Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing
faces flush. It set hearts thumping and coaxed smiles from the most somber mouths. It was a music we would keep on hearing in our dreams, days after Full Moon was over and we were gone from the Other Kingdom.
Iulia was already out there, dark hair flying, her face wreathed in smiles. Tati danced more sedately, her hand in that of tall Grigori, an imposing figure with long, twisted dark hair.
It was said he was a kinsman of Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood.
Paula was not dancing, but had gone straight to her usual group of friends, a clutch of witches, astronomers, and soothsayers clad in long, raggedy robes and swathing, vaporous cloaks. All wore hats—I saw tall pointed structures decorated with stars, and scholarly felt caps, and here and there a mysterious shadowy hood. They were gathered around a table under the trees, deep in debate as always, their arguments fueled by a continuous supply of ¸ tuic˘a. Paula was seated among them, waving her hands about as she expounded some theory.
Stela was with the smallest folk, down near the musicians.
There was a double ring of them, weaving in and out and around about in a dance of their own. Some had wings, some horns, some feathers, and some shining, jewel-bright scales.
They were chattering like a mob of little birds as they pranced to and fro, and still managing to get every step perfect. We’d all started here; as we grew older, we had been welcomed by different folk, collected by different ferrymen, and permitted to mix more widely. Dancing Glade had its own set of rules.
“Hello, Jena!” my little sister called, waving wildly. Then she plunged back into the circle.
The pattern of the night was always the same. The revels 18
would begin with chain dances, circle dances, devised so everyone could join in, the big and small, the clumsy and dainty, side by side. We sisters had been part of this since the first time we came across to the Other Kingdom, when kindly folk of all shapes used to take our small hands and guide us through the steps. We needed no guidance now, for we were skilled in all the dances. The first was always done with our boatmen by our sides—it was their privilege to lead us onto the sward. At some point in the evening the queen of the forest would hold formal court; this was the opportunity for newcomers to be greeted, petitions made, questions asked. Later on, the music would change, and with it the mood of the crowd. That was the time for couples to dance slow measures in each other’s arms, floating in their own small worlds. By then my youngest sisters would be getting tired, and we would all sit under the trees and watch until it was time for the last dance—a grand gathering of the entire crowd, in celebration of Full Moon. Then we would pass across the Bright Between once more, and go home to another month of hard work and dreaming.
The music was making my feet move even before I trod on the sward. I took the dwarf ’s hand and we threw ourselves into a jig. The drumbeat made my heart race; the goat-pipes seemed to speak to something deep inside me, saying, Faster, faster! You’re alive! Anatolie gripped my hand tightly as we ran and jumped, as we turned, and swayed, and pointed our toes. Gogu had retreated to the pocket, where he was safe from falling and being trampled by the multitude of stamping, hopping, kicking feet.
When the dance was over, I fished him out and set him on my shoulder once more.
19
“All right?” I whispered.
If you could call being shaken about like a feather duster “all right,”
I suppose so.
I was looking around the glade as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Where are the Night People?” I asked Anatolie.
“They will come. Wait until the moon moves higher; wait until you see her between the branches of the tallest oaks. Then you’ll catch a glimpse of them, around the edges.”
“Don’t they dance?”
Anatolie grinned. “I’ll bet you a silver piece to a lump of coal that you can’t get one of them to step up and partner you,”
he said. “They stick to their own kind, those black-cloaked streaks of melancholy. They don’t come to enjoy themselves, but to observe—to take stock.”
Out of long habit, because I was the sensible sister, I checked on the others, one by one, to make sure they were safe.
Over at the far side of the sward I saw Stela, now playing a chasing game with her bevy of small companions. Those that could fly had a distinct advantage. Iulia was with a circle of young forest men and women. When I had first seen such folk, I had thought of them as fairies—though they were far taller and more elegant than the tiny figures of my childhood imagination—
with their garments constructed of leaves and cobwebs, vines, bark, and feathers, and their features unsettlingly not quite human. There was no sign of Paula, but she would still be at the scholars’ table.
There was a ripple of movement. A fanfare rang out and the crowd parted before an imposing figure clad in a gown that 20
seemed fashioned of iridescent gossamer. It was Ileana, the hostess of these celebrations and queen of the forest people, sweeping across Dancing Glade. Folk said every bird of the wildwood had given one feather to make up her crown, which rose from her head in an exuberant crest. Her golden-haired consort, Marin, was a step behind her. This grand entrance was a feature of every Full Moon’s revels. Walking behind the queen and her partner tonight was a group of folk I had never seen before.
“That’s them,” Anatolie hissed. “Sour-faced individuals, aren’t they?”
I did not think the Night People were sour-faced, just rather sad-looking. They were extremely pale, their skin almost waxen in appearance, their eyes deep set, dark, and intense. All were clad in jet-black. The pair who led them was especially striking. The woman’s lips were narrow and bright crimson in color, whether by nature or artifice I could not tell. Her finger-nails had been dyed to match. Both she and the man had bony, aristocratic features: well-defined cheeks and jaws; jutting, arrogant noses; and dark, winged brows. They made a handsome couple—he in billowing shirt, tight trousers, and high boots, she in a formfitting gown whose plunging neckline left little to the imagination.
I spotted Tati, standing in the crowd close by Ileana, her dark hair shining under the colored lights of the glade. The forest queen beckoned; my sister stepped forward and dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. A moment later Tati was being introduced to the new arrivals. I felt a sudden chill. If Ileana singled out anyone for this kind of attention, it was not the little human 21
girls from Piscul Dracului but the most formidable of her own folk, such as the tall Grigori or the most powerful of the soothsayers. I saw the black-booted stranger lift Tati’s hand and kiss it in a cool gesture of greeting. Then the Night People seemed to drift away into the shadows under the trees.
Ileana and Marin were not the real power in the Other Kingdom. They presided over the revels and sorted out minor disputes between the forest folk. They made sure the daily life of the wildwood went on in its usual pattern. The folk of the Other Kingdom were often less than forthcoming when questioned about their realm and its rules, but Paula had picked up a great deal at the scholars’ table. We knew that the one who was the heart of it all—the one who held the ancient secrets and wove the powerful magic—was Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood. Dr˘agu¸ta had been in the forest since before the castle of Piscul Dracului sprang to life in the imagination of the eccentric voivode who built it. She had dwelt in the depths of the woods since these great oaks were mere sprouting acorns. Dr˘agu¸ta did not come to Full Moon dancing. She stayed in her lair, somewhere out in the wildest and least accessible part of the woods.
If folk needed to ask her something, they had to go and find her, for she wouldn’t come to them.
Once, I had questioned whether Dr˘agu¸ta really existed at all. Only once. A chorus of horrified gasps and hisses had greeted my doubt— “Don’t say that!” “Shh!”— as if the witch were everywhere, watching and listening. Dr˘agu¸ta was real, all right, and folk’s fear of her was real fear. In our world, Florica spoke her name in a trembling whisper, and Petru crossed himself 22
every time he heard it. For every boy or girl from our valley who had perished in the forest or drowned in the lake, there was a story about Dr˘agu¸ta and her minions, about hands coming up out of the water to drag the hapless under. For every crucifix the villagers had erected on the outskirts of the Piscul Dracului forest to keep evil spirits at bay, there was a tale about someone who had ventured too far and walked into the witch’s net. Perhaps it was not surprising that our castle had stood empty for so long.
The forest queen had finished introducing folk to her black-clad guests. Calling for the music to start up again, she moved out onto the sward with her hand in Marin’s. I danced with Grigori, whose alarming appearance tended to mask the fact that he was a model of courtesy. I danced with a forest man who had ivy twists for hair, and another clad all in cobwebs.
The music wove its way into my blood and made my feet agile and my limbs supple. My head was full of colors and lights: I smiled at nothing in particular and felt that I was beautiful.
Only when the earlier dances came to an end and folk stood about the edges of the sward while the band had a rest did I remember that Father was leaving in the morning. Once my mind escaped the lure of the dancing, once my body stopped bending and turning and swaying to the music’s enchantment, I found that I was thinking only of the long winter ahead, and how we would cope without him.
Something of my worry must have shown on my face.
Grigori came over to ask what was troubling me. Anatolie offered the opinion that I must be unwell. Gogu showed his own 23
awareness of my unease, snuggling up to my neck, under my hair.
It’s all right, Jena. I’m here. It helped that he was close, for I felt suddenly cold and, surrounded as I was by folk making merry, curiously alone.
While we waited for the band to commence the slower, more beguiling music that signaled the start of the couple dances, platters of delicacies appeared: tiny, gaudily hued cakes; creatures fashioned of spun sugar; strange vegetables carved into castles and trees and giants; and mounds of gleaming fruits that in the real world would not appear until next summer. Flasks of ¸ tuica˘ and elderberry wine made the rounds.
Little glittering goblets were borne on trays that floated conveniently at waist height.
There was no need to keep watch over my sisters. Tati and I had drummed our rules into the younger ones time after time over the years, and they abided by them without question, even when the music had them in its thrall. The rules helped us remember who we were and where we belonged. Dancing Glade was our sanctuary, our joy, our bright adventure. But we did not belong in the Other Kingdom. We were here as guests, through luck, not entitlement. Besides, as Tati had once pointed out, if you had a party every day, parties would soon become a lot less exciting. We were mortal girls, and every one of us would want a mortal life. For most of us that would mean a husband and children.
I frowned, remembering what Father had told us. To be pushed into marrying early in order to provide an heir for Piscul Dracului would be horrible. It would mean not being able to choose properly. It could mean spending the rest of your life 24
with someone you hated. Our father had married for love; he had made his choice with no regard for what folk expected. I did not think we would have that luxury, not until one of us had produced the required son. I shivered as I gazed out over Dancing Glade. We had been lucky so far. We had had the best of both worlds. I hoped it wasn’t time for our luck to change.
The music struck up again, and the folk of the Other Kingdom began, languidly, to form couples and move out onto the sward. Gogu nudged me with his cold nose and I felt my skin prickle.
Look. Over there, under the oaks.
I looked over to the spot where the Night People had retreated into the shade of the trees some time before. I did not see the dashing, black-booted man or his crimson-lipped partner. But there was somebody else there. His eyes were as dark and deep as theirs. His face was as pale—though this was an ashen pallor, white rather than waxy—but the somber lips were more generous in shape. He was young, perhaps our cousin Cezar’s age. He wore a black coat—high-collared, long-sleeved, and buttoned in front, sweeping down to his ankles. What struck me was his intense stillness. He hardly seemed to blink, he barely seemed to breathe, and yet the eyes were intent, keenly focused as he stared out into the moving throng. I followed his gaze, and there was Tati, moving across the sward to join the dancers.
Now that my sister had turned sixteen, it seemed that Ileana had granted her permission to participate in these far more grown-up dances. Tati was hand in hand with a big, 25
blunt-faced figure: the troll, Sten. Her cheeks were flushed with delicate rose. Her hair, stirred by the dancing, spilled over her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. Her gown was modest in design, yet under the lights of Dancing Glade, its plain cut emphasized her perfect figure. Many eyes were on her.
But these eyes were different. The person in the black coat was looking at my sister as if he were starving. He didn’t need to move a muscle for me to read the hunger on his face, and it chilled me.
As I watched my sister dancing—first with Sten, then with Grigori, then with a young man clad in what looked like butterfly wings—my unease grew stronger. I made a decision.
We would need to be up soon after dawn to see Father off. We must bid him farewell with looks of cheerful confidence on our faces. That would be impossible if we were exhausted from a night with no sleep.
“Gogu,” I murmured, “we’re going home early.”
He shifted on my shoulder, bunching up his body. I’m ready to go. Don’t worry, Jena. We’ll look after things, you and I.
I gathered up my sisters and we made our formal farewells to Ileana and Marin, thanking them for their hospitality. I cast an eye around, seeking the Night People, but could see none of them, only a group of solemn-looking owls, perched on a branch of the nearest oak.
Ileana said, “Our guests were impressed. Human girls are not bold enough to visit such revels in their part of the world.
They asked for your names and commented on your beauty.” Her gaze wandered over all five of us as she spoke, which was unusually polite of her. Almost certainly the compliment referred 26
to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.
