Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing
Up in the trees, lanterns still hung, but their forms were changed: in place of beetle, bird, and butterfly were twisted forms of things not quite right—a cockroach with elongated teeth; a child with grimacing features and stunted limbs; a death’s-head; a worm-infested apple. The light they cast was dim and odd, rendering the landscape a greenish purple. Anastasia’s pale face was skull-like and my sister’s a terrified mask.
I swallowed and released Anastasia’s chill hand, struggling for words. I could not berate Tati for her weakness. I had felt the same urge to come here. It was in my blood now as I walked after my sister and her guide up the pathway toward Ileana’s glade.
I willed myself to be silent. I would not ask, Where is Tadeusz? Where is Dragu¸
˘ ta’s mirror? It seemed far wiser not to give the Night People the impression that I cared greatly for anything they might have to offer. I hoped Ileana would be here as usual and that I might petition her again, since it seemed the whole valley had now fallen under a malevolent shadow. I would simply ask her to send the Night People away. And if the queen of the forest laughed at a human girl for seeking influence in such grand matters, so be it.
I tried to grasp my sister’s arm so she would stay by my side, for I could see in her eyes that she would not listen to words of caution tonight, but Anastasia hurried her on. I would need to remain on my guard constantly to be certain I could bring Tati home safely. Home. I did not even know how we would get there. Anastasia did not seem like the kind of being 201
who would snap her fingers and transport us back as soon as we grew tired. There were no boats on the lakeshore tonight.
Never mind that: there would be folk I knew at Dancing Glade, folk who would help me if I needed them.
“Where’s Sorrow?” Tati asked. “You said he was just on the other side. He’s not here.” Her voice rose. “You lied to me!
Where is he?”
Anastasia was walking briskly, her booted heels sinking deep into the damp soil. “Patience, patience, Tatiana. He will be here. He waits for you. He longs for you. I will take you to him.” And she drew Tati on, so fast that I had to break into a run to keep up. The trees seemed to reach out long fingers as we passed beneath, sharp and greedy; they clawed at my cloak and tangled in Tati’s long hair. She brushed them away, shuddering. “Keep up!” snapped Anastasia, her voice no longer beautiful. “You are too slow!”
On the edge of Ileana’s glade, we halted. The sward was full of dancing figures, as at Full Moon, but there was nothing familiar about it. I could not see tall Grigori, or big, blocky Sten, or diminutive Ildephonsus. I could not see the elegant form of the forest queen or the golden hair of her consort. Instead, a company of beings writhed and cavorted on the grass; Night People were among them, but there were also many that seemed part creature, part man or woman—a person with the head of a boar, a lady whose skin was all scales—and, here and there, stunted beings whose bodies were squashed up on themselves, hobbling in a grotesque mockery of a formal dance. Most disturbing of all, I saw human folk among the motley throng—
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men and women whose faces were not those of happy revelers but who bore trapped expressions, grimacing or fearful or plain mad. I saw a girl of around Paula’s age—pale-faced, solemn, delicately built—her dark hair tied back in a bow of black silk, her gown a small replica of Anastasia’s. She stood under the trees by the sward’s edge, watching gravely. Two tall women of the Night People flanked this slight figure; I could not escape the impression that they were acting as guards. The girl looked vaguely familiar. There was something deeply unsettling about the sight of her in this unlikely place; her frail innocence surely did not belong here. I saw that she was looking at a group of folk playing some kind of game with long barbed poles.
They were throwing high, competing to reach a trussed-up bundle that hung on ropes from a willow bough. The bundle was wriggling, struggling—there was something alive inside it. A stick found its mark; a cry of pain came from the target.
Anastasia was already drawing Tati away. “Over here,” she commanded, making her way around the edge of the sward. I followed, my eyes drawn to a circle of Night People who were not dancing, merely standing and watching a figure that capered in the center. It was a man, a human being of middle years, dressed in the ragged remnants of a shepherd’s garb—
long felt cape, conical hat—performing a crude kind of dance that jerked and contorted his body, as if a mad puppeteer were moving him against his will. I saw the agony in his eyes. He stared wildly at me, and his lips moved in a silent entreaty: Help me! Then Anastasia grabbed my arm and moved me on.
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“Wait,” I protested. “That man—what are they doing to him? And what was that hung from the tree?”
Anastasia’s red lips curved in a smile entirely without mirth. “That man, and a woman of your kind, wandered a little too far,” she said. “Why would you protest? We have spared their lives: like many other foolish folk, they have become part of our revels.”
“But it looked as if that man couldn’t stop—as if he was forced to dance on and on, just so they could mock him.” I glanced back over my shoulder, but a frenzy of dancing creatures had moved between me and that sad, capering figure.
“Do not judge us, Jenica. Your own cousin tore one of Ileana’s folk apart, limb from limb. And for no good purpose, as it came about. Dwarves are ridiculously loyal.”
I made myself ask. “Can you tell me which one it was? Was it Anatolie?”
She laughed. The sound of it rang in my ears, derisive and harsh. “What would I care? They all look the same to me.”
“Where’s Sorrow?” Tati had stopped walking, and there was a new look of determination on her face. “I’m not going a step farther until I see him.” She reached back and grasped my hand. “Nor is Jena.”
“That’s right,” I said, fixing Anastasia with an attempt at a glare. “If you can’t make good on your promises, we’re going straight back home.”
She laughed again, and this time the folk who were dancing close beside us halted and fell silent. Suddenly we had an audience—an audience in which not a single figure was familiar. Where were our friends from Ileana’s glade?
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“Home?” It was Tadeusz’s voice. I whirled, letting go of Tati, and there he was, right behind us. “That could prove difficult, Jenica. You will not cross the Dark Between without one of us as your guide. Don’t look like that—we mean you no harm. A little insight, some entertainment, then we will take you safely back again. You have surprised me.” He moved forward, his hand coming up to touch my hair. “I had believed you lacked the courage for this.”
“I’m not here because I want to be,” I said through chattering teeth. “I’m here to make sure my sister comes home safely.
And to tell you—” I halted. To come right out with a request—
no, a demand—that they leave the valley alone, in front of such an audience, did not seem particularly wise. “There’s something I need to explain to you,” I told him. “I would prefer to do so in private.”
Tadeusz gave a knowing smile; it reminded me of the way Cezar sometimes looked.
“I didn’t mean—” I blurted out, mortified.
“Oh, but I think you did.” The voice was at its velvety best, insinuating itself into the deepest recesses of my mind.
“Without wanting, you could not pass over. You and your sister both.” The dark eyes flicked to Tati and back again. “There will be time enough for private dalliance later. The night is long. Don’t you want to look into Dr˘agu¸ta’s magic mirror?
When you have done so, we will have a hundred new things to talk about, Jena.”
“I don’t care about the mirror.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Anastasia getting restless, impatient. She was examining her long, polished nails and glancing about her. “I’ll say 205
what I need to say now. You’ve brought evil on the valley, you and your people. You offered me something and I didn’t accept the offer, but you took payment anyway—payment in an innocent girl’s blood. You started this. You can’t say just wanting something means I’ve agreed to some kind of bargain; that isn’t fair. The people of the valley were already hungry: it’s winter, and times are hard. Killing their animals isn’t only cruel, it’s un-just. Not everyone is like Cezar. Most people understand the need to share. They understand that humankind and the folk of the wildwood have to live side by side, with proper respect for their differences. Ileana’s folk know that. It seems you don’t.”
“You promised that I could see Sorrow.” Tati’s voice was uneven. “If he’s here, I want to see him now. Show me that he’s safe and well.”
“Of course, Tatiana.” Tadeusz’s voice had become kindly, warm; he sounded utterly trustworthy. “I will take you to him.
He’s a shy boy, as you know. He won’t come out while so many folk are enjoying themselves. This way.”
“Wait!” It seemed my night was to be a long sequence of running, clutching, trying to keep up. “Don’t go without me—”
“This way,” said Anastasia, and I found that she was leading me down a pathway into the woods, and my sister and Tadeusz were nowhere in sight. I tried to pull back, to follow Tati, but my feet were obeying some force beyond me, dragging me along behind my pale-faced guide. I was engulfed by malevolence, in the grip of a fell charm. I tried to call to my sister, but my voice seemed to die in my throat—all I could manage was a strangled gasp. We moved on into the darkness. Behind us, the eerie lights of the glade faded.
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“What is this place?” I managed. “Where are Ileana and Marin? Why is it so different?” A terrible fear awoke within me. Perhaps the Night People had changed the Other Kingdom forever. Perhaps Ileana’s rule was over, and our friends were all gone.
“You think that within the Other Kingdom there is only one realm?” Anastasia raised her brows at me, as if she found me unbelievably stupid. “Dark of the Moon is our time; we come to celebrate in our own way. It is Ileana’s choice to shun our festivities. That’s of no matter. My brother’s world is stronger than hers. In time, all this will be ours.”
My heart went cold. Fear seized me, but not quite enough to stifle common sense. “I thought you were from the east,” I whispered. “I thought you were only visiting. And what about Dr˘agu¸ta?”
“Dr˘agu¸ta?” She tossed her ebony hair. “A mere mountain witch? She’s no more than a puny local herbalist who reaches beyond her abilities. Why else has she failed to make an appearance in all the days since we came to the forest of Piscul Dracului? The crone dares not set foot in the open now the Night People have put their mark on this place.”
While my feet carried me along after her, I was thinking hard. “If Dr˘agu¸ta has so little power,” I said, “why did your brother hold out her mirror to tempt me here? It must be a tawdry thing of little value. Why did Tadeusz tell me I would find truth in it? Was everything he said to me a lie?”
“I know one thing,” the scarlet-lipped woman said with a twisted smile. “My brother was never interested in you, plain little thing that you are, with your unkempt bush of hair and 207
your flat chest and your flood of stupid questions. It’s your sister he has his eye on. She’s a choice morsel, all pearly flesh and quivering uncertainty. There’s no need to look like that, Jenica.
We’re not so precipitate. He wishes Sorrow to see them together, that is all. He wishes to play a little.”
Humiliation, confusion, and terror warred within me. I stayed silent, though inside I was screaming.
“You want to ask questions, don’t you? Look in the mirror, then. You may protest that you are here simply to bring your sister back, but I know the real reason. You are thirsty for knowledge. You must have it whatever the cost—because knowledge allows control, and you do love to be in control, don’t you, Jenica? And you like flattery, poor, silly girl. My brother knew how to manipulate you; it was the easiest thing in the world.”
For a moment I knew what hate felt like. I knew how Cezar felt in those moments when his face went cold and his eyes dark. Then I saw that we had reached a still pool fringed by ferns, a pool that was perfectly round, with a shimmering to its surface that reminded me of T˘aul Ielelor on the night of Full Moon. Without a doubt, this was Dr˘agu¸ta’s magic mirror. The forest around us was hushed. No night bird called, no small creature rustled a path through the grasses.
The moment she releases this spell, I told myself, I have to run. Run back, grab Tati, go to the lake, and get across any way we can. Even as I thought this, I knew how impossible it would be. I wished with all my heart that I had not left Gogu behind. He would have thought of some way out, I was sure of it. What my stupidity had gotten us into, his sound common sense would have 208
extricated us from. Run. Run. I stood paralyzed, waiting for her to release my feet. I looked anywhere but at that circle of bright water, for it seemed to me that once I let my eyes fall on it, I would be trapped: caught by the vision, a victim of my own hunger for knowledge. I looked up into the elder tree that grew by the pond, and in its drooping branches I caught a glimpse of something small and bright—something that reflected the gleam from the water and shone it into my eyes. I blinked, disbelieving, then reached up a hand and lifted it down. It was a tiny crown made from wire and fabric, beads and braid. I want to be Queen of the Fairies.
Anastasia gave a hiss. The spell was abruptly undone, my feet freed from what had rooted them to the ground, my throat released from the tight grip that had held my voice to a whisper. I took a step back, ready to flee. The crown slipped through my fingers, and as I reached to catch it, I looked into the water of Dr˘agu¸ta’s mirror.
I saw a pair of children, pale-skinned and dark-eyed, each as somber-faced as the other. He was perhaps eight years old, she a mere babe. Brother and sister, no doubt, and I was sure I knew them. That sad-looking boy was Sorrow, and the other the fragile girl I had seen not long ago with her minders. The water showed them in the forest, wandering, probably lost—the boy was holding his sister in his arms, trying to make a way through ever thicker undergrowth as the light faded. They came to a clearing as dusk fell, and there, under the trees, was Tadeusz in his black boots and swirling cloak. Do not be afraid, he said, and then the vision faded.
Before I could begin to think about what that meant, a new 209
image appeared in the mirror. I saw myself, dancing with a young man clad in rags. He was tall and lanky, his dark hair hanging wild and unkempt over eyes as green as beech leaves.
