Wild Magic

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The Honey Dancers circled around the Honeychild in the kariams of the Biasharim; the spiraling towers caught the hum, played it back to them, immensely amplified. The Biashar women came out and danced with them, mothers with babies in their arms, children came, boys and girls alike, danced with their mothers, danced with the Honeygiris. The HUM grew louder and louder, rose in a solid column from the kariam.

They turned into the Inner Ring Road, went round the city, dancing, calling, more and more women coming, more and more children coming, dancing in the Ring Road, Abeyhamal forming out of the sunset before them, forming out of the HUM, her fimbo lifted into the sky, the ivory point glowing with yellow fire.

Silver bees swarmed about the Honeychild, zipping round and round in horizontal figure eights, trapped within the aura of the Honey Mother.

Round the city until they reached the first kariam, down the kariam to the Sok Circle…

As the Cheoshim came with the Fundarim for flogging.

Abeyhamal shouted a soundless WORD that shook the air. From her translucent shape small lightnings jagged out, striking with hot zizzles and a thread of smoke.

Gasping with fear and annoyance, the merchants and their customers fled for whatever cover they could find.

The Wildings rose in a roaring spiral and fell among the Cheoshim like rain, but rain with a sting in every drop.

Batting at the air, cursing, the Cheoshim fled.

The little Fundarim crawled away; no one paid any attention to him.

Caught in the maelstrom of the ecstatic trance, the women danced round and round the Circle, trampling everything that lay before them, round and round until the sun was fully down and night was on them.

Exhausted and hoarse, Faan came to herself in the middle of a crowd of unsure, rather frightened women. “K’lann,” she muttered, looked round uncertainly, pinching up a small smile when she saw a friendly face. “Ma’teesee, you here?”

“Choo-ee, Fa. That was some stomp.” She giggled, wrinkled her nose. “We better get out of here.”

“Where’s Dossy?”

“Don’t think you got her this time.”

Ailiki chittered impatiently by Faan’s bare feet. The mahsar reached up, scratched at her ankle. “G-g-g-g,” she chittered.

“Lilci says its time to vacate.” She held out her arms, cuddled the mahsar as the beast leapt into them. “Let’s get out of here, Teesee. This place stinks.”