"How can Pacer and I stop this?"
"I am sorry, Belldancer, I do not know. But if you can bring the woman to us, whole, I think we can return to them their own shadows. In the process we hope to dissipate Baltaz's spell causing the life force exchange happening between them."
Jariel knelt down before Nytira, Pacer sat so close to his side he could feel her side rise and fall with her breathing. It was even, strong, just the opposite of the spellbound Pierdon's. The velvet skin around the creature's mouth was turning gray. Jariel leaned forward and spoke softly. "May I touch the shadow?" then he nearly wept when he heard the Pierdon's broken whisper in reply. The beauty was destroyed, he was sure, by screaming.
"Yes. It is safe at this moment."
Jariel gently laid his hand on the woman's shadow. It felt sticky, and icy-hot, both at the same time. The fine hairs on his body rose in response. Pacer?
No use waiting. Let's go. No one stopped them.
This time it did not take so long to reach the orange cave. Jariel paused, Pacer, I'll wager anything you want that Baltaz bespelled the plinth. The moment I pull the woman off, poof! goes Baltaz's Doom.
What are you going to put in her place?
If I thought I could get away with using a rock I'd do it. There's too much at stake to make the wrong choice and Baltaz loved traps. It'll have to be flesh-mine.
The silence between them was filled with unspoken thoughts and feelings. Finally Pacer said,
So, it is to be the Warrior's dance.
In answer Jariel loosened his hair, pulled a bone comb and a leather thong from his belt pouch. He combed bis hair, making sure each strand was free of tangles, then bent over. The silky mass nearly swept the floor. Deftly he smoothed it from nape to ends. He gathered it up, twisting it into a warrior's knot, tying it off with the thong. Friend. Teacher. Be with me in my mind as I prepare.
I am here, Pacer reassured.
Jariel moved through the phases of the dance. The disciplined action merged into grim joy as fatigue gave way and strength sang along tendons, bones, and muscles. He shook from his fingers the anger he felt for Nytira's broken voice, the woman's pain, the need to save his world.
He felt Pacer's love, her total acceptance of him and all. But he could not give up the thought of the real possibility his own blackened flesh might adorn the plinth. He cried out.
Help me. I can't let go of my fear!
Minddancer, give it to me. Let me carry it for awhile.
With a sob he let go, felt her draw his imprisoning emotion into herself. He danced lighter, faster. Jariel had no idea what a heavy burden his fear had been until he gave it away. Then, with a last movement, he flicked even that relief away. The Warrior state settled deep into his mind. Purpose and calm assurance and clarity of mind filled him. Jariel whirled on into the orange cave, now his battleground.
Though he kept close to the inner wall he was careful to let no part of his body touch it. You keep an eye on the body ashes. I have an idea I want to check out. He touched the shadow. It felt the same as the one weighing down Nytira. He pulled out his comb and lightly touched the orange wall. When nothing happened, he pressed harder.
What are you doing? Pacer demanded. Trying to get snarls out of stone?
Are you asking ME questions? He reached down and scratched behind her ears, knowing she spoke as she did to hide the fear she felt for him. You know the fruit jerky the cooks make at harvest time?
Now's a fine time to be talking about food. She glanced up at him. Wait. Isn't that the stuff you peel off oiled paper? Jariel, you can't mean to…
He nodded, slowly sliding the comb beneath the thickened shadow. Are the ashes moving?
No.
Good. He continued to move the comb under the shadow until he reached its highest point; the antlers. He lifted the comb. The shadow peeled away from the wall, curling down upon itself.
His hands were shaking so much his knuckles had almost touched the wall. Frightened that an inadvertent action would trigger Baltaz's Doom, Jariel minddanced until thinking and body responses were again calm. Pretending the shadow was nothing more than a large piece of fruit jerky, he pulled the last remnants of Nytira's shadow from the wall. Pacer stayed close by his side as he rolled it toward the plinth. Two feet away he stopped.
Do you think you and the woman can drag it out of the cave?
Pacer nudged it with her nose. It did not budge. We will just have to. She reared up, putting her paws on his shoulders, Minddancer. Look at the flames. There are spaces between them. When you dance, think of them as bells that must not chime. Then she did something she had never done before. With the tip of her tongue, she kissed him.
Moved, he grabbed her ears and rested his head against hers before he stepped back. Without another word Pacer touched the plinth. From the walls came the hum and orange sparks flaked away, reforming above the now spinning body ashes.
Jariel crouched, ready to leap. He watched flesh encase the woman's bones. When the last of the ashes drifted down over her, he grabbed her hand and jerked. He leapt as she passed him. He heard her cry out when she slammed onto the stone floor. As the white petals of fire curled up to surround him, Jariel yelled, "Grab your shadow and run."
Pacer's voice came to him as if from a great distance. We have the shadow. Remember… bells…
The flames were like ice. So cold they burned. Jariel danced. Flowed in a counter movement to the magic. A touch, akin to boiling ice, skimmed his back. He wanted to scream but contained the cry and thrust the pain out through the soles of his feet. Nothing must break the Warrior state of mind.
In the corner of his mind he heard a single bell chime when the flame touched him again. No! There will be no more! I am Duval's Belldancer. Baltaz's wizardry will not take that from me. I dance and no bells chime.
Jariel reached within himself, called up the memory of Pacer leading him through the barrier. He had followed her. What if he followed the flames?
With renewed determination he slowed the dance to observe the flames. Sanja had taught him that all magic, high or low, had to have a pattern or it did not work. Then he saw it. Every fourth flame moved widdershins, the two in between arched outward, then in a one count of his breathing, they moved inward, but with a drift to the left.
Keeping the pattern fixed in his mind, Jariel danced. Danced till the sweat so burned his eyes that he closed them only to discover the same pattern in his mind, but clearer. In between the flames were gaps, ragged about their edges. Instinctively he knew it was caused by the fraying of a spell two hundred years old. He wondered if he could widen the gaps. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, concentrating only on the image in his mind, Jariel danced into a gap.
Pain lashed him. He pulled back, stifling a moan. Then he wanted to shout in joy. There, the space where he danced was now wider, more frayed. For a moment he faltered, knowing full well when he danced into each gap, the flames would reach him. By the One, he did not want to die like the woman.