The Abulon Dance (13 page)

Beny closed his mouth and tried to mask the surprise he knew must be on his face. He trusted Thar-von implicitly. “My regrets, gentlemen.” He bowed with as much dignity as he could muster and swept out of the room, followed by Thar-von and a confused Triani.

“What the hell was that all about?” sputtered the dancer when they were outside the door.

Thar-von’s strong, capable hands held an elbow of each Merculian and propelled them firmly along the corridor towards the main gate. “Didn’t you see the storm clouds gathering, Ben? An emotional appeal is the last thing to use with that man. He was about to cut you off, to insult you by walking out of the meeting. That would have made things much worse.”

“How could anything possibly be worse?” exclaimed Triani hotly.

“Thanks, Von. I should have seen that coming myself. I remember Tquan himself warned me the first night we were here, never to beg. Now I know what he meant. What the bloody damn can we do next?”

“Regroup and come in for another attack,” said Thar-von stolidly.

TWELVE

The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on the narrow path, wilting the jagged leaves of the large, purple flowers and bringing out a thin sheen of perspiration on Luan’s dark shoulders. He climbed slowly, kicking up the dust with his boots. He was in no hurry to reach the arched opening in the hill above him. The rough blue stones of the necklace were warm against his chest.

He paused and rested one hand on his knee as he looked down over the city ruled by his father and his small circle of advisors. There was no movement visible on the shimmering roof gardens or in the steep, narrow streets. He noted with pleasure the luxuriant, red and yellow striped flowers spilling out of tubs and boxes everywhere, in front of windows, at doorways, even around the perimeter of the shuttle port atop the flattened pyramid in the distance. He had lived in this ancient city all his life, secure in his privileged position with few demands made on him.

Until now. Suddenly, people expected him to act, to make decisions that might alter the whole course of his life. He was not ready. His mind kept turning over and over the humiliation of the noon meeting. He heard again his father’s laughter, saw the pity in the eyes of the First Minister. He needed someone, but he had always been a loner. And so now he climbed the Mountain of Dreams, hoping to talk to Quetzelan, the Dream Weaver, in his retreat far above the city. He had no secrets from the All-Seeing One.

How many times had he climbed this hill, his eyes often blinded by tears? Once he had tried to die on this path by slashing his wrists with a hunter’s knife. For a long time he lay among the dusty clumps of grass, staining the flowers red, until Quetzelan found him. He had wanted to escape the pain of memory, to erase forever the picture of the pale, lifeless body of his only friend, his lover, dead from a hunting accident. Since that day, almost two years ago, Luan had refused to have anything to do with hunting. It was nothing but a stupid game with death. It put man on a level with the animals he killed. It did not prove a thing. But the Hunter code was cherished by his people. Turning away from it marked him as different, even more of an outsider. At times, he felt that his entire world rejected him…except for the Dream Weaver. Quetzelan’s cave went deep into the side of the hill. Luan stopped at the opening and bent down to take off his boots. There was no guarantee that the old man would appear. Sometimes, the main chamber of the cave remained empty. Luan prayed it would not be so today.

In the dim light inside, he could just make out the shallow pool of water in front of him. A torch burned beside it, the steady flame reflected in its quiet surface. Luan walked through the cold water and reached up to pass his hand through the flame, thus cleansing body and soul. He paused a moment to let his mind clear and then continued deeper into the hill. Before him, the cave opened into a dim passage through which he continued, his feet cushioned by the deep white moss. The air got colder as he advanced towards the light. The tunnel at last opened up into a cavernous hall that arched high above his head and became lost in uncertain shadows. The old man sat on a throne-like chair, the arms made of the carved heads of animals. He did not move as Luan came towards him and dropped to one knee in silence.

At last the old man spoke. “What is your dream, Luan, my son?”

“It is the same as ever, All-Seeing One. I wish only to live with one I love in a small dwelling place with a large garden and to create beautiful growing things never seen before. Is that so much?”

“A peacock would find it difficult to live with the pigeons for ever, my son.”

Luan bent his head. “All I want is to live my own life, my own way.”

“You see a new image in your dream, do you not?”

“I see the sun. Again.” Luan paused, then went on, in a rush. “I want to help the Merculians. No one else must die. My father is—wrong about this. But he
is
my father.”

“The image appears unclear?”

“Yes… No! I know what it means, now. I must help. The rebel demands are not that impossible. At a meeting between my father and the Merculians, I offered to go myself and talk to them. My father laughed at me. He thought I was only trying to impress the Merculian Ambassador.”

“And were you?”

Luan raised his head and looked into the old man’s eyes. “I would like to make an impression on him, yes. But that’s not the reason I made the offer.”

“You think it would be possible to talk to these renegades?”

“Yes, I do. They want to talk, Lord. How can anything be accomplished if there is no communication?”

“It is true that dialogue is necessary for understanding.” The old man fell silent. He reached over and dropped a few twigs into a large, brass bowl at his feet. As he scattered a handful of fine powder, a blue flame ignited the contents of the bowl with a hissing noise. A sharp, pungent odor drifted into the cavernous room. The old man leaned forward and placed his large, twisted hands on Luan’s head, the touch firm but gentle.

“You are my dream-son, Luan. You are brave and lithe as a young forest animal. But you are too accepting of other’s views, too quick to think them right and you wrong. You are an intelligent young man, born to be a leader. Soon you must decide the path you will follow. Will it be the one chosen by your father?”

“No! His ways are not mine. I do not wish to become like him nor have I any desire for power over others. And…I do not want to be married. My father is not thinking of me at all in this matter. He only wants grandsons!”

“That is not surprising. You are his only son.” The old man paused. His eyes were fixed on nothing as he stared above Luan’s head into the cloud of fragrant smoke. “May I ask if a wife would seem so out of the question if you had a Life’s Companion by your side, as your Great Grandfather had? A triple marriage is not uncommon among our people. Perhaps it would suit you better. Or perhaps you would prefer a male union, like your uncle Kuandar. You are the only one who can choose your way of life, my son. But it is not wise to live alone.” The old man paused, stroking the long, dark hair thoughtfully. “Your father is a hard man, I know, but he has loved you all your life. There is much affection in his laughter.”

Luan remained silent, his eyes fixed on his heavy, gold ring.

“Your father is one kind of leader. You, Luan, could be another; one who does what he believes is right for him, one who does the things that will work for him, a leader not afraid of new ideas, not a follower of the rules made by others. Not a weakling, but a man to admire! A Dreamer, who has the power to lead!”

The words thrilled through Luan’s mind. He was on both knees, now, the old man’s hands gently pushing him down, his head very near the fragrant smoke. He swayed slightly and put a hand on the wooden rim of the bowl to steady himself. Images were beginning to form in front of his eyes, swimming towards him through the smoke.

“Tell me what you see, Luan.”

The boy sank to the ground, gazing steadily at the incense. Tears ran down his cheeks. “I see the Merculian Ambassador holding my hand and leading me to the rebel stronghold. His hair is on fire like the sun and he looks at me with eyes that care. I will do anything for him! I mean—almost anything. I will transcribe messages and write the letters for them in Abulonian script, but I will not betray my father. I cannot!”

“You are confusing the man and the office.”

“I can’t help it! It’s a separation he does not make himself.” Luan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, like a child. “I see the Merculian Ambassador with his arms full of flowers. He is laughing and happy and he wants to be with me. We find a secret cave together which no one knows about but us.” Luan looked up at the old man, longing in his eyes. “Maybe if I help to get the young dancer back from the rebels, he will let me hold him in my arms. Is this the way?”

“You know the answer to that, my son. Continue.”

Luan turned back to the incense. “Ah! The cave is gone, now, and the rebel camp is in the distance. I hear someone calling my name. A light Merculian voice. Is it the Ambassador?”

“Luan, my dear boy, he is an alien; neither a man nor a woman. Can you picture him living with you in your house with the flowers?”

“I… No, lord. But, I am so alone!” He covered his face with his hands. In the silence, the Dream Weaver sat motionless. Luan sighed and looked once again at the smoky basin. For a moment he thought he saw a pair of round, black Merculian eyes looking at him intently. “That young dancer should not die because of my father,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “I must try to get him back, if only so I can sleep again. But the shapes I see now are not clear…. Not clear…. Perhaps I am not a Dreamer, after all.”

There was silence again, hanging in the cave like dark draperies around the shoulders of the Dream Weaver. Time passed. Luan heard a strange thrumming and looked up. The old man’s voice seemed to come from far away, although he was right in front of him.

“It is time, my son. It is time for you to prove to yourself what I have always known. Do you trust me?”

“Completely.”

“Hold your right hand over the brass bowl.”

Luan obeyed, watched the blue smoke curl against his skin. It clung to his flesh coating his hand with bluish-green luminescence. He watched it, fascinated.

“Now, plunge your hand into the brass bowl and pull out a handful of the sacred fire.”

Luan swallowed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He felt the cool trickle of it under his arms. Taking a deep breath, he thrust his right hand into the brazier. Heat seared along his arm and he jerked back. At the last minute, he remembered to close his hand around the pain. Through traitorous tears, he looked up at Quetzelan and he opened his mouth to speak. Far away, he heard a distant thrumming. “A campfire…trees…a rushing river… Moonlight on the water… Everything is whirling together and I cannot…cannot… A cats-eye. I see my father’s cats-eye, high above my head.”

“Touch it, Luan. Reach out and touch it!”

Instinctively he held out his hand, still clutching the remnants of the coal, to the image he saw floating near the roof of the cave. It was close…very close…. Puzzled, he looked down and saw below him the carved throne, the brazier, the old man watching. Everything was bathed in an odd bluish light, that shimmered in the dimness. At that moment, he realized he felt no pain, and that the thrumming noise was his own voice, speaking in the voice of a Dreamer, telling the beginnings of a tale. But he couldn’t hear his own words. He looked down and felt the panic rise in his throat. His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the voice. In alarm, he opened his hand, trying to catch on to something, anything, that would keep him safe. The small piece of coal fell to the ground—and so did he.

Luan cried out in fear as the hard stone floor rushed up to meet him. The cave swirled around him. He felt the solid rock against his knees, felt the painful indentations in his flesh. His dark head sank low on his chest as consciousness slipped away and his body crumpled against the old man’s knees. Quetzelan smiled. “Do not fight it so,” he murmured. “You
are
a Dreamer. Soon it will become clear to you, dear child.”

* * *

The sun was slanting low in the sky when Luan at last emerged from the cave. He stood on the path swaying, blinded by the light as he tried to bring his mind back from the tangle of dreams. He rested against the rough surface of the rock behind him and breathed deeply, trying to steady himself.

What had happened this afternoon in the cave? It had been so different this time. It had been more than the caring touch of the old man’s hand on his head, guiding him to see the way, make his own choice, try to understand. Was it a dream? A vision? He could still hear the echo of Quetzelan’s voice, feel the odd thrumming deep inside himself as he opened his mouth and began to tell the story he now couldn’t remember. He saw the cave spread out below him, shimmering in that unearthly blue-green light…. Luan shivered. Was that part merely a dream, too? Or did he really have the power to travel, as if in a dream, as Quetzelan could? As all true Dreamers could. He raised his right hand and stared at the red mark on his palm. It throbbed, but the skin wasn’t blistered. Tentatively he touched the burn with a finger and winced.

“Hi, sweetie. What’s the matter? You look kind of wasted.”

Luan blinked. “I’m…fine. I guess I fell asleep up here.”

“Sure you did.” Triani laughed.

“What are you doing here?”

“I followed you.”

“Why?” asked Luan, stunned. He sat down beside the path, his arms around his knees. He didn’t want the Merculian to see how unsteady his legs were.

Triani sat down beside him. “Ever make it in the grass?” He stroked Luan’s arm.

“Not now, man.”

Triani shrugged. “You were pretty impressive in that meeting today. Did you mean what you said?”

“I meant it, but I sure wouldn’t call it impressive. Neither would my father, as you saw.”

“I would. You made me feel I can count on you.”

“Wait. Give me a minute.” The world was rushing back at him too fast, too soon. Luan closed his eyes and stretched out both arms on either side as he filled his lungs with air, held it for a long moment and then expelled it with a loud explosion of sound. He repeated this process several times until the images in his mind had receded. He felt calmer, now. He knew what he had to do. He opened his eyes and stood up. As he looked around him, the dazzle had left the world.