SWORD AND SORCERESS XVI, page 24
Teresa considered this offer, this simple spontaneous kindness, made by a stranger to another stranger. By someone who had to someone who was in need.
She thought of who she had been, what she had done, the men who had sought her out for what only she could give them. Teresa looked down at her smiling son and put aside her pride, the oath she had sworn so long ago. She would not go back, not when the past was filled with so much heartache, and the future held such promise.
THE DANCING MEN OF BALLYBEN
by Laura J. Underwood
With twenty-three fantasy short stories to her credit, Laura has been writing as far back as she can remember. Her career as a writer of nonfiction and book reviews has spanned twenty-five years, and her first fiction appeared in Sword and Sorceress V ten years ago. How well I remember!
When not writing or working at the library, she spends her time hiking the mountains of East Tennessee where she was born and raised. It must be something in that Tennessee drinking water; I remember once, passing through Tennessee, noticing that they had the best spring water I ever tasted. Tennessee also produced another fine writer with a silver-stringed guitar—Manly Wade Wellman's "Silver John" stories collected in John the Balladeer. Laura has a , harp, Glynnanis, instead. I once said the advantage of a harp as one's principal instrument is that one can't make any sound on it which isn't beautiful. I wonder how many would-be musicians, especially violinists, have been put off (as I was) by the sounds they made while still inexpert?
This is Laura's third story featuring these characters and she is currently working on a novel set in their part of Keltora. Personally—for all you book editors out there—I'd love to see a volume of the collected stories about Glynnanis, Meanwhile we have this story.
The Dancing Men looked like nothing more than an irregular circle of thirty-two stones to Ginny Ni Cooley. She leaned against her staff and stared at broken teeth of gray wearing splotches of lichen green. They
ranged about in the fading light and sparse mist of the mountain glen of Ballyben, a grim reminder of what could happen to any unwise enough to provoke the Old Ones from whom mageborn like Ginny were said to descend. She stood at the lower end of the circle and stretched mage senses around her, touching the life-force within each stone. Some were ancient, some were young, and all were bone-weary from the curse they shared.
"Are you certain he's here?" Ginny asked, watching as Thistle wandered from stone to stone. The moor terrier would sniff the base of each one in turn before disrespectfully hiking his leg to mark them as his own. Ginny sensed that the spirits within were not pleased to be decorated in that fashion.
"Aye," the old woman who gave her name as Granny Nora replied, pulling her common plaid shawl tighter about her. "My grandson Aiden come up this way just two nights back, and when he did not return from his foolish quest, I came here myself and counted the stones, and found one more had joined the ranks."
Ginny twisted her face with a scowl. If what the old woman said was true, this could be tricky. One could not defy such a curse without paying the price. Ginny could still recall the old rhyme about these stones that she had learned as a tiny child from her mother's Great Uncle Tamis.
The Dancing Men of
Ballyben,
Do dance around the
Mountain glen.
And any man who Joins their dance Must flee before the Sun's first glance.
Elsewise, as stone he's Forced to stay,
And dance until he Wears away.
"Are you certain he came here?" Ginny asked. "I thought everyone in these parts knew about the curse."
"Aye, 'tis well known indeed," Granny Nora said. "But youth is headstrong and makes its own rules. He heard that one clever and quick enough could make his fortune if he caught the gold that fell from the Dancing Men's sporrans as they danced about the glen."
"And any foolish enough to gather that gold until dawn would be forced to dance their lives away for an eternity," Ginny said with a sigh. "And you're certain he didn't fall victim to bandits?"
She cast a cautious glance about the glen at her own suggestion. Ballyben had a reputation as the haunt of desperate men, for just over the summit, it gave them quite a view of the moor road as well as the merchants and tinkers who used it to travel through the kingdom of Keltora.
"Haven't seen any bandits about these parts in months since our good laird MacAnle rousted and hanged a large quarter of them last autumn," Granny Nora replied.
"So which stone is he?" Ginny asked and studied the circle once more.
Granny Nora shook her head and spread her fingers in a futile gesture. "I don't know. You being one of the mageborn, I thought you could tell."
Horns, Ginny thought, refraining from voicing a stronger epithet. Bad enough that folk were wary of her kind without attributing greater powers to them than they possessed. Ginny came into her mage power at the proper time in her life, but she had studied the use of magic much later. And in spite of getting that training from Manus MacGreeley before he met his end on a bandit's blade, she knew there was so much more she needed to learn.
"All right," she said. "Go back to your cottage, and I'll see what I can do."
"I've no gold to pay for your services . . ."
Ginny waved a hand. "I'll gladly accept a fresh loaf of bread and any old bones you can spare for the dog," she said.
"Thank ye," Granny Nora replied. Without another word, the old woman hurried down the path, eager to be out of the glen before nightfall.
Ginny waited until the old woman was well out of mage hearing before calling, "Manus?"
"I'm with ye, lass," came the ethereal reply. A tag of mist broke free to swell before her in the shape of a tall, handsome man with merry eyes full of mischief. Manus MacGreeley grinned as his incorporeal form became visible. He had not been of this mortal world for several years, though that did nothing to deter him from staying around to make a nuisance of himself.
"So you heard?" Ginny said and started around the circle of stones, glancing at each in turn.
"Aye," Manus said, trailing after her. "The lad was foolish not to keep one eye out for the dawn."
"His eyes were more likely filled with gold," she said,
"And just what does the old woman expect us to do for her? Once the lad became part of the circle, he's bound to its dance for as long as his stone stands among them."
"Maybe," Ginny said. "You do know how the Dancing Men came to be, don't you."
"Aye," Manus said. "Back before the Great Cataclysm when the Old Ones still roamed among mortal men, a foolish pack of wealthy lads full of their manhood and heather ale came staggering upon a ceilidh in this glen. 'Twas no ordinary feast, but the wedding bonds of a Seelie lass and her Seelie lord. The lads blundered into the merriment and soon turned it to chaos. They offended the Seelie lord and his guests by throwing gold at the revelers. In anger, he asked them to leave, but
they refused, dancing about the glen like madmen. And when they dared to drag his lovely bride into their drunken revels against her will, the Seelie lord lost his temper and put his curse on them. Stone-hearted and stone-headed they were, and stone they would be, except between the dark hour and the dawn when they would be forced to dance for an eternity, and any man unwise enough to join their mad revel in search of the gold that fell from their sporrans would be doomed to join them."
"Your sort of revel, I imagine," Ginny said with a smile, but Manus politely ignored her. He had been full of the heather ale when he met his own death.
"So what do you plan to do?" he asked instead.
"Wait until the dark hour, I imagine."
"This is no safe place for a lass alone," Manus said with a glance toward the forest of tall thick pines that ranged the lower levels of Ballyben. "In spite of what Granny Nora says, bandits do like to hide in this glen because folk think it's haunted as well as cursed."
"I can take care of myself," she assured him.
"I'm sure ye can," he said, "but what makes ye think ye can free old Nora's grandson?"
He followed as Ginny stepped out of the circle and found herself a flat enough place below a hummock and just out of sight of the stones. There, she lay out a blanket she had bundled across her back for the journey. She opened her pouch to have a bit of the bread and cheese she had brought along and seated herself there to enjoy the simple fare. Thistle knew that food was about to be consumed and rapidly bolted toward her to beg for a share.
"There was another story I heard when I was small," Ginny said. "It was about a lad of lowly means who loved the daughter of a laird, but in order to win her father's consent for her hand, he had to find his fortune. And the lass had a nurse who told her about the Dancing Men and their scattered gold."
"And she told her bonny lad, aye?"
"Of course," Ginny said, popping a bit of cheese in
her mouth and handing another small chunk to Thistle, who in true terrier fashion forgot to chew and nearly choked himself in the bargain. "Lovestruck lads and lasses always practice such foolishness in these tales. At any rate, the lad went out and was collecting the gold, but alas, he fell victim to his own greed."
"So what did the lass do?" Manus asked.
"At her nurse's suggestion, she came up here and waited until the dance began, and when she saw him passing by among the men, she seized him and dragged him from their ranks and fled into the woods, clinging to him for dear life, to wait until dawn. He was saved, they eloped, end of story."
"So you plan to wait for the dark hour and drag Granny Nora's lad from the circle and elope with him, aye?" Manus asked with a teasing grin.
"Sometimes I wonder why I bother sharing anything with you, Manus."
"I amuse you," he said.
"Not by half," she said and drew her shawl about her to wait for the dark hour. "Will you keep watch while I sleep?"
"Gladly, lass," he said and sank to the ground at her side. "Enjoy your dreams."
"Thank you," she said and lay down on the blanket, hoping the weather would stay fair.
And it did, though there was a bit of a chill, but she managed to sleep a while until Manus roused her with a whisper.
"Ginny," he said. "It's time."
She opened her eyes to find the world bathed in shadows under a gibbous moon. A moor owl's lonely trill echoed across the glen; a haunting sound most worthy of the moment. Ginny barely got herself off the ground and drew up her blanket when she heard Thistle growling. The moor terrier stood on the hummock with hackles raised on end as he glared up the mountainside. Ginny crawled up to sit beside him and study the glen.
The gray stones were starting to tremble and shiver
like so many stalks of grain in the wind. Yet the world was a still place, and from somewhere, Ginny heard an ethereal tune begin to play. A reed whistle's breathy whine broke into a jig. She watched as the stones of the circle began to sway in time with it.
Then, one by one, the stones unfolded from their repose on the ground, growing tall and erect and becoming young men kilted in the ancient style with nothing but their plaidies and leggings. Their skin was gray, blotched with bits of faded green washed milky under the wispy light of the moon. Slowly, they began to move about in an irregular circle, their movements stiff and jerky like those of a wooden puppet.
Thistle snarled and crouched as though he might leap at them. "Wheesht!" Ginny said softly, not wanting to break the spell. Besides, she doubted men of stone would care what bit them, but she laced fingers through the moor terrier's shaggy rough coat and pushed him down to keep him from charging.
The lumbering jig picked up its pace, and the men began to move more freely. They flung their arms about, and set their plaidies twirling, and Ginny could see the glitter of gold as it was flung from their sporrans while they danced.
She ordered Thistle to stay, not that he was apt to obey her, and moved cautiously closer, Manus still at her side. His spirit watched the circle as anxiously as she until at last, she saw that one of the men looked much younger than the rest, and that his skin, though pale, was not terribly gray nor blotched with green.
Aiden, she thought and motioned toward him. Manus glanced at the lad and nodded.
Ginny kept eyes on Aiden as he lumbered about in the clumsy dance of one unused to such skill. Closer she stepped to the circle, readying the blanket in her hands. She watched him going around until he came just abreast of her, and with a shout, she threw the blanket over him and pulled it about him like a net.
He gave a cry of dismay and tried desperately to con-
tinue the dance, but Ginny threw her weight into the effort, using the blanket to drag him out of the circle and toward the trees. He struggled to escape the blanket's grasp and hers, only to fall on his back. Ginny kept a firm hold of the blanket, grateful that the forest was downhill of the mad revels, and quickly dragged him into the stand of dark pines. And even then, she kept dragging him until they were well away from the wheezing jig of the reed whistle.
"Leave go, leave go!" he cried as she hauled him into a clearing and turned toward him to catch her breath. Neither Thistle nor Manus had followed, and indeed, mage hearing revealed the faint baying of the moor terrier who had apparently scented some prey in her absence. And like as not, Manus would be on Thistle's heels in a futile attempt to bring him back. She shook her head. There were more immediate matters to attend just now. She seized the young man's shoulders an shook him.
"Aiden!" she said, using the fact that he was tangled in the blanket to help pin him. "Listen to me! Listen to your name! You are Aiden and not one of the Dancing Men of Ballyben. You are Aiden, and have no need of faery gold that fades with the sunlight!"
"Leave go!"
"Aiden!" she repeated, knowing that sooner or later, his name had to register.
At last, his struggles against the cloth slowed, and his breath became ragged sobs, and only then did Ginny dare to draw the blanket away and whispered, "Solus." Mage light of pale blue flickered to life overhead, illuminating the thin young face of a lad barely old enough to have gained his manhood plaidie. Pale eyes blinked up at her.
"Are you a bogie maid?" he asked.
"Hardly," she said with a smile. "But I am mageborn. Now your Granny Nora is worried ill about you, so I'd best get you back down to the village. . . ."
"Not so fast, lass," a voice hissed from the dark, and Ginny gasped when she suddenly felt a length of steel
laying across her shoulder just far enough to give her a glimpse of the first few inches. She froze, not daring to move, for mage flesh was as mortal as any, cursing to think she had let her guard down after boasting of her ability to look after herself.
"So what have we here?" the man said gruffly. "A maid and her lad wandering about in the dark. That's a foolish thing to do, you know. There are bandits about these parts, aren't there, lads?"
Crude laughter echoed through the trees. Ginny let her eyes flick sideways, giving her a better view. Four men stood about in the dark, surly men wearing common plaidies and bits of old leather armor that had seen better days.
"What do you want?" Ginny asked cautiously.
"Well, you don't look as though you've got much more than yourself to offer," their leader said. He had a grizzled beard, and a scar slashed one cheek with a puckered crescent that had been badly stitched.
"Who are you?" she said.
"They call me Dall," he said, then gestured to the others. "Their names won't matter. I get first call on you, and by the time I'm done . . ."
Her stomach tightened, especially when Aiden shot up from the ground with some misguided notion of gallantry and threw himself at the bandit. Dall merely jerked out of range, the blade deserting Ginny's shoulder, and with a shout of rage, the bandit struck at the lad with a heavy fist. She heard a resounding thwack that knocked Aiden back into the nearest tree and crumpled him to the ground. Dall sighed and glanced at Ginny once more . . .
. . . and cursed when he saw her raise her hand and whisper "Loisg!"
Mage fire flared about the hand, and with a shout, she tossed it at him. He gave a cry and backed away as the magical flames flew at his face, stumbling in his attempt to avoid their burn. Ginny used that moment to leap to
her feet and started running up the side of the mountain toward the glen.
At once, the men were after her, shouting threats of what they planned to do when they caught her. It was a struggle to take the rise at a run, but she knew she had to keep going. Behind her, the bandits led by Dall pressed on, taking the slope a little slower under the burden of leather armor and weapons.
If she could just get to the circle above before they stopped her . . .
