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Wednesday, June 26, 2002

Dance of Life

By SDMaxwell

It was the hips, I am sure. Yes, that seductive twist she gave of her hips that caught my attention at first. It must have been that.

Or maybe it was her hair. She wore it up, too mysterious to let the crowd see her loose hair. Unbound hair signified rank or invitation. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She wore her hair pinned up, though elaborately so. It was enough to just try and follow the complicated twists and turns created by the knots she’d tied her hair in. It wasn’t even one color, shifting as it did from black to brown to red to blond. It was almost like many women had been rolled into one beautiful form. Jewels twinkled in the lamplight from secretive niches in the knots, like stars peeking out from the night.

It could have just been basic male hormones. She WAS a lovely little thing, hair and hips included. There wasn’t a whole lot of height to her stature and even less weight. She had long limbs, gracefully thin and very lightly muscled, accompanied by long fingers and toes. True, she had next to nothing in the way of breasts, but her very feminine fragility surely made up for that. And her eyes did too. I mustn’t forget her eyes: large and round. And even though they would be brown eyes, I imagined that they would be like the finest chocolate, maybe even with a sliver of gold around the edge. Of course, I had never been close enough to see them, so all I could do was dream.

Whatever it was about the strange little dancer, she’d completely captured my entire attention. My life had been centered on her little form for nearly a fortnight now. My family and friends complained that I had lost my interest in my work as a weaver. They were right, of course, but I wouldn’t tell them that. I wanted to selfishly keep this little beauty all to myself.

A little part of myself gave me a rude little kick. Get her all to yourself in a public TAVERN? How does THAT work?

I hid the smile that threatened to overtake my face behind my hand. Yes, that was a VERY good question. I had been pondering that for over a week now. I WANTED this creature that had so captivated my mind. I wanted to—well, at least talk to her. It COULD be she was just another seductress in such innocent clothing. It had happened to me before. I fell for those predators all the time. I just had horrible luck with women.

So what makes THIS one special?

Well, to be honest, I didn’t really know. I probably shouldn’t trust myself to women since I had such ill luck with them, but I couldn’t help THIS one. She had just captivated me so.

So there I was, huddled down on a hard wooden chair in the farthest corners of the Mountain Rose tavern—the one on the other side of the city from my home, I might add—nursing a mug of ale I didn’t even want. I didn’t even like the Mountain Rose. It was decent enough, I suppose: Not a rat or roach in the rushes and the food was neither greasy nor stale. The place was just too inconvenient to get to from my humble home. The only reason I came at all was to watch HER and the only reason why I knew SHE was here was purely an accident.

It had been raining cats and dogs—one had even slid off the thatch of the smithy and had landed on my mud-caked boots—and I had just wanted to escape the cold rain long enough to get my wind back. I had been at the shrine delivering cloth for new robes for the priests and had tried to run back to my shop before the sky opened up. Needless to say, I failed that miserably. So I found myself at the Mountain Rose, trying to shake water out of my face and I had turned to get out of someone else’s way when she had started dancing. I was captivated from the first twist of her hips, as I believe I have said before.

She danced exotically, alternating between sharp jerks and liquid grace. It is still interesting to watch even after two weeks. I stood beside the doorway until she had fallen forward in a boneless bow to her audience. I had only left after she had, finding my shaky way home.

That was the first time. I had returned every afternoon and evening since for a full fortnight. She had already danced tonight, but I wasn’t about to waste the money I had spent on my drink. Besides, I was hoping to see her again, however silly that hope might be.

“This place taken?” A soft voice asked from across the table. I didn’t bother to look up when I shook my head in denial. I might not be a social creature but this was a public establishment. It would be rude to take an entire table for myself, especially with the amount of business the Mountain Rose had. “Oh, good. My feet are killing me.” The other chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor and creaked with the other’s weight. The scent of sawdust mixed with sweat and honey wafted towards me.

How . . . strange. One didn’t run across honey very often in this landlocked farming city—and Falirm Tasir IS big enough to be a city. It is just not a very trade worthy city.

“You ever talk, mister?”

My unwanted companion seemed determined to communicate with me. I sighed and looked away from my mug of ale and met the stranger’s gaze. Cheerful gray-blue eyes the color of the storm clouds that had rolled in just a fortnight ago stared back at me. It was easy to tell that the young man was a traveler. Very few people around here had such colorful eyes or hair. Most everyone had brown hair and eyes. A few blonds popped up now and then and a few blue eyes. But he had black hair. I had only seen such on the Desert Children that passed through and those were something to behold.

Even his clothing was strange. They were buckskin where mine were rough spun cotton. Well, his jerkin was buckskin anyway. His tunic was obviously cloth just as mine was, but his fit better and it had a nicer weave to it. I could make such a weave, but no one around had the money to buy such nice cloth and I wasn’t risky enough to invest everything I had into such a fruitless business. This man must have come from a wealthy city.

“Excuse me?” I asked weakly. It wasn’t every day I saw an outsider this close up. “Who you might be?”

“THAT’S better.” The other man laughed and sat back in his chair. “M’ name’s Vida. Vida Fakir.” His—Vida’s—gray eyes were dancing merrily as he gazed across the table at me, like a smile lurked there at all times. “Now, what might your name be, handsome?”

I lost all sense of nervousness in front of this Vida and let a snort fall from my lips. He was a pesky fellow. “Sol Tasir.”

“Ah. Then you are from here, I take it.”

“You take right.”

“I thought as much. My, but I’ve seen dogs who are a mite friendlier than you.”

I blinked and gave him my best that-was-stupid-and-pointless look.

He shrugged in return, the smile still in his eyes. “Talk much?”

“No. . . . I’d rather bark.” I told him sourly. Honestly, didn’t he have anything better to do than badger me with irrelevant questions?

Without a single warning at all, the man burst into laughter. It was an openly happy sound and made something in me lighten to hear it. Unfortunately for me, it was also drawing unwanted attention. I was forced to level my worst glare at him in defense of my invaded personal isolation.

He slowly calmed down, wiping tears away from his amazing eyes. “That was good. Yer a witty one, Sol, I like you.”

“Should I be concerned or insulted?”

The young Vida broke down into sniggers, propping his chin up in his hand, elbow supported by the table. “I don’t know about that, but I still like you. What is it you do here?”

For some reason, this Vida character couldn’t seem to decide on being cultured or backwater. His accent slipped from the proper grammar that high born used to the simple slurs of words that either drunks or poorly educated people used. He didn’t strike me as either. That was reason enough to be suspicious of him, although I didn’t really think I needed a reason to dislike anyone.

“You another farmer?”

I shook my head and plucked at my tunic, “Weaver.”

“So you make clothes.”

I shot an annoyed look his way and gave him a curt answer, “No. Just weave.”

“Is it a family business?”

The man and his questions were starting to irritate me. Instead of giving him a straight answer, I leveled another scowl at him. Hopefully, he would get the hint.

Gray eyes blinked on in silence for a moment before a cheerful smile spread his lips. “Yer a tempered one, eh?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“From time to time.” He shrugged good-naturedly and reached for his own mug. “Ya don’t like me, I take it?”

“You take right.”

“That’s s’okay with me. Yer an interesting person, ya know?”

I sighed and rubbed my face, trying to remember why I was here in the first place. Oh, right. The dancer girl. And now I was stuck with the annoying man who wouldn’t shut up. Why me?

“Your eyes.”

Stunned by his response, it took me a moment to realize I had spoken out loud. Vida had dissolved into laughter again, telling me not only had I just made a fool of myself, I had done so with a very stupid look on my face. I heaved a sigh and wished I could get away with pounding my head on the table. But alas, my dignity would have none of that. If people saw me behaving in such a way, what would make them continue to buy from me? Besides which, the news would get back to my family and I would have to endure taunts towards the stability of my sanity from here until the day I died.

“I’m sorry.” Vida managed after several minutes, back to wiping yet more tears from his eyes. “I couldn’t help it. Yer a very funny guy.”

“My pride thanks you.” I grumbled, decidedly falling into a foul mood. I didn’t do well with teasing.

“Sorry again.”

“Hm.”

“Ah. Well, I guess I should be fair—”

I perked, “You are going away?”

“Uh. No. But I will tell you something of myself. Information for information, I suppose it goes.”

“Too bad.”

He sighed and ran a hand though his hair, stopping when he came up against the thong holding his hair off his neck. Then it seemed he couldn’t decide what to do, for he only sat frowning sullenly at the tavern door. That look was what did it. Just like the dancing girl’s hips. That pouting look was all that it took for my determination to basically ignore him and drive him away to come crumbling down. With a long-suffered sigh, and more than a little grudgingly, I asked him a question—definitely against my own better judgment. “And where are you from?”

Gray eyes brightened again and flicked back over to my face, a smile stretching the lips below. “Fen Fakir, my friend.”

One of my eyebrows rose in surprise. Fakir: the city that housed the College of Magic. That was a week’s ride from here. “You know magic?”

“Not . . . particularly. I have my Skills, but I’m Earth-bound solely. No fireworks for me.” He suddenly shot me a look startlingly stern in face of his light attitude. “Don’t ask if I schooled there, because I didn’t. I was just born there.”

“You schooled.” I told him flatly. “You speak too well to be uneducated.”

“I—ah, yes.” He blinked his gray eyes in surprise, clearly not expecting that from me. At least I could keep him on his toes too. “But not at the college. I just had a tutor.”

I snorted in response. Somehow, I just didn’t believe him.

“I—ah—I saw you looking at Baila.” Vida murmured softly, as if embarrassed.

“Who?”

“Baila. The dancer. The name is Baila.”

I gave him a sharp look. So he knew of the dancer girl and my preoccupation with her? Vida’s cheeks—surprisingly white for a traveler’s—had turned a dull pink in color and he was watching his hands. It took a moment to realize that the outrageous man was indeed embarrassed, although I couldn’t figure why for.

“I—Baila actually sent me over to talk to you. Said that if I liked ya enough, I was to send ya on back to the room.”

“Like. Me. Enough?” I asked slowly, afraid I was going to have to be embarrassed as well.

Vida coughed politely and met my gaze again, “Ah—I guess Baila and I have about the same tastes. I suppose. Baila likes to draw ‘em in though and you’ve been here for two weeks so I was sent over.”

“So you know her?”

“Uh . . . “

“And she SENT you?

“Uh, yes.”

“Are you an errand boy?”

“Erm, no. I’m the drummer.” Vida’s face was completely red now as he raised his hands as if surrendering and wiggled his fingers a little. “I’m the drummer but no one notices me so Baila has rank over me.” He shrugged, although his nonchalant act was just an act. He was definitely flustered.

“And?”

“So you can go talk to Baila if ya want. You could prolly do more, if Baila likes ya as much as I do.”

“What do you mean, you like me?”

The man mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t hear much less understand. I just blinked until he spoke louder. “’M a dove, Sol.” he told me meekly, eyes refusing to meet mine, instead trying to find some imaginary dirt under his fingernails.

I continued to blink stupidly. A dove, hm? So his preference was other men. I had never met a dove before, though I was familiar with what they were. Well, that explained half of his comments towards me. “Why were you two interested at all in a simple weaver?”

His cheeks turned red again. “I said so already. You’ve got pretty eyes. Blue eyes, especially dark blue, are Baila’s favorite. I don’t think I expected to—oop!” With a dismayed look, the talkative young man clapped his hands over his overactive mouth. He slowly lowered his hands after a bit of annoyed glaring from me. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything about Baila, really.” He whispered sheepishly. “Baila wants ya to find out on your own.” Deciding he’d ruined enough, Vida shot to his feet, giving me an apologetic grin. “You can go back now.” And then he turned around and disappeared into the crowded tavern.

I just sat and puzzled over that entire conversation. Vida was the drummer, though I had never seen him around before. Of course, I had been a little occupied on the dancer . . . So Vida was the drummer and Baila was the dancer. Baila obviously made most of the money seeing as she attracted most of the watchers. That explained the rank. Well, it looked as if I had finally gotten my wish.

After a time, I stood and slipped around back. Neither the owner nor any of the servers were the least bit interested in me. Strange Sol out for a stroll again, I suppose. After two weeks, they had grown accustomed to my habits and silence. In a way, it was a distinct advantage.

The room was easy to find: It was the only one on the first floor with a plaque on it, even though the sign simply read “Private.” I gave a brief knock and slipped in. Why worry about pleasantries when I had been invited in?

Only Vida was in the room, silently sitting in a chair beside the bed, looking slightly calmer than he had when I had last seen him. The door shut with a soft click behind me. What was VIDA doing here?

“You really like Baila and yet you can’t stand talking to Vida. How ironic?” he asked in a soft, serene tone of voice.

I decided that was rhetorical and raised an eyebrow at him instead.

“If you understood the situation, you’d find it funny too.” He slanted me a measuring look and shrugged, “Or maybe not. Your sense of humor is a little off.”

“Well, I don’t understand at all. Are you going to tell me you killed Baila or something of the sort?”

“Killed?” He looked puzzled for a moment before snickering into a delicate hand. “No, sir. I wouldn’t want to. You see, I am Baila.”

Stunned, I blinked across the room at him. Him? Baila? The lovely little dancer girl? Finally, my voice returned to me. “You joke.”

Vida stood in one fluid motion, much more gracefully than he had been earlier. “’Fraid not, Sol. You didn’t bother to ask my full name.”

“Because you told me.” I snapped, irritated at him because I still couldn’t believe him.

“I told you what you wanted to hear: Vida Fakir. But you seem like an intelligent man. Even you should have known that Fakir residents usually have long, hard to remember names. Oh . . . such as Baila d' Vida 'e Heshi Abiet no shia d' Anul a' Para Sundier Fen Fakir.”

Then I wanted to beat my head into the stone walls. Forget wood, stone was harder and probably would hurt more. He was right. I had forgotten that simple fact about anyone from Fakir: Long names that could only be remembered through their meanings.

“Besides, you assumed Baila was female. I never said as such. You blinded yourself.”

Oh, I had done that too. Stupid me! I had really made a fool of myself.

“Didn’t you think it the least bit odd that I always referred to Baila by name and not by pronoun? Though I have to admit that was fun in its own way. I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken in third person quite so much.” The following grin produced dimples.

Alright, so I hadn’t even noticed that particular word play of his. I scowled at him until I thought of something to say to that—well, two things actually. “When you dance, your hair is full of colors and now it is just black. You also said you were a drummer.”

“Ah . . . “ he drew out slowly, his mouth twitching at the corners. “So I did. Well, I carry a small drum when I dance. So technically, I am the drummer but I’m also the dancer.”

“Your hair?”

“Simple charms.” Vida reached up with one delicate hand—why hadn’t I noticed those?—and removed the leather thong keeping his hair tied back. The luxurious stuff fell around his shoulders and down his back in glistening red-white waves, making his gray-blue eyes seem to fade in color. Now he looked slightly washed out, though still beautiful. “I have plenty of the things in just about every color . . . except red. Never red.”

My eyebrow went back up, “Why not?”

Gray eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “Have you ever had magicians attack you for having red hair?” He looked down and flushed at my incredulous frown. “Ah heh. Guess not. Well, people think red hair is some sort of magical tool, like unicorn horns or dragon claws. It’s silly, but they will attack so long as you’re not royal blood.”

“Hm.”

“So I hide my hair color and I tell people what they want to hear just inside of the truth.”

“You twist the truth.” I clarified.

“Take it as you will.”

“Are you just a con artist? Put on Nishi to trap stupid men?”

“Er, no. I’m a dancer.”

“I am just special?”

“Oh!” Vida breathed and came towards me, stopping when I made to open the door again. “But you are special.”

“Ah, you are a nutcase then.”

“I am not.” Gray eyes seemed to flash blue for a moment. “I only came here to find somewhere to practice my trade. This tavern liked me well enough, although the staff ignores me. I was here for maybe a month when you came in from the rain.”

“Don’t you have a troop?”

“I did. They replaced me.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This conversation was getting nowhere. Vida, or whatever his name was, was indeed a true nutcase. “You probably talked too much.”

“No. I’m a dove. The troop was all male and none of them were doves. I think I made them uneasy. I was replaced. They don’t mind me here. They just said I had to leave the staff and customers alone . . .“

“Wouldn’t that include me?”

“Well, yes and no.”

“What?”

“Yes, you were a customer, but no because you were there to see me—or rather Baila. They knew that.”

“You are impossible.”

“I’ve been told that. Must be the good kind of impossible, because I usually get my way.”

“You mean me.” It wasn’t a question. He wouldn’t have tricked me otherwise.

“Yes. I saw you when you came in from the rain and I just—I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I asked around, you don’t normally come to the Mountain Rose at all. Hardly ever actually and you’ve been by every night since.”

My back stiffened. Not only was Vida pesky, he was nosy as well. But he was right. Again. I had been coming here just to see her—him. I eyed the man and backed up against the door. “Because I thought you were a woman.”

He didn’t respond other than to raise his eyebrows a little.

Chaos take me! I had always thought I was cursed when it came to women and here it seemed my curse lived on, striking harder than it ever had before. Instead of a trickster woman, I was following a trickster man. Though he did seem genuinely interested in me, which was a little better than being someone’s personal plaything. “You aren’t going to force me are you?”

He just gave me a blank stare in return. “Force?” Then a cheerful grin spread across his face. “Why ever for, Sol. Would I really need to?”

I stared at him in confusion for the longest time. Then it hit me: Sometime while I had been talking to him, my body had gone and gotten interested in him. Blinking, I glanced down at my half aroused state, inwardly groaning in dismay. What a stupid thing for me to do, getting attracted to a man!

“You’re so cute when you’re mad.” Vida murmured near my ear.

I jerked my gaze around to find him standing patiently beside me, gray eyes solemn though his lips still smiled. I had to admit, though, Vida was a very beautiful being. His white-red hair, his gray eyes shot through with brilliant blue, his full pink lips, his delicate frame, even his hips—infinite Chaos won again. I knew then no force would ever be used where Vida was concerned. I had already fallen in love with the little dancer, man or no. I’d been in love since that first rainy day. “I hate you.” I whispered hoarsely after a bit, watching his lips as they smiled more.

“I doubt that.” He told me gently and reached up—because Vida was on the short side—to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. He smelled even more of honey this close up—honey, sawdust, and sweat.

“I am not a dove, Vida.”

“No, of course not. Yet.”

That hand slipped around my neck and pulled me down a little bit at a time. I waited until I was breathing the same air as him before speaking again. “What in Nishi does your name mean? Because otherwise, I won’t be able to remember it.”

The man let out a tight laughing moan, “Gods, you have wonderful timing.”

“Well?”

“Baila d’ Vida is 'dance of life.' 'e Heshi Abiet: On the open plains. no shia d' Anul a' Para Sundier: Under a clear, blue sky.”

I smiled and let him finish the kiss, which only proved that my curse wasn’t as bad as I’d believed it to be.