The Unfinished Song: Initiate Read online

  Chapter Seven

  Test

  Dindi

  Each breath hurt.

  Voices from the darkness had been complaining about feelings of suffocation since the stone had been rolled over the exit, but now it was no figment of a nervous imagination. The air smelled rank. Dindi had thought thirst would kill them before hunger, but it seemed asphyxiation would beat out both. No one could deny it now: they had been abandoned to die. Quiet weeping echoed from somewhere. No one hushed or chided the weeper.

  What had happened to the Tavaedies? Did they lie dead in heaps from war or plague, or had they chosen to sacrifice the children to the Deathsworn for some dark purpose? All the theories had been advanced, hashed and rehashed, debated, refuted and revised. They still knew nothing, except that they were going to die.

  “Dindi, I don’t feel well,” Gwenika said. She sounded awful.

  “You have to hold on.”

  “I don’t think I can.” Even more breathily, “I’m not sure I want to. I’m so tired of fighting. I just want to let go.”

  She sounded peaceful, which drove Dindi to panic. She shook Gwenika. “No! You can’t rest! If you sleep, you’ll never wake up!”

  “If only we could hibernate like bears…” she trailed off.

  “Gwenika? Gwenika!” No answer. Gwenika felt like a limp weight in Dindi’s arms. Her body was still warm.

  Dindi felt too tired to cry. The same lassitude that had stolen Gwenika away crept over her like a thief.

  Hibernation reminded Dindi of something. A trance. She closed her hand around the corncob doll tied to the ribbon about her neck. Every time I go into the Visions of the corn cobdoll, time seems to slip by in a funny way. But wait—that will only help me. What about Gwenika? Is there anyway I can extend the trance of the corncob doll to her?

  Dindi wasn’t sure, but she knew they would al

  l die if she did nothing. Share,> she wished to the doll. Share with us all.

  The Vision world appeared, as though superimposed upon the real world. Dindi could see both, yet it felt as though she didn’t fully sit inside either. The Vision world extended as far as Gwenika.

  Further. She tried to push it with her mind. Whether because of her silent command or some other cause, the Vision world billowed until another handful of Initiates fell under its glow. A few of them were still conscious and they blinked in surprise.

  If she pushed too far, too hard, would she ruin what she’d already achieved? She feared to ask for too much. On the other hand, what if the alternative meant that the Initiates left out of the trance perished because time passed for them, breath by breath, until they ran out of air?

  Further! Share with us all!

  The Vision exploded.

  Vessia

  Vessia trailed the delegation from the Tor of the Sun. The agreement was that both sides would send a delegation to the Tor of the Stone Hedge, the megalith circle upon an artificial hill. They never noticed her, not even the War Chief Hertio, or her friend Danumoro, or any of the Tavaedies or warriors, because she kept to the shadows and backs of things. Stones thicker and taller than grown men stood like sentinels in three circles, one with in another, on the hill. The huge basalt rocks provided perfect cover.

  Inside the innermost circle of stones, two half moon arcs of hide rugs had been set out. Each side stood facing one another, with the food piled in baskets on mats in between. Only Tavaedies and Zavaedies were present, and all wore full regalia. It had been the argument between Danu and the War Chief Hertio of the Yellow Bear tribehold, over what Hertio should wear, which had first alerted Vessia to this secret meeting. Danu had pressed him not to openly flaunt Yellow Bear’s wealth, but Hertio had scoffed, “I won’t go dressed like a beggar.”

  Hertio’s costume jangled with so many disks of beaten gold that his shuffle to the center of the circle sounded like a flock of woodpeckers. The enemy wore a musk-scented robe of winter fox tails and his mask featured a wooden foot stepping on a bleached human skull. With their masks, the two leaders looked like eight-foot giants confronting each other. Vessia wondered if they would fight.

  The man in gold bent to his knees in front of the man in white. A tangible groan swelled from the Yellow Bear onlookers, not so much heard as felt, like a subtle earth quake, a shared tremor of shame. Lower still bent the man in gold, until his mask sank into the grass. The man in white lifted a foxfur boot and stepped on Hertio’s neck.

  The man in white removed his foot-on-skull mask. “I spare your life and your tribehold in the name of my master, the Bone Whistler.”

  A jolt of recognition hit her when she saw the enemy leader. It was the handsome prisoner—Vio the Skull Stomper.

  Hertio left his mask face first in the grass when he stood. Unlike Vio, who only looked haughtier with his face showing, Hertio had shrunk. The bulky gold costume now looked ridiculous with his tiny head sticking out from the wide shoulder spikes. He slunk back to his side. All Tavaedies of both sides removed their masks and sat down at the mats to feast. On the Yellow Bear side of the feasting court grim faced men and women picked at their food, eating only enough to avoid giving offense, while across from them the Rainbow Labyrinth Tavaedies gorged themselves and laughed at jokes they pitched too low for their hosts to hear.

  On the enemy side, next to Vio the Skull Stomper stood a taller, thinner man who shared many of his features, including handsome charm. The third man lacked a lovely face. Judging by his bulging muscles, he did not lack strength. All three were much younger than the usual Zavaedies that Vessia had seen in the Yellow Bear tribehold. Danumaro had said that the Bone Whistler’s whole army was like that, “because none of the elders would serve him.”

  At length, Vio made an announcement. “I am Vio the Skull Stomper, Purple Zavaedi to the Bone Whistler, of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe. This is my brother Vumo, the One Horned Aurochs, the Green Zavaedi; and my friend Gidio the Bull, the Red Zavaedi. We are here on behalf of the War Chief of the Labyrinth, the Bone Whistler.”

  “We know who you are, Skull Stomper. What are your master’s demands?”

  “As you know, the Rainbow Labyrinth experienced a number of plagues some years ago.” Vio leaned back, at his ease. “My master was called in to eliminate the plagues, which he did. But he did more. He found the source of the plague. Imorvae scum had been casting evil spells upon our people. He vowed to destroy all such hexers.”

  “We also experienced some blight to our crops and livestock,” Hertio replied stiffly. “We did not find that any people were to blame, no matter what form of magic they practiced.”

  “You were mistaken,” said Vio, unruffled. “Many-Banded Imorvae hexers were to blame. And some of them, unfortunately, escaped the great cleansing undertaken by my master.”

  Vio looked directly at Danumoro.

  The direction of the eyes indicates the direction of the thoughts, Vessia remembered Danumaro telling her. Vio knows that Danomaro is one of the Imorvae who escaped.> For some reason, this disquieted her.

  “I repeat,” said Hertio. “What are your master’s demands?”

  “The Bone Whistler has no wish to inflict the cruel wounds of war upon innocent people. Do you really want your tribehold to hear the wails of widows and orphans just to save a few outtribers?”

  “I will not ask more than thrice,” said Hertio. “What are your master’s demands?”

  “Surrender all of the Imorvae Tavaedies within the hold, and turn back any more that seek refuge in your lands,” said Vio. “Do that, and he will spare you the blooded spear. Refuse and we will consider your defiance as a deathdebt unpaid.”

  “Then here is my answer,” said Hertio. “Better the blooded spear of war than the broken dagger of an oathbreaker. I gave my word as a refuge to those in need, and my word will stand.”

  Vio laughed softly. “You know that you cannot resist once you hear the song of the Bone Flute. No one can.”

  “I know,” said Hertio. “And that is why I have
a counter offer.”

  Vio raised his brows.

  “Your master has a Bone Flute that no one can resist. But I have a dancer whom no one can resist. We call her the Corn Maiden because she is as pretty as a living doll. If I give him the Corn Maiden, let him pass us by—”

  “No!” shouted Danumoro, rising to his feet. “You cannot betray her! She is your guest too!”

  “I have never given her my pledge,” said Hertio sharply. “If she had accepted your offer of marriage, Danu, then I would never dream of turning her over, but she rejected you. You owe her nothing.”

  “It is not a matter of what I owe her, it is a matter of what is right,” Danumoro said. Tears streaked his cheeks. He fell to one knee before Hertio. “I beg you, do not turn her over.”

  “It is too late,” said Hertio. “I’ve already sent warriors to fetch her.”

  Danumoro shook his head.

  Warriors, those Hertio had sent, Vessia presumed, entered the circle of stones. “She has fled!”

  “This is a load of aurochs’ dung,” the enemy called Gidio said. “What is the point of this charade?”

  “It is no charade, when you see the maiden dance, you will understand,” said Hertio. The skin of his face beaded with sweat. “We will find her, she often wanders off, I doubt she has fled, and when you see her, you will gladly take her in place of everything you asked.”

  “One girl? I doubt it,” said Vio.

  “She’s odd, but she’s not stupid,” said Danumoro. “She found out your plans, and ran away! You’ll never find her.”

  “What are you so happy about?” Vio asked him. “If I had agreed to take her, it would have saved your life.”

  “I would never buy my life so steeply,” Danomoru said.

  Vessia stepped out from the shadows behind the megaliths and walked down the center of the grassy circle, until she stood directly between Vio and Hertio.

  “There is no need to look for me,” she said. “I am here. I will dance, if you like.”

  The three men stared at her as if they had never seen a woman before.

  “I should have known he must have been speaking of you,” said Vio the Skull Stomper. An expression almost like pain convulsed his face.

  The one called Vumo whistled and said to Hertio, “You didn’t exaggerate her beauty. Once we conquer you, I think I’ll ask my master for her as my share of the war booty.”

  “You stinking carcass for vultures,” said Danomoru.

  Vumo laughed at him. “She already turned you down. How do you know I’m not just what she wants?”

  Vessia looked him over. “You aren’t.”

  This time Vio chuckled. He elbowed his brother. “So much for your charm with women, Vumo.”

  “I can win her over, just give me time,” said Vumo. After some thought, he added, “And beer.”

  The three men laughed. Vio’s eyes never left her though. He looked as though he wanted to devour her.

  “You are a Tavaedi?” he asked.

  “I dance.”

  “Imorvae, I suppose. Many-banded.”

  “I dance what I dance.”

  “Dance, then.” Vio folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. Challenging her. “Let us see what’s so irresistible.”

  Hertio clapped his hands and women who ducked their heads hurried to clear away the uneaten feast. No one spoke of moving to a dancing platform, nor did it occur to Vessia to ask. She began to dance. And all around her, the stones burst into light, and into song.

  Dindi

  Caught up in the Vision, Dindi still retained enough of herself to recognize the unearthly music that haunted the Corn Maiden’s dance. The tune tormented her, it was so familiar. Where, where, where have I heard it before? She strained to hear, but there were no words.

  Then she remembered.

  The Corn Maiden was dancing the tama of the Unfinished Song.

  It was the simplest of dances. Bare feet on the grass, skipping in a circle, arms raised in joy. So stark, so beautiful. No wonder Mad Maba had thought she could do this tama, if she could do no other. Anyone, anyone at all, could dance this tama.

  I can dance it! I can learn it from watching her.

  If I only I can remember it. If only I can hold on and never let it go.

  But the Vision went on, and she had no way to awaken from the past.

  Vessia

  Vessia danced now as she always had, and as always, it seemed a mere wink of time. Yet hours passed. The moon-cast shadows of the stones crossed over her while she whirled. Then the sun-cast shadows from sunrise crossed her the other way. When the shadows of the moon and sun, filtered by the position of the stones, both touched her, she stilled. Time blinked, awakened.

  Vio stretched and rubbed his eyes. He shook himself. “By the Seven Faeries! It’s dawn! We were watching you all night.”

  She looked at him.

  “You aren’t even sweating,” he marveled. “What are you?”

  “I must have her,” said Vumo. “At any price. I must have her!”

  “You must have her?” Vio asked coldly. “You forget yourself, little brother. We serve the Bone Whistler. But I agree with the basic idea.” He bowed to Hertio, who was also rubbing his eyes. “We will take your bargain, War Chief of Yellow Bear. We will take the Corn Maiden.”

  “Then you must take me as well,” said Danumoro, rising to his feet.

  “Don’t be a fool, Danu,” said Hertio. “It was out of friendship for you that I did this.”

  “Then you never understood what it meant to be a friend,” said Danumoro.

  Brena

  Brena bowed her head over the fallen body of her enemy. Though he hadn’t driven a spear through her heart, he’d killed her all the same. She wasn’t sure why she had saved him from Kavio’s blow. To spare his life, or to keep him alive until she could drive the bear’s black arrow through his heart? Would she do that, take the life of an enemy in cold blood, a human sacrifice? With Gwena and Gwenika dead…

  The young man who had fought with such supremacy touched her on the shoulder. She supposed she should apologize to him for misjudging his honor, but she didn’t have the strength. In any case, he seemed preoccupied with another matter, asking, “Would rain cleanse the hill?”

  “I suppose,” she said. She rolled her eyes to the cloudless, moonless sky. “Do you know how often it rains in Yellow Bear?”

  “No less than it does in the desert canyons of my home, I imagine,” he said, and she remembered he had originally been from the Rainbow Labyrinth. “But I am a Rain Dancer.”

  Her jaw dropped. When he requested a clear space to dance, she nodded dumbly and staggered back to tell the other Yellow Bear warriors and Tavaedies to drag the bodies out of his way.

  “He claims to be a Rain Dancer,” she told them, suddenly afraid to believe it. Many Tavaedies claimed such powers, but true Rain Dancers were more rare than rain itself.

  Nonetheless, everyone worked to remove the bodies from the center of the Stone Hedge. Brena helped organize teams to help the wounded and carry away the dead. All the while, however, out of the corner of her eye, she watched the young man, and was aware when he began to dance.

  As his fighting had been flawless, so was his dancing. Otherworldly grace whispered in his movements, sending chills down her spine. Something about him frightened as much as awed her. She was glad he was not her son, and wondered what his mother thought of having born such a fearfully powerful child.

  Thunder clapped above, startling her. Hard torrents of rain out of nowhere pelted the hill. Gore and grime streamed away in the sudden flood. The water felt delicious against her bare back, washing away the ache of the lash marks along with the blood. Not just rain, she realized, a healing rain. Her amazement deepened. Those who danced the most powerful of Blue Chromas might dance rain, but who could dance healing and rain, Yellow and Blue, into the same spell?

  Ten minutes of bucketing rain battered the hill, then ended as quickly as it had started.


  “Who are you?” Brena asked him, but he didn’t hear her. His attention snapped to watch someone walking across the clearing.

  Hertio, the War Chief of Yellow Bear tribehold, threaded the rings of stones, with his elite band of Bear Warriors in tow. He must have arrived some time during the Rain dance. He pointed to the young Rain Dancer.

  “Seize him!” Hertio commanded. “He is an exile from the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe.”

  “No!” cried Brena, daring to thrust herself forward. When Hertio turned to look her up and down, she blushed, but persisted. “He may be an outtriber, even an exile, but he fought on our side. He saved us!”

  “Did he?” asked Hertio. “Or was he in league with the Blue Waters tribe all along? The Initiates are dead. Perhaps it was the plan all along to distract us with a fake battle while they suffocated.”

  “No!”

  “No, they didn’t suffocate? If they are still alive, then what are you waiting for? Perform the spell that will allow them to arise out of the earth. Finish the ceremony you came here to perform. My men and I will take care of the wounded, the dead and the prisoners of war—including this one,” he jerked his finger at the Rain Dancer, “until we can determine if he is friend or foe.”

  Brena

  The twenty-one Zavaedies and Tavaedies dressed in swift silence. The utter blackness of pre-dawn matched their spirits. Though the healing rain had soothed the physical wounds inflicted on them, nothing could heal the ache of what they had lost. They danced open the faery door to the underhill knowing they would find corpses.

  At least they died innocent, Brena told herself. Better than to emerge into this world of torture and war and hate, where even good deeds were rewarded with betrayal.

  The hole into the earth appeared at the center of the clearing. Normally, the magic of the exit would have allowed each Initiate to emerge from the ground one at a time, as the ceremony required.

  Abiono descended into the hole. He leaped back out almost immediately, his whole face transformed.

  “They live! They live!”

  “But how is that possible?”

  “The magic of the tor itself? It was built by fae…”

  “Who cares? They live…”

  Dizzy babble finally found focus in the agreement to carry on the ceremony as though the abomination had never interrupted it. The Tavaedies took their places around the circle, one before each of the stones, not bound this time, but bathed in halos of magic light.

  Hadi

  Hadi woke up with a biting headache. He’d had the strangest dream, of a beautiful woman dancing…

  No light. No food. No water. No air. No wonder he felt like gunk under toenails. But a draft of air had revived him somewhat. He didn’t see anyone around him…

  …because it’s dark, you idiot, he reminded himself.

  But he couldn’t hear anyone around him either. Rejecting the possibility that he had gone deaf, and the even more unlikely scenario that the other Initiates around him had stopped whining, he crawled toward the fresh air.

  He saw the faint outline of moonlight. He scrambled to his feet and raced outside.

  Ugh, he was in the center of the creepy megalith circles they called the Stone Hedge.

  “Follow the brightest light you see,” instructed a voice.

  The Tavaedies, all dressed up in their finery, stood in a circle around him, in line with the stones of the inner circle of megaliths.

  Hadi didn’t hesitate. The brightest light? Only one Tavaedi held a torch. The rest stood in the shadows. He walked toward the torchlight. How easy was that? Some Test.

  The Tavaedi said, when he approached, “Present your totem.”

  “Uhm, here.” Hadi fumbled with the corn doll he had on a string around his neck. He lay this at the feet of the Tavaedi.

  “Congratulations, Hadi, son of the Lost Swan clan of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe,” said the Tavaedi, handing him an ornate obsidian pestle. “You are now a man.”

  Gwenika

  Gwenika awakened to a golden light. The wisps of a beautiful dream, a dancing maiden more brilliant than the sun, tingled at the edges of her mind.

  She was still in the cave, but she appeared to be alone except for a glowing ball of yellow light that hovered in front of her.

  Come with me.

  Gwenika couldn’t stand in the cave, so she crawled after the puff of light through the catacombs. At last, the unhewn rocks in the floor tilted up an incline. Gwenika crawled faster. Soon she realized the ceiling was tall enough that she could stand, so she did. The glow puff didn’t wait. She hurried after it.

  Pale as it was, the moonlight stabbed her eyes when she first emerged from the cave. She recognized where she stood—the center of the Stone Hedge.

  Tavaedies dressed in elaborate costumes stood in between the large monoliths. Most of them stood in shadow, except for one, who held a torch.

  He called aloud to her in a sepulchral voice, “Follow the brightest light you see.”

  The golden puff twinkled at Gwenika. It bobbed toward the shadows on the opposite side of the circle from the man with the torch. While Gwenika looked on, wide eyed, the golden ball of light grew into a blinding sun.

  “It’s so bright,” Gwenika murmured, hiding her head with her arms.

  Dance with me.

  The miniature sun turned into a Vision of glowing men and women dancing. Nothing felt more natural than to copy their movements and join them.

  That’s when she saw the yeech, flying toward her on the backs of leathery-winged bats. She wanted to duck and run, but she remembered what Dindi had told her, and indeed, when she forced herself to look up at the horrid things, she realized she was pulling them toward her on strings of light. Let go! Let go! she begged. The dance was becoming hopelessly tangled.

  “Let. Me. Go!” she shouted. She slashed at the strings, not really expecting it would help, but to her surprise they were as frail as cobwebs and floated away. The yeech on their bats veered away into the night sky.

  All that remained was the grace and golden light of the dance of the Ladder to the Sun, the oldest and most powerful tama of Yellow Bear.

  At the end of the tama, the golden sun faded to a tiny puff of light cupped in the hand of a Tavaedi in a Yellow costume.

  “Do you see any other lights?” asked the Yellow Tavaedi. “Look around the circle carefully. The torch is not important—look for other spheres like the golden one that led you here.”

  Gwenika scanned the circle of Tavaedies and stones, but all she saw were men and women standing in the dark. She shook her head.

  “You’ve done well,” the Yellow Tavaedi reassured her. “Present your totem.”

  Gwenika unfastened her corn doll totem from the gold bead necklace about her neck, and deposited it with a bow to the Tavaedi.

  The Tavaedi regarded her gravely. “You are invited to join the Yellow Dancers secret society, to learn its dances, its magics and its hidden Patterns. Do you accept the invitation and pledge to impart knowledge of the secrets to no one outside the society, upon pain of death?”

  A Tavaedi? Me? Gwenika’s heart began to pound very fast. My sister, yes, we all knew she would be invited. But me?

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I pledge my word.”

  “Congratulations, Gwenika, daughter of the Sycamore Stands clan of the Yellow Bear tribe,” he said, handing her a windwheel with painted yellow petals. “You are now a Tavaedi of the Golden Maize Society.”

  Dindi

  Dindi woke up alone, bathed in light.

  All around her on the cave walls, she saw luminous glyphs. The symbols looked the same as the abstract designs painted upon houses or woven in to clothing. Chevrons, half moons, zigzags, arrows, squiggles. Things that looked like claw marks, and things that looked like bird wings. All glowing in every primordial color of the rainbow.

  She traced the sigils with her fingers. Where did the light come from? She couldn’t tell. She followed the glowi
ng glyphs up a slope, until she reached the exit from the subterranean vault.

  Wind whipped her hair once she stepped into the cold night air. All around her, she saw huge stones inscribed with more glyphs. The symbols shone like brilliant flame against the basalt rock of the megaliths and the black night sky.

  “The Tor of the Stone Hedge,” she whispered, spinning in a circle. She remembered the Vision clearly. Where were the other Initiates? Had they also seen the Corn Maiden’s breathtaking dance before her enemies upon this very tor?

  Dimly, she could see the silhouettes of people, Tavaedies in costume, standing at the base of the megaliths with faint balls of light cupped in their hands, but it was impossible to see their faces because they were backlit by the overwhelming waterfalls of light streaming from every stone.

  “Follow the brightest light you see,” a woman commanded her.

  Is it a riddle? she wondered. Among lights all equally bright, can any be brightest?

  She turned around again, in a slower circle this time, searching to see if any particular megalith glowed more strongly than the others.

  “If you can follow the light, do it now,” said the woman. “The brightest light you see.”

  “But all the stones are lit!”

  “Don’t spin fancies to impress us. The stones are not lit. Dance, if you can see the tama to follow. Otherwise, walk to the torch.”

  Which of you should I follow? Dindi asked the stones of light silently. Which of you can sing me the Unfinished Song?

  As if in response to her thoughts, the three concentric circles of shining stones pulsed more brightly still. It was like trying to stare into the sun. The light stabbed her eyes. Music washed over her like a river that would drown her.

  Luminous figures jumped out of the stones and swirled all around her, cavorting madly. It was the tama of the Unfinished Song, and it was as breathtaking as when the Corn Maiden had performed it. But she saw now that it was not simple at all. The dancers flipped and leaped and twirled in the air. They flew through the moves, they swayed, they swam, they fought, they flung themselves around the circle in steps so convoluted she couldn’t even catch the movement clearly, never mind copy it. The faster they twirled and whirled, the more cacophonous the song and the brighter the lights until she couldn’t see anything any more. The radiance from all sides battered her like a rain of fire. She screamed and hid her head.

  “Go away, go away, I can’t take it!”

  Darkness felt like a cool cloak when it settled back around her. She collapsed onto the grass. It felt cold and wet and prickly.

  “Fool girl,” a woman who sounded suspiciously like Gwenika’s mother, Zavaedi Brena, called to her impatiently, “Stop spinning in circles like an idiot, and just go to the woman holding the torch!”

  Still woozy, Dindi struggled to her feet. She staggered to the woman holding a torch.

  “Present your totem,” said the woman. It was Zavaedi Brena.

  Dindi braced herself for another Vision. To her surprise, nothing happened when she released the corncob doll from its ribbon to present to the Zavaedi Brena, except that Brena handed Dindi an obsidian mortar.

  “Congratulations, Dindi, daughter of the Lost Swan clan of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe. You are now a woman.”

  Dindi stared at the grinding bowl blankly. A bowl in which to mush corn and crush spices. The companion piece to the pestle some young man—Yodigo, perhaps—had been given this night. How practical for a new wife and mother. But utterly useless for a Tavaedi. Where was her windwheel? What had happened to the invitation she’d dreamed of hearing for so many years?

  I failed.

  Her stomach collapsed on itself in a fierce cramp, her jaw worked up and down of its own accord. Her head felt like someone was hitting her with rocks.

  I failed. I failed. It was all she could think. I haven’t enough magic. I can never be a Tavaedi. I can never dance again.