Taliesin pc-1

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  The cries of the crowds in the stands above reached a crescendo and then died suddenly. The dancers glanced at one another silently. They knew the sound and what it meant: a dancer lay in the ring, crimson blood seeping into the hot, white sand.

  “Bel has chosen his own,” whispered Chairs. “Bel be praised.”

  “Bel be praised,” repeated the others.

  She held out her hands and dancers on either side took them, and one by one they all joined hands, forming a circle in the center of the room. “Who are we?” asked Charis softly.

  “We are the Gulls,” the dancers replied.

  “Who are we?”

  “We are the Gulls!” they shouted, their voices rising. “The Gulls! We are the Gulls!”

  “We are the best,” cried Charis. “The best!”

  “We are the Gulls and we are the best!” they shouted.

  At that moment the huge inner doors of the room swung open. Two pitmen stood watching them, sweating. Still holding hands, the dancers walked quickly into the hard, bright sunlight. A roar of recognition and delight surged from a thousand throats. Charis felt the familiar thrill run through her body. She looked up at the steeply-banked sides of the arena into the cheering mass and slowly raised her hands. The simple gesture brought the crowds to their feet amidst a peal of acclaim, her name thunder in the tormented air.

  Char-is! Char-is! Char-r-isss!

  There was no prelude. Across the arena another door opened and a bull rushed into the burning ring. He shook his monstrous head, trailing streams of saliva. His horns had been painted red, the tips sharp and gleaming. At Charis’ signal Joet and Galai advanced, walking easily to the center of the oval; the remaining Gulls left the ring to their comrades.

  The bull charged at once. Head lowered, he swept toward the two. But by the time he reached them, the dancers were gone. To the animal’s dumb surprise they were never quite where they appeared to be, so that when the dance was over and the doors were opened once more and the pitmen raced out waving their nets, the confused animal went willingly. The spectators laughed and shouted; Joet and Galai ran tumbling from the ring.

  “Well done,” said Charis, hugging them both as they came running up, breathless, glowing with exhilaration. She nodded to the others. Joining hands, Kalili, Junoi, and Peronn dashed forward to take their places in the center of the ring. Peronn lifted Junoi high over his head and Kalili whirled around them, arms flung wide.

  The pitmen released the bull from across the ring. The animal stalked casually toward them, Bellowed once, and made its charge. The crowd gasped. Did the dancers even see it? If they did, they appeared to take no notice. Kalili spun in circles behind Peronn, who still held Junoi poised above him.

  The bull rushed toward them. At the last possible second Peronn gently released Junoi, who righted herself and lightly touched down on the bull’s back, skipped along the animal’s spine, and jumped to the ground as Peronn dodged to the left. Kalili had moved to the side and now sprang up on the beast’s back. She rode the bull, standing straight, legs together, arms wide, while the creature Bellowed and spun, trying to dislodge her.

  The rest of their dance was flawless, and when they finished they rejoined the others and received their hugs, saying, “Do you feel it? It is a firepit out there!”

  “What about the bulls?” asked Charis. She had seen the way the first two animals lunged, their movements desperate and slow.

  “Sluggish,” answered Peronn.

  Joet agreed. “They feel the heat and it makes them surly.”

  Belissa and Marophon found their places in the ring. Charis allowed them the first few figures and jumps before joining them. The crowd shouted when they saw her, but she danced only in support of the other two and did not take prominence.

  The routine contained many spectacular leaps and dives, one after another in rapid succession, disaster averted only by the narrowest margin. The bull charged again and again, throwing his horns from side to side in the futile effort to catch one of the lively phantoms leaping and spinning all around him. The creature did indeed seem lethargic, its movements turgid and slow. And yet the beast charged and lunged with a furious desperation-as if trying by might of brute flesh to shake off the thing binding it and preventing it from pinning the dancers with its homs. Charis had rarely seen a veteran of the ring so distracted.

  The three moved through their routine easily, drawing squeals of delight from the crowd as they tumbled effortlessly through the shimmering air.

  The bull was tiring. It backed away from the three and lowered its head for a final encounter. The dancers set themselves for the last jump, an intricate figure in which Charis and Marophon performed doubles one over the top of the other, while Belissa took the horns in a handstand.

  As the animal began its charge, Charis glanced over at Belissa and Maro to see if they were in position. Belissa stood poised, watching the bull which was now pounding toward them, but Maro was smirking at her-as if to say, See? Breaking my vow has not affected my performance.

  “Maro!” Charis screamed. There was time for nothing else. The bull was upon them.

  Maro’s head swiveled and he gathered himself for the jump. Charis knew even then that he would jump late. She tried to adjust her own timing to keep from colliding with him. Belissa back-stepped behind them. Marophon sailed up, tucked into a tight ball. Charis sprang. She felt the air beneath her shudder as the bull streaked by.

  She held her arc flat to give Maro room above her. Tumbling, Charis heard Belissa’s shouted signal as she took the horns.

  Maro’s foot struck Charis square between the shoulder blades as she completed the second somersault and looked for the ground Below her. The blow knocked the air from her lungs and she fought to regain her balance, pulling her jump short to keep from going over onto her back. The ground came up beneath her feet and she landed heavily. Maro fell and pitched forward onto his hands and knees. Charis spun to see him cover his mistake with an additional roll. He scrambled to his feet, shaken. The color had drained from his face. Belissa kicked out of her handstand and leaped from the bull’s back.

  The three dancers scurried back to the others then as the pitmen drove the bull away.

  “Maro, you idiot! What were you doing?” The accusing voice was Joet’s. “You could have killed someone!”

  “Are you all right, Charis?” Belissa peered intently at her with eyes full of concern. The others looked on in horrified silence.

  “I am sorry-I…” Mario’s voice faltered; his eyes were wide with terror at what he had done.

  “I am not hurt,” Charis managed between clenched teeth. “Take your hands away.” Seething, she wanted to lash out at Maro, but there was no time. Her dance was next and she could not waste precious concentration. The performance is almost over, she told herself; chastise him later. With that she dismissed the incident from her mind.

  A clamor had begun in the stands. Char~ris! Char-ris! Chaar-ris!

  “There is no harm,” she told her dancers. She tightened the criss-crossed bands of her handstraps and strode into the center of the ring.

  The crowd screamed with pleasure, and Charis raised her arms to their noisy adulation.

  Across the arena the pitmen tugged open the doors. Charis turned to meet the bull, but the animal was slow appearing. She waited.

  And then it was there, materializing suddenly as an apparition, its glossy hide shimmering in the harsh light: a huge beast, sleek and magnificent, its thick muscles knotting and bunching as it trotted onto the sand, a great white mountain of brute flesh.

  The wrong bull! The shock struck her like a blow. “This is not the bull I chose!”

  The beast took a few steps and stopped to gaze at her calmly, raking the sand with a gleaming golden hoof. Its horns were gilt with gold as well, sweeping in lethal curves from either side of the huge head. Its hump was a snow hill rising from the broad expanse of its back; its legs were massive birch stumps, its tail a white whip, lashi
ng back and forth. Foam streamed from the broad pink muzzle. The beast’s wide-set eyes were red.

  The crowd went momentarily quiet. Never had anyone seen such an enormous, powerful creature.

  With an almost physical effort, Charis pushed all emotion from her. She had faced strange bulls before, and every one had succumbed to her mastery. She advanced slowly and the crowd oegan cnanung ner name once again, sne aio not near it. She heard nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.

  The white bull gave a toss of its head and trotted toward her, lowering its horns as it came. Charis stood directly in its path, making no move to leap or dodge away.

  The wicked horns ripped the air. Flecks of foam sparkled in the sun. The bull thundered nearer, closing the distance between them with terrible swiftness. Charis collapsed before the hurtling beast.

  The effect brought a gasp of horror from the crowd as Charis disappeared beneath the churning hooves.

  But Charis was there, unharmed, arms raised in salute. A great sigh of relief escaped from the crowd. The bull spun, swinging its head from side to side. Charis leaped lightly onto its back, pressing her knees to either side of its hump. The animal Bellowed with rage, and Charis sensed something of the animal’s mindless hate. It would kill her or kill itself in trying.

  She leaned down and seized the gilt horns, gave a slight kick and arched her back, toes pointing skyward. The bull whirled in a tight circle, trying to dislodge her, but she held her pose until the creature relented and streaked across the arena, whereupon she swung down, bringing her feet between her hands. Then, hooking an arm around either horn, she let herself fall down the beast’s great forehead, her bare legs dangling in the sand.

  The bull stopped and began tossing its head. Once, twice, again. Charis released her hold as the great white head lifted her once more; she soared, tucking herself into a ball and tumbling to the sand.

  Whirling, the beast was on her. But Charis was ready. She sprang-vaulting up, up, and over the hind quarters to roll quickly out of range of the slashing horns.

  “He gores to the right,” she thought, suppressing a shudder at the monster’s incredible strength and speed.

  The next series of jumps were perfectly executed; yet Charis could feel the heat of the brutal white sun stealing away her strength. She jumped and jumped again, leaping, spinning, tumbling, soaring. But the precise maneuvers were taking their toll. She labored to recover each time, whereas the bull, instead of tiring, seemed to grow faster and stronger with each pass.

  Still, Charis danced with characteristic abandon, her body at once graceful and vulnerable, dwarfed by the white mountain of animal flesh wheeling and careening about her. The awe of the crowd was a physical force to her. There were no cheers now, no more cries, no wild shouts of acclaim. A vast and profound quiet settled over the arena; the crowd sat stupefied as the death dance whirled toward its climax.

  One more high vault, thought Charis, and I will turn the bull for the triple. The last triple. It had not occurred to her to leave it out. It was her signature, as much a part of her as her name; easier to abandon her name than omit the jump that had earned her immortality as the greatest bull dancer who had ever lived.

  The bull made a quick lunge. Charis sprang, reaching for its back. Her hands found their mark, but as she straightened her elbows to push herself up and over, something snapped in her back-between her shoulders where Marc’s foot had struck her. Pain blossomed ugly and red behind her eyes. She forced her limbs to complete the figure and managed to land safely.

  The bull had pulled up a short distance away. It stood half-turned toward her, breathing heavily, its sides working like forge Bellows, its pale hide matted and wet. Sweat glistened on Charis’ sun-browned skin as well, but she had gone suddenly cold. Her back felt as if someone had touched her with a firebrand at the crease between her shoulder blades. She could feel her muscles stiffening as pain twitched them tight.

  “I must jump now,” she thought. “If I wait any longer it will be impossible.”

  Moving slowly sideways, she circled the bull, turning it so that the sun would be behind her. The creature, huge heavy head lowered, glared at her with its red eyes and bawled as if in torment, and Charis noticed that the foam streaming from its open mouth was pink with blood.

  “So we are both hurting,” she thought. “Well, come on then. Once more. Let us get it over with.”

  The arena might have been a tomb, silent and empty-the crowd merely shadows fixed in their places.

  The sun shone mercilessly down. The air singed her lungs. She estimated the distance between herself and the bull and took a quick step backward. The bull stood immobile, an immense white hill.

  Come on! shrieked Charis inwardly. Charge!

  The pain throbbed in her back, spreading weakness through her like a narcotic. If she did not jump now she would be unable to move. Why did the bull just stand there?

  “Bel!” Her voice was a whip-crack in the silent arena.

  The crowd stared transfixed. Was she calling on the god? Or was she talking to the bull?

  The beast stood as if carved from a massive block of milk-white marble.

  “Bel!” Charis screamed again, her cry going up into the firebright haze of sky.

  Bel, she thought, I have given you everything. And yet you mean to take my pride as well. Take my life then too. I will not walk away beaten.

  With that, she rose on her toes and leaped forward, running straight for the waiting bull, her long legs hurling her to her doom. At the same instant the bull gathered its hoofs under it and charged.

  She saw the bull lurch into a trot. She was aware of someone shouting and recognized her own voice ringing in her ears.

  She saw the massive neck bending low, the gilt hoofs pounding, golden horns slicing the air. She stretched forth her right hand to meet the horn as it swung toward her. But the head swerved away and Charis saw her destruction-the creature was goring left.

  There was no time to switch hands. She would have to leap off her right foot and take the entire force of the jump on her left arm alone. It could not be done, she knew, but it was either try or simply impale herself on the wicked horn.

  The cool clarity of these thoughts surprised Charis and, strangely, pleased her. She felt no fear, just a fleeting regret that she would not be able to complete this, her last jump.

  And then her hand was on the horn, her leather-wrapped palm gripping its smooth surface. Her legs flew up, feet finding their mark on the wide forehead. The bull locked its legs and dug in its hoofs, throwing its head high, trying to snag its phantom tormentor from the air, bawling its terrible rage to the burning white sun.

  But Charis was soaring free. The force of the bull’s lunge had flung her skyward. Bringing her knees to her chest, she tucked her chin down and wrapped her arms around her shins. She tumbled… once… high above the ground… twice… saw earth and heaven reversed, revolving slowly… and again. Then the ground was rushing up to meet her with alarming speed.

  She arched her back and spread her hands as if to embrace the whole arena. But she was drifting slowly sideways-the one-handed jump had thrown her into a side spin and the momentum of her leap was carrying her past vertical. Instinct had taken over; already her arms were moving, the left swinging up, the right coming across her chest, increasing the speed of her rotation.

  The dazzling white sand of the arena engulfed her field of vision. She straightened her legs at the last instant to plant her feet firmly in the sand.

  Crack!

  Charis straightened slowly. She had come down hard-too hard. Her injured back had absorbed the force of her landing and something inside had given way. Her vision dimmed as an inky mist passed before her eyes. She knew she could not move.

  The bull wheeled around and stopped. It faced her from across the ring, splay-legged, head drooping low, the massive neck unable to hold the heavy head upright any longer. It stared at her, red eyes cloudy, its sides bespattered with blood-flecke
d foam. Then it raised a hoof and raked the ground, throwing sand high over its back.

  Charis stood with head held high. The animal would charge again and there was no way she could elude the inevitable.

  You shall not take me, she thought. I give myself.

  Slowly, with as much dignity as her injury would allow, she knelt down, drew her arms across her chest, and bowed her head.

  With a last Bellow of challenge, the white bull lurched into a lumbering trot, its legs driving it ahead, gathering speed as it came.

  The Gulls looked on, stunned. “No!” Belissa screamed, shattering the horror-stricken silence of the ring.

  Charis raised her head and opened her eyes.

  “No-o-o!” Belissa’s cry echoed from across the ring.

  Charis turned her face toward her dancers. She smiled and raised her face to the sun.

  The bull swept toward her, hoofs and horns glittering. “Curse you, Bel!” she cried and raised her hand in a final, defiant salute.

  Little more than a body length separated them when the bull appeared to tumble. Its forelegs buckled and the awesome head crashed down, one golden horn gashing a furrow in the sand as the hind legs continued driving ahead. Then the horn dug in, caught, and the enormous neck snapped, choking off the beast’s startled cry as it foundered awkwardly onto its side.

  Charis stared in disBelief at the blood gushing from the animal’s mouth and nostrils. Its legs twitched spasmodically as a series of tremors animated the great carcass. And then, with a last shuddering convulsion, the beast jerked and lay still.

  At first there was but a single voice, filling the arena with a shout of triumph. Charis looked and saw Joet racing toward her. And then the crowd was on its feet, cheering and cheering, the sound of their wild jubilation a deafening ocean roar. Gold sparkled in the sun, a trickle at first, and then more, and still more, filling the air, raining down into the ring, a river of gold, then a flood.