The Unfinished Song: Sacrifice

by Maya, Tara

“Shut up, Tamio,” said Gremo. “What now, Zavaedi?”

  “Break for middle meal,” said Kavio. “Then regroup and run a new scenario. I have to do something, but I’ll be back by the time you’ve eaten.”

  “Where do you go each day, Zavaedi?” asked Tamio. “Wouldn’t happen to get some hootchie-cootchie would you? Care to share?”

  “Shut up, Tamio,” said Kavio.

  He knew the boy already suspected something. He’d have to watch out for rumors. Or better yet, see if he could turn those suspicions to his advantage…there was a thought.

  He walked by the painted rocks he had set up as markers for the practice area of his secret army. The Maze Born septs comprised Yellow Bear natives who were descended from Rainbow Labyrinth refugees, as well as a handful of precocious Labyrinth Initiates like Tamio. All Imorvae. All warriors and Tavaedies who were excluded from the Bear Spears septs.

  Kavio walked through the forest until he reached another redwood where a lithe figure swung from a rope high up in the branches. A fishing net had been stretched between stakes below. As he watched, the acrobat released the rope, twisted and somersaulted in the air and landed on the net.

  “You aren’t entering the spin tightly enough, so your descent comes at the wrong angle,” he remarked. He steadied the net while she rolled out onto her feet beside him. “That’s why your fall is so sloppy.”

  Dindi nodded. Sweat glittered on her skin like crystal beads. She panted from exertion. He watched a rivulet drip into the cleavage between her rising breasts. Her body is naked beneath him, slick with desire…

  Kavio squeezed his eyes to rid himself of the image from his dreams.

  “I know, I can’t seem to time the curl right,” she said. “If I spin too soon, I hit the net too hard. One time, my landing pulled out a stake and I actually hit the ground.”

  Muck and mercy. He had been so busy ogling her breasts, he hadn’t even noticed the faint blue and yellow bruising on her hip. He was a troll to make her practice these kinds of moves with no spotter, not even another human being within shouting distance to help her if she hurt herself.

  He pressed the bruises. “Do you need to rest?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, even though she winced in response to his gentle probe.

  “I’m a fool. I’m pushing you too hard.”

  “I’m the fool that wants it.” She tried to smile, but it was a pale reflection of the brilliant grins he remembered. Then even that ghost smile vanished. “Besides, I’d rather be out here than back with the other Initiates.”

  She had been stressed lately. Maybe she was pushing too hard on the techniques, or maybe there was more to it.

  “Are you having problems with the other Initiates?”

  A shrug. She evaded his gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Dindi…”

  “What about you? Have you had any more dreams?”

  Kavio paced away.

  Her body is naked beneath him, slick with desire, her breath draws in sharply when he cups her breast. He kisses her and calls her name, Dindi, Dindi, you are mine! and she arches her back…

  “Yes,” he said shortly.

  “About the man in black killing you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It doesn’t mean the dream will come true.”

  “It won’t.”

  But he had not told her about the Banshee’s Scream. That had been the first omen of his death. The dreams were already the second omen. If there were a third…

  “If,” he added, “If anything happens to me, you will no longer have a teacher. It will not be safe for you to continue alone.”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation.”

  “Then we won’t. Do you have the string?”

  She pulled out the loops of string he had asked her to make, along with some sticks.

  “Show me the Tama of the Morning Star.”

  Using sticks to provide tension, she arranged the loops in a three-dimensional star-like pattern. He had only shown her once before, but as usual, she reproduced the pattern flawlessly. It no longer surprised him, except to make him grateful that she did not have a problem with the idea that dancers drew designs of light with the movements of their body. Most Tavaedies couldn’t see the weaves in the air, and apparently couldn’t imagine them either.

  “The move you are working on right now traces out this position in the larger Pattern.” He slid his finger along one of the circuits of string. The swing we did yesterday traces out…?”

  “This one.” Her hand brushed his when she stroked the string.

  “Yes. And this place where the string crosses, that represents the release and catch, which we haven’t tried yet.” Nor was he sure how they would, with just the two of them. “When real Tavaedies perform this tama, they leave behind streams of light, which form this Pattern. One difference between a mere Tavaedi and a Zavaedi is that the Zavaedi does not just think of his own role in the dance. He considers the Pattern as a whole. He does not see the tama as a sequence of moves, but as a weave of living light created by a loom with height, breadth and width.”

  “So can Zavaedies create new tama?”

  “No. Even historical dances must be made of components from pre-existent history dances.”

  “But every dance must have been new once.”

  “Only a Vaedi can create a completely new tama.”

  “Oh.” Her chin sank to her chest. She played with the loops of string.

  He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his knuckles.

  “Fa, ow, must you?” She winced teasingly.

  “I’m going to show you how to enter the somersault. Watch closely.”

  Days ago, he had driven stone spikes into the redwood trunk to form a ladder. He climbed from handhold to handhold, until he reached the branch with the rope swing.

  “Here you can see the move with one somersault,” he called down.

  He swept the air, curled and landed, standing up.

  “Show off,” she said.

  He laughed. “If you want me to show off, I’ll show you the same move with three somersaults.”

  Up the tree again, then out on the branch. He lifted the rope and prepared to dive….

  …and just as he leaned forward, he saw the strands of magic, not here! not now! not in front of her! too late…a fit overtook him and he fell, uncontrolled, from the upper reach of the redwood.

  Kavio (10 years old)

  Like a moon moth, white wings spread and shimmering, she fluttered to the ground. She did not see Kavio, though she tossed a searching gaze wildly about.

  “Where is my son?” she demanded in a terrible voice.

  “What are you doing here?” Father’s voice was as cold as hers. “I told you not to come!”

  “You plan to let Hertio kill our son!” An octave up. “And you accuse me of being an inadequate mother? Did you think I would let you?”

  “Go home,” he said. “You can’t be here.”

  “Why not? Because this is where you met the Corn Maiden?”

  Father stiffened, and Kavio felt chilled, as if he stood in icy water. They only ever mentioned that name when they fought. His father’s first wife.

  “Do you wish she were here now?” asked his mother, the White Lady.

  Kavio wished his father would answer, No.

  But his father said, “It doesn’t matter what I wish. I must do what must be done.”

  “Do not treat me like one of your minions. I have power of my own,” she said. “I am not the fool your Corn Maiden was.”

  “She was no fool. And I never forget your power.”

  “Then let me save our son.”

  Father blew out an angry breath. “It is not a matter of saving. It is a price that must be paid. If you refuse to give Hertio what he wants, then there will never be peace. This sacrifice must be made.”

  “I will not let him kill my son.” She glanced away, then sharply back again. “Do not think this can change the
Vision. I have accepted it, even if you refuse.”

  “I will never, never accept it.”

  “I will not let you kill him out of some misguided impulse to save me.”

  “I would not, and you know it.”

  “But you would let him die?”

  “He is my son too. Do you think this is easy for me?”

  “There are none so heartless as those who love too much.”

  “Leave now,” he repeated.

  Dindi

  Dindi watched Kavio about to spring from the upper branch of the sequoia, as he had demonstrated many times before. Instead, a bright halo flared around him, he convulsed and went limp and began to fall. She ran toward him, and felt the corncob doll flash and envelope her in its own halo of light.

  Vessia

  The Skull Stomper, Vio, gave his warriors the orders to strike camp. The Zavaedies rode horses, the foot warriors jogged at double pace. Vessia rode behind Vio, at his insistence, because he refused to believe she could ride on her own with no memory of having ever done so before. The whole army traveled without rest until they reached the edge of Rainbow Labyrinth territory, where they struck camp again.

  The spot on the trail happened to be rather scenic, and so it was that on cliffs overlooking a sandstone valley, Vessia and Vio married. Vumo and a sour faced Nangi were the only human witnesses, but it seemed as if every kind of fae in the world drew near the cliffs to dance around them after the ceremony.

  That night, Vessia and Vio slept side by side on the furs in his wickiup, without touching, just as before. In the middle of the night, Vessia woke up because Vio left the tent. Lying on the fur, Vessia heard him rustle the bushes just outside their wickiup. Then she heard him curse.

  “What the—Nangi? What are you doing lurking outside my tent? I mistook you for an assassin. I nearly sliced your head off!”

  “It’s awfully quiet in there for a wedding night,” said Nangi.

  “You were spying on my nuptials?”

  “I know the Corn Maiden is still a virgin. You have not tried her even once,” Nangi continued, unabashed. “Which leads me to wonder why you married her at all.”

  “What I do with my bride is none of your business,” Vio said coldly.

  “Unless you married her as a favor to Vumo,” said Nangi. “To keep her about without making me suspicious. He’s asked for a second wife before, and knows I won’t let him. Now he can have the next best thing, thanks to his big brother.”

  “You’re paranoid,” said Vio. “Your jealousy has made you insane.”

  “Or maybe I’ve just seen too many men who lie,” she said acrimoniously. “All men lie, and I have to fish through the muck in their minds which spews the truths they try to hide. People call me ugly. They should see the ugliness most people hide inside behind a fair face.”

  “It’s late, Nangi. I came out to the bushes to piss. Do you really want to stand there?”

  “I never liked you, Vio,” she said nastily. “You Imorvae are all the same. You poison good men like my Vumo. My father is right to wipe you all out.”

  “Watch what you say out loud, Nangi.” Vio sounded dangerous.

  “Why?” She sniggered. “Are you afraid you can’t trust your beautiful bride not to turn you over to my father? Does she know your secret?”

  “This conversation is over.”

  More rustling. Nangi must have moved off. Vio finished watering the bushes before he returned inside. At first, he crept onto the furs trying not to disturb her, until he saw she was wide-awake.

  “You heard that, I suppose?”

  She nodded.

  “We aren’t convincing enough.” Vio straddled her body, supporting himself on his elbows so he didn’t touch her. “We need to put on a better show for that old toad, Nangi. I doubt she’s gone far.”

  “How are we supposed to do that?” Vessia could feel the heat of his body looming over hers.

  “We’ll have to make more noise. As if we were…”

  “I don’t know how,” she said stiffly.

  “To start, try moaning and groaning a little.”

  “Moaning and groaning.”

  “Like this.” He groaned in an exaggerated way.

  “You sound ridiculous.”

  “You try it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It won’t sound like a wedding night if you aren’t making some noise too. It will sound as though I were having a private parley with my snake.”

  Whatever that was supposed to mean, thought Vessia. Experimentally, she pretended to moan.

  Vio tried not to laugh. “Try to sound less like a coyote howling at the moon. Listen again.”

  He hummed over her. His breath smelled of honey and nuts. She shivered beneath him, arched back her head, to expose her throat to his mouth.

  He kissed her neck. The flat and hard planes and prominences of his body melded to hers. She shut her eyes, to savor the awareness of parts of herself brought alive by contact with parts of him.

  She cooed into his ear.

  He rumbled back like a growling wolf.

  She couldn’t help it. She giggled helplessly. Vio began to snicker too, then he couldn’t contain his laughter and collapsed on top of her, muffling his bellows in her shoulder. Belly to belly, she could feel them both jiggling with waves of laughter. The more they tried to stop, the less they could contain it. Only when Vessia become aware of another kind of tickling sensation, from the press of his body so close on top of hers, did she blush and grow still. He stilled as well.

  “I must be smoothering you,” he said. Husky emotion roughened his voice. He raised himself back onto his hands, though he his arms still straddled her.

  Smothered? No; and Yes. She could breathe; every breath filled her with him.

  Their eyes met in the semi darkness of the moonlit tent.

  Vio lowered himself back down and kissed her. The growl from deep in his throat was matched by her purr.

  Dindi

  She broke free of the Vision just in time to see Kavio crash down through branches into the net.

  Kavio

  Leave now! Kavio pushed the unwanted Vision away. Curse his fae blood and his own stupidity for tripping over ghosts from his own past. No wonder this spot had seemed familiar when he picked it for practice. This was where he had overheard his parents arguing on his first trip to Yellow Bear, eight years ago, after Hertio had demanded Kavio as a sacrifice and his father had agreed.

  If he had encountered the knot of magic earlier, when practicing with his men, he might have snapped his neck on the fall, for they did not use nets. As it was, he had only humiliated himself. Wonderful.

  The net had caught him. Dindi sat next to him, balanced on the cords. Her hands pressed against his skin felt delicious and soft like fresh bread.

  “Thank the Last Aelfae you’re alive!” She bent down and kissed him on the lips, a flutter of petals that left him craving more, deeper and rougher.

  “You shouldn’t reward clumsiness,” he chided. “I might start throwing myself out of trees every day.”

  “Don’t joke. I was terrified.”

  “Fa, I’ll be fine.”

  However, when he swung himself out of the net, he winced. On the way down, he must have scraped a branch. The scarlet gash ran down the line of his leg and it hurt like a scorpion sting.

  “You’re hurt!” Dindi accused.

  Kavio grimaced, and demonstrated that he could still walk, but she would not be soothed until he promised to see a healer. He promised to see Danumoro. He had been planning to do so anyway, for other reasons.

  “Kavio, what happened?” she asked. “There was no reason for that fall. You just…went limp.”

  A feeling overcame him like a wave of warm sludge, a familiar sense of shame at his weakness that made him feel like a child again. He had been caught out. In front of her.

  He considered lying to her. The temptation was great. But the expression on her face said she
would not drop this until he satisfied her with a real answer.

  “I had a Vision,” he said reluctantly. “I could not control it. A kind of memory, but more powerful. I don’t know if you can understand.”

  She paled. She regarded him with such horror that he stood straighter, feeling a touch of anger.

  “Yes, you may laugh if you wish, at the curse of my fae blood,” he said bitterly. “But I would consider it a favor if you would not speak of it to others.”

  “Do you know what triggers it?” she asked.

  “Any little thing. A snag of magic tied to a place, or tied to an object. My problem is that I am more sensitive to the currents than most.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “I apologize for my imperfection,” he drawled.

  “This is my fault.”

  He blinked at her. Once again, as she so often did, she had thrown him off balance. He didn’t even know what to say to such a bizarre claim.

  “That is…unlikely,” he said finally. His anger had dissipated, unable to compete with his curiosity. “Why do you think so?”

  “Please don’t be angry. It’s a secret I should have told you long ago.” She drew out a cord from her blouse, pulling out a long slender object that had apparently rested between her breasts. It took him a moment it to recognize a totem doll carved from a corncob.

  “The doll is hexed,” Dindi said. “It exudes powerful Visions, even to people without magic. I’ve seen them, and so have others.”

  She held it out to him.

  He didn’t touch it. If mere proximity could trigger a Vision, what would happen if he touched it? He had no doubt it was hexed, as she claimed. The rubbed-raw gleam of the thing had an eldritch air. He drew a tight breath. Anger returned, but now for a different reason, fueled by concern.

  “How long have you had this?”

  “Since before my Initiation. But I’ve only known it was hexed for a little while. Well, I already knew it was hexed on our journey through Blue Waters territory.”

  He exploded. “Mercy, Dindi, are you serious? You’ve knowingly held on to a hexed object for moons now and kept it secret? When were you going to tell me?”