Renegade's Magic

I caught only glimpses of that struggle. Soldier’s Boy’s eyes were wide, but he did not look at any of the people. He saw the trees and the shifting of light through the young leaves. He saw the fluttering of a single leaf, and his shaken fingers echoed it. He felt a light movement of the breeze on his face, and he danced backward, airily wafted on it. Like many a heavy man, he had strength in his legs beyond what one might expect. His movements were graceful and controlled; the unguent seemed to have loosened and oiled his muscles. He shifted, turned and lifted his hands to the sky, mimicking the rising steamy smoke from the sweat hut. From his half-closed eyes, I caught a glimpse of Kinrove, supported by two of his feeders. Dismay sagged his features.



“It is too soon. Only half of him dances! I do not know what will happen now. Show me the kettle of food. How much did he eat?”



Olikea had sunk to her knees, still weeping and wailing. Behind her, I glimpsed a very thin Likari, a blanket clasped around his bony shoulders, trying to hurry to his mother. When the boy saw me, a thin wail escaped his mouth. Pointing and weeping, he, too, sank to his knees. My only comfort was that at the sound of his voice, Olikea had turned. She caught her breath and then crawled to her son. When he would have risen and staggered toward me, she caught him and held him in her arms. At least he was safe from Kinrove’s mad dance.



I was not. The music ran in my veins like boiling water seething down a pipe. It hurt and exhilarated at the same time. For me, the sensation reminded me of being whirled around and around by my older brother when I was small. It dizzied me and I could not focus my eye on any object. There was also the same sensation of imminent disaster. When Rosse had gripped me by wrist and ankle and flown me around and around, I had always known that if he lost his grip, I’d have bruises. But I’d also known that sooner or later, my brother would tire and would attempt to land me gently. That was what had allowed me to enjoy the experience.



With Soldier’s Boy’s dance, there was no promise of respite. I could not find him in the densely twined music and dance. He had merged with it, become one with it rather than with me. I became even more aware of my body, or the body that had been mine. My lungs worked like bellows and my mouth was already dry. In a seizure of music, Soldier’s Boy danced. He turned and spun; he made small leaps off the ground, and then bent low and swayed, a tree caught in the wind. I felt that with every step he took, he retreated from me and ventured deeper into the music’s power.



I caught a spinning glimpse of Kinrove in the chair that had been brought out for him. His face was grave, but his hands moved with Soldier’s Boy’s dance, almost as if he were conducting it. Did he command it? There was a chilling thought. Soldier’s Boy’s eyes had closed to slits. I focused on the little I could see. Most of it was sky, or a brief image of tree trunks. Olikea, tears on her cheeks. One of Kinrove’s feeders scratching her nose. The wall of the steam hut. Kinrove, weaving his fingers as his hands danced with me.



On and on Soldier’s Boy danced, until he no longer leapt but shuffled and wove. After a time, it was a struggle to keep his head up or to lift his hands. Blood throbbed painfully in his feet and all the muscles along his spine shrieked that they had been torn loose from their anchorage. But on we danced.



I had to stop it. Whatever Kinrove had believed this dance would do, it wasn’t accomplishing it. I was more separate from Soldier’s Boy than ever and it was destroying the body that housed us. Breath rasped in and out and his heart thundered in his ears. Veins pulsed in his calves. I stopped trying to see out of the eyes and turned my attention inward, seeking for Soldier’s Boy.



His consciousness was all but gone. I could find no sign of his awareness of himself as something separate from the dancing magic. I groped deeper, following the magic and the dance that seethed through him like a river in flood, a frightening thing to behold. “Soldier’s Boy!” I shouted at it, wondering where he was in that rush, or if he had already melted into it completely. I dared not touch it. I wondered if I could seize control of the body now that he no longer consciously possessed it. Perhaps, if the dance magic had stolen him completely away, I could possess my body again.



That thought gave me a surge of hope such as I had not felt for months. I readied myself, as best I could. There was so much to take control of, and I felt I must seize it all at once. My hands and arms, my shuffling feet, my bobbing head—how did anyone ever manage to control so many pieces of a living body at once? For only a second I marveled at that thought.



Then I felt a sudden red lurch of pain in my chest. Soldier’s Boy staggered three steps to one side, and I thought we were falling. But he fetched up against a tree, clung there grimly for a moment, and then, as his heart steadied its thumping, he once more pushed himself free to stand upright and then to dance. It was then that I knew he would dance us to death. I spread myself out and attempted to inhabit my body once more.