And I wanted to run! There was another sound over the beats that had drawn me to Yukur: deep and rough and rhythmic mortal voices. I did not know what it was, but it made me bouncy; I wanted to make the sounds, too, and move with the beats. I could have just dissipated and gone to see as a godling, but this was a mortal thing, all body-stuff, pounding blood and tingly skin and heavy breath. I needed mortalness to know what it all meant.
Finally I got to the top of the terrace. And! I saw!
Fires and smoke! And lots of boys all gathered in a circle! Some of them were to the side of the group, hitting things made of wood and leather which is what made the beaty noise—drums; Itempas had told me all about them. The rest of the boys were trotting about for a better position in the circle, or already in the circle, moving all together and making sounds in time with the beats, some high and some low and all of it together beautiful. Exciting! So this was MUSIC! It is not like the music in the gods’ realm, which is why I did not recognize it at first. Only two beats overlapping, no harmonies or clicks or static or interweaving thoughts, and the beats were not even as fast as pulsar-beats. The boys’ singing was not especially interesting, either, just words chanted over and over, a couple of tones harmonizing. It was catchy, though, and I liked it even if it was very simple. I moved forward a few feet behind the boys I had seen before, who were still whispering as they edged into the circle of other boys. Most of the boys around us were bigger, older, with heavy jaws and deep voices and big shoulders beneath their robes. They moved aside as us younger ones came through, though, grinning down at us in welcome, and I could not help smiling shyly back. One of the big boys patted me on the back. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just do what feels right.”
“OK,” I said, not really knowing what else to say. It must have been right, because the big one pushed me forward, closer to the circle’s center, so I could see.
And then it was WOW I had never seen COOL I really liked WHEE there was stuff going SWISH and legs going KICK and IT WAS AMAZING.
What? Oh, fine, I will say it better. OK. The boys in the circle were fighting.
It did not look like fighting, not at first, because everything was swirling robes and looping rivers of hair. It looked like dancing, or what Papa Tempa had said dancing looked like. It was harder than dancing, though, faster, and the feel of it was not about the music. The boys rode the music, but they were focused on each other, and everything in them was all fierce! And wanting to win! One boy’s foot came out from a swirl of robe and swept the other’s ankle and that one fell back but caught himself to turn the fall into a flip. He swirled away, always swirling, everything a circle. Suddenly I understood: it was supposed to look like a dance, even if it was really a fight!
And I wanted to fight-dance, too, watching them! I did dance a little, because the drums were so nice, and because the boys’ song pulled me along like the Maelstrom when It is hungry. But I wanted to do the other dance, too!
Then somebody called out, and the drums stopped, and the boys at the center ended their swirls and faced each other. I could feel how much they wanted to keep fighting, but instead each one of them crossed a big wide sleeve over his face and dipped down on one leg for a minute, which said respect in the language without words. Then they went back into the circle, and all the boys around us cheered and stamped and the air got hot with joy!
But then everybody got quiet, shushing and elbowing each other, more excited for some reason. I turned to look where everyone else was looking, and gasped when they gasped as another boy stepped through the crowd. I don’t know why they gasped. I gasped because even though this boy was just a mortal like all the rest, he wasn’t wearing any of the robey things boys in Darr liked to wear. He had on loose pants, and the slipper-shoes boys wear, but above the pants he didn’t have on anything except brown skin! The boy had a lot of hair like all the others, too, but his was all clipped up on top of his head in big loopy knots. The starkness of him was like a slap in the eyeballs.
I also gasped because I recognized him! It was the boy from the market. His was the scent I had detected in the empty room of Fahno’s house; there had been echoes of Fahno in it because they were related somehow. And now I knew why he hadn’t been there, even though all the mortals in Fahno’s house were supposed to be asleep. He looked different from that day in the market in other ways: darker, somehow. More vibrant, more fierce, with more of his true self showing through the skin—like Naha when the wildness comes. When the boy stepped forward, holding up his arms to get everyone’s attention, all the other boys breathed together, ensnared. Of course they were! In that moment, I was, too. He felt like another god.
“Eino,” said one of the boys I’d followed. He said it the same way I said, the Three.
“Comes the midnight,” Eino said, turning with his arms still spread. “Comes the moondown. ’Tis the Nightlord’s time, all deepfine and cool and scary. ’Tis the time when boys—men—come out to play.”
Laughter rippled through the boys, and someone whooped on the other side of the circle; there were other shouts, stamping feet, raised fists trailing colored robe-sleeves. Eino laughed, too, throwing his head back so that the cords of his long neck stood out. I had never realized mortals could be like this. I had no idea why he was talking so funny, either, but it was perfect for the moment, for the moonlight, for the boys’ excitement. When he hissed and ran forward and leapt into the middle of the circle, landing in a crouch, everyone hissed, too, some of them crouching, too, moving to Eino’s rhythm the same way they’d moved to the drums before. “Time for the midnight dance!” cried one, and others took up the cry, punching the air and swirling and swaying even without music. When Eino drew himself up, though, straight and taut with one hand held out in invitation, everyone got quiet again.
“Go on,” whispered one boy nearby to another. But that one shook his head.
“It’s Eino!” That was another boy. I think it was supposed to make everyone excited, and it did. “Eino!”
“I don’t know.” “You can!” “You can do it!” “Look at how strong he is.” “He’s one of us.” “Do it and see!” So much wanting, from all the boys around me. So many whispers, so many hopes, so much fear. That was when I finally understood: everybody was excited because Eino was offering to dance with one of them. He just wanted a volunteer!
Well, that was easy.
“I’ll do it!” I jumped up and down, waving my hand. Everybody got quiet, then moved aside so there was nothing between me and Eino.
Eino tilted his head and lowered his hand. He was so still, all shining skin and muscle in the firelight. His eyes were very black, too. “Haven’t seen you before. Or have I?” His eyes narrowed, and even though I was wearing a different body, I got nervous. Maybe he could see my soul? Mortals weren’t supposed to be able to do that. He shook his head, finally, and I relaxed. “Shed those window-drapes the women have put on you, baby boy. Here in our place we dance like Nahadoth, shadows and chaos, feeling the dark with our skin.”
Eagerly I threw off the robes, which I didn’t like anyway, until I had on nothing but pants and slippers like him. He grinned when I tried to stand like him, mostly failing because he was much bigger and prettier, almost a man. I was shaped like a boy, but still just a little one. “Nice. You’re feeling it.” He jerked his head toward my head, though, and I remembered the long hair. Hastily I tied it in a big knot at the back of my head, and he nodded approval. “Let’s dance, then.”