Shadow Magic Page 2

  Moving lightly on the balls of her feet, Deirdre reached inside for the echoing remnants from the first notes of the moon's song. Arching her back, she tossed her head in restless anticipation as she waited for the silvery music of the moon to return to her, to claim her, to make her dance.

  She no longer worried about where she went while she danced; she thought it likely that she became one with the movement and moonbeams and, while so consumed, left her body and soared out with her naked soul in to the vast blackness of the velvet sky and twinkling stars. Never before had she or her people allowed a stranger to watch her; when a Shadow Dancer danced the movements became sacred, the magic generated powerful and bendable only at her command. For her people to use as they needed.

  So it was for Deirdre, as it had always been for the Shadow Dancers.

  The notes sounded inside her, one glittering shard of moon-music at a time. Having no choice really, she gave in and used her body as a vessel, used it as her mother had before her, and her mother's mother, and so on. With each movement she brought water to the crops, fertility to the fields, babies to those with empty wombs, and health to those who harbored sickness. As long as the moon did not wane, she would dance and dance and dance, until the angry sun sought to push the moon from the sky and Deirdre collapsed in an unconscious heap on the ground.

  She trusted her people to take care of her then, to carry her from the clearing into her cave, to make ready her resting place in the cool, shadowy darkness, and to place her within it so she could hide from the wrathful gaze of the morning sky.

  If they did not do this, she would die.

  And the magic of her people would die along with her.

  Now though, she simply danced. Until she could dance no more and all went black.

  When she came back to herself, opening her eyes to blessed darkness, it was with a sense of aching loneliness, of longing. Another day had passed while she slept, and her people would have attended to their lives like normal people do. All while the sun blazed overhead and the birds sang and dogs barked and children played. And their Shadow Dancer slept. And dreamed.

  Living her life in a world made up only of shadows, Deirdre longed only to see sunlight. Glaring brightness she wanted; it haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping. She tried to imagine the eye-squinting brilliance of it and wondered constantly how the kiss of something that sounded as lovely as sunshine would feel upon her pale skin. Would it feel like flame, searing her instantly into dusty ashes, or more like a benevolent caress, sensual like the first bite of fresh honeycomb unfolding in her mouth?

  In a life where everything was viewed in varying shades of gray and black, she longed to see what others were free to see and she could only imagine. Her own shadow, sharply defined instead of blurry.

  But she kept these wishes and fantasies to herself out of necessity, since everyone knew what she dreamt of was not possible. In fact, it was strictly forbidden, taboo, and were she to try she would undoubtedly suffer the worst punishment possible - a slow and agonizingly painful death.

  Her attendant Liara, sensing her alertness, materialized at her side.

  "Water," she croaked, reaching gratefully for the proffered cup and draining it before she drew another, shuddering breath.

  "You completed the dance," the girl told her shyly, keeping her gaze averted. "These last two days the people have made ready to pluck their bounty from the fields."

  Deirdre heard only a few words. "Two days?"

  "Aye. You have slept for two days and one night."

  She sighed. Sometimes it was like this. That alone told her that the magic she had danced had been great. And she had dreamed, like before. Only this time her golden warrior had been conspicuously absent.

  Had she dreamt too his arrival at the cliffs?

  "The stranger?" Try as she might, she could not keep the urgency from her voice.

  "He has not left. Indeed, he stayed at your side for most of the first day and all of this."

  No wonder he had not visited her dreams. He had been here in reality, at her side and awake while she dreamt.

  "And now?"

  "He sleeps, as do the others. The moon hangs but three quarters full in the sky.”

  Now began her time of rest, of preparation. She would not be called to dance again until the moon swelled ripe with power.

  But first, she wanted to see the stranger. With a sense of delicious anticipation, she inclined her head.

  "Take me to him."

  Without hesitation, Liara did as she was bid, leading the way through shadowy corridors with the unerring ability of one long accustomed to moving about in the darkness.

  As was Deirdre.

  They left the temple cave, the rough stone walk giving way to a soft cushion of plump grass. Relishing this, Deirdre paused to feel the welcome energy of the earth pulsing beneath her bare toes.

  There was no wind this fair night, and the heady scents of jasmine and new cut grain filled the meadow. Laced with this, through it and beneath it, she sensed another energy, more primal and elemental.

  The golden one.

  Unerringly dodging the sharp edge of the rocks that poked from the grass carpet, Deirdre entered the dark curve of a cave that she'd not visited before. Set off from the rest, near the caves of healing, it was small and undecorated. Here the energy seemed to strengthen, causing the air to vibrate around her, reminding her of what she herself felt when caught up in the spell of her dreams, heavy and burning with desire. Thinking of it made her weak at the knees.

  Was it for this that the warrior had been sent to her?

  Had the time come for her own body to bear fruit, for her to begin the instruction of yet another child of the Shadows?

  Sorrow filled her. Hers had been a lonely life, lived among the grays and blacks of the night, forever banned from the sun. Did she wish to condemn another child to such a life?

  Yet even as she turned the idea around inside her head, examining it the way one might a gift on the anniversary of one's birth, a softer emotion filled her. She knew it as a long time companion. The need and longing to have someone to share her life with, to laugh with her and to love her, so that she no longer had to be so very alone.

  Even though she knew, as did her own mother before her, that the child's rise to womanhood, and mastery of the Dance of the Shadows, would mean her own life would come to an end. Then, and only then, would she step into the sun, to die in a blaze of brightness witnessed by none.

  Such was the way of things among the people of the cliffs. It had been that way since before time had begun, and would continue that way until a Shadow Dancer was unable to conceive a child.

  They entered a dark alcove where no candles flickered. The only light came from the crescent of moon and the tiny opening cut into the stone wall.

  "Here he is, my lady." Bowing once, Liara left her alone with the one who slept.

  A moment passed, then another, while Deirdre watched him, drinking in the sight of him the same way she gulped down cold water after she woke from a successful dance. He slept like he appeared, larger than life, sprawled out on the sleeping pallet like a restless lion waiting to hunt. He dreamt, she saw from his choppy movements, though whether he dreamt of her she could not say.

  She walked closer, examining him, trying to obtain a detachment that seemed impossible, especially when he made a sound, low in his throat like a big cat's purr. His skin, she saw in the silver light, was golden too, the ripple of the corded muscles making her own breath come faster. She flexed her fingers against a sudden urge to touch him, thinking again of the child such a man as he might beget.

  A golden child, condemned to darkness. She let the hand that she'd reached out fall back to her side. Such a thing would be cruel beyond belief.

  Still, she could not make herself leave him.

  Ah, how he called to her, this warrior of the daylight. It was not merely his golden beauty, nor his muscular, all too masculine form. Nay, she had known
him somehow, in some other time, some other place. Where perhaps she was not condemned to walk only in moonlight and darkness, and her dances could celebrate the sharp truth of a shadow cast by the bright fire of the sun.

  Shadow Dancer.

  Startled, she became aware that he had awakened, that he watched her with eyes that saw as well as her own in the inky darkness.

  "You live." His voice, husky and compelling, seemed to draw her closer to his side.

  Without question or even conscious thought, she obeyed the unspoken command, and knelt next to him, the edge of her thigh nudging his muscular leg.

  Neither spoke, each watching the other. Her breathing caught, came faster, even as his did the same.

  "What spell do you cast over me?" He ground out, sounding as if he clenched his teeth against the same desire that made her heart race and her blood pound.

  For the life of her she could not answer. Instead she placed her hand, pale and cool and trembling, on the heated skin of his broad chest.

  He sucked in his breath. "Have a care how you touch me."

  "Are you injured in some way?" If he were, she could heal him.

  "Nay, woman. But you cannot touch a man in such a way and not expect him to--"

  "This," with uncertain movements she continued to stroke him, her fingers circling around each taut nipple, "is what we shared when you came to me in my dreams."

  His muscles quivered, bunching together under her fingers. His nipples hardened, and the rough edge of his breathing mingled with her own jagged breath.

  "This," he growled, pulling her on top of him, until the swollen bulge of his arousal pressed against the damp heat of her own need, "is what such a touch does to me."

  Echoes of her dreams made her head spin, but as he caught her hair with his hand and trapped her, bringing her mouth down on top of his to receive his kiss, she found she could no longer separate the two. Dreams or reality, captive or willing participant, she squirmed against him, gasping as his rigid flesh surged beneath the thin material of the cloth that covered him.

  Dimly, she registered the sound of running footsteps.

  "Fire!" Panic stricken, Liara's voice echoed off the stone walls as she burst into the room. "The Riders of the Mist have come, with horses. They set fire to the grass. My Lady, you must hide."

  Deirdre tried to move, but the golden one held her in place with a hard grip.

  "Why?"

  Shaking, Deirdre could only look at him in blank terror.

  "Why must you hide?"

  It was Liara who answered, even as Deirdre cast her mind outward, seeking the others, those who came for her. She could not read individual minds, but she could sense emotions, were they strong enough. In an instant she jolted up against a bloodthirsty rage, telling her that those who sought her meant to slay any who stood in their path.

  "These men, they come for our Shadow Dancer. They would kill her if they could. A sacrifice, to their red and angry god. She must hide."

  "Hide where?" he asked. "I have toured your cliff caves. This place is connected, like a rabbit's warren. The fire will travel on the straw with which you cover your floors, from one cave to another, with the speed of lightening."

  Releasing Deirdre and pushing her away, the stranger stood and turned his back to them, dressing quickly.

  "Come." Holding out his hand for her, he moved to the door. "My horse is fleet of foot and strong. I will take you from this place until the danger is past."

  From outside Deirdre heard the death cries of her people. Pain and agony radiated off them if waves, and she hesitated.

  "We must help them--"

  "You are not trained to fight," Liara said, her eyes round with terror. "Listen to this golden one. Go with him now, and save yourself."

  The sounds outside grew louder. Now she could hear the crackle and roar of the furious fire.

  "Come," he urged. "Time grows short."

  She moved across the space that separated them, fighting the age old urge to do as he said, to run, to flee. Sliding her hand into his big one, she dug in her heels when he would have pulled her through the cave door.

  "We have to help my people."

  "I cannot."

  Her heart plummeted. "What kind of warrior--." Swallowing back an oath, she jerked her hand free.

  "I am Deirdre, Shadow Dancer of the Cliffs," she told him sternly, her voice catching on a gasp of agonized breath. "These are my people and I cannot let them go undefended."

  "No, my lady." Liara threw herself at Deirdre, seeking to block her path. Nimbly, Deirdre dodged her, running into the fire and the noise and the death that surrounded them. The moon still shone through the smoky haze, albeit a pale remnant of her earlier ripeness. Surely a skilled Shadow Dancer could find enough magic, somehow, to defend her people.

  Blinded by the unexpected brilliance of the flames, Deirdre turned in an unseeing circle, hearing naught but agonized cries, the crackle and roar of the fire. She could feel no moon-magic, could feel nothing but the searing heat on her skin and the stark panic-death-terror emotions emanating from her people.

  Helpless, she stood in the middle of an exploding sun and knew that death was upon her.

  "Foolish woman. I cannot let you die." Suddenly he appeared, towering over the flames. "Come with me. I will take you to safety."

  How could she do such a thing? Yet how could she not? Helpless, she had no choice but to leave with this man. Here her people died, and she could do nothing to save them. Instead, she was about to run away, like a coward. She would at least know his name. "By what name are you called?"

  Silence while he watched her, and the flames licked ever closer, burning, burning. Her heart pounded, the roar of the fire and the screams of her dying people bringing agony and grief.

  "What are you called?" she asked again, shouting to be heard over the noise from outside.

  "I am Egann." With a muttered oath he yanked her hard against him, lifting her in his arms and slinging her over his shoulder. "Egann of Rune."

  Then he ran, past the awful sounds of the panicked horses, the howls and the shouts of her people as they fought to protect her. Past the fire and the madness and the pain, he raced, fleeing for both of their lives.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Down the stone hallways he fled, the smoke thick and acrid, the woman weighing almost nothing on his shoulder. Two turns, so close to the raging fire he could feel its heat, and they reached the makeshift corral near the edge of the forest where he'd stabled his horse.

  Undetected, as of yet.

  The horse, aware of the fire, snorted, more than eager to leave this place of stone and darkness. Tossing the woman on before him, Egann opened the gate and gave the powerful beast its head.

  The waning moon provided a feeble light and for this he was glad. They galloped away unnoticed, the smoke and the noise hiding their escape.

  Only when they had left the cliffs and the sea far behind did he slow Weylyn to a walk.

  Silent until then, Deirdre rode like one born to the saddle, straight and tall and staring blindly ahead.

  He thought it best not to speak to her. Not now, while images of her people dying still filled her thoughts.

  "Egann of... Rune," she said finally, her voice pitched low and full of grief. "There is no such place, except in legend."

  "Tis behind the veil," he told her, wishing he could somehow ease her pain. "And truly Rune is my home. Or was. Now I remain here because I must have the amulet."

  If she understood his unsubtle request, she made no acknowledgement.

  He decided to try a different tack.

  "Tell me of these men who hunt you."

  She sighed, flashing a grief-stricken look at him over her shoulder. "They come from the plains below. Long have they hated those of my kind; long have they feared us. I do not know why, since I harm no one. I only Shadow Dance for my people, and seek not to gain power for my own use. "

  The bewilderment in her voice sounded genuine
. Still, he'd do well to remember that this was the wench who'd stolen his amulet.

  "If you truly come from Rune, then you must have magic as well."

  Though she'd phrased it as a statement, not a question, Egann heard the unspoken query beneath her words.

  "I could not use my magic to help your people."

  "Why?"

  "It is forbidden for one of Faerie to interfere in a human battle. We may not alter fate, nor stop death, or even ease pain and suffering. Only to protect ourselves can we summon the power." He said this matter-of-factly, though he knew she would not understand. Few mortals did.

  "You summon magic. As I do when the spell of the moon impels me." Her tone thoughtful, Deirdre met his gaze briefly, before she glanced away. "Our powers must be similar."

  He did not answer her, not wanting to tell her the truth and spoil what little illusions she had left. As a Faerie Prince of Rune, the magic he commanded was vast and powerful. He doubted what little spells she could conjure up by dancing under the full moon were anywhere near as strong.

  When the salty smell of the sea was well and truly behind them, Egann reined his stallion to a halt. He'd left Rune, throwing off the heavy mantle of the Kingship, longing only to experience a life without responsibilities. Now it seemed he had acquired yet another.

  "What am I to do with you?"

  Expression serious, she shook her head. "I do not know. But the dawn will arrive in a few short hours - already the sky to the East begins to lighten. I must find a cave, or some place that is dark."

  In his short time with them, her people had alluded to this, that the one they called Shadow Dancer could not exist in the light. Frowning, Egann looked at her again. In his experience, only beings of great evil relished the darkness. What type of soul did this woman's exceptional beauty hide?

  And what was he, who wanted only to experience the simplicity of freedom before he took on the many responsibilities that awaited him, doing with her?

  He could see more of her now; indeed she was correct - the eastern sky had lightened to lavender. Though she kept her face averted, he found enough aristocracy in her profile to wonder at her origins. He had not known there were women outside of Rune as lovely as she.