Spoils of War - Chapter 12
Here's the latest update on this one:
Inzilanî moved about the small area that had been curtained off as her personal space in the talan, looking for the length of white material that ran between her fingers like water. She didn't have a proper girdle, much less one that had the little bells one it; the material would just have to do. Part of the allure of the dance was for the movements of her hips to be seen, and neither the gown she was wearing nor the pale blue one that was her good one allowed for that. She tied the material so that it cradled and accentuated one hip very clearly, and the extra material below the tie would serve a similar purpose on the other side.
What was she doing? This dance was sacred - something offered to the spirits - could she remember that as she danced for the nimir? Would dancing for her master, and not the spirits, be seen as wrong by the spirits, who would then punish her? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but Bronamar had commanded that she dance for him. She would have to bring as much of the meaning of the dance into it as she could and hope the spirits would understand.
Inzilanî closed her eyes and tried to remember the drumbeat her attô had taught her to dance to. It had been so long… And yet… From deep inside her memories, far beyond the darkness, came a patient thumping, like a heartbeat. As it swelled, she began to sway her hips and tap her fingers together - then changed that to a snap that was audible. Again, it wasn't the same, wasn't half as effective, but it would just have to do. Maybe Bronamar could be convinced to do a heartbeat on the table, to help…
No. He was her master, not her accompanist. The heartbeat she would have to hear for herself. Attô always said that it was the sound of life, and that all living creatures could hear it. If so, then Bronamar would hear it too, if she did her dance properly.
But was she ready to celebrate life, though? After all, it hadn't been so very long ago that she'd tried to end her life. Inzilanî stopped swaying and rubbed the healed scars on her wrists thoughtfully. It had taken Bronamar many, many discussions, some of them down and out arguments, to finally convince her that she was not an urkan - at least, not in the eyes of the nimîr. Had the spirits been convinced by his persistence too? How would she know? Or would they see this as an obscene mockery, especially because the one she was inviting to celebrate with her was so very different.
Beyond the curtains, she heard stirring which meant that Bronamar was taking delivery of their evening meal. She could wait, postpone this until after the meal, so that whatever might happen after the dance wouldn't interfere… In many ways, she was more than willing to wait. If the evening ended as the intent of the dance directed, the longer she could postpone the inevitable, the better. Although she hoped that he would be as gentle when he did that as he had been at nursing her injuries, the idea of anyone doing that to her again made her very nervous and almost sick to her stomach.
She untied the material at her waist and put it on the end of her bed. "Is that the evening meal?" she called through the curtains.
"It is," came the reply. "Eat first, and then you can dance."
She straightened, threw her hair back, took a deep and cleansing breath, and then walked through the curtains and to the table. "Is better idea… it is a better idea," she told him in a soft voice that brought his head up immediately, his eyes narrowed.
"Inzilanî, if you do not want to…"
Inzilanî held her hand up to halt the words. "It is my place. You want see me dance, and I will dance."
His dark brows collided. "You are not my slave; and if you do not want to dance, you do not have to."
She very carefully ignored him. The last thing she wanted, just before dancing to celebrate life, was to argue. "What… how… nimîr dance?" she asked instead, seating herself at her place and offering him the first cut on the loaf of bread.
"Oh." She had distracted him for a change, and she was glad. "We go to a clearing - or in the middle of the snows, clear the great Hall inside the mountain. We have many musicians playing, some drums, some flutes… Do you know flutes?" She nodded; the Umbari captain had had a drummer and flute player when he was teaching dance. "We all make a big circle, and…" His hands moved in the air, struggling to put into gestures what was in his mind. "We spin and jump and dance." Bronamar looked at her sheepishly. "It is hard to describe."
"Yes, I know." She now lifted the platter with the slices of meat for him to take his portion first. "But you say 'we'… do you mean that men dance with the women?"
His dark eyebrows went up. "Of course. Do your men not dance with you?"
Oh dear! How to explain! "No," she said simply. "Only the women dance. The men watch."
"Only watch?" he asked, obviously shocked.
Inzilanî glanced at him and then back down to the food on her plate. "At first, yes."
"At first!" Bronamar exclaimed and then fell silent for a moment. "And after?"
"After, they… help…" She looked up at him. "My people dance to celebrate life, is… it is a gift to the spirits and to the people. After dance, is tradition to celebrate." No, she wouldn't use that ugly sign for the word that he still refused to give her; what happened at the end of the sacred dance wasn't ugly, not for those who went on to celebrate. At least, she didn't think so; Attô had led her away before much of any celebrating had gotten started.
"Celebrate?" Inzilanî could hear the questions wrapped in his single word.
"Yes. The men help celebrate." It was the truth…
"How?"
She looked at him in shock and concern, and then waved her hands vaguely, not wanting to make anything even remotely suggesting the ugliness that was no celebration of anything. "Is… It is hard to describe. When I dance for you, maybe you see." And before he could ask another question, she took a huge bite of her bread and meat to end the discussion.
The meal was a silent one after that, and Inzilanî could see that she had shocked and worried her owner. Her nervousness at what she knew would happen very soon made eating difficult, and she needed more water than usual to wash down the food in a mouth that was suddenly very dry. What was more, when she finally stood to gather together their plates and other dishes, her hands were visibly shaking.
"You do not have to do this," Branamar said again, very softly. "I do not have to see."
"I can do," she replied, finishing the job and then wiping her damp palms on her skirt. "Now I must make room ready."
The brows climbed his forehead even higher this time. "What?"
Inzilanî figured that if she just did the work, he would see what she meant. She walked over to the couch and pulled all the cushions and pillows onto the floor, and then manhandled the naked furnishing flush against the trunk of the tree that held up the talan. The pile of cushions and pillows wasn't nearly as thick as it should be, but it would be better than the woven wood covered with a rug when the time came. The heavy stone fire-bowl couldn't be moved, but that didn't matter; the dance took place around the fire, so it was needed. She took another log from the box of wood and added it. When the time came, it would add warmth to the talan.
Finally, there was nothing to do but retire and put the material around her hips. She walked over to Bronamar and pulled him by the arm. "You sit down there." She pointed to the cushions.
"On the floor?"
His shock was strangely amusing. "Is… It is comfortable. I give my word. Try it."
The grace with which he sank down onto the cushions was one that she would no doubt have needed at least another year with the Umbari captain to learn. She shifted the pillows around him so that they leaned against the bottom of the couch and provided a natural back rest.
"Is good?"
Bronamar arranged himself so that he was sitting cross-legged. "I am comfortable, thank you."
Inzilanî put up her finger. "I be… will be back. Just a moment." With that, she vanished behind her curtains again.
Now that the moment had come, she forced herself to outward calm. Several times her owner had given her the chance to stop this, and each time she had deliberately kept to the path she had set for herself earlier in the day. The desire in his statement of "I want to see you dance" had been undeniably clear. What was more, he was no uruk; he would not simply throw her to the floor of the talan and force himself into her. Bronamar was a gentle nimir. This dance was nothing to fear, he was nothing to fear. He was a healer; he would not hurt her.
And yet, her hands shook as she again tied the material and made certain that it made her hips very obvious. She lifted her hands then and removed the little tie at the bottom of the small braid that became the two braids from her temples and undid them, letting her hair completely loose. Then there was nothing left but to begin, and she took two deep breaths to try to slow her pounding heart before walking back through the curtains.
Bronamar's brows rose again the moment he saw her, but then he frowned as she moved to put the fire-bowl between them and then went to her knees. "Inzilanî…"
"Shhh…" She put her forefinger to her lips. "Is part of the dance." She watched his frown slowly smooth away into interested attention. "Is… It will be hard without a drum, but you must…" She tapped her forehead. "Drumbeat is like heartbeat. Babum. Babum. Babum. Understand?"
He nodded, even more focused than ever.
"Also, in my land, dancer wears many, many little bells, here and here." She pointed to her ankles and hips. "And have… ting-sha… not know nimîr word. Little metal circles on fingers, when I hit together go 'tshin'." She mimicked the ringing of the ting-sha. "I play ting-sha and answer the drum Babum, but will be harder to hear. Tonight I…" She snapped her fingers in a quick rhythm. "Yes?"
"I understand," he said with a nod. "This sounds very interesting, and quite different." He looked about and leaned a little further against the couch. "A heartbeat? Like this?" And his hand beat out a steady tattoo on the naked wood of the couch seat.
"Exactly like that! You will do?" Inzilanî was astounded.
Bronamar nodded and kept the beat of his hand going in a steady Babum, Babum.
With that, Inzilanî closed her eyes and sank herself into the heartbeat, felt her own heart catch the rhythm and pulse it through her. She tapped her fingers together a few times before she remembered she had no ting-sha, and changed to the snaps. Soon she felt her body begin to sway with the heartbeat, and slowly rose.
In her mind, every step she took rang with the voices of tiny bells that answered the drumbeat and the snapping of her fingers. Her hips swayed and began to move in the graceful undulations that were the invitation to the celebration. Inzilanî shook out her hair and stepped forward and back, her arms stretching out to Bronamar and then back, her feet now beating a counter to the heartbeat that continued on, steadily.
As she hadn't done for nearly three years, Inzilanî felt the warmth of the spirits, moving with her and helping her make of the dance a full invitation to celebrate with her. And a glance into her owner's face told her all that she needed to know. The nimir's eyes were glued to her, seeing her, watching her, all of her - and they were glowing from within as if with a quiet flame.
Smiling softly, both at him and in gratitude for this help from the spirits, telling her that her dance was acceptable to them after all, she began to swing her hips more, the rhythm of her feet and her snapping fingers driving the heartbeat on, harder, faster. Bronamar sat up straighter, his hand not stopping the beat, but his entire posture telling Inzilanî that he was entering the invitation too, beginning to feel the draw that would carry him forward at the dance's end.
She spun and waved, her hips swinging freely now, the bells at her hips and on her feet ringing silently. The heartbeat was faster now. Bronamar's face was flushed, and he was breathing hard, as if he were dancing with her. His eyes were intent on her in a way that made Inzilanî grow even warmer. She gazed at his lap and knew that her dance had done its work. He would want to celebrate life with her, and the spirits would accept their offering. She spun faster, fingers working a rhythm that she hadn't even remembered; and then, suddenly, she dropped before him, hands and knees on the rug, completely out of breath not only from the dance but from the look of heat and naked desire from her master.
The heartbeat of his hand on the wood of the couch stopped, and all was silence and breaths coming fast. Their gazes were locked; there was nothing in the world that existed except Inzilanî and Bronamar. Slowly, as if in a trance, his hand began to move toward her, and Inzilanî leaned toward it instinctively to meet it. His touch was oh so gentle, so careful, as he traced her chin, her cheek. Her lips. He swallowed hard, gazing deeply into her eyes with the light of the stars blazing in his own.
Then Bronamar blinked, as if he'd been hit in the face with water, and his gaze cleared. His hand cupped Inzilanî's cheek, and his thumb stroked close to her lips. He swallowed hard again. "Inzilanî," he began, still sounding very much out of breath. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Inzilanî. We cannot do this."
Inzilanî recoiled as if he had struck her.
Bronamar rose quickly to his feet, turned, and vanished down the rope ladder without a backwards glance as if all the ancestors were chasing him for his audacity.
Vocabulary
attô - (A) father
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
talan - (S) tree-dwelling of the wood-elves
ting-sha - a Tibetan word for small hand-bell cymbals that I borrowed shamelessly
urkan - (A) orc (nom. case)
uruk - (A) orc (obj. case)
Inzilanî moved about the small area that had been curtained off as her personal space in the talan, looking for the length of white material that ran between her fingers like water. She didn't have a proper girdle, much less one that had the little bells one it; the material would just have to do. Part of the allure of the dance was for the movements of her hips to be seen, and neither the gown she was wearing nor the pale blue one that was her good one allowed for that. She tied the material so that it cradled and accentuated one hip very clearly, and the extra material below the tie would serve a similar purpose on the other side.
What was she doing? This dance was sacred - something offered to the spirits - could she remember that as she danced for the nimir? Would dancing for her master, and not the spirits, be seen as wrong by the spirits, who would then punish her? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but Bronamar had commanded that she dance for him. She would have to bring as much of the meaning of the dance into it as she could and hope the spirits would understand.
Inzilanî closed her eyes and tried to remember the drumbeat her attô had taught her to dance to. It had been so long… And yet… From deep inside her memories, far beyond the darkness, came a patient thumping, like a heartbeat. As it swelled, she began to sway her hips and tap her fingers together - then changed that to a snap that was audible. Again, it wasn't the same, wasn't half as effective, but it would just have to do. Maybe Bronamar could be convinced to do a heartbeat on the table, to help…
No. He was her master, not her accompanist. The heartbeat she would have to hear for herself. Attô always said that it was the sound of life, and that all living creatures could hear it. If so, then Bronamar would hear it too, if she did her dance properly.
But was she ready to celebrate life, though? After all, it hadn't been so very long ago that she'd tried to end her life. Inzilanî stopped swaying and rubbed the healed scars on her wrists thoughtfully. It had taken Bronamar many, many discussions, some of them down and out arguments, to finally convince her that she was not an urkan - at least, not in the eyes of the nimîr. Had the spirits been convinced by his persistence too? How would she know? Or would they see this as an obscene mockery, especially because the one she was inviting to celebrate with her was so very different.
Beyond the curtains, she heard stirring which meant that Bronamar was taking delivery of their evening meal. She could wait, postpone this until after the meal, so that whatever might happen after the dance wouldn't interfere… In many ways, she was more than willing to wait. If the evening ended as the intent of the dance directed, the longer she could postpone the inevitable, the better. Although she hoped that he would be as gentle when he did that as he had been at nursing her injuries, the idea of anyone doing that to her again made her very nervous and almost sick to her stomach.
She untied the material at her waist and put it on the end of her bed. "Is that the evening meal?" she called through the curtains.
"It is," came the reply. "Eat first, and then you can dance."
She straightened, threw her hair back, took a deep and cleansing breath, and then walked through the curtains and to the table. "Is better idea… it is a better idea," she told him in a soft voice that brought his head up immediately, his eyes narrowed.
"Inzilanî, if you do not want to…"
Inzilanî held her hand up to halt the words. "It is my place. You want see me dance, and I will dance."
His dark brows collided. "You are not my slave; and if you do not want to dance, you do not have to."
She very carefully ignored him. The last thing she wanted, just before dancing to celebrate life, was to argue. "What… how… nimîr dance?" she asked instead, seating herself at her place and offering him the first cut on the loaf of bread.
"Oh." She had distracted him for a change, and she was glad. "We go to a clearing - or in the middle of the snows, clear the great Hall inside the mountain. We have many musicians playing, some drums, some flutes… Do you know flutes?" She nodded; the Umbari captain had had a drummer and flute player when he was teaching dance. "We all make a big circle, and…" His hands moved in the air, struggling to put into gestures what was in his mind. "We spin and jump and dance." Bronamar looked at her sheepishly. "It is hard to describe."
"Yes, I know." She now lifted the platter with the slices of meat for him to take his portion first. "But you say 'we'… do you mean that men dance with the women?"
His dark eyebrows went up. "Of course. Do your men not dance with you?"
Oh dear! How to explain! "No," she said simply. "Only the women dance. The men watch."
"Only watch?" he asked, obviously shocked.
Inzilanî glanced at him and then back down to the food on her plate. "At first, yes."
"At first!" Bronamar exclaimed and then fell silent for a moment. "And after?"
"After, they… help…" She looked up at him. "My people dance to celebrate life, is… it is a gift to the spirits and to the people. After dance, is tradition to celebrate." No, she wouldn't use that ugly sign for the word that he still refused to give her; what happened at the end of the sacred dance wasn't ugly, not for those who went on to celebrate. At least, she didn't think so; Attô had led her away before much of any celebrating had gotten started.
"Celebrate?" Inzilanî could hear the questions wrapped in his single word.
"Yes. The men help celebrate." It was the truth…
"How?"
She looked at him in shock and concern, and then waved her hands vaguely, not wanting to make anything even remotely suggesting the ugliness that was no celebration of anything. "Is… It is hard to describe. When I dance for you, maybe you see." And before he could ask another question, she took a huge bite of her bread and meat to end the discussion.
The meal was a silent one after that, and Inzilanî could see that she had shocked and worried her owner. Her nervousness at what she knew would happen very soon made eating difficult, and she needed more water than usual to wash down the food in a mouth that was suddenly very dry. What was more, when she finally stood to gather together their plates and other dishes, her hands were visibly shaking.
"You do not have to do this," Branamar said again, very softly. "I do not have to see."
"I can do," she replied, finishing the job and then wiping her damp palms on her skirt. "Now I must make room ready."
The brows climbed his forehead even higher this time. "What?"
Inzilanî figured that if she just did the work, he would see what she meant. She walked over to the couch and pulled all the cushions and pillows onto the floor, and then manhandled the naked furnishing flush against the trunk of the tree that held up the talan. The pile of cushions and pillows wasn't nearly as thick as it should be, but it would be better than the woven wood covered with a rug when the time came. The heavy stone fire-bowl couldn't be moved, but that didn't matter; the dance took place around the fire, so it was needed. She took another log from the box of wood and added it. When the time came, it would add warmth to the talan.
Finally, there was nothing to do but retire and put the material around her hips. She walked over to Bronamar and pulled him by the arm. "You sit down there." She pointed to the cushions.
"On the floor?"
His shock was strangely amusing. "Is… It is comfortable. I give my word. Try it."
The grace with which he sank down onto the cushions was one that she would no doubt have needed at least another year with the Umbari captain to learn. She shifted the pillows around him so that they leaned against the bottom of the couch and provided a natural back rest.
"Is good?"
Bronamar arranged himself so that he was sitting cross-legged. "I am comfortable, thank you."
Inzilanî put up her finger. "I be… will be back. Just a moment." With that, she vanished behind her curtains again.
Now that the moment had come, she forced herself to outward calm. Several times her owner had given her the chance to stop this, and each time she had deliberately kept to the path she had set for herself earlier in the day. The desire in his statement of "I want to see you dance" had been undeniably clear. What was more, he was no uruk; he would not simply throw her to the floor of the talan and force himself into her. Bronamar was a gentle nimir. This dance was nothing to fear, he was nothing to fear. He was a healer; he would not hurt her.
And yet, her hands shook as she again tied the material and made certain that it made her hips very obvious. She lifted her hands then and removed the little tie at the bottom of the small braid that became the two braids from her temples and undid them, letting her hair completely loose. Then there was nothing left but to begin, and she took two deep breaths to try to slow her pounding heart before walking back through the curtains.
Bronamar's brows rose again the moment he saw her, but then he frowned as she moved to put the fire-bowl between them and then went to her knees. "Inzilanî…"
"Shhh…" She put her forefinger to her lips. "Is part of the dance." She watched his frown slowly smooth away into interested attention. "Is… It will be hard without a drum, but you must…" She tapped her forehead. "Drumbeat is like heartbeat. Babum. Babum. Babum. Understand?"
He nodded, even more focused than ever.
"Also, in my land, dancer wears many, many little bells, here and here." She pointed to her ankles and hips. "And have… ting-sha… not know nimîr word. Little metal circles on fingers, when I hit together go 'tshin'." She mimicked the ringing of the ting-sha. "I play ting-sha and answer the drum Babum, but will be harder to hear. Tonight I…" She snapped her fingers in a quick rhythm. "Yes?"
"I understand," he said with a nod. "This sounds very interesting, and quite different." He looked about and leaned a little further against the couch. "A heartbeat? Like this?" And his hand beat out a steady tattoo on the naked wood of the couch seat.
"Exactly like that! You will do?" Inzilanî was astounded.
Bronamar nodded and kept the beat of his hand going in a steady Babum, Babum.
With that, Inzilanî closed her eyes and sank herself into the heartbeat, felt her own heart catch the rhythm and pulse it through her. She tapped her fingers together a few times before she remembered she had no ting-sha, and changed to the snaps. Soon she felt her body begin to sway with the heartbeat, and slowly rose.
In her mind, every step she took rang with the voices of tiny bells that answered the drumbeat and the snapping of her fingers. Her hips swayed and began to move in the graceful undulations that were the invitation to the celebration. Inzilanî shook out her hair and stepped forward and back, her arms stretching out to Bronamar and then back, her feet now beating a counter to the heartbeat that continued on, steadily.
As she hadn't done for nearly three years, Inzilanî felt the warmth of the spirits, moving with her and helping her make of the dance a full invitation to celebrate with her. And a glance into her owner's face told her all that she needed to know. The nimir's eyes were glued to her, seeing her, watching her, all of her - and they were glowing from within as if with a quiet flame.
Smiling softly, both at him and in gratitude for this help from the spirits, telling her that her dance was acceptable to them after all, she began to swing her hips more, the rhythm of her feet and her snapping fingers driving the heartbeat on, harder, faster. Bronamar sat up straighter, his hand not stopping the beat, but his entire posture telling Inzilanî that he was entering the invitation too, beginning to feel the draw that would carry him forward at the dance's end.
She spun and waved, her hips swinging freely now, the bells at her hips and on her feet ringing silently. The heartbeat was faster now. Bronamar's face was flushed, and he was breathing hard, as if he were dancing with her. His eyes were intent on her in a way that made Inzilanî grow even warmer. She gazed at his lap and knew that her dance had done its work. He would want to celebrate life with her, and the spirits would accept their offering. She spun faster, fingers working a rhythm that she hadn't even remembered; and then, suddenly, she dropped before him, hands and knees on the rug, completely out of breath not only from the dance but from the look of heat and naked desire from her master.
The heartbeat of his hand on the wood of the couch stopped, and all was silence and breaths coming fast. Their gazes were locked; there was nothing in the world that existed except Inzilanî and Bronamar. Slowly, as if in a trance, his hand began to move toward her, and Inzilanî leaned toward it instinctively to meet it. His touch was oh so gentle, so careful, as he traced her chin, her cheek. Her lips. He swallowed hard, gazing deeply into her eyes with the light of the stars blazing in his own.
Then Bronamar blinked, as if he'd been hit in the face with water, and his gaze cleared. His hand cupped Inzilanî's cheek, and his thumb stroked close to her lips. He swallowed hard again. "Inzilanî," he began, still sounding very much out of breath. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Inzilanî. We cannot do this."
Inzilanî recoiled as if he had struck her.
Bronamar rose quickly to his feet, turned, and vanished down the rope ladder without a backwards glance as if all the ancestors were chasing him for his audacity.
Vocabulary
attô - (A) father
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
talan - (S) tree-dwelling of the wood-elves
ting-sha - a Tibetan word for small hand-bell cymbals that I borrowed shamelessly
urkan - (A) orc (nom. case)
uruk - (A) orc (obj. case)