Suddenly Elsa felt smaller than she ever had. The music had brought all the world and time into this clearing, and they watched her with the bow held high in a silly game. The red shoes still stood beneath their coating of gore with the hideous stumps of Karen’s abandoned feet thrusting out of them. Karen had not lost her feet. She’d given them away with all her pride. Given them to God, and God had taken them. The old soldier was only doing his duty, like the executioner. She had not understood, because she was a little girl and nothing more. Her hand trembled again.
“No!” she said, stubbornly. “It is not right! It is not a proper story! Give me the red shoes or I will break this bow over my knee.”
“Elsa, Elsa.” The soldier folded his arms and shook his head, just as her father did when he thought she was being silly. “Do you think I need a bow to make music?” He snapped his fingers once more, and the fiddle’s strings trembled, though the instrument lay on the ground. They trembled and they shivered and the music began again. It swirled and looped, catching at Elsa’s mind and tugging at her heels. Beside her, the red shoes began to dance again, hopping and gliding, all the blood making a scarlet train behind them.
Elsa’s arm fell to her side and the bow slipped from her fingers. The music snatched and pushed at her, and she did not know what to do. She looked down at Clarissa with her red stained feet, and felt tears prickle again at her eyes. She had come all this way, and done all these things, and she did not know what to do anymore.
You will put on the shoes, and you will dance, the old woman had said. Elsa swallowed. Her throat was dry as dust. It was the only thing she had not done yet. The only thing, the last thing.
She straightened her shoulders and stuck out her chin. “Soldier, soldier!” she cried out as loudly as she could. “Give me the red shoes!”
The soldier laughed again, a low chuckle that made the ground tremble. He raised his hand and the fiddle strings stilled and the world was so silent that her ears rang.
“Little Elsa, Little Elsa,” the soldier said, and his voice was a wolf’s growl. “Give me a dance.”
Elsa crossed the clearing to the red shoes that waited still in the silent world. She lifted them from Karen’s feet. The blood smeared all over her hands. The feet lay on the forest floor, white and forlorn, ridiculous things without their owner. But the thing begun could not be stopped, and Elsa stepped into the red shoes. It seemed the world swept ’round her, and for a moment she saw the shoes as they had been, the gleaming red satin and embroidery and shining gold heels. She saw what Karen had loved, the love of beauty, of something that was her very own, and for that she had been taken away to die.
“Such pretty shoes!” laughed the soldier in his low, dark chuckle. “They fit so tightly when you dance!”
He did not move his hand, he did not blink, but the fiddle strings shivered and the music began again. The red shoes, weeping out the remnants of Karen’s blood, began to move, taking Elsa’s feet, and the whole of Elsa, with them.
Elsa danced.
She turned and swayed, she kicked up high and spun. She held out her arms for the partner who was not there. She danced, and the blood-Karen’s blood, the shoes’ blood-ran down and darkened the forest floor. She saw herself, a skeleton in rags dancing through the dark forest and up the streets of the town so that people shut their windows against her and murmured prayers as they would against a ghost. She saw her mother weeping by the fire for her daughter whom she thought dead.
The soldier laughed, and the music drawn down from the sky and up from the roots of the world played on, and in her mind she heard the weeping of the shoes.
Her legs were already tired, and tears threatened. The soldier laughed, and his voice was the crows’ voices. The music played harder, twirling her around and pulling all the breath from her lungs. But the blood in the shoes, Karen’s blood, slipped between her stockings and the shoes-and the shoe did not cleave yet. Not yet. She had a moment, a moment only and she had to do something.
The shoes whirled her around again, and she saw the bow where it lay beside Clarissa. She saw Clarissa’s button eyes gleaming, up black as those of the old woman in the woods. She thought she saw the ghosts looking on, she thought she saw Karen, dancing all alone, lost in the darkness, her only hope the axe and death.
Dancing alone.
Dancing alone to music that she could not hear but that would not ever stop.
Little Elsa, Little Elsa, give me a dance!
The shoes did not yet hold her, not all the way, not quite.
She had two steps that were her own, two, three, one more, enough to cross the clearing and grasp the soldier’s crabbed hand with her little bloody one.
“Soldier, soldier!” Elsa cried out. “Here is your dance!”
The blood stuck his hand fast to hers, and the dance that swirled around her pulled him to his feet, catching him up in its current and drawing him in. Elsa snatched at his other hand and held it up.
Father was a clergyman, but he did not fear the dance as some did. Elsa knew the schottiche and the polka. Elsa knew jig and reel. Elsa also knew the dances that every child knows, the twirling and the jumping, the high laughter that comes from moving fast and free. All these dances Elsa danced, holding tight to the soldier’s hard, calloused hands while he gaped at her, moving clumsily in his tall black boots. But he couldn’t stop. The blood held them together. While she danced, he must dance.
“Let me go!” he screamed.
“How can I let you go?” Elsa asked as she skipped round the clearing, swinging their arms. “I am only a foolish little girl who does not understand. How can I be stronger than all the dances you know and the red shoes you’ve put on my feet?”
The soldier threw back his head and howled until the smoky clouds shook. Elsa twirled them around, the music and the roar of her blood singing in her ears. She did not try to stop. She danced him up the line and down again, and he howled once more, and she spun them around. Her breath was going. She was so tired. She must dance. She must not falter. For while she danced, he must dance, and he knew it. He had asked for this dance that they now danced together, little girl and red-bearded man.
His dance, her dance.
His choice, her choice, and all the music of the world to spin them ’round.
“Take the shoes!” he cried out. “Take them! I give them to you, only let me go!”
With that, all the strings on the fiddle broke at once, a terrible, twisting cacophony that knocked Elsa backwards. She fell onto the earth, skidding through the leaves until she rolled to a stop beside Clarissa and the bow. Her feet were still. She heard the crows calling to one another, but she heard no music and she heard no weeping, and the soldier scowled at her and snatched up his broken-stringed fiddle and was gone.
After a little time, Elsa picked up the bow and her doll. Wearing the red shoes, she walked from the clearing to the path. The hump-shouldered woman waited there, her black eyes shining. Elsa had no more food, so she gave the old woman the fiddle bow. The old woman laughed loud to receive it and lifted Elsa onto her humped back and carried her from the woods to the executioner’s house. The executioner met her at the door and embraced her with his strong arms. He gave her soup and black bread and water to wash herself with and walked her home.
Her mother and father scolded her and wept over her. Mother bleached Clarissa’s feet white again, and Father bought her a new pair of black shoes and made her learn twelve whole psalms and stay inside for two weeks.
When she was allowed out again, Elsa wore the red shoes to church, and the lions smiled at her, and the angel fluttered his wings and lifted his nose in the air. But in the shadows Elsa saw Karen, clothed in white as the angel was. Karen stood on her own feet and smiled.
After that, Elsa did not wear the red shoes except for dancing, and when she danced she felt as if their freedom poured out over the world as a blessing, like music, like love.
When she could dance no more, Elsa gave the red
shoes to her daughter, and she to hers.
And that, Elsa knew, was a proper story.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Kevin J. Anderson has more than twenty million books in print in thirty languages, including Dune novels written with Brian Herbert, Star Wars and X-Files novels, and a collaboration with Dean Koontz. He just finished the sixth book in his epic space opera, “The Saga of Seven Suns.” He and his wife, Rebecca Moesta, have written numerous bestselling and award-winning young adult novels. An avid hiker, Anderson dictates his fiction into a microcassette recorder. Research has taken him to the deserts of Morocco, the cloud forests of Ecuador, Inca ruins in the Andes, Maya temples in the Yucatán, the NORAD complex, NASAs Vehicle Assembly Building, a Minuteman III missile silo, the aircraft carrier Nimitz, the Pacific Stock Exchange, a plutonium plant at Los Alamos, and FBI Headquarters in Washington, DC. He also, occasionally, stays home and works on his manuscripts. Visit his websites at: www.wordfire.com and www.dunenovels.com.
Science Fiction/Fantasy author Linda P. Baker’s internationally published novels are The Irda and Tears of the Night Sky, with Nancy Varian Berberick. Her short fiction has been published in several anthologies, including Dragons of Krynn, The New Amazons, and Time Twisters. Linda credits her mother, Lena, and sister, Lisa, for the genesis of “The Opposite of Solid,” because they reinfected Linda and her husband, Larry, with the auction bug, begetting the question: “What if I bought something at an auction that…?”
Donald J. Bingle is a frequent contributor to short story anthologies in the science fiction, fantasy, horror, and comedy genres, including the DAW anthologies Time Twisters, If I Were an Evil Overlord, Furry Fantastic, Fantasy Gone Wrong, Slipstreams, All Hell Breaking Loose, Renaissance Faire, Sol’s Children, Historical Hauntings, Civil War Fantastic, and Earth, Wind, Fire, Water: Tales From the Eternal Archives #2. He is also the author of Forced Conversion, a science fiction novel set in the near future, when everyone can have heaven, any heaven they want, but some people don’t want to go. His latest novel, Greensword, is a darkly comedic eco-thriller about a group of misfit environmentalists who are about to save the world from global warming but don’t want to get caught doing it. He is cursed with a long commute to his day job as a securities attorney, but he is blessed with a lovely wife, Linda, and two rambunctious pooches: Mauka and Makai. Don can be reached at www.orphyte.com/donaldjbingle.
Yvonne Coats is originally from Dubois, Wyoming, a town where the wintering bighorn sheep outnumber the humans about ten to one. She now lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, a city with more people than the entire state of Wyoming -lots less snow, though. She shares space with her smart spouse, Mike Collins, and their rotten cat, Magpie. Her stories have appeared in small-press magazines and in anthologies Treachery & Treason and Turn the Other Chick. Yvonne was shortlisted for the first James White Award in 2000. When not writing, she enjoys gardening, knitting, lifting weights, and trying to learn Japanese.
Keith R.A. DeCandido (www.decandido.net) first introduced the characters of Torin ban Wyvald and Danthres Tresyllione and the world of Cliff’s End in the 2004 novel Dragon Precinct. They’ve also appeared in the short stories “Getting the Chair” (Murder by Magic, 2004), “Crime of Passion” (Hear Them Roar, 2006), and “House Arrest” (Badass Faeries, 2007). Keith’s other short fiction can be found in Amazing Stories, Did You Say Chicks!?, Farscape: The Official Magazine, Furry Fantastic, 44 Clowns: 11 Stories of the 4 Clowns of the Apocalypse, The Town Drunk, Urban Nightmares, and various Doctor Who, Marvel Comics, and Star Trek anthologies. He’s also written a great deal of fiction in the media universes of Star Trek, World of Warcraft, Starcraft, Doctor Who, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Marvel Comics, Serenity, Farscape, Andromeda, and tons more. He lives in New York City.
“Ancestral Armor” is Kitsune and Asano’s fourth short fiction appearance (with other stories published in Battle Magic, Historical Hauntings (both available from DAW Books), and 100 Crafty Little Cat Crimes). John Helfers has published more than three dozen short stories in anthologies such as Millennium 3001, Liftport, Time Twisters, and Places to Be, People to Kill. His media tie-in fiction has appeared in anthologies for the Dragonlance® and Transformers® universes, among others. He also writes nonfiction, including a comprehensive history of the United States Navy and a critical look at the impact of culture on military operations in the collection of essays Beyond Shock and Awe, edited by Eric Haney. Recent novels include the YA illustrated novel Thunder Riders and Shadowrun: Aftershock, co-authored with Jean Rabe.
Belle Holder is a beginning author, yet quite good for a beginner, and she loves animals. She has a pet mouse, Lighting, whom she writes about a lot; and she hopes to become a lawyer, an agent, or a farmer who uses scientific research to grow incredibly good crops. “Another Exciting Adventure of Lightning Merriemouse-Jones” is her second published short story. She and her mother are members of Persephone, a women horror writers organization.
Nancy Holder has sold approximately eighty novels and more than two hundred short stories, articles, and essays. She is currently working on Athena Force: Disclosure, due out in August 2008. The Rose Bride, a fairy tale retelling, is out now.
An unreformed tomboy, Jane Lindskold came late to her appreciation of the magic of clothing. However, she is now a complete convert and can occasionally be glimpsed wearing satin and embroidery. She has written most of her eighteen novels and over fifty short stories while wearing battered jeans and T-shirts. Her most popular character, Firekeeper (the protagonist of six novels, beginning with Through Wolf’s Eyes), often wears very little and prefers not to wear shoes unless absolutely necessary. The characters in the stand-alone novels The Buried Pyramid and Child of a Rainless Year also have clothing issues. Lindskold is currently involved in a new series, one that has immersed her in an appreciation of Chinese lore… and clothing. You can get a look at her at her website, www.janelindskold.com.
Louise Marley is a recovering opera singer who now writes science fiction and fantasy full time and teaches a creative writing class at Bellevue Community College in Washington State. She is the winner of two Endeavour Awards, has been a Nebula, John W. Campbell, and Tiptree nominee, and was a Clarion ’93 graduate. Her work has been published by Ace, Viking, Puffin, Asimov’s, SciFiction, Talebones, and others.
Joe Masdon grew up in Macon, GA, and graduated from Oglethorpe University in Atlanta in 1988. He moved to North Carolina in 1995, pursuing a woman that he caught and married in 1996. He graduated from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro in 2004 with a Master’s Degree in accounting. He has managed to get two short stories published and is always glad to hear from Jean Rabe when she is working on a tight deadline. He and his wife Sherrie live in Elon, NC, with their two children, Jonathan and Robert.
Rebecca Moesta is the author of twenty-eight books and numerous short stories, including the award-winning Star Wars: Young Jedi Knights series and two original Titan A.E. novels, which she co-authored with husband Kevin J. Anderson, and a Buffy the Vampire Slayer novel, Little Things. With Anderson, she has written an original young-adult fantasy series, Crystal Doors, for Little, Brown. In comics, she has worked with Anderson on the hardcover Star Trek: The Next Generation graphic novel, The Gorn Crisis from Wild-storm and Grumpy Old Monsters from IDW. Moesta is the daughter of an English teacher and a nurse, from whom she learned, respectively, her love of words and her love of books. Moesta, who holds an MBA from Boston University, has taught every grade level from kindergarten through junior college and worked for seven years as a publications specialist and technical editor at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.
Chris Pierson has been a writer since he was a kid up in Canada. He has written seven novels for the Dragonlance series: Spirit of the Wind, Dezra’s Quest, The Kingpriest trilogy (Chosen of the Gods, Divine Hammer, and Sacred Fire), and the Taladas trilogy (Blades of the Tiger, Trail of the Black Wyrm and Shadow of the Flame). In addition, he has been published in Dragon Magazine a
nd in the anthologies The Dragons At War, Dragons of Chaos, Rebels & Tyrants, and Time Twisters. During the day Chris works as a game designer for Turbine, and has been involved in the Asheron’s Call series, Dungeons & Dragons Online: Stormreach, and Lord of the Rings Online: Shadows of Angmar; he also writes and edits game material for Wizards of the Coast and Sovereign Press. He lives in Boston with his wife and fellow movie addict, Rebekah.
Judi Rohrig is just an Indiana housewife with a computer in her kitchen. Her fiction has been published in Masques V, Furry Fantastic, Dreaming of Angels, Extremes V, and Cemetery Dance Magazine, and her essays have been published in On Writing Horror, Personal Demons, and The Orbit #2. The former editor and publisher of Hellnotes was honored with a Bram Stoker Award in 2005 and the Richard Laymon Award in 2001. Visit her online: www.judirohrig.com.
Michael A. Stackpole is an award-winning author, game and computer game designer, and poet whose first novel, Warrior: En Garde, was published in 1988. Since then, he has written thirty-six other novels, including eight New York Times bestselling novels in the Star Wars® line, of which X-wing: Rogue Squadron and I, Jedi are the best known. Mike lives in Arizona and in his spare time spends early mornings at Starbucks, collects toy soldiers and old radio shows, plays indoor soccer, rides his bike and listens to Irish music in the finer pubs in the Phoenix area. His website is www.stormwolf.com.
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