Fire Dancer

by Catherine Jones Payne

  I shrank back into the trees, my heart pounding. Had they seen us? Would Darick tell Mama—or worse, the council—that I was in the forest with a boy from outside the clan?

  But the quellers continued down the path without acknowledging us.

  When they disappeared from view, I sank down to squat in the mud, my heart hammering. “That was close.”

  Nolan’s face was pale. “Way too close.”

  My hands tingled from the fear that had replaced the blood in my veins. I needed a steady mind for magecraft. Or a steadier one, anyway. Fear made the fire unstable. Unsafe.

  And we couldn’t risk an accident.

  Nolan put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

  I turned to face him. “Aye. Are you?”

  He exhaled a long, deep breath and then muttered, “I think I will be in a minute. Gotta get my heart beating again.”

  “Let’s pick this up again tomorrow,” I said. “I should probably get back soon. There’s a show tonight at the festival grounds.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll be there, cheering you on. And the other girls too. But mostly you.”

  My insides felt warm and mushy, like half-baked bread dough. What was it about this boy that made me take leave of my senses?

  We stood up and embraced, his body warm against mine. “I’ll look for you in the crowd,” I said.

  He kissed the top of my head, and I turned around and wended my way back up the path.

  That really had been too close of a call. I had to figure out a way to get Nolan and his family readmitted to the clan. If I couldn’t, the day would come when I’d have to choose between Nolan and my place among the Fintan.

  And that was a choice I wasn’t prepared to make.

  Chapter Two

  I stood over Breanna’s shoulder as she applied her black eyeliner. She sat in front of her small white vanity, along the canvas wall of the round dressing tent.

  “Excited for the show?” I asked. Outside, the murmur of a burgeoning crowd was just barely discernible over the riotous folk music. In the tent, four or five troupe dancers were still getting ready for the show—me included.

  “Nervous,” she said, setting the pot of eyeliner down and dabbing at the crease in her eyelid. “New dances always make me jittery.”

  I squeezed her arm. “You’ll do great. You never miss a step in practice.”

  “It’s different when you’re in front of a crowd. When the festival depends on you getting it right.”

  “Oh, Breanna. You always do even better in shows than in practice. That’s why you’re the Phoenix.” I wiped away a fleck of eyeliner that had smudged too far from her lash line. “There. Perfect.”

  My sister had a fiercer, more intense beauty than I did. It wasn’t that I hated the way I looked, or even that I envied her. But she stood out in a crowd with her aquiline nose and full lips and piercing blue eyes and cheekbones that needed no rouge or shadow to look perfect. I, on the other hand, had too round a face and smaller features, which were perfectly acceptable but far from striking.

  When we were younger, people had guessed we were sisters by our flaming-red hair and tall, slender builds. But now that Breanna was the Phoenix, her hair was dyed. The brilliant red was still there, but her roots were darkened to the shade of a burnt-out ember, and highlights of every color of the eternal flame—honey-yellow, amber, tiger-orange, garnet—were mixed in with her natural red.

  Now, strangers didn’t recognize us as sisters.

  She picked up her most dramatic set of lash feathers, small black wisps that looked like the longest of eyelashes. “Help me put these on?”

  “Of course.” I took the tiny tube of paste and applied tiny dots of it along her lash line. Then, carefully, I pressed the lash feathers on and brushed away a trace of dried paste left over from our last performance in Parkano.

  “You look beautiful,” I said.

  She laughed. “You always say that.”

  “It’s always true. Is Darick coming tonight?”

  She bit her lip. “Of course he is.”

  Her husband never missed a show. Even when we danced five times in one week. And he always brought her flowers. It made all the other dancers swoon.

  Breanna had done very well for herself, indeed. A caring husband and the coveted role of principal dancer in the troupe. Everything I wanted for myself someday.

  Especially the role of principal dancer.

  If I couldn’t be a mage, I wanted to be the Phoenix with every breath in my body. My ambition craved success. And dancing—dancing as the Phoenix—was the only way for a young woman to set herself apart here in the clan.

  Breanna closed her eyes and leaned over the vanity so that her hair almost touched the mirror. “I’m feeling a little ill,” she murmured.

  I studied her with concern. Breanna was never sick. “You going to be okay?”

  After a moment, she opened her eyes. “Aye. It passed. I think I’ll be alright.”

  “I’m sure Shayla would appreciate the chance to dance for you.”

  She chuckled. “I’m sure she would. But we can’t let her ruin the day, can we?”

  Involuntarily, my eyes traced the mirrored vanities around the room until they rested on Shayla’s, on the far side of the tent. She was sitting on her bench, applying makeup, her ice-blonde hair gleaming in the candlelight. We’d been good friends once.

  Not anymore.

  “Hey,” said Breanna. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just bitter and ambitious and can’t stand to see anyone else happy.”

  I turned back to my sister. “You’ll do great tonight. I should go get ready.” I backed away and walked around the edge of the circular tent, toward my own vanity.

  “Do you need help with your makeup?” Breanna called.

  “I can do it.” I waved her off. “You like to meditate before you dance, and I’m cutting it close on time.”

  Nodding at the other dancers who were still getting ready, I reached my vanity—six seats down from Breanna—and sank onto the bench. I stared at my face in the mirror and reached up to touch my hair. What a mess. First things first. I grabbed my black-toothed comb and ran it through my hair until it gleamed as brightly as Shayla’s.

  Then I turned my attention to the makeup. Smoky eyes. Dramatic black eyeliner, winged at the corners. Darkened eyelashes. Rouge on my cheekbones. Shadow beneath the rouge to give my face the perfect angles. And, for the first act of the show, light brown lipstick. In the second act, I’d be wearing red, but I liked the brown better.

  When I finished, I stared at myself. My show face looked so very different than my makeup-free face. I liked the difference, usually. But I hoped Nolan would be able to recognize me. Sometimes I thought the makeup made all of the dancers look the same.

  I pushed up from my bench and strode to the middle of the room, where our costumes hung from long, thin poles. I found mine, measured to fit me precisely, and ducked behind a curtain to change.

  I shed my loose, gauzy blouse and flowing skirt and pulled on the troupe dancer outfit—tight black pants that reflected the light and a shirt of the same material. The neckline was shaped like a vee, dipping just low enough to hint at cleavage but not enough to actually show it. A strap extended from one side of the neckline to the other, and a crosspiece ran from the middle of the strap, right at my collarbone, down to the bottom of the vee. Thinner straps, three on each side, fanned from the crosspiece to the side of the vee.

  In costume, I felt mysterious and just a little bit dangerous. Bold enough, perhaps, to think that I could take my sister’s place as Phoenix when she retired.

  I tugged at the top so that the material was taut across my body. Then I pushed my way out from behind the curtains and returned to my vanity to run the comb through my hair one more time. Glancing around the tent, I realized that all the other dancers had left. I was the last one here. Cursing under my breath, I put on my black dance shoes, and with a final look at myself
in the mirror, I strode out of the tent and toward the stage in the center of the festival.

  I hated being late.

  The townsfolk had already begun to arrive, admiring the brilliant torches that lit the festival in every color imaginable. Hope welled up in me as I searched the strangers, who sat at the long tables adorned with glass jars full of fireflies. No sign of Nolan. I passed the central bonfire, which rose twenty feet into the sky under Liam’s watchful care. Liam and I slapped hands to wish each other luck.

  Colleen—the most motherly woman in the whole clan—shepherded a small battalion of her grandchildren running wild. She gave me a wave and then returned her attention to the children with an indulgent smile.

  Fireworks exploded in the sky, and phoenixflies flitted from torch to torch. Their fragile wings—just like a butterfly’s—were alight with fire, shedding delicate sparks that winked out before they hit the ground. One of the phoenixflies nearest me struggled to stay aloft, its wings sparking and dimming as it floated nearer and nearer to the earth. Then its flame went out, and it fell.

  I glanced up toward the stage. Almost there. But helping the phoenixfly would only take a moment. I knelt and plucked it from the ground, cradling it in my hand. When a phoenixfly’s wings were extinguished, it couldn’t fly until it was relit. Perhaps this one would find another phoenixfly to relight it, but I hated to abandon it to be crushed by a careless passerby.

  With quick, sure steps, I marched to the nearest torch, which flamed with brilliant purple fire. My breath caught in my lungs as I held the phoenixfly out to the torch so that its wings could catch the blaze. The flame shot up higher. I pulled my hands back just as the phoenixfly’s wings flared to life in shades of amethyst. It took flight, soaring upward in a circle above me and fluttering away toward the great central bonfire.

  I really was late now. I broke into a run toward the stage and took the stairs two at a time as I whisked myself up onto the platform and back behind the curtain.

  I tried to slip into the crowd of troupe dancers before Deirdre saw me, but the gray-haired woman caught my eye and cast me a scowl from where she stood beside the torch. I winced. I’d cut it close. I was the last one here. Not a good look if I hoped to be the next Phoenix.

  When I turned away from Deirdre, I almost ran straight into Shayla.

  She smirked at me. “Ready, cousin?” she asked in a sticky-sweet voice.

  Ire bubbled in my chest. I loathed her.

  I flashed her a brilliant smile. “I have a good feeling about tonight.”

  “Oh, me too. Be careful out there.” She inclined her head, a malicious glint in her eye. “It’d be a pity if anyone tripped in the routine.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Was she . . . openly threatening me? Nay, I decided. Just trying to throw me off so I’d fail onstage, in front of Deirdre and the council and all the festivalgoers. But I didn’t have a pithy comeback ready, so I turned away, fuming.

  The musicians outside struck up a new song—a staccato piece fit for a parade. That was our cue. Our performance would begin with the next song.

  “Places, everyone!” called Deirdre.

  I looked around for Breanna and found her at once. Nodding toward Deirdre, I rolled my eyes, and Breanna clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  Deirdre caught the look, crossed her arms, and glared at each of us in turn.

  I affected an innocent countenance and darted to the right to grab the wand I’d use in the first dance. It had a slim, black stem with a thick wick on each end. I dipped the two ends in the torch, setting the wicks on fire, and strode toward the curtain to take my place in the line of dancers.

  A boom rent the air, the last firework to illuminate the sky until after our performance ended.

  I closed my eyes and counted along with the beat of the music. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

  Chapter Three

  I brought my wand up and held it parallel to my body, striking the opening pose.

  Five, six, seven, eight.

  The curtain opened, and the crowd cheered. But I didn’t pay them any attention. The torchlight on the stage burned so bright that I couldn’t see the audience, and that helped me pretend they weren’t there.

  Except . . . I swallowed. Except that Nolan said he’d be here watching me.

  Would he recognize me amid a dozen other dancers?

  A single violin pierced the air, its voice slow and mournful. My sister stepped forward with graceful, flowing movements, a blazing fan in each hand. She swayed to the music, slowly at first, extending her arms high, pointing her toes, twirling the fans first one way and then the other. The tempo of the music grew faster, and the drums joined in. Breanna’s dancing picked up speed along with the violin until the intricate choreography was lost in the movement of fire.

  We fanned out around her, spiraling our wands around our heads as we whirled in circles. It was dizzying and exhilarating, and I hoped Nolan liked it. He’d seen the fire dancers before, of course. He’d even seen me dance.

  But he’d never seen me perform with the troupe in the great fire festival of the Fintan.

  Breanna disappeared from the stage for a moment, reappearing from behind the curtain with a fiery sword.

  Sparks exploded around us, and the crowd cheered.

  I dashed behind the curtain with the other dancers again, leaving Breanna alone to dance a solo while we handed our wands off to two mages, who gave us flaming swords in return.

  When the next song began, it was up-tempo and in minor key. We leaped into jetés, one by one, mimicking attacks on Breanna with our fiery swords. Every time her sword met one of ours, sparks flew up and over the stage, lighting us in a shower of embers.

  Song by song, the show progressed, telling the story of an ancient warrior who defied all odds to protect the people she loved.

  It was a beautiful story. I wanted to be like that warrior. But most of all, as I watched Breanna’s final solo through the crack in the curtain, I wanted to be just like my sister.

  When the dance ended, we floated out onto the stage one by one and curtsied to the cheering crowd. I came up out of my curtsy and searched the crowd for Nolan, but the lights onstage were still too bright. He’ll find me later. I walked offstage and down the stairs as the next dancer sashayed forward.

  My feet hit the grass, and I caught sight of Liam and two of his friends, Killian and Bard. I didn’t know why he was friends with them. I loathed them both. Maybe his head was addled.

  Liam grinned as I ran up to them. “Great show, Kyla!”

  “Are you waiting for Aislinn?” I asked with a sly smile.

  He shrugged, but his eyes brightened.

  “Shouldn’t you be tending the central bonfire?” I raised my eyebrows. “It’s too big to be left alone.”

  “Just wanted to see her dance,” he grouched. “And say hello after. I’ll go back in a minute.”

  “Liam’s in looooove!” crowed Killian.

  “Shut up,” muttered Liam.

  “Maybe he just came to see the best part of the show.” I flashed a smile at them, daring them to contradict me.

  Bard snorted. “The ornamental part of the show. Dancers are pretty and all, but we all know that the magic is the real attraction.”

  Liam shoved Bard. “Stop that. The dancers are a huge draw. People come from miles around to see them.”

  “And the dancers would be nothing without the power of the mages to make the magic and ensure the fire is safe,” Bard said.

  “You’re just bitter about Ciara,” said Liam.

  Killian quirked his mouth. “You’re very pretty, Kyla. You know that?”

  Bard made an obnoxious kissing noise. “Is Killian in love too?”

  Killian swatted his arm.

  I rolled my eyes and turned to storm away, but I caught a glimpse of Nolan on the outskirts of the crowd. Thoughts of Bard and Killian and their demeaning words faded away.

  “Excuse me.” I pu
shed through the mass of bodies until I came face-to-face with him. Phoenixflies fluttered in my stomach.

  “You were perfect,” Nolan said.

  My heart beat faster. “You saw it?”

  “Every moment.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Could you tell who I was?”

  “Of course I recognized you,” he said. “You were the best dancer there.”

  I laughed and tugged his arm to lead him away from the stage. “Now I know you’re lying. Breanna’s our best dancer, and Shayla might be better than me.”

  “I didn’t notice that,” he said. “I just noticed you.”

  My cheeks were surely bright red. I took his hand. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s look at everything.”

  It was always a risk, walking around the festival with Nolan, but with all the Fintan focused on making the festival grand, no one had ever noticed me walking with an outsider. Or if they noticed, they didn’t say anything. We’d done it on many occasions since we’d first met as children at this very festival.

  But I still kept an eye out for my mama. I didn’t want to explain Nolan to her yet—not until I’d figured out how to get his family readmitted to the clan.

  Mama worried all the time.

  Papa knew that Nolan and I were very good friends—I didn’t keep much from Papa. But he didn’t know about my dream to bring Nolan’s family back in. Some hopes were too fragile to speak aloud.

  Nolan and I cut through the crowd to the edge of the festival, past the smell of roasting meat, past the booths selling trinkets and potions made from ash, and past a storyweaver enrapturing the crowd with the help of fiery strands that flowed from his fingers. Someday, I vowed, I would practice that level of magecraft.

  A vision unfurled in my mind, of Nolan and I taking our mage tests together, of entertaining the festival attendees with magecraft side by side. Then I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts. The council would never let me do magecraft in the festival—but they couldn’t stop me from learning in secret. And I wouldn’t stop. I was too drawn to the magic. The elemental fire serenaded me, begging me to plumb its depths.