Taking up a small stone jar, Charis circulated among her dancers. At her approach each dancer knelt-eyes closed, hands raised in the sun sign. Charis dipped her finger into the jar and then drew a golden circle at the base of each dancer’s throat.
The cries of the crowds in the stands above reached a crescendo and then died suddenly. The dancers glanced at one another silently. They knew the sound and what it meant: a dancer lay in the ring, crimson blood seeping into the hot, white sand.
“Bel has chosen his own,” whispered Chairs. “Bel be praised.”
“Bel be praised,” repeated the others.
She held out her hands and dancers on either side took them, and one by one they all joined hands, forming a circle in the center of the room. “Who are we?” asked Charis softly.
“We are the Gulls,” the dancers replied.
“Who are we?”
“We are the Gulls!” they shouted, their voices rising. “The Gulls! We are the Gulls!”
“We are the best,” cried Charis. “The best!”
“We are the Gulls and we are the best!” they shouted.
At that moment the huge inner doors of the room swung open. Two pitmen stood watching them, sweating. Still holding hands, the dancers walked quickly into the hard, bright sunlight. A roar of recognition and delight surged from a thousand throats. Charis felt the familiar thrill run through her body. She looked up at the steeply-banked sides of the arena into the cheering mass and slowly raised her hands. The simple gesture brought the crowds to their feet amidst a peal of acclaim, her name thunder in the tormented air.
Char-is! Char-is! Char-r-isss!
There was no prelude. Across the arena another door opened and a bull rushed into the burning ring. He shook his monstrous head, trailing streams of saliva. His horns had been painted red, the tips sharp and gleaming. At Charis’ signal Joet and Galai advanced, walking easily to the center of the oval; the remaining Gulls left the ring to their comrades.
The bull charged at once. Head lowered, he swept toward the two. But by the time he reached them, the dancers were gone. To the animal’s dumb surprise they were never quite where they appeared to be, so that when the dance was over and the doors were opened once more and the pitmen raced out waving their nets, the confused animal went willingly. The spectators laughed and shouted; Joet and Galai ran tumbling from the ring.
“Well done,” said Charis, hugging them both as they came running up, breathless, glowing with exhilaration. She nodded to the others. Joining hands, Kalili, Junoi, and Peronn dashed forward to take their places in the center of the ring. Peronn lifted Junoi high over his head and Kalili whirled around them, arms flung wide.
The pitmen released the bull from across the ring. The animal stalked casually toward them, Bellowed once, and made its charge. The crowd gasped. Did the dancers even see it? If they did, they appeared to take no notice. Kalili spun in circles behind Peronn, who still held Junoi poised above him.
The bull rushed toward them. At the last possible second Peronn gently released Junoi, who righted herself and lightly touched down on the bull’s back, skipped along the animal’s spine, and jumped to the ground as Peronn dodged to the left. Kalili had moved to the side and now sprang up on the beast’s back. She rode the bull, standing straight, legs together, arms wide, while the creature Bellowed and spun, trying to dislodge her.
The rest of their dance was flawless, and when they finished they rejoined the others and received their hugs, saying, “Do you feel it? It is a firepit out there!”
“What about the bulls?” asked Charis. She had seen the way the first two animals lunged, their movements desperate and slow.
“Sluggish,” answered Peronn.
Joet agreed. “They feel the heat and it makes them surly.”
Belissa and Marophon found their places in the ring. Charis allowed them the first few figures and jumps before joining them. The crowd shouted when they saw her, but she danced only in support of the other two and did not take prominence.
The routine contained many spectacular leaps and dives, one after another in rapid succession, disaster averted only by the narrowest margin. The bull charged again and again, throwing his horns from side to side in the futile effort to catch one of the lively phantoms leaping and spinning all around him. The creature did indeed seem lethargic, its movements turgid and slow. And yet the beast charged and lunged with a furious desperation-as if trying by might of brute flesh to shake off the thing binding it and preventing it from pinning the dancers with its homs. Charis had rarely seen a veteran of the ring so distracted.
The three moved through their routine easily, drawing squeals of delight from the crowd as they tumbled effortlessly through the shimmering air.
The bull was tiring. It backed away from the three and lowered its head for a final encounter. The dancers set themselves for the last jump, an intricate figure in which Charis and Marophon performed doubles one over the top of the other, while Belissa took the horns in a handstand.
As the animal began its charge, Charis glanced over at Belissa and Maro to see if they were in position. Belissa stood poised, watching the bull which was now pounding toward them, but Maro was smirking at her-as if to say, See? Breaking my vow has not affected my performance.
“Maro!” Charis screamed. There was time for nothing else. The bull was upon them.
Maro’s head swiveled and he gathered himself for the jump. Charis knew even then that he would jump late. She tried to adjust her own timing to keep from colliding with him. Belissa back-stepped behind them. Marophon sailed up, tucked into a tight ball. Charis sprang. She felt the air beneath her shudder as the bull streaked by.
She held her arc flat to give Maro room above her. Tumbling, Charis heard Belissa’s shouted signal as she took the horns.
Maro’s foot struck Charis square between the shoulder blades as she completed the second somersault and looked for the ground Below her. The blow knocked the air from her lungs and she fought to regain her balance, pulling her jump short to keep from going over onto her back. The ground came up beneath her feet and she landed heavily. Maro fell and pitched forward onto his hands and knees. Charis spun to see him cover his mistake with an additional roll. He scrambled to his feet, shaken. The color had drained from his face. Belissa kicked out of her handstand and leaped from the bull’s back.
The three dancers scurried back to the others then as the pitmen drove the bull away.
“Maro, you idiot! What were you doing?” The accusing voice was Joet’s. “You could have killed someone!”
“Are you all right, Charis?” Belissa peered intently at her with eyes full of concern. The others looked on in horrified silence.
“I am sorry-I…” Mario’s voice faltered; his eyes were wide with terror at what he had done.
“I am not hurt,” Charis managed between clenched teeth. “Take your hands away.” Seething, she wanted to lash out at Maro, but there was no time. Her dance was next and she could not waste precious concentration. The performance is almost over, she told herself; chastise him later. With that she dismissed the incident from her mind.
A clamor had begun in the stands. Char~ris! Char-ris! Chaar-ris!
“There is no harm,” she told her dancers. She tightened the criss-crossed bands of her handstraps and strode into the center of the ring.
The crowd screamed with pleasure, and Charis raised her arms to their noisy adulation.
Across the arena the pitmen tugged open the doors. Charis turned to meet the bull, but the animal was slow appearing. She waited.
And then it was there, materializing suddenly as an apparition, its glossy hide shimmering in the harsh light: a huge beast, sleek and magnificent, its thick muscles knotting and bunching as it trotted onto the sand, a great white mountain of brute flesh.