The wrong bull! The shock struck her like a blow. “This is not the bull I chose!”
The beast took a few steps and stopped to gaze at her calmly, raking the sand with a gleaming golden hoof. Its horns were gilt with gold as well, sweeping in lethal curves from either side of the huge head. Its hump was a snow hill rising from the broad expanse of its back; its legs were massive birch stumps, its tail a white whip, lashing back and forth. Foam streamed from the broad pink muzzle. The beast’s wide-set eyes were red.
The crowd went momentarily quiet. Never had anyone seen such an enormous, powerful creature.
With an almost physical effort, Charis pushed all emotion from her. She had faced strange bulls before, and every one had succumbed to her mastery. She advanced slowly and the crowd oegan cnanung ner name once again, sne aio not near it. She heard nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.
The white bull gave a toss of its head and trotted toward her, lowering its horns as it came. Charis stood directly in its path, making no move to leap or dodge away.
The wicked horns ripped the air. Flecks of foam sparkled in the sun. The bull thundered nearer, closing the distance between them with terrible swiftness. Charis collapsed before the hurtling beast.
The effect brought a gasp of horror from the crowd as Charis disappeared beneath the churning hooves.
But Charis was there, unharmed, arms raised in salute. A great sigh of relief escaped from the crowd. The bull spun, swinging its head from side to side. Charis leaped lightly onto its back, pressing her knees to either side of its hump. The animal Bellowed with rage, and Charis sensed something of the animal’s mindless hate. It would kill her or kill itself in trying.
She leaned down and seized the gilt horns, gave a slight kick and arched her back, toes pointing skyward. The bull whirled in a tight circle, trying to dislodge her, but she held her pose until the creature relented and streaked across the arena, whereupon she swung down, bringing her feet between her hands. Then, hooking an arm around either horn, she let herself fall down the beast’s great forehead, her bare legs dangling in the sand.
The bull stopped and began tossing its head. Once, twice, again. Charis released her hold as the great white head lifted her once more; she soared, tucking herself into a ball and tumbling to the sand.
Whirling, the beast was on her. But Charis was ready. She sprang-vaulting up, up, and over the hind quarters to roll quickly out of range of the slashing horns.
“He gores to the right,” she thought, suppressing a shudder at the monster’s incredible strength and speed.
The next series of jumps were perfectly executed; yet Charis could feel the heat of the brutal white sun stealing away her strength. She jumped and jumped again, leaping, spinning, tumbling, soaring. But the precise maneuvers were taking their toll. She labored to recover each time, whereas the bull, instead of tiring, seemed to grow faster and stronger with each pass.
Still, Charis danced with characteristic abandon, her body at once graceful and vulnerable, dwarfed by the white mountain of animal flesh wheeling and careening about her. The awe of the crowd was a physical force to her. There were no cheers now, no more cries, no wild shouts of acclaim. A vast and profound quiet settled over the arena; the crowd sat stupefied as the death dance whirled toward its climax.
One more high vault, thought Charis, and I will turn the bull for the triple. The last triple. It had not occurred to her to leave it out. It was her signature, as much a part of her as her name; easier to abandon her name than omit the jump that had earned her immortality as the greatest bull dancer who had ever lived.
The bull made a quick lunge. Charis sprang, reaching for its back. Her hands found their mark, but as she straightened her elbows to push herself up and over, something snapped in her back-between her shoulders where Marc’s foot had struck her. Pain blossomed ugly and red behind her eyes. She forced her limbs to complete the figure and managed to land safely.
The bull had pulled up a short distance away. It stood half-turned toward her, breathing heavily, its sides working like forge Bellows, its pale hide matted and wet. Sweat glistened on Charis’ sun-browned skin as well, but she had gone suddenly cold. Her back felt as if someone had touched her with a firebrand at the crease between her shoulder blades. She could feel her muscles stiffening as pain twitched them tight.
“I must jump now,” she thought. “If I wait any longer it will be impossible.”
Moving slowly sideways, she circled the bull, turning it so that the sun would be behind her. The creature, huge heavy head lowered, glared at her with its red eyes and bawled as if in torment, and Charis noticed that the foam streaming from its open mouth was pink with blood.
“So we are both hurting,” she thought. “Well, come on then. Once more. Let us get it over with.”
The arena might have been a tomb, silent and empty-the crowd merely shadows fixed in their places.
The sun shone mercilessly down. The air singed her lungs. She estimated the distance between herself and the bull and took a quick step backward. The bull stood immobile, an immense white hill.
Come on! shrieked Charis inwardly. Charge!
The pain throbbed in her back, spreading weakness through her like a narcotic. If she did not jump now she would be unable to move. Why did the bull just stand there?
“Bel!” Her voice was a whip-crack in the silent arena.
The crowd stared transfixed. Was she calling on the god? Or was she talking to the bull?
The beast stood as if carved from a massive block of milk-white marble.
“Bel!” Charis screamed again, her cry going up into the firebright haze of sky.
Bel, she thought, I have given you everything. And yet you mean to take my pride as well. Take my life then too. I will not walk away beaten.
With that, she rose on her toes and leaped forward, running straight for the waiting bull, her long legs hurling her to her doom. At the same instant the bull gathered its hoofs under it and charged.
She saw the bull lurch into a trot. She was aware of someone shouting and recognized her own voice ringing in her ears.
She saw the massive neck bending low, the gilt hoofs pounding, golden horns slicing the air. She stretched forth her right hand to meet the horn as it swung toward her. But the head swerved away and Charis saw her destruction-the creature was goring left.
There was no time to switch hands. She would have to leap off her right foot and take the entire force of the jump on her left arm alone. It could not be done, she knew, but it was either try or simply impale herself on the wicked horn.
The cool clarity of these thoughts surprised Charis and, strangely, pleased her. She felt no fear, just a fleeting regret that she would not be able to complete this, her last jump.
And then her hand was on the horn, her leather-wrapped palm gripping its smooth surface. Her legs flew up, feet finding their mark on the wide forehead. The bull locked its legs and dug in its hoofs, throwing its head high, trying to snag its phantom tormentor from the air, bawling its terrible rage to the burning white sun.
But Charis was soaring free. The force of the bull’s lunge had flung her skyward. Bringing her knees to her chest, she tucked her chin down and wrapped her arms around her shins. She tumbled… once… high above the ground… twice… saw earth and heaven reversed, revolving slowly… and again. Then the ground was rushing up to meet her with alarming speed.
She arched her back and spread her hands as if to embrace the whole arena. But she was drifting slowly sideways-the one-handed jump had thrown her into a side spin and the momentum of her leap was carrying her past vertical. Instinct had taken over; already her arms were moving, the left swinging up, the right coming across her chest, increasing the speed of her rotation.