Taliesin

CHAPTER ONE

Listen! in the silence of these sunlit afternoons I hear the cries of the blood-drunk throng rising to heaven like a chorused prayer. I hear my name on the lips of the crowd. “Charis! Charis!” they call, shaking the stadium with the thunder of their demand. “The triple! Do the triple, Charis!”

And I am standing alone in the white sand of the ring, my body oiled and gleaming hard in the bright sun, arms upraised, drawing the adulation of the crowd, feeding on it. The air is sharp. It stings my lungs and nostrils as I breathe.

Pain quickens me. I throb with it, and with excitement. I tremble. Listen to them! They cry for me. For me!

Charis! Charis! Charis!

We are the Gulls and I am captain. We have danced well today; no one has been hurt. Let the crowd roar with delight. We are the Gulls; we are the best. And we have given our best today. Let them scream for more-there will be no more today. Let others dance for their amusement; we have given all aed we are finished.

I nod and the rest come running onto the sand to stand with me. Hands clasped, we raise our arms in the air. The Gulls! We turn slowly. The crowd rises. The noise is deafening.

And now it comes, the shower of gold and silver. I release my dancers to run and gather it, but I do not move. I stand with head high, sweat streaming down my sides, the sun hot on my brown skin. I stand and with the force of iny presence bring forth the rain of treasure: rings and bracelets, chains of gold and braided silver, orichalcum bowls and cups inlaid with pearl. It all comes falling from the stands and we scoop it up. Why not? It is our right.

We are the Gulls! Do you know what that means? We are the best. And I, Charis-I am the best of the best.

The Royal Temple of the Sun in Poseidonis was an immense double triangle, one superimposed on the other, rising in columned terraces, white stone shining in the sunlight, red-gold orichalcum spires gleaming like needles of bright fire against an aqua-blue sky. Magi swept through the cool, shadowed corridors like restless spirits in their white robes or gathered on the terraces to discourse to flocks of docile neophytes.

Charis, dressed in a billowy yellow shift, gold clinking at her slender neck and wrists, moved along the tall columns of the terrace, her tan feet in white leather sandals that slapped the cool stone as she went. She knew there would be a confrontation, expected it, and was ready.

Twice in as many months she had been called before the Belrene, the Mage Overseer of the bull pit. The first two times there had been vague warnings she chose to ignore. This third time there would be no warning.

She reached the arched doorway between two red-lacquered columns and pushed into the Belrene’s rooms, slipping by his two neophyte servants before either could lay a hand on her.

The Belrene, a grave, officious man who bore the marks of the ring in the pale scars on his wrists and forearms, raised his head as she flew into the room. “Ah, Charis,” he said, rising from the table where he sat hunched over a sprawl of drawings. “I did not expect you so soon.”

“I came at once, Belrene. As ever, I am your obedient daughter.” Charis smiled frostily and inclined her head.

The Belrene returned her smile without warmth and dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand. “Of course. Please sit with me here.” He indicated the silk-cushioned window seat.

“I will stand, Belrene. If it is allowed.”

“Allowed? I wonder at you, Charis. Do you think me an enemy?”

“An enemy?” she asked ironically. “Why no, Belrene. Are you?”

“You know that I am not. Or you should know it. I am your friend, Charis. I know that you do not believe it, but I only want what is best for you.”

“Oh, do you!” she snapped. “Then why do you refuse to let me choose the bulls? And why do you keep harassing us with all your silly rules?”

The Belrene shook his head slowly as if he could not Believe what he had just heard. “You see? You do not even know your place anymore.”

“I know my place, Belrene. My place is in the ring with my dancers.”

“Your dancers, Charis?”

“Yes, my dancers.” She stepped toward him, eyes flashing. “Who trains them? I do. Who rubs the soothing balm into their tired flesh and kneads their strained muscles? I do. Who binds their wounds? Who listens to their screams when the terror comes upon them in their sleep? I do.”

“I have no doubt you are a fine leader, Charis”

“A fine leader? I am more than that, Belrene, much more. I am the Gulls and they are me.”

The Belrene bristled and stepped around the table toward her. Charis held her ground. “You take too much for granted, Charis.”

“I take nothing for granted. Ever,” she spat. “Would I have come this far, lasted this long?” She paused. When she spoke again her voice was softer. “Do you know how long it has been?”

“Yes, I do. You have enjoyed a long and illustrious tenure-which is most admirable.”

“It has been seven years since I entered the ring. Think of it! Seven years I have danced! Tell me, Belrene, has anyone ever danced longer?”

The Belrene looked momentarily perplexed. “No,” he answered softly. “No one that I know of.”

“No one.” She stepped closer. “I have been captain four years. How many of die Gulls have been lost since then?”

“Only one or two, I think. You have been very fortunate, I know.”

“None!” Charis shouted. “Not one of my dancers has been lost since I became leader. Who among your captains has a better record?”

“You speak of bull dancing as if it were a game.”

“It is a game. And you know it is-despite what you profess to the people. Yes, and they know it is a game as well. The gold, the silver-do you think they throw their trinkets to the god? They throw them to us! They shower us with it.”

“It is sacrifice. It belongs to the temple.”

“Oh, yes. It belongs to the temple-but you so generously allow us to keep a small portion for ourselves. Why? Because you know who it is that brings them to the ring.”

“They come to see the sacred dance,” sniffed the Belrene.

“They come to see me!” Charis crowed. “Or do you suppose bull dancing itself has suddenly become so popular among our countrymen? Are other pits as well attended?”

“They are,” allowed the Belrene cautiously.

“Oh, they are-they are when the Gulls appear.”

“You think highly of yourself, Charis. Too highly. What if I told you you could never dance again?”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “Never dance again? Who will make this announcement? You? I would love to see it! You, standing there in the center of the ring, explaining that the Gulls will never dance again. They will tear you limb from limb! They will riot in your holy streets!”

“You think you are that powerful?”

“Not me, Belrene. I am only a servant of the god, like yourself.” She stepped toward him with her hands on her hips. “But when I dance, I am a god!”

“You blaspheme!”

“Do I?” She tilted her head, eyes half-closed. “I tell you that my dancing is closer to the god’s heart than your money counting.”

“Do you think I care about the gold?”

“What do you care about then?”

The Belrene paused, glowering at her. “I care that you are profaning the sacred dance. I care that you think you are above the laws of the temple. I care that you cheapen the art with your insatiable vanity.”

“Jealousy has loosened your tongue, Belrene. Do go on.”

“No one can talk to you, Charis. You think all hands are raised against you. You see only what you want to see.”

“I see what is,” she hissed, her body rigid beneath the soft fabric.

“I wonder if you do.” He turned from her and took his seat at the table, sat down slowly, shaking his head. “What am I to do with you, Charis?”

“I do not care what you do with the other teams. But for the Gulls, let me choose the bulls. Suspend your rules and let me deal with my dancers as I see fit.”

“Would that make you happy?”

“Happy? I did not know we were discussing my happiness here.”

“I told you I was your friend.”

“Then give us half of the tribute.”

“Half!”

“Why not? You would not have a tenth of what you have now if not for me.”

The Belrene stared at her, then shrugged. “Half then. What else?”

“Promise never to threaten me again.”

“When have I ever threatened you?”

“When you suggested I might never dance again-what was that? A premonition?”

“If you like.”

“Give me your word,” insisted Charis.

“I will never threaten you. Is that all?”

Charis smiled broadly. “When have I ever asked anything for myself?”

“Very well, I have given you all you have asked. Now I require something in return.”

“What?”

“Little enough.” The Belrene dismissed it with a flick of his hand. “I want you to take a rest.”

“A rest?” asked Charis warily.

“A long rest.”

“How long?”

“Six months at least.”

“Six months!” howled Charis. “You are trying to kill me!”

“I am trying to save you!”

“From what?”

“From yourself! You cannot see that?”

“If I rest, as you say, for six months what do you think will happen the moment I step back into the pit? You were a dancer once. You know what that means.”

“Then maybe it is time you stepped down.”

Charis stared at him as if stricken. “I will never step down,” she whispered. “I may die in the ring one day, but I will never step down.”

The Belrene gazed at her sadly. “I remember the first time you attempted a triple. It had never been done before. No one Believed it could be done-but you, Charis, you did it the first time you tried.”

Charis smiled, remembering. “I could not eat a thing for two days before-and it was so simple.”

“Yes, and now? What? You do a triple almost every dance. It is a commonplace.”

“The people expect it,” Charis replied. “It is what they come to see.”

“Soon they will expect more, and then still more of you. What then, Charis?”

“Then I will give them more,” she said defiantly.

“And then what? How long can you continue?”

“As long as I choose.”

“No, Charis. You cannot. You are not a goddess after ail-though you seem to think yourself one. No, one day soon you will reach too far and you will fall.”

“So be it!”

“Rest, Charis. Better still, leave the ring. Walk away.”

She stared at the man before her. She heard a compassion in his voice she had not heard before, but still resisted. “As you walked away?”

The Belrene did not rise to the taunt. “You are a demi-Mage. A year or two of study and you would be a Mage. You could go back home, back to your people.”

“Is that how you plan to be rid of me?”

The Belrene rose and came to her. “Charis…”He said her name gently. “I have watched you since you came to the temple. Your dance is a rare gift, one that will be treasured forever. But you are no longer that wide-eyed girl, you are a woman now. Certainly you must have other dreams, other desires.”

“Back home, you said. I have no home, Belrene.”

“No home? Your father, as we all know, is King Avallach of Sarras. He must be proud of you, proud of your skill.”

“My father the king has never seen me dance.”

The Belrene nodded silently, then said, “The war, no doubt, prevents him from”

“His stupid war! All anyone talks about is that ridiculous war.” She turned abruptly away. “It is not the war.”

“You are famous throughout the Nine Kingdoms. You would be welcome anywhere-you could choose your home.”

“I already have, Belrene,” she said, smiling sadly. “The temple is my home. The ring is my home.”

“It will be your tomb as well.”

“Is that so bad? I pledged my life to the god many years ago.”

“Your life, yes. Not your death.”

“Life? Death? What does it matter? I am a sacrifice either way.”

The Belrene sighed and turned away. “That is all, Charis. You may go.”

She turned and moved to the door, pulled it open, hesitated, and then turned back. “Thank you, Belrene… I am sorry”

He held up his hands. “You owe me no apologies. Only promise me you will think about what I said.”

Charis ducked her head and hurried from the room, closing the door quickly behind her. Then she started down the corridor, slowly at first but with increasing speed until she was running, careening into a group of startled Mages who clutched at her to slow her as she passed. She fought free of them and rushed on blindly.

Charis came to herself in familiar surroundings: the mirror-clean pool with its lazy fountain. Cool afternoon shadows stretched across the smooth-shaven lawn; the honeyed light hung heavy in the air, and Charis remembered the first time she had come to this garden and had seen it just like this.

She walked slowly along, remembering that distant day when she had come to the garden with her mother. Gradually she became aware of another presence in the garden with her, turned, and saw the High Queen watching her. Oddly Charis did not register shock or surprise, for some part of her had expected this meeting to take place. She approached where the queen sat on her tall, three-legged stool, gazing silently at her, an unhappy expression on her face.

“Well, Charis, it has been a long time,” said Queen Da-nea, her lips curving into a bitter smile. “I knew we would meet again, but I thought it might be sooner.”

“Did you bring me here?” wondered Charis, for it occurred to her that perhaps she had not wandered as idly as she had at first thought.

“Your own steps brought you.” The queen raised her eyes to the clean, sun-blushed sky. “This is my favorite time of day – false twilight.”

“What do you want with me?” Charis asked bluntly.

“Why so suspicious, daughter?” The queen’s eyes flicked back to her. “Is that what you have learned in the ring?”

“So it would seem.”

“Then we must enlarge your education.” The High Queen regarded the sky once more. “I remember…” she said at length, “remember a girl with such curiosity, such intensity of life that it burned in her like a flame. I did not think anything could extinguish it.” The queen raised an eyebrow and glanced at Charis once again. “Was that you?”

Charis was moved by these words. Her hands rose to her throat. “I may have been… once,” she replied, finding it difficult to speak.

“Yes… once.” The queen was silent for a long moment. The sound of the fountain spilling itself into the pool filled the garden. Somewhere a bird poured out a song to the closing day. “I came to find a friend,” she said finally. “I find none here.”

Charis only nodded, hands at her sides.

“Leave it, Charis,” the queen told her.

“I am afraid. It has been so long… and so much has happened. Maybe too much.”

The queen stepped from her stool and gestured toward the path. “Walk with me a little.”

They strolled along the shadowed path and Charis felt the tight knot of her thoughts and emotions slacken as she wished, as she had never wished before, that someone would tell her what to do. “I am so confused,” she sighed.

“You are bound to a past you never wanted and a future that cannot be. Therein lies your confusion.”

“Do you know what I have done?”

“I know you have tried your best to destroy yourself, daughter. You chose the bull pit-you chose death. But the spirit within you would not allow it. Instead you have become the greatest dancer in the history of our race. That should tell you something.”

“I cannot leave them,” Charis said. “They are all I have. I am their leader, their life. If I go, they will all be killed.”

The queen stopped and turned toward Charis. “Set them free, Charis. Free yourself.”

“What will I do?”

“Why, daughter, you will do what you were born to do.” The High Queen smiled, and it suddenly seemed to Charis as if the past had never happened: she was still that young girl, burning to know the secrets of the ages.

“Come to me when you are ready,” the queen said. She turned abruptly and moved off. “It is time you made a decision, Charis…”

The queen disappeared among the deepening shadows and was gone. Charis stood for a while looking after her before realizing she was staring at nothing. An evening breeze sighed through the garden and Charis shivered with the chill. She turned and hurried away.