair a defiant symbol of his freedom. Slowly, the small procession made its way through the hisses and growls of the audience, to the balcony.

  Once there, Luan turned and faced the rumbling, uncertain crowd. This was the first time he had appeared in public since his father’s death. How did this crowd really feel about him? he asked himself. Where did they stand? Would the presence of a Kolari in his party jeopardize his possible election? He was so nervous his hands were shaking and he lowered the staff out of sight to hide the fact. Marselind reached out and took his hand and together they faced the throng. Luan sought out the sub-chiefs gathered in a row below him. This was where the official opposition would come from. As he expected, quite a few had their standards raised defiantly to show they did not recognize his authority, and more were joining these, an obvious reaction to Xenobar’s presence. He could feel their hostility, coming at him in waves across the crowded space. But a few seemed uncertain, and these were the ones Luan singled out. Deliberately, he held the eye of first one, then the other, trying to force them to his will. He had seen his father use this tactic often. He wondered now if he, too, had ever felt the sick stab of fear in his gut. He could hear the whisper of knives being loosened in their sheaths. Behind him, he heard the word ‘traitor’, breathed on the air. Marselind heard it too and his hand sprang to his knife.

  “No!” hissed Luan. He blinked as a tendril of blue smoke from the incense stung his eyes. And suddenly he knew what to do.

  He held out his right hand over Quetzelan’s brazier. There was a gasp from below, but he did not hesitate as he plunged his hand into the burning coals, grasped one, and withdrew it. He held it over the railing in front of him, letting the heat pulse through his skin, hot, burning, yet with a pain that served only to focus his thoughts. He felt the power and began to speak, hearing the beat of each word a split second after he had uttered it.

  And then he saw the images slowly form in the air. Total silence fell over the audience as he went on speaking, telling of his love for his father, his love for his country and the battle between these two. The figures swayed like smoke over the heads of the spellbound listeners as he told of the power of his dream to carry them forward to a new peace. When he stopped speaking, there was not a standard raised in the house to oppose him. He dropped the coal back into the bowl, bowed to his people and sat down. Only then did he feel the pain, searing like knives through his arm with such force that he almost fainted. At that moment, the house lights dimmed. Nevon’s light voice came over the speaker system. “Ladies, gentlemen and Merculians: For tonight’s special performance in honor of Luan of Abulon, the role of the Moon God will be danced in all the duet scenes by Eulio Chazin Adelantis.” There was applause and even cheering from the audience, most of whom had heard the story of Eulio’s accident. The voice went on; “The Moon God solos will be performed by Alesio Fadra Consadrine. The role of the King of the Night will be danced by Triani and the Moonbeam Child will be performed by Chamion Adino Eseris, who is making his debut with the company.” The applause grew tumultuous as the audience remembered the name and made the connection with the kidnap stories they had heard. “This is really it,” thought Cham on hearing his name and his hands turned cold in sudden fright. “This is it. I’m not dreaming.” He watched Alesio, dramatic in silver and gold costume with sequins on his eyelids, take his place center stage for the opening number, surrounded by the shimmering chorus. He watched the curtain
go up, the lights play over the dancers, creating the illusion of leaves, shadows, mists and water. Time seemed to telescope for him and suddenly he was the one center stage, aware of the tier upon tier of upturned faces yet strangely and completely alone, the only alive thing there besides himself being the music, moving through his body like a current. He spun downstage, sinuous and lithe, smooth and glittering. He seemed so small on the bare stage, yet vivid and pulsing, the very essence of light and life. He felt, rather than saw, the stage lighting shift as the music changed, quickened, taking his heartbeat along with it. He was no longer alone. As he turned and touched the slender outstretched hand of the King of the Night, the audience could feel the contact, the spark tossed back and forth between them.

  Time took another leap and he was with Eulio, aware now of the need to send directional signals to his serenely smiling partner, to think of the whole rather than only the part. The music lifted him forward, an almost physical thing. The lights broke over his glittering body in bars of color. He leapt for the Night and Triani’s arms as the curtain fell with a triumphant crash of trumpets. It took Cham a few seconds to realize that it was over and he advanced to the footlights holding Triani’s hand tightly. He could see Eulio on Triani’s other side, holding Alesio, while waves of applause broke over them. Cham felt stunned, clinging to Triani as if to a lifeline, his smile on automatic. As Triani urged him forward alone for a solo bow, he came to life. He ran to the front of the stage, scooped up an armful of flowers and searched the dimness beyond the footlights for Luan. When he found him, he smiled and blew kisses and held out the flowers to him. People craned around in their seats, trying to see who was being singled out. Several stood up, their eyes fixed on Luan, creating a wavelike ripple of movement as others followed their example. Soon the whole theater was standing, applauding their young chief enthusiastically. In a final gesture of thanks, Cham threw the flowers to one of the Merculians close to the front, who ran off to deliver them to Luan. Cham slipped back beside Triani.