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Chapter 8
The men urged him to sing Adonis but he refused saying that the rebels' cantor must have practiced long and hard. In reality, the presence of so many women turned him tongue tied and shy.
Not that it mattered. After the opera, when the dancing began, women surrounded him. Not the fair Elaine, but other nuns, ladies, even those oddities, the female soldiers, came up and asked him to dance. They carried a kind of aggressive abandon, as if behind his back they dared each other to go up to the monster. If only he could learn a spell to make himself invisible.
He mumbled, " I don't know how to dance."
A soldier, uniform sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular yet female arms, laughed and pulled him onto the floor, her giggling friends following with Jerome and the others. The fiddles started up, the hita joined in the tune.
"Wild bush men," cried the soldier. " None of you knowing how to dance. We'll have to civilize you." Her brown eyes twinkled. "Take our hands as we form a circle. How long since you've been with women?"
Jerome leered at her. "Too long."
The women giggled. Dante's face burned, but no one seemed to notice.
They danced in wheels, in rows, in waltzing partners, a different woman with him each time. The band took a welcome break, the group scattered and Dante found himself momentarily alone, gulping down a mug of water by the refreshment table. Beside it sat a row of older women, the Queen among them, fanning themselves as they gossiped. Beatrice sat beside her mother, back bent over a cross stitch.
"Kicking up your heels, Your Highness," called out one of the women.
"Come visit with us for awhile before you return to the floor," said Constance, her earlier snippiness dissolved in the wine. He sighed and walked over. As Mage, he might need her as an ally.
"Tell us, is it true? That you killed a thunder lizard big as a house," asked the woman who had first called to him.
"Bigger," said Dante, waiting for a sneer. But none came.
"Did you use your magic?"
"The bazooka did the most damage."
"Modest as well as everything else," said the Queen. He wondered if she mocked him. The music started.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked Beatrice, as an escape. She hunched over her work and shook her head. He held out his hand. "You weren't afraid when we fed the little lizard."
"Beatrice." Her mother's voice stabbed.
"It's not that. I, I don't dance," she stammered.
"I forgot," said Dante. "I can't dance either but the women showed me some steps. It's one of those couple dances. If we mess up, we'll only hurt each other's toes. "
He pulled her to her feet, the embroidery caught by a maid servant as it fell from her lap. Beatrice turned her head away, saw her mother's glare and gave in to being half carried to the dance floor.
She stood in front of him, her arms hugging her sides as she stared straight at his chest. Dante realized he had made a big mistake. What had he been thinking? She wasn't some female soldier fulfilling a dare.
"I'm sorry," he said, fixing his eyes on the forest, wishing he could vanish into it. "Go on back and sit down."
"You're so big. There's so much," said Beatrice.
"Huh?" Dante glanced down to see her looking at his stump. He shoved it in his pants pocket.
"No. Don't. Please. Let me see."
He pulled it out. Beatrice traced the invisible outline of his lost hand.
"I see it," said Beatrice. "The magic. Glowing around people. An aura. Different colours. Blue, green, red. Red's lovely. That's your Mom. The Baba, I mean. Black." She shivered. "That's my father. You're silver. All thick, dark and light. Like there's a seraphim or a wraith inside you. You're right. The magic's all one. I can see your hand. Do you?"
Dante shook his head. "I feel it there. If I don't look at it, it's there."
"Oh."
He felt people staring at them. The trinket he had given her still sat in her hair. Dante leaned down and said, "Your dress is long and my feet are big. Stand on them and I'll guide you around. Just for this song. It's only a few minutes then you can sit down. I've pretty well picked up this dance."
"My slippers will scratch your feet, " she said.
"My feet have been scraped by a lot less lovely things than your tiny toes," said Dante.
Beatrice blushed then put her feet on his. Dante placed his arms lightly around her. She raised her hands to his waist and they began a slow spin. A glance down revealed the illusion that they danced together. Beatrice looked up at him with a small smile and he smiled back. They managed two dances then he escorted her back to her seat.
A circle dance, all hands clasped together and closed against him, had begun. Dante slipped away, relieved to return to the familiarity of the jungle. He returned to the camp and told young Tam standing a sullen guard over the sleeping trainer, that he would guard their prisoner, the adolescent should go enjoy himself. Tam left with a whoop and a gallop.
The prisoner stirred in his sleep but didn't wake. Dante's back and shoulders ached. He poked the small fire the boy had made and threw on another log. Bright sparks rose up and Dante nodded respect to its living soul.
Phantom pain burned up the side of his invisible hand, in memory of the flame that took his flesh. Dante sighed, rubbed his stump and distracted himself by listening to the chorus of the jungle and guessing which frog, which lizard or insect made which boom or chirp or screech. He smelt perfume. Franga tree? Seraphim jewels? Star moths swooped up to the fire and away. All the tension drained away.
Once all the slaves were free, everyone respecting the teachings of Gaia, the war finished; he would return to the jungle and become a hermit. Dante sang, softly, so as not to wake the prisoner,
Gold blossoms, silver pods swirl under green boughs.
Of bright painted snakes sunning green mouths.
"Does your back hurt, Holy One?" The prisoner coughed.
"Sometimes," said Dante looking up from the fire. The prone man stared at him, hollow-eyed with pain. Dante moved over and squatted down. "Bag come here." The medicine satchel appeared on the ground. He pulled out a wooden bowl, placed a twisted leaf full of herbs in the bottom and murmured, "Boiling water." Steam rose from within. Dante produced a small stick, tapped it against the leaf breaking it in pieces, releasing the herbs, then whisked the liquid to a froth. He held the bowl out. The man attempted to sit up and failed. Dante put an arm around him and placed the bowl to the prisoner's lips. "It's hot.."The prisoner sipped and made a face. "Drink. Helps the pain. A healer can't take it all away. Only time." The man drank then Dante helped him lie back down and returned to the fire.
"Forgive my presumption, Holiness," said the prisoner. "A back as bad as yours. Nine, ten times with the rod? How did this happen? Twice they gave it to me." The man shuddered. "I, I would do anything .You kept disobeying? "
Dante spoke in a monotone. "One, Wordless resisted Rotten. Two and three, the strange sounding screams of Wordless amused the trainers. Four, the slave trader got angry at the worthless bargain." Dante paused for a moment. "Five and six, Wordless was punished for loving Martha. Madam didn't know what she was doing. Seven. Rotten showed Yevgeny how Wordless would obey."
"They called you Wordless? You wouldn't speak?"
"Couldn't. Dedalus put a net in my head. No speech, no gestures, no magic."
"Dedalus is the good brother."
"He and Baba say they 're very sorry," said Dante. His mouth twisted with a brief sneer.
"I could say I'm sorry. I have, over and over to stop the torture. But being a trainer's my job. I do no more, no less than is necessary. I've never had to give a transpo more than the one correction. Apologies don't change who I am."
"Who are you?"
The prisoner looked bewildered. "You want to know my name? Mick Peters. I was manservant to Richard, Lord of Malhut. Bodyguard and enforcer. After the Mage destroyed the fortress and my lord was . . . They had to drag him to the stake, his body was so broken." Mick sighed. " I was given a choice. Worse slavery as a transpo or twenty years bondage as a trainer. I'm a coward. Dreaded the rod. Not needed when you love serving your master. Seth sends what you fear most. In the end, no point trying to avoid it." He squeezed his eyes shut, but the wet couldn't be hidden. "Excuse my weakness. Don't know why I've told you this. You're not interested in the life of a trainer."
Dante shrugged. "I don't know why I told about my back. Never told anyone that."
"Where are your bodyguards? Your nobles and servants? I would be honored to brush the ground before your feet. Instead you look after me. You shouldn't even touch me. I'm the one lower than the worms who eat the dead. Why are you here all alone? Isn't the celebration in your honor?"
"No. It's Adonis Night." Dante poked the fire. "Hita are nearby. The men are enjoying the dance. It's been a long time for them without women. I find being with humans is," he struggled for the right word. "Difficult."
"They should smooth the way for you. Seven corrections. A lesser man would have gone insane."
Dante touched his hand to the scarred side of his face. "I have my moments. I'm not a saint."
"I don't agree,"whispered the prisoner. He closed his eyes and pulled his blanket up around him.