The Abulon Dance

by Caro Soles

  “Ambassador Benvolini, I am desolate,” the Chief began. “You are in my country less than two weeks and already we have offended you with the gift of watch dogs, made you ill with our food, and allowed one of your countrymen to be forcibly taken from you. What can I say to express my sorrow? What can I do to right the wrongs?”

  Beny smiled graciously, sketching a gesture in the air with one small hand. “Great One, the dogs were merely a misunderstanding, and the food you could not have known about. All we are concerned with here is Chamion Adino Eseris who was taken by rebel Hunters and is now in the hands of someone called Yonan. Can you explain this to us, Chief?”

  The Am Quarr raised his eyes to the dim ceiling and lifted his hands in the air, palm upwards. “Let the Gods be my witness, I knew nothing of this! I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this has happened. Yonan commands a small but well-drilled and fanatical force of rebels hiding in the hills. They raid and pillage the surrounding towns and villages but rarely do they venture into the capital.”

  “Three of them did this time, sir,” Thar-von said quietly.

  “Are you the one involved?”

  “I am.” Triani leaned forward tensely.

  “How do you know the men who took this person are rebel Hunters?” the Chief asked. “You are a stranger to our customs and have been here even less time than the Ambassador.”

  “They are missing the top joint of the fourth finger, left hand.”

  “But so it is with the Hunters who are loyal to me.”

  “Oh, come on! Surely your men do not attack and carry off helpless aliens!” said Triani heatedly. Thar-von laid a warning hand on his arm.

  “The barbaric exploits of the degenerate anarchists always distress our Chief,” remarked the First Minister gravely. There was no sign now of the flashing smile. “It is most unfortunate that you have become involved in our internal problems.”

  “That was the point, wasn’t it?” asked Luan in his soft voice.

  “It is a pity that my only son shows no desire to be Chief,” his father said dryly. “Those uncouth savages could have no real grasp of your Planetary Alliance, Ambassador. They are isolationists who are against mingling with anyone from another culture, let alone species. They claim it will only weaken us. It is a good thing that they have no real following among our people.”

  “It is also a possible reason for taking your friend,” the First Minister said. “To frighten you away, no?”

  “That is highly unlikely, sir,” said Luan, softly. He was looking steadily at his father, ignoring Tquan.

  “No one gave you permission to speak,” the Chief replied, not looking at his son.

  “But sir—”

  “Be silent!”

  Luan’s sad brown eyes flicked to Beny for a moment and then dropped again.

  “That is not the reason they give, Great One.” Beny was watching closely to see the man’s reaction.

  “You have been in contact with them?” The Chief’s evident surprise gave Beny some satisfaction.

  “We received a message from him this morning, along with the sash Cham was wearing at the time.”

  “And how was this missive delivered?” asked the First Minister.

  “It was left in our office.” Beny nodded to Thar-von who produced the original copy and handed it over to the Chief.

  “It must have required a considerable amount of time and effort for you to transcribe this,” said the First Minister. Beny said nothing. Slowly Tquan turned his head and stared for a long moment at Luan. The boy flushed, his eyes fixed on his gold ring. For the first time, Tquan smiled. “Perhaps intergalactic politics is more appealing to your son, Am Quarr. I have always said he has talent.”

  The chief made a noise of annoyance.

  Beny cleared his throat. “We want Chamion back, Great One. He is one of ours.”

  “Of course. That is entirely understandable.” The Chief scanned the writing rapidly, making a sucking noise through his teeth. “They demand a great deal. Far too much.” He passed the paper across to his First Minister.

  “Great One, this does not look like the work of degenerate anarchists to me,” said Thar-von in a reasonable tone. “Nor do they seem to be trying to frighten us off. Quite the contrary, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Lord Del, we have vast experience dealing with these people. We have tried to take them at their word and time after time have found them to be utterly faithless.” The Chief sighed. It was obviously a great sadness to him.

  “They wish a hostage of greater importance, Lords, such as the Ambassador. Do you not see this?” The First Minister leaned forward suddenly. The white streak in his hair seemed to glow. “It is a trap.”

  Luan rose to his feet. “May I speak?” His father nodded, his face without expression. “As your son, sir, I am in a position of prominence. I have also had some experience with politics, having sat in on many meetings and conferences as part of my training. I know a fair amount about the situation. For these reasons I volunteer to be the representative they wish to meet.”

  “But Luan, what do you know about the Alliance?” asked Beny gently.

  “You could teach me, lord.”

  The Chief smiled, his eyes openly mocking.

  Luan flushed. Nervously fingering the rough blue beads around his neck, he continued; “I have a very good memory for detail, Ambassador. You could give me the power to sign in your name whatever you agree to in advance.”

  A muffled explosion of sound burst from the Great Chief. When Beny glanced at him, he winked. Startled, Beny realized the First Minister was speaking, and hastily turned to listen.

  “I fear that the impetuosity of youth has not considered all sides of the question. I admire the motives—”

  “Hah!” The Chief interrupted him. “Surely you realize that this oh so heroic gesture on the part of my son is a hollow one? There is no question as to who goes. There is no question of anyone going!”

  “But Father—”

  “Enough!”

  Luan bit his lip hard and sat down.

  “Bastard,” muttered Triani under his breath.

  “I will not deal with Terrorists,” the Chief went on calmly. “They must be made to realize that acts like this accomplish nothing. We will not be threatened. They must know this.”

  Beny felt his stomach lurch. His hands were shaking. “You are talking about a life. Does this mean nothing to you…sir?”

  “I am sorry, your Excellency. You must see that there can be no exceptions.”

  “But Chief! You do not understand!” Beny leaned forward intently, both hands now clutching the edge of the table. “This is not just an internal matter, as you seem to think. Chamion is a Merculian citizen and subject to the protection of Alliance law.”

  “Ambassador, it is you who does not understand. Abulon is not a member of the Alliance as yet. You are merely visitors to our planet and subject to our laws, just like everyone else.”

  “I don’t believe this!” muttered Triani. “Is there any chance of a move by the military to rescue Cham?” asked Thar-von.

  “I am afraid that is out of the question. Because of the terrain, that would entail a full scale army operation which might escalate to a civil war. We can not run that risk, however minimal.”

  “They are very well positioned and defended,” the First Minister added.

  “But I thought you said it was a small force!” exclaimed Triani, unable to restrain himself any longer.

  “Relatively speaking, it is,” said the Chief as he turned towards him courteously. “Their exact numbers, however, are unknown to us. It would not do to underestimate them.”

  “‘It would not do’! Shit, man! This is not a theoretical tactical manoeuver we’re discussing here! It’s a life! A young, vibrant life full of joy and talent—”

  Thar-von pulled him down roughly and bowed his head to the Chief. “This person is understandably disturbed, Great One. He is very close to the hostage. If his
conduct has offended, I apologize on behalf of the I.P.A.”

  Beny ran his fingers through his thick curls and gazed earnestly at the impassive face of the alien leader. He tried hard to keep his voice level. “Sir, this planet was represented to us as friendly and safe, as it seemed when the original I.P.A. contact team was here. The Alliance will not be pleased to find that this was a false impression created for their benefit.”

  “Do not threaten us, Ambassador.”

  “It is not a threat, merely a reminder. As is the fact that the one whose life you are playing with is a scant few years younger than your own son.”

  The Chief looked at him coldly. “I fail to see the relevance of that remark, your Excellency. If the hostage were my son, my position would be exactly the same.”

  Beny felt a cold shiver, like ice water trickling down his spine He got unsteadily to feet. “You cannot turn your back on life!” he exclaimed desperately, hanging on to the edge of the table. “Can you not find it in your heart to compromise? Just this once? Just a little? Is what they ask for so much when compared with a life? I beg you—”

  Thar-von rose swiftly, breaking in on the flow of words. “Unfortunately our time is up, lords. It is with reluctance that I remind my Ambassador of a prior commitment.”

  Beny closed his mouth and tried to mask the surprise he knew must be on his face. He trusted Thar-von implicitly. “My regrets, gentlemen.” He bowed with as much dignity as he could muster and swept out of the room, followed by Thar-von and a confused Triani.

  “What the hell was that all about?” sputtered the dancer when they were outside the door.

  Thar-von’s strong, capable hands held an elbow of each Merculian and propelled them firmly along the corridor towards the main gate. “Didn’t you see the storm clouds gathering, Ben? An emotional appeal is the last thing to use with that man. He was about to cut you off, to insult you by walking out of the meeting. That would have made things much worse.”

  “How could anything possibly be worse?” exclaimed Triani hotly.

  “Thanks, Von. I should have seen that coming myself. I remember Tquan himself warned me the first night we were here, never to beg. Now I know what he meant. What the bloody damn can we do next?”

  “Regroup and come in for another attack,” said Thar-von stolidly.

  TWELVE

  The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on the narrow path, wilting the jagged leaves of the large, purple flowers and bringing out a thin sheen of perspiration on Luan’s dark shoulders. He climbed slowly, kicking up the dust with his boots. He was in no hurry to reach the arched opening in the hill above him. The rough blue stones of the necklace were warm against his chest.

  He paused and rested one hand on his knee as he looked down over the city ruled by his father and his small circle of advisors. There was no movement visible on the shimmering roof gardens or in the steep, narrow streets. He noted with pleasure the luxuriant, red and yellow striped flowers spilling out of tubs and boxes everywhere, in front of windows, at doorways, even around the perimeter of the shuttle port atop the flattened pyramid in the distance. He had lived in this ancient city all his life, secure in his privileged position with few demands made on him.

  Until now. Suddenly, people expected him to act, to make decisions that might alter the whole course of his life. He was not ready. His mind kept turning over and over the humiliation of the noon meeting. He heard again his father’s laughter, saw the pity in the eyes of the First Minister. He needed someone, but he had always been a loner. And so now he climbed the Mountain of Dreams, hoping to talk to Quetzelan, the Dream Weaver, in his retreat far above the city. He had no secrets from the All-Seeing One.

  How many times had he climbed this hill, his eyes often blinded by tears? Once he had tried to die on this path by slashing his wrists with a hunter’s knife. For a long time he lay among the dusty clumps of grass, staining the flowers red, until Quetzelan found him. He had wanted to escape the pain of memory, to erase forever the picture of the pale, lifeless body of his only friend, his lover, dead from a hunting accident. Since that day, almost two years ago, Luan had refused to have anything to do with hunting. It was nothing but a stupid game with death. It put man on a level with the animals he killed. It did not prove a thing. But the Hunter code was cherished by his people. Turning away from it marked him as different, even more of an outsider. At times, he felt that his entire world rejected him…except for the Dream Weaver. Quetzelan’s cave went deep into the side of the hill. Luan stopped at the opening and bent down to take off his boots. There was no guarantee that the old man would appear. Sometimes, the main chamber of the cave remained empty. Luan prayed it would not be so today.

  In the dim light inside, he could just make out the shallow pool of water in front of him. A torch burned beside it, the steady flame reflected in its quiet surface. Luan walked through the cold water and reached up to pass his hand through the flame, thus cleansing body and soul. He paused a moment to let his mind clear and then continued deeper into the hill. Before him, the cave opened into a dim passage through which he continued, his feet cushioned by the deep white moss. The air got colder as he advanced towards the light. The tunnel at last opened up into a cavernous hall that arched high above his head and became lost in uncertain shadows. The old man sat on a throne-like chair, the arms made of the carved heads of animals. He did not move as Luan came towards him and dropped to one knee in silence.

  At last the old man spoke. “What is your dream, Luan, my son?”

  “It is the same as ever, All-Seeing One. I wish only to live with one I love in a small dwelling place with a large garden and to create beautiful growing things never seen before. Is that so much?”

  “A peacock would find it difficult to live with the pigeons for ever, my son.”

  Luan bent his head. “All I want is to live my own life, my own way.”

  “You see a new image in your dream, do you not?”

  “I see the sun. Again.” Luan paused, then went on, in a rush. “I want to help the Merculians. No one else must die. My father is—wrong about this. But he is my father.”

  “The image appears unclear?”

  “Yes… No! I know what it means, now. I must help. The rebel demands are not that impossible. At a meeting between my father and the Merculians, I offered to go myself and talk to them. My father laughed at me. He thought I was only trying to impress the Merculian Ambassador.”

  “And were you?”

  Luan raised his head and looked into the old man’s eyes. “I would like to make an impression on him, yes. But that’s not the reason I made the offer.”

  “You think it would be possible to talk to these renegades?”

  “Yes, I do. They want to talk, Lord. How can anything be accomplished if there is no communication?”

  “It is true that dialogue is necessary for understanding.” The old man fell silent. He reached over and dropped a few twigs into a large, brass bowl at his feet. As he scattered a handful of fine powder, a blue flame ignited the contents of the bowl with a hissing noise. A sharp, pungent odor drifted into the cavernous room. The old man leaned forward and placed his large, twisted hands on Luan’s head, the touch firm but gentle.

  “You are my dream-son, Luan. You are brave and lithe as a young forest animal. But you are too accepting of other’s views, too quick to think them right and you wrong. You are an intelligent young man, born to be a leader. Soon you must decide the path you will follow. Will it be the one chosen by your father?”

  “No! His ways are not mine. I do not wish to become like him nor have I any desire for power over others. And…I do not want to be married. My father is not thinking of me at all in this matter. He only wants grandsons!”

  “That is not surprising. You are his only son.” The old man paused. His eyes were fixed on nothing as he stared above Luan’s head into the cloud of fragrant smoke. “May I ask if a wife would seem so out of the question if you had a Life’s Companion
by your side, as your Great Grandfather had? A triple marriage is not uncommon among our people. Perhaps it would suit you better. Or perhaps you would prefer a male union, like your uncle Kuandar. You are the only one who can choose your way of life, my son. But it is not wise to live alone.” The old man paused, stroking the long, dark hair thoughtfully. “Your father is a hard man, I know, but he has loved you all your life. There is much affection in his laughter.”

  Luan remained silent, his eyes fixed on his heavy, gold ring.

  “Your father is one kind of leader. You, Luan, could be another; one who does what he believes is right for him, one who does the things that will work for him, a leader not afraid of new ideas, not a follower of the rules made by others. Not a weakling, but a man to admire! A Dreamer, who has the power to lead!”

  The words thrilled through Luan’s mind. He was on both knees, now, the old man’s hands gently pushing him down, his head very near the fragrant smoke. He swayed slightly and put a hand on the wooden rim of the bowl to steady himself. Images were beginning to form in front of his eyes, swimming towards him through the smoke.

  “Tell me what you see, Luan.”

  The boy sank to the ground, gazing steadily at the incense. Tears ran down his cheeks. “I see the Merculian Ambassador holding my hand and leading me to the rebel stronghold. His hair is on fire like the sun and he looks at me with eyes that care. I will do anything for him! I mean—almost anything. I will transcribe messages and write the letters for them in Abulonian script, but I will not betray my father. I cannot!”

  “You are confusing the man and the office.”

  “I can’t help it! It’s a separation he does not make himself.” Luan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, like a child. “I see the Merculian Ambassador with his arms full of flowers. He is laughing and happy and he wants to be with me. We find a secret cave together which no one knows about but us.” Luan looked up at the old man, longing in his eyes. “Maybe if I help to get the young dancer back from the rebels, he will let me hold him in my arms. Is this the way?”