Keir had risen to stand at the very edge. “Would you see a pattern?”
“AYE!” Every voice seemed to shout, and cheering began.
Keir held up a small wooden bowl. “Iften, call the dancers forth.”
Marcus was behind us, wrapped deep in a cloak. He muttered something that I didn’t hear, but that Iften picked up as he approached. There was anger on his face as Iften took the bowl from Keir’s hands. But he moved off into the center of the field without a word. Iften held the bowl before him with both hands. “ Hear me!”
The crowd grew quiet.
“Heyla!” Iften called out.
“Heyla!” The crowd responded.
“Who would dance a pattern for us?”
From all around the circle, nine running figures emerged from the crowd, dashing up to Iften and placing some sort of token in the bowl that he held. As they dropped in their tokens, they continued on, disappearing back into the crowd. The last one jumped up just before he reached the bowl and dropped the token in with a flare, prompting laughter from the crowd. After a pause, Iften raised the bowl over his head. “Let the sky hear our voices.”
I was startled when a sound like a crack of thunder was heard, until I saw the drummers in the crowd, with large drums at their feet. Each had struck their drums once, and the vibration filled my ears.
“Let the earth feel our feet.” Iften made a quarter turn to face another part of the crowd. Again the drums sounded. “Let the wind sense our strength.” He paused as the drums sounded in response. “Let the flames see our patterns.” He shouted, as he made another turn. This time, in addition to the drums, the torches were lit. The crowd roared out with the drums at the last call, crying a tremendous ‘heyla’!
Iften reached in and pulled a token from the bowl. “Red, dance your pattern.” He called, then moved off the field.
Again, runners emerged from the crowd. It was a group of ten men and women. They were dressed in tunics and trous, with red headbands, and red streamers flowing behind them as they ran. They ran to the center of the field, and stood in a circle. There was a pause, then the drums began to beat a fast, steady measure.
The dancers took one step forward, linked their arms, and began to dance. It didn’t take me long to see what they were doing. I’d been taught court dances when I was a child, and seen the romps and rills that the servants danced when they celebrated the harvest. But I had never seen anything like this before. They wove a pattern with their bodies, stepping in then out of the circle then around each other to form the circle again. Just when I was sure they were coming to an end, from nowhere they produced wooden sticks, like axe handles, and started to beat out a counter rhythm to the drums. On each other’s sticks.
I watched, amazed, waiting for someone to hit a hand or arm instead of the sticks. But the dancers never seemed to miss a beat as they wove and pounded on each other. The crowd was yelling now, some calling out encouragement and others yelling insults. The group formed two interlocking circles and wove their patterns together. As each passed the place where the circles joined, they had to beat out the rhythms on the other sticks. I laughed with joy to see them move with no errors, in a perfect pattern. “ How do they do that?”
Simus laughed. Keir shot me an amused glance and responded. “Practice. Lots of practice.”
The dancers were smiling, but I could see the concentration on their faces. I didn’t know whether to watch their feet, or their hands, and ended up trying to watch it all at once. Finally, just when I was convinced that fatigue would start to set in, the dancers all cried out at once, spun in place to wind their streamers around their bodies, and stood frozen, spaced evenly in a circle, facing inwards.
The crowd erupted with cries of ‘heyla’ and praise. I clapped my hands together, which drew some odd looks from Atira and Simus. “That was amazing!”
Atira sniffed. “I’ve seen better.”
Marcus was handing me some kavage. “They were slightly off, Warprize. But not by much.”
I took the drink eagerly. “When is the next one?”
But Iften had already moved into the center of the field and was pulling the next token. He waited for the crowd to settle, before calling out ‘Yellow’.
This was a larger group, some twenty people with yellow streamers came running into the field. Keir leaned over to me. “This group is trying for a very large pattern. Not so intricate but harder with so many. ” The drums began again, and I tried to pay more attention to the dancers individually. Sure enough, after just a few minutes, there was a groan from the crowd, and the dancers broke apart and ran off the field.
Simus grunted when he saw my disappointment. “They stop when the pattern is broken, Warprize. The dance can’t continue if an error is made.”
The next group summoned down to the field was brown. Their pattern was intricate, but started very slowly. As the drums speeded up, so did their steps, and the blows to their sticks. I watched in anticipation, trying to see the dancers the way Keir did, but all I saw was a wonderful explosion of movement, rhythm and color. Just as it seemed to reach its peak, the drums began to slow, and the dancers slowed at the same time, until they stood in their original positions. As the last drum beat faded, the crowd erupted into cheers. The dancers ran off, and the crowd started stirring.
Keir stood and stretched. “The watches are changing.” He looked at me. “Warm enough?”
I nodded, as Marcus held a plate before me. There were small buns there, and I took one in one hand. “ What are these?”
Atira grinned and reached for the plate as Marcus offered her one as well. “Warprize, take a bite.”
I looked doubtfully at her, but she bit hers with relish, so I did the same. There was an explosion of spice in my mouth and I opened my eyes wide. Atira laughed.
The spice was strong, but it didn’t burn. There was a sweetness to it that seemed strange at first. “What is this?”
“Bread tarts.” Atira took another bite and talked around her mouthful. “Rare to get them in camp.”
Keir and Simus were eating theirs, obviously pleased. Marcus had a proud look on his face, and even quirked his mouth in a grin when I took another bite. We were all enjoying the treat when a warrior came up to the platform. “Warlord, a messenger has come from the city.”
“From Warren?” Keir asked.
“From their king, Warlord.”
“Bring him here.”
The crowd was starting to settle, and Iften seemed to be looking at Keir for the signal to start. Keir gestured for him to continue, and the opening ritual was repeated. This time the dancers were wearing bells on their hands and feet, and carrying sticks. As they danced, Marcus frowned in disapproval. Apparently the bells were a distraction from the pattern, and Marcus was quick to express his opinion. Keir leaned over at one point and spoke softly, “Marcus danced patterns well before he was injured. But his eye gives him no vision on that side, and he no longer dances.” I nodded, but I liked the chiming of the bells, and was quick to call out ‘heyla’ at the end.
“Warlord.”
We turned to see the warrior standing behind us, with Heath at his side, grinning like a fool.
“Heath!” I jumped to my feet, leaving the cloak behind me. The cooler air hit me, giving me goose bumps, but I paid no mind as I ran over to greet him.
Heath was stiff, but he relaxed and brought his arms up to give me a quick hug, before pushing me back slightly. He brought his hand up to cup my neck, then let his hand fall as he stepped back. He dropped to one knee. “Warlord.”
I turned, to see Keir standing there, a dark expression on his face. I caught my breath, suddenly understanding that I’d made a mistake. Heat flooded my face. Keir pointed at the stool where I had been seated, and I returned to it. Marcus draped the cloak back over me, and made sure that it covered me completely.