by Frank Tuttle
Burn resumed his flight. His piping was strong, his rendition of the song perfect -- but Mallara saw nothing in the dark.
Burn piped the final chorus and fell silent.
"You win, Mistress," he said, after a moment."No dancing here tonight."
Mallara sighed, watched her breath turn to steam in the air."No dancing here tonight," she said. No dancing bones. No moonlit tide of magic. No Winter King, and knew it all along.
Time to grow up, thought Mallara. Time to put my toys aside. Father carved them all anyway, and they are gone, and so is he, and the Winter King -- well, the Winter King never was.
"Well," she said."That is that."
Burn fell down to hang before her face.
"There is no Piper, Burn," she said."No Piper, no Winter King, no dancing here unless we bring it."
"Yes, Your Majesty," said Burn. Then, at sight of Mallara's suddenly widened eyes and gaping jaw, Burn flew a hand's breadth back.
"Mistress?" he said."What is it?"
"No dancing unless we bring it," she said."That's what we did wrong, just like all the others."
Burn buzzed."We brought it," he said."Rain dripped. Pumpkins grinned. No one danced."
"Precisely," said Mallara. She called up a hole in the air, and thrust her wet cloak into it."I'll need you to play again," she said.
Burn dipped."Certainly," he said, confusion in his tone."Now?"
"Wait," said Mallara. Then she marched away from the center of the Round, moving to stand just within the ring formed by the feet of the stones."Give me a moment."
She closed her eyes, raised her hands, and struck a court dancer's pose -- left leg straight, left foot flat, right foot tip-toe and bent at the knee.
"Mistress," said Burn."You aren't."
"I am," said Mallara, through gritted teeth."I am a Bearer of the Staff and a Wielder of the Word and an agent of the Crown and if there is wild magic in this place I'm going to find it." She opened her eyes, sought out Burn's faint blur."And not a word of this to anyone, you hear?"
"I hear."
Mallara shook her head and took a breath and closed her eyes again. Forget the mud and the stones and the dark, she thought. Imagine the Imperial Gala at Vo Sinte, all marble-tiled floors and high vaulted ceilings and glittering chandeliers.
A vagrant rain-drop struck Mallara squarely on the tip of her nose.
"Play," she said.
Burn began to pipe.
Mallara twirled. Her right boot sank deep into the mud, but she wrenched it free, brought her hands down to her waist, and managed a squelching pirouette before stepping into the first movement of an old Phendelit court dance.
Burn piped along, slowing the tempo so Mallara could keep up. The mud gripped and sucked at her boots with every move. Great gobs of it flew free each time she pulled away, and she very nearly fell twice before dancing halfway around the circle of stones.
The empty, silent stones. The rounded bulk of Stone Seven rose up beside her, and no hint of magic touched the night. Stone Eight loomed into view, and water splashed about Mallara's ankles, and she stumbled, soaking her knees and muddying her hands -- but still she danced, leaping and spinning and twirling as best she could.
Come on out, she shouted silently, at the stones. I dare you, Old Bones. Prove you're real, now that I'm grown.
She passed Stone Nine, with its carved pumpkin-face and weathered runes, but still the Round was empty. Stone Ten, and Mallara gasped for breath, the constant pull of the mud and the weight of it on her boots tiring her, and sending aches and sharp pains up her calves and thighs.
Come on out, she thought. Last chance, and then I turn away forever.
The squat bulk of Stone Eleven whirled clumsily past, and Mallara stumbled toward Stone Twelve, and Burn's piping ceased abruptly, and Mallara heard him call out her name --
-- and then he was gone. Gone, like the mud and the scent of rain in the chilly air and the mad, glowing pumpkin eyes. Mallara found that she danced on firm, dry ground, and that the stars rode bright above, and the stones of the Round were tall and straight and square, each polished like a mirror and shining in the light of a bright full moon.
Mallara turned, and he was there. Body of bones, head a grinning pumpkin, a jaunty red scarf tied around his fleshless neck. The Winter King danced beside her, bones clacking, his steps light and fast, his movements fluid and precise.
Mallara halted, staring. Just like in the stories, the Winter King had no feet -- his leg-bones stretched from his hips and continued on down, into the earth. When he leaped, his leg-bones merely elongated; when he fell, they shortened.
Then those great empty three-sided eyes turned to meet Mallara's, and she went backed up a step, and the stones and the stars and the Winter King began to fade.
Mallara twirled, threw up her hands in a Vendish pirouette, and pulled them down as she spun. The stars and the stones grew solid once more, as did the Winter King, who clapped his hands in delight and leaped to land beside her.
*Stay!* he said, though Mallara knew his voice didn't come from within the grinning carved pumpkin mouth. *Stay and dance!*
Mallara danced. Simple steps, she thought, willing away the pains in her ankles and shins. Simple steps, because if I stop, the magic holding me here stops.
*So lonely,* said the voice. *So long, since anyone came to dance with me.*
Stop, turn, spin, step."How long?" she said.
The Winter King did not speak, but Mallara saw the Ringed Round, as it once was, before the Kingdom or the Wars of the rising of the seas. She saw people gather, saw them pipe and play, saw them dance in the moonlight each Ollow's Eve. She saw years pass, saw magics cast, and in that moment after the vision faded she knew what had happened, here amid the stones.
Belief is power, she thought.
Turn, leap, turn.
Power takes form.
Form shapes belief.
She twirled, and the Winter King was beside her offering her a skeletal hand. She took it, and smiled, and the King beamed joy.
*So long!* he shouted. *So long!*
At the Winter King's touch, Mallara went light. Light as air; gone were her aches, her pains, her cares. She leaped, and stars streamed past; she twirled, and gossamer moonlight rushed over her like wind.
Belief is power, came the words, quiet and sad in some distant corner of Mallara's mind. She saw the Winter King born, and she saw him grow, and then she saw something else. All too often, creation gives way to fear.
She saw the Winter King trapped. No more a meeting-place, she saw spells shaped and cast, saw the stones become a prison. And then no one came to dance, trapping a gentle, patient spirit in a frightful form, doomed to dance alone the whole of an endless false night.
*So happy!* it said, its skeletal hand cool and firm in Mallara's. And then, *I give you this gift.*
And there was music. Music that swelled and roared and whispered, music that was at once sad and triumphant and all things between. It filled Mallara, lifting her, sending her hand-in-hand with the Winter King higher and farther into the star-strewn heavens.
"Mistress!" shouted Burn, and the music fell away, and the Winter King turned toward the new voice.
"Where are you?"
Mallara laughed. She looked down, upon the Round, and there was Burn, twisting and spinning, bobbing and floating like a leaf in a whirlwind.
Burn soared up toward the sound of her laughter, and the Winter King gently lowered Mallara to the ground.
"It's all right, Burn," said Mallara, as the shimmer's blurry form rose up in the moonlight."He won't hurt us."
* Welcome, welcome,* said the Winter King. His three-sided pumpkin eyes shone bright and fixed themselves upon Burn's blurred form.*New friend!*
Burn hung himself close by Mallara's right side."Charmed, I'm sure," he said. Then he whispered to Mallara."Interesting place for a dance," he said."Fashionably astral. Aren't you going to introduce me to your partner?"
Malla
ra sighed. The stars, which had seemed so near a moment ago, were high cold and far away. She stood again in the empty space between the stones, and as she stood she wondered if the stones had somehow grown taller, or shuffled nearer.
Mallara spoke a Word, and raised her free hand, and the Piper's music dwindled and died.
The Winter King went still. Mallara watched, another Word at ready, but the sky and the stars and the stones remained clear and solid.
Burn made a small buzz."We're not dancing," he said, in a whisper."And yet we're still here, wherever that may be."
As Burn spoke, a shimmering spread across the sky, and the fainter of the stars began to wink out, one by one.
"The Word won't hold for long," said Mallara. She met the Winter King's patient gaze, held out her hand to him."Dancing or not, this place wasn't meant for us. Any of us."
Bony fingers clasped hers, and a single faint note of piping rose up.
"No," said Mallara, gently."Now is the time for talk."
*Talk,* said the Winter King, as if the word were new to him, or nearly forgotten. *Talk.*
Burn placed himself just within Mallara's right ear.
"Mistress," he said, so faint she could barely hear,"What in Finagle's name are you doing?"
"I know you," she said, ignoring Burn."Winter King." The pumpkin-grin grew wider at his name."Oh yes," said Mallara."That is your name. But can you think back? Can you find a place in time before this place? Before these stones, before this sky? Can you go back to a place before you wore this body?"
The Winter King cocked his head, and though he did not reply Mallara knew the answer.
No. Mallara shook her head."Then it's too late," she said.
Burn buzzed."Too late?" he said."Too late for what?"
"Too late to free him," replied Mallara. She squeezed the Winter King's fleshless hand, looked sadly down at his footless leg-bones, followed them down into the perfectly flat ground."He was once a Power, Burn," she said."But then people told the stories, raised the stones. He came to dance, and they gave him this shape."
"Making him a form-locked elemental," said Burn."Isn't the creation of such, um, honored persons at the top of the Order's list of things to never ever do?" He sailed once about the King."If he is -- or was -- an elemental, why is he still here?"
"The people who raised him grew afraid and sealed the Round," said Mallara. She could almost hear the whispered voices, from so long ago -- he walks beyond the Ring, they said. He comes and goes and who knows where?
"So he's not really the Winter King," said Burn."Begging your pardon, Your Pumpkiness," he added, quickly.
"Belief shapes form," said Mallara."He is as real as you or I. He can't remember anything else. Even if I can free him, he'll always be the Winter King."
Burn buzzed."Which leaves us with a difficult choice."
Mallara nodded, once."I'm afraid so."
The brighter stars were flickering now, and faint in the mirrored planes of the stones Mallara began to see reflections of the carved, candlelit pumpkins that ringed the other Round.
Burn hummed in contemplation."Pity," he said."I really can't picture him as a threat. To anyone. He can't help the bone motif, which after all he didn't choose."
Mallara balled her fists and mouthed a swear-word and seethed inside. They raised him up, gave him shape, made him kind and merry. And then they bound him to a dark place with twelve old stones for company, knowing that elementals cut off from the land grow weaker and smaller with time.
The sky above grew darker still, and the pumpkins peeking out of the glassy stones grew brighter. If he is truly bound to this awful place, Mallara thought, then dispelling the Round will almost certainly unmake the King.
Dispelling the Round. No sooner had Mallara thought it, than a deeper darkness began to gather between the stones. She could hear, at the edge of her perception, an angry round of dry whispers pass to and fro amid the stones. Who comes among us?, it said. And, Who dares dispel us?
"Oh, Mistress," sang Burn."Our tall stiff friends are awake. I do not believe they're planning you a welcome brunch."
Mallara straightened. She pushed aside her anger, bottled it up within her, forced herself to smile and meet the Winter King's flickering eyes.
"You do not belong here," she said."You've been tricked. These stones bind you to this place, keep others out. Do you understand that?"
*No one comes now,* said the King, and the light in his eyes dimmed. *No one comes but you.*
Mallara sang a Word, and her staff -- her black iron shod staff, not her smaller wooden traveling staff -- fell from the air and into her hand.
"Mistress," said Burn."Whatever you're doing is best done quickly."
"I am leaving," said Mallara. She let go of the Winter King's hand."And now you must decide. Stay, and dance alone until you are diminished. Or go with me, and risk unmaking."
The pumpkin-head was still. Again, the Piper's piping rose up, and Mallara stilled it with another stern Word.
Mallara felt a prickling run up her neck. See, hear! came the whispers. Hear what she speaks! See what she does!
"Mistress," said Burn, from close behind her."Hurry. They're up to something."
Mallara gripped her staff, which grew warm in her hand."I can try to free you from this place," she said, to the King."But you must know that if I fail, you will be no more. You will die. Do you understand that?"
*I . . . understand,* said the King. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and Meralda hoped the absence of the Piper's playing would allow the King to think clearly once again.
"Then you need to also understand that the stones are awake, sir," said Burn."It's a simple choice," he added."Stay and dance until you dwindle away, or take a chance that the Sorceress can free you from the binding. Wait much longer and the rocks will decide for you." Burn buzzed down close to the Winter King's bony face."Look, Your Vegetableness, just ask her to free you and let's all go home."
The Winter King considered. Mallara gripped her staff, and ignored the powerful sensation that something -- a tall old stone, for instance -- was creeping up slowly behind her.
The light in the Winter King's eyes dimmed. He shrank, perhaps a hand's breadth, and the bony frame stooped and sagged.
*How long?* he said, and his voice was thin and weary.
"I don't know," said Mallara."A thousand years? More? I cannot say."
*A thousand turnings of the sun,* he said, eyes downcast. *So long. None will remember.*
"Untrue," said Burn, before Mallara could speak."Half the kids in the Five Valleys still put out hats for you to fill," he said."And the Sorceress here was bemoaning your absence just before she sneaked past the stones. You've never been forgotten," he added."But -- Council of Mages be hung -- you have been missed."
The King straightened, and his eyes flared. *The small ones remember?* he said, and his voice boomed throughout the Round. *They wait? Wait for me?*
"You bet," said Burn."It's Ollow's Eve beyond the stones now, and who's going to spread all that cheer if you stay here and dance for the rocks?"
*I will go,* said the King, sharp eyes ablaze. *Take me with you!*
The Piper's music rose up, strident and shrill, breaking Mallara's Words and drowning out her voice when she tried to speak another. The Winter King reached out to her, but before his hand met hers he spun away with a wail and fell again into his twirling, footless dance.
Mallara, too, felt the pull of the music. Dance for but a time, it said, and the sky above became the tile-worked ceiling of the Imperial gala at Vo Sinte, and the twelve old stones marble pillars hung with garlands of red roses and trails of white lace. Dance for but a time, lady -- how can one not dance, to such beautiful music?
"Mistress!" shouted Burn, from within Mallara's left ear.
"I'm fine," muttered Mallara. She gritted her teeth and stood still, her boots firmly planted, her black staff gripped tight. The music beat against her like a driving wind for a time, and
then the bright ceiling and the soaring pillars faded, until they were touched here and there with stars and angry pumpkin-faces.
Mallara swallowed. Such music, she thought. So sad, so sweet. How long has it been since I danced?
Burn darted close to her right ear, began to bellow out a risqué Eryan tavern-ditty. "I saw the lass a bathing'," he shouted, and the Piper's music fell away. "And my heart began to pound --"
"Thank you, Burn," she said, letting out her breath in a whoosh. "No more, please."
"I wasn't to the good part yet," replied Burn, but he fell silent.
Sweat broke out on her forehead despite the chill in the air, as she realized how close she had come to taking that first, fatal step of the Round's long dance."You'll have to do much better than that," she said, pushing back her hair. "Much better."
Oh, we will, whispered the stones. We have the King, they said. We shall have you as well, have you to dance until your flesh falls away and your bones are ground to dust among us.
Mallara spoke a Word. Her staff muttered assent, and the Piper's music faded from about her, though the Winter King still danced and leaped.
You shall dance for us, said the stones. We shall find your music, and you shall dance.
The piping changed, sounded of strings and horns, became a melody that rose and swelled and sent a shiver down Mallara's spine.
Better, said the stones.
Louder, they said.
Mallara shook her head and raised her staff. She forced the music away, concentrated instead on the chill in the still air and the warm heft of the black staff in her hands.
"I didn't come here to dance," she said. "Release the King. I will not ask again."
Mallara spoke a soft Word. The runes which crawled and writhed about the staff halted, hastily re-arranged themselves into three very long Words, and began to turn rapidly about the shaft.
See what she does! said the stones. How dare she!
Dance! they cried.
"No," said Mallara, and the lilting music fell silent."I will not dance for you. Nor shall he."
