It was the end of the Year of Renewal. The two figures approached the door draped in black mourning flags. The man paused to pull them aside to let the little girl though. She shuffled her feet oddly as she moved forward.

"Come, child," chided the officer. "No need to be frightened. What is your name?"

"I am Leliant and I am not frightened," the silvery-haired sprite replied. "My shoe was falling off. Where are we going?"

"You are to become one of the emperor's dancers. Here they teach the dances. If you apply yourself, you can die for the emperor some day." A twisted smile crossed his face as if the words choked him. Seemed sad, sending another youngling to them so soon after...may the god of Death have mercy on her.

"You mean that the emperor has people who are allowed to dance? Nobody stops them?"

The child's voice echoed in his mind for days. Why would anyone want so badly to be one of those dancers? Not that they all died....

Three times the graceful figure repeated the pattern across the huge room in front of the polished brass walls. "No! No! NO!" shouted the tall man from the opposite corner. "Your timing is wrong." He began to beat the floor with his cane, "One, two, two, three, pause for THREE beats, then continue. Again."

Intense concentration puckered the brow of the little girl as she gathered herself to repeat the combination again. After completing the grueling section for the sixth time in the last two hours she sank gracefully into the final curtsy. Her eyes looked with hope to her judge.

"Still very shabby. Get those lines longer. Make it look easy! Again."

Her drooping shoulders were pulled back as she straightened up, correcting her posture in the mirror. She took a deep breath, then sprang into the air to begin again. In the middle of the second repetition her feet moved a second slower than was necessary and she collapsed in a heap, striking her head upon the floor sharply. The two waiting attendants checked the unconscious girl for injury and carried her away. "She has heart, Keven. Someday she will dance for the emperor," her judge turned with exaltation to the First priest.

"If she is so good, why does she trip over her feet, Tambrin?" the priest asked dubiously, his voice muffled by his ceremonial mask.

"I could have shown you some of my older students who are more technically proficient, perhaps. But the heart! Leliant came when she was just turned seven. She had been caught imitating the dancers a little too well for comfort, especially for the seventh year, and cast out of her villiage by the priests. One of my scouts found her wandering the streets of Adama and sent her to me. None of the others have shown such promise."

"The school does not take children until they are at least eight."

"If you had seen her eyes when she heard that you could dance here, you would have done the same, Keven."

When Leliant was fourteen the empire again celebrated the Seven Year. She slipped in to watch the chosen three prepare for the death dance. They used to be called Ana, Trinem, and Frenlin. Now they had no names. They lived in a special room in the school, eating apart from everyone else. They had to wear black and only Tambrin could talk to them. Everyone avoided them for fear of being marked for death. Being told to wait on them was the worst punishment that any student could think of. The pattern of their dance was beautiful. She tried to copy some of the forms later.

"She is dancing the Dance of Renewal, Tambrin!" one of the terrified teachers reported.

"She knows the other dances too well. She is looking for a challenge."

"She must be punished," ordered the First priest. "She must learn that she can't dance whatever she pleases. That magic is too powerful."

"As you say," Tambrin bowed and stalked away.

He called Leliant to him. "Where did you learn those forms?"

"I wanted to see them dance." Her eyes were calm as she faced her angry teacher.

"The priests forbid it. Do you want to be out on the streets again? You cannot dance anything that you please."

"I only wanted to learn more of the Dance!" Her puzzlement was clear. What did it matter if she learned some other dance? Wasn't it all simply a part of the whole?

"As punishment you are to stay with the dead ones. You must be their servant until they go. You will clean their chamber and bring them their food." Her eyes lit at the prospect of such a gift. "Never forget that you are sharing in their curse. Remember well what you see, but never, never speak of it, or let me see you dance the forms. Otherwise you will have to go away and never dance again."

"Amay, Coriana, Demin, Klenen, you are to go to Malina to get fitted. You are to dance the emperor's wedding." His eyes softened as he saw the dejected face of Leliant among the ranks of dancers. He hardened his voice, "Back to work." No use giving in to sympathy.

"Why?" the whisper caught in his ear. "I am better than they are. I work so hard."

He watched her dejected back as she glided from the room. All that work for nothing. At her mature growth, she wasn't tall enough.

"What will you do with her?" the masked figure beside him asked. "Send her away?"

"Send her away to where she could never dance? That would be worse than killing her, Keven."

"Why torment her with hope? You know that she will never grow."

"Why call her to the selection each time?"

"She is my measure of perfection. How do you think I choose the others? Tambrin, what will become of her?"

"What have I become? Dancing is her life. If she left, she would be dead within the year. Here she can live the dance, even if she never can dance for the emperor."

The lessons continued on. Leliant mastered all of the patterns of the Dance. She painstakingly memorized all of the forms for each dance. Yet every monthly assembly she was passed over by the priests for inferior dancers who were two inches taller. The next time she was dismissed she went to Tambrin. "Why?" "No one less than fifteen hands or more than eighteen is to dance for the emperor's ceremonies." She looked at her tall teacher, pity dawning in her eyes. "I am sorry." "I am too old for it to matter now, child." "What am I to do?" "There is a new group come. I am getting too old to teach these younglings. I am going to give them to you. Make me proud." A sudden smile lit her face. She impulsively embraced her solemn teacher and spun off into the fast-paced Winter solstice dance.

Four years passed. The dancers coming forth from the royal school were better than ever. Each new group came to Leliant. "You have been sent to the emperor's school to dance. Only the best will ever dance for him. If you work hard, some day you may die for him." The children strove to please her, trying hard to get the patterns right.

"They never worked so hard for me," Tambrin told her one day after her lessons in which they continued to perfect her skill.

"You terrified us. We worked much harder for fear of your frowns."

"These work for love."

"So do I, Tambrin."

The seventh year had come again.

One day terrifying news reached the school. Plague had broken out west of Davarim. By the emperor's decree, death dancers were needed for the provincial governors of Renan and Coren. With great solemnity the school gathered to see them off. Tambrin presented the six of them with their ceremonial dress and candle, embracing each of them as they crossed through the doors of the school. "May you bring honor and life. May the God of Death invite you in and may you find joy in the dance."

As the weeks passed, the plague spread. Dancers went out to Elaniam and Sadeon, then Filian, Malkrin, and Vokien. The oldest ones went first, those who were almost retired. As the plague continued, dancers who had never mastered dance the harvest were sent to the far corners of the country to dance death.

Tambrin was the first to sicken. Leliant nursed him faithfully. "Promise me that you will not let it die," he begged her. "Never let them forget us."

"I promise, Tambrin," she said through her tears. She gave orders for the body to be burned. The rest of the school began to look to her for direction. When the priests came for more dancers, they were shocked to find themselves speaking to a young silver-haired girl.

"I need to talk to the senior instructor," demanded one insolent under priest.

"I am the Instructor," retorted the twenty-year old. "No one else is left."

Soon she had to send them away without dancers, for there was no one to send.

One fateful day, the First priest came again. "The emperor is ill. The time for the Dance of Renewal is passed." Keven stooped behind his mask, ashamed to ask this of her.

"I have no one to send," Leliant said sorrowfully, weakened by the plague.

"You know it." The statement was sure.

"One is not enough. It takes three to complete the dance."

"One death for one life," he said implacably.

"You would not let me dance in joy," she accused.

"Then you must dance in sorrow!"

"I will come." Her head bowed in sorrow for the emperor as her heart leapt for joy.

The school gathered for one last time, the old ones, lamed by years of dance, and the young ones, coltish and still ungainly. She stood before them, weak and feverish. The discipline of fourteen years kept her on her feet.

"May you bring honor and life. May your sacrifice renew the empire and bring health to the emperor. May the God of Death invite you in and may you find joy in the dance," they chanted as she dressed in the grey and purple. She painted the requisite black triangle on her forehead and the silver tears down her cheek in a trembling hand. The oldest came and girded her with the silver links, arranging the black bands crossing over her breast. The youngest clipped off her silver curls and threw them into the fire. She drew the veil over her face and crossed over to the palace.

She walked through the halls, emptied by the plague but gilded in splendor. Her soft slippers whispered echoes down the corridors to the great hall. How many feet had passed before her? How many had failed in this task and met the priest's knife? If she failed, would anyone be left to notice?

She stopped to catch her breath just before she entered the great hall. There was a pain in her side and her bones had begun to ache. She closed her eyes and focused. When she opened them again, she drew herself up as tall as she could and began the long walk up the center of the hall in deliberate, measured beats. The huge hounds lay on the steps, disdainful, daring her to come too close to the emperor. A bed lay on the dais hung with rich hangings. As she came closer, she could hear his labored breathing. No mournful minor tune accompanied her as she laid her veil at the bottom stairs and lit the three candles. The minstrels had fled the plague and there was no one left to play.

She began the simple steps in the vast emptiness of the hall, the harsh breath of the emperor the only accompaniment to her brushed echoes. The three small candles balanced in her joined hands. She ignored the pain, the rising heat of her brow, the burning of her limbs. There was a light in her eyes no one had ever seen. Glide, one, two, turn, brush to point, balance.

As she danced on, an oppression of ghosts filled the empty corners of the chamber. Tambrin beat his stick against the marble floor, his eyes more approving than they had ever been in life. All the dancers that she had sent away to die gathered in a silent host of purple and grey. The mournful wailing of the silent pipe fell and rose with her steps. The first candle went out and she placed it reverently in the center of the glowing circle.

The dance stretched on. Her silver halo clung to her head. Sweat dampened the drapery which wound around her legs. She raised her hands high, carrying the flames that kept life. Her well-trained legs defied the pain as they rose and fell as she commanded. Kneel, rise and spin, step, step. Balance with one leg twisted behind your head. Her chest heaved with effort. Bend forward, bringing hands to ground, one candle left.

The hounds sat alert, watching this strange creature, ears pricked to catch the ghostly music. She straightened slowly, bringing both feet under her. Dripping sweat stung as it ran into her eyes. Her arms screamed with protest as she extended her hands once more. Her sight focused on the single flame, will holding the pain away.

Eternity seemed to meet time as she moved once more into the endless pattern of the dance. One more circle to inscribe to make the third link. Her body twisting and stretching to the silent melody, she continued. One. Two. Three, slide to spin. Lunge forward, leaping lightly over the first candle, one leg kicked high behind her head. Tiny steps backwards, fleeing. Spring high and turn, draw the flickering candle close. Slide and cross, slide and cross, again, again. Three silent, still beats. Spin, and spin, turning closer, closer to the second candle and the end of the dance. Thrust the candle high as you leap over the second candle and turn sharply. Slide to kneel, one leg extended back and reach, reach, to place the candle and complete the last point. She watched with joy as the flame flickered its last. She had danced for the emperor, and she had done well. She sank forward as the last of the wax drowned the flame. Her final breath blew the last puff of smoke into the air.

Keven looked wryly at the ceremonial cup that held the slow-acting poison for the ritual from his place behind the dais. Leliant had begun before he arrived and he had been caught in the spell of the dance and dared not break her concentration.

The three inter-linked circles that she had danced glowed brightly beneath the candles which flamed high around her body. The God of Death had found this one worthy. There was no need for the priests to make a pretense of completing the sacrifice and re-lighting candles.

It was the howling that brought the rest of the people. Trembling with fear, the few living came. The two dogs howled their death dirge mournfully on either side of the bottom step. They fell silent at Keven's command. No sound of breath scraped at the silence. The mourners passed by the crumpled heap of purple and grey in the midst of the shining circles, unseeing. Pitiful few gathered around the bed. A scream echoed within the chamber and the ghosts fled as the Emperor opened his eyes.

"He is alive," Keven said. "Look." He pointed at the linked circles of birth and life and death. "The Dance of Renewal has been completed."

Three days later the last of the death dancers was sent to the flames as the living came to honor her. Candles burned around her pyre. Armfuls of purple heather lay against the grey rocks. The Year of Renewal had come and the emperor grew strong and ruled again from his throne on the dais. Three circles were etched in the marble floor of the great hall and holy flames burned perpetually at the cross points. Long they remembered the emperor's dancers who had known their strange magic of life and death.

Each year the people came to her burial place where rocks had been heaped upon her pyre. The living came and burned candles for the dead...the dying came to burn candles pleading for life. Every year came one she had never know to leave a bouquet of yellow and gold amids the heather. "They only remember your death, Leliant," Keven smiled mournfully. "I celebrate your life. May you dance joyfully among the stars."

(c) 2001
By Cynthia H. Frederick
All Rights Reserved
Biography