Dance of the Dead

by Christie Golden

  Larissa remembered where she had heard the names before. The Two Hares Inn had been named after the legendary rabbit heroes, Bouki and Longears.

  The rabbit turned to the tree. “Quickwood-Who-Grows-By-The-Deathplants, the Maiden thanks you for your aid. I will take the girl to her now.”

  The pressure on Larissa’s torso eased as the roots loosed their hold. Her limbs numb, she was barely able to stop herself from falling over. Wincing, she rubbed life back into her unfeeling arms and legs.

  Something moved by her feet with a slithering motion. Larissa ignored it, thinking it was just another one of the tree’s roots. When cool reptilian skin slid silkily along her bare leg, however, she jerked away with a cry. The snake, equally startled, hastened into the water, where it vanished with a little ripple.

  Longears fixed her with a gaze of utter contempt. “You come to rescue the creatures from the boat?” he sneered. “You are afraid of a harmless little snake! You do not deserve your white locks.”

  Shame mixed with anger washed through Larissa. “Snakes are dangerous,” she shot back. “Surely even you are afraid of foxes and wolves, Longears. And mists take you, rabbit, what does my hair color have to do with anything?”

  Longears drew his split upper lip back from his razor-sharp teeth in a grin. “On the contrary, Whitemane, I eat foxes and wolves, not the other way around. As for your hair—” he shrugged “—you will learn about it soon enough. Come with me. The Maiden of the Swamp wishes to see you.”

  TWELVE

  Longears was not the pleasant traveling companion that the dancing little light—feu follet, Larissa reminded herself—had been. The huge rabbit sat at the front of the yawl, ears pricked, gazing ahead alertly. For the first few hours, as they moved languidly along the still waters, the only words the young dancer heard from him were curt directions. Annoyed, she decided to question the creature as the dawn began to lighten the sky.

  “The feu follets—what are they?”

  “They’re kin to will-o’-the-wisps,” Longears answered, not turning around to face her. “Except feu follets feed on positive emotions, not negative.”

  “Why did one come to me in the swamp?”

  Longears threw her an irritated glance over his furry shoulder. “You called it. It came. As I said, you’re lucky.” He turned around. “Your captain will curse the day he ever came to Souragne. Bouki will be freed.”

  “That’s what Willen and I are trying to do,” Larissa explained. “He told me to seek out the Maiden, whoever she is, and tell her of the plight of the creatures aboard the boat.”

  Again Longears craned his neck to look at the girl. She regarded him steadily as she continued to paddle. He twitched his whiskers, considering.

  “If you would free my cousin, then you are my ally,” he said with obvious reluctance. He laughed. “I never thought I would join forces with a human, but I will take what I can get. Besides,” he added, “you are a whitemane, and there may be more to you than there first seems.”

  Larissa flushed angrily. There was something quite humiliating about being insulted by a rabbit, even a gigantic talking one with teeth as long as her forefingers.

  “I trust I won’t disappoint you,” she said icily.

  Longears ignored the sarcasm. “We’ll see. First, you have to meet with the Maiden’s approval.”

  Larissa was about to reply when the current picked up unexpectedly. The narrow waterway down which she had been paddling widened and joined with another to create a river of sorts. Larissa was kept busy with paddling and keeping low on the yawl so as not to overturn it. Then Longears cried, “To the right! That island—that is the Maiden’s Isle.”

  The dancer frantically tried to paddle to starboard, but the current enjoyed playing with the little yawl and was reluctant to let it go aground. Longears leaped into the water, catching the yawl’s rope in his mighty teeth, and struck out for the bank. Between his powerful swimming and Larissa’s determined efforts, they managed to bring the yawl safely ashore.

  Larissa dragged the small raft well onto the muddy bank, away from the greedy waters. Longears emerged a few feet away and began to shake himself dry like a dog. The island was a rare patch of dry land in the bog, and Larissa hadn’t realized how wonderful it was to feel the solidity of sand and then earth beneath her feet. The night had seemed to last forever, and she was glad of the morning. She sat down and leaned against a tree, suddenly tired and fully feeling the weight of what she had done.

  There came a warm chuckle behind her, and Larissa leaped up, tense and ready to defend herself.

  “Have no fear, Larissa Snowmane,” came a soft, rustling voice from the trunk of the tree. The voice grew into dulcet tones that were definitely female. “I am the one you have braved the swamp to see.”

  As Larissa watched, fascinated and more than a little frightened, the tree she had been reclining against shimmered. A cool green light emanated from it, increasing in brilliance until Larissa was forced to shield her eyes. It moved and twisted, reshaping itself into the likeness of a beautiful woman—albeit a woman unlike anyone Larissa had ever seen.

  Fully six feet tall, her skin was a pale, translucent green and her large eyes emerald. White-green hair tumbled down her back, and Larissa saw that it was actually airmoss. She was clad in a robe of leaves and vines. As she moved, her feet never appeared to completely leave the earth, and the hand that clasped a tall, rough-looking wooden staff ended in tendrils rather than fingers.

  “You have a message for me, I believe,” the Maiden continued in the same soothing, whisper-soft voice.

  Larissa swallowed hard. The plant-woman’s gentle beauty intimidated her.

  “Willen sent me,” she managed after a moment.

  The Maiden nodded her mossy head. “As I sent Willen. What has he learned? What has the riverboat captain done to our people?”

  For an instant, Larissa couldn’t meet those amazingly emerald eyes. She felt ashamed that she had any ties to Dumont.

  “Captain Dumont has enslaved the feu follets. He is using their need for positive emotions to generate business for his showboat. He has also trapped Longears’s cousin, Bouki. There are others, too, from other lands. Some of them have been trapped for years, and Willen wants you to know he wishes to free them all.”

  The Maiden’s eyes widened slightly. “All? He was sent only to free our people. Can he not determine how to accomplish that by himself?”

  “They are bound by powerful magic, Lady,” Larissa told her. “And having seen the other prisoners, Willen says that he will not go without all the creatures.”

  The Maiden sighed and shook her head. “There is great magic aboard that boat, considering where she travels.”

  “He also said to tell you that Lond is aboard. He wants—” Larissa broke off. The Maiden’s face had darkened with a terrible anger tinged with pain.

  “Lond?” the Maiden breathed. She reached with her other hand to clasp the staff, drawing it close to her body in a gesture of defense. “Is this true? For what purpose?”

  “Willen thinks that Lond wishes to leave Souragne.” Larissa’s voice was less certain now. The Maiden looked as if she were in terrible anguish. “Lady …” Larissa’s voice trailed off helplessly. She glanced down at Longears. The rabbit, too, was solemn.

  The Maiden turned as if Larissa weren’t even there. She moved with the grace of wind in the trees as she bowed her head in pain for a long moment. Larissa and Longears exchanged glances. At last the Maiden straightened and turned composed features to Larissa.

  “If you have traveled aboard the boat for as long as I believe you have, then you have seen a great deal of evil in your life, Larissa. Perhaps you have brushed by it unawares. I would like to think that you have not been hurt by it yet. Your escape from La Demoiselle du Musarde may have been even more narrow than you thought it to be. Lond is a man of great evil. That he and your Captain Dumont have joined forces is grim news indeed.”

  She sighe
d and, for a moment, shimmered so that she looked more like a plant than a woman. Then her features reformed. “I cannot lend the aid of the swamp and her beings to such a venture as Willen wishes. I am sorrier than you can possibly know.”

  Larissa was stunned. Not for a moment had she entertained the idea that this mysterious woman whom Willen so obviously revered would deny them her aid. Willen had seemed so certain. She opened her mouth, but Longears interrupted her.

  “But it is Bouki who is imprisoned, not some beast!” he cried. “He is a loah, Maiden. If you will not rescue him—”

  “It is not my decision!” cried the Maiden. The pain of her refusal was evident on her beautiful face. Tears welled in her eyes. “Do you not think I feel his fear? We are both the land’s creatures, and that is precisely why I am powerless to aid him, or the feu follets, or any of those other unfortunates. It is not in my power to say yea or nay, when Lond traffics in the dark magic of the waterways and the slaver has caught the land’s loah.”

  She held out one hand to the rabbit. “You, more than most, know my limits. Do not condemn me for what you know I must do.”

  Longears hesitated, quivering with anger. Then he was gone, leaping into the verdant growth with a white flash of his tail.

  Larissa turned toward the Maiden. The strangely beautiful woman met her gaze evenly.

  “Willen was counting on you,” the dancer said. She knew she was being rash, unwise, in protesting the Maiden’s decision, but the words came of their own accord. “He’s trapped on that boat now almost as much as the prisoners he’s trying to rescue. Can’t you see that?”

  The Maiden of the Swamp continued to gaze at Larissa steadily. “Ah, child,” she breathed softly, and the trees on the island rustled in sympathy, “you are so young and sure of yourself. And there is so very much that you do not and cannot know.”

  “I know Willen’s in trouble because he’s trying to save lives, mine included,” Larissa replied, growing angry. “And if you’re not going to help him …” She floundered helplessly.

  The Maiden tensed slightly. “If I do not help him?” she prompted.

  Larissa licked dry lips, then burst out, “Then Longears and I are just going to have to find a way all by ourselves!” The thought of Willen dead or in pain hurt her terribly, far more than she thought it would.

  To her surprise, the Maiden chuckled. “Perhaps you will, child. You are a whitemane, after all.” She paused, and her beautiful face brightened with new hope. Moving closer, she laid her hands on Larissa’s shoulders.

  “Yes … perhaps there is a way, after all. Do you truly mean what you say? Would you fight your guardian, fight Lond and his dark powers, attack that mighty, magical boat all by yourself?”

  The dancer felt herself turning red. The Maiden had called her bluff. But deep within her heart, Larissa knew that she would never consign Willen to his fate, not if there was anything she could do to help him. Fleetingly, she wondered if this meant she was in love with him, but she pushed that thought away. She nodded, fear clutching at her heart.

  A slow, pleased smile spread across the Maiden’s face. She extended a hand to Larissa. “Then, daughter of the swamp, you must come with me and learn.”

  The young woman hesitated, then took a step toward the Maiden and grasped the outstretched hand. It was cool, like a leaf, and soft. The slim arm folded gently about her, pulling her up against the Maiden’s body. The other arm came up to embrace her also, and the staff pressed against Larissa’s back.

  “Be not afraid,” whispered the Maiden gently. Her breath, filled with the fragrances of summer, was soft against Larissa’s white hair.

  The beach went away. Larissa found herself enveloped by a wall of swirling brown and green. The Maiden’s arms suddenly reminded her of the quickwood’s binding roots, and Larissa tasted blind panic for an instant. Scents flooded her senses as she inhaled to cry out—loam, honeysuckle, the odd, dusty scent of the trees themselves.

  Then it was over, and Larissa stood on the bank of a small pool. They were in the heart of a forest now, and everything was shadowed and cool. The trees stretched skyward. Somehow, they seemed to be only trees now, not the hunkering, malformed monstrosities that hovered over the waterways.

  She blinked dazedly and turned to the Maiden questioningly. The Maiden smiled.

  “On this island, I go where I will. You have traveled from one tree that bears my essence to another at the heart of the island. You will learn how to travel so yourself, Larissa.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” Larissa said, still a bit unsteady.

  The Maiden laughed. “You must be thirsty. Drink your fill from the pool. It is fresh and clean.”

  Larissa obeyed, kneeling in the cool, thick grass beside the little pool. The water reflected her face and white hair, and above her a cloud sailed lazily by in an azure sky. The dancer cupped the sparkling liquid in her hands and drank.

  She had forgotten how parched she was, and the water tasted delicious, cold and pure. It was after the third handful that her vision began to blur. She blinked and shook her head, but it didn’t help. Her reflection was changing, dissolving.

  Her head spinning, Larissa sat down heavily, her fingers digging into the earth as if she could hold onto consciousness by sheer strength.

  The Maiden’s voice sounded distant and as fragile as a summer zephyr. “Be not afraid,” she whispered. “Gaze into the pool, Larissa Snowmane, and learn there the secret of who you are.”

  Stubbornly Larissa refused to cooperate. She clutched her temples, fearful of her powerlessness. She had never been a victim of a spell before, and—

  It is not a spell. I am giving you answers that you already know. Do not fight me, Larissa.

  This time the voice was inside her head. Larissa felt herself shudder, then melt into acceptance. She turned her eyes to the pool and saw there not the blue sky, but a star-crowded nightscape framed by green grass.

  She surrendered, and the edges of the pool dissolved.

  Larissa stood at the edge of the swamp. From the city came faint, bustling sounds; from the swamp, the hum of cicadas and the musical noise of the river. She whispered forlornly, with the voice of a child, “Papa …”

  Nothing was familiar. Larissa wept, horribly frightened. She was five years old again, and her soft blond hair hung in a tangle about her tear-streaked face. As she drew closer to the swamp, however, Larissa felt her fear fading to curiosity. She knelt to look at shiny pebbles, touched a frog’s wet back and laughed brightly as it leaped away with an insulted croak.

  An increase in light caused Larissa to look up, and she gasped happily. Dozens of swirling lights emerged from the shadows of the forest. There were so many of them clustered around the slim form of the girl that she could easily see by their light. The five-year-old sat down on the riverbank, laughing and clapping her hands at the antics of the glowing balls.

  Fifteen, perhaps twenty of the ghostly orbs danced about Larissa’s head, hovering, bouncing, swirling around her. Now and then her small hand would reach to catch one, but it would quickly dart away.

  Larissa’s body began to tingle warmly. It was an extremely pleasant sensation, and it coursed through her from her head to her toes. She giggled, then sobered as she realized that the lights were starting to drift away. Anxious not to lose her new friends, Larissa clambered to her feet and followed them as they began to float toward the swamp.

  The night’s peace was shattered by a sudden cry.

  “Larissa!” her father exclaimed, running up from the town. The girl turned to him and frowned. The light creatures seemed to shrink in size, moving away from Larissa at the sound of her father’s shrill voice. Some abandoned her altogether, floating off like innocuous fireflies. Others continued to hover near.

  “Papa!” Larissa scolded. “You scared them away!”

  Her father charged at the glowing globes of light. He waved his arms about frantically, screaming in anger and pent-up terror. The balls of r
adiance scattered, all save one.

  “Oh, gods, Rissa, I thought I’d lost you!” Aubrey gasped as he gathered his wayward daughter into his arms and squeezed her tightly.

  Larissa, however, was not taking kindly to being rescued from the pretty lights.

  “Papa, bring them back!” she demanded angrily.

  Aubrey took a good look at Larissa and gasped. Sometime over the last few moments his child’s hair had turned pure white.

  Aubrey’s tired mouth set in a hard line, and Larissa’s own rosebud lips puckered into a determined frown. When her father picked her up, she struggled. Aubrey hurried back toward the warm, reassuring torchlight of the town, clutching his precious burden. The girl faced over her father’s shoulder, and she saw that one of the lights had not deserted her. With an anguished, lost wail, Larissa stuck out her hands imploringly toward the floating ball.

  “Don’t leave me!” the child screamed, tears pouring down her face. The ball of light was obviously troubled. It blinked rapidly, darting about in a crazy zigzag pattern. For a few moments it followed the child and father, its cold light illuminating Larissa’s twisted, weeping features. It hung back as Aubrey drew closer to the town. Its light flickered in distress, then dulled to a barely visible glow as it slowly floated away to rejoin its fellows.

  I remember.… I remember.…

  “The swamp had need of your magic. The feu follets called you. Had you been able to answer their call, had your father not taken you away, you would eventually have become as I am—a part of the swamp.”

  “But I have no magic,” Larissa protested. Even as the words left her lips, she knew them to be a lie. Her body still remembered that warm tingling. She recognized the sensation as an early stage of the wild joy she had experienced dancing while Sardan had played for her. The young woman closed her eyes and again felt power surging through her, power almost out of control.

  “You had the potential, which was why the swamp chose you. When did you begin to dance?”