Ann Maxwell - Fire Dancer 3 - Dancer's Illusion

--3 Dancer’s Illusion (1983)

THE SHIP’S COMPUTER HAS CHOSEN—and now Rheba the fire dancer and her

Bre’n mentor Kirtn must fulfill the next part of their ongoing mission—to return a

shipload of fellow ex-slaves to their widely scattered home planets. Their current

destination—Yhelle, a world where reality is far too fleeting for anyone but a master

illusionist to grasp. Yhelle is considered the most civilized place in the galaxy and their

brief stopover should be pure pleasure. But it doesn’t take Rheba, Kirtn, and their two

Yhelle crewmates long to discover that beneath the paradise-like surface of this society

lurks an evil that is growing more powerful each day, a seductive darkness that feeds on

love and kills with ecstasy....

I

The tension in theDevalon’s crowded control room was as unbearable as the air. The

ship’s life-support systems were overloaded. Passengers and crew were being kept alive,

but not in comfort. Rheba wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. Both arm and

face were sweaty, both pulsed with intricate gold lines that were visible manifestations of

the power latent within her.

She looked at her Bre’n. Rivulets of sweat darkened Kirtn’s suede-texturcd skin. The

fine, very short copper fur that covered his powerful body made the control room’s heat

even more exhausting for him than it was for her.

“Ready?” she said, wiping her face again.

“Yesss,” hissed Fssa, dangling his head out of her hair. His thin, infinitely flexible body

was alive with metallic colors. He loved heat.

“Not you, snake,” Rheba muttered. “Kirtn.”

The Bre’n smiled, making his yellow eyes seem even more slanted in their mask of

almost invisibly fine gold fur. “Ready. Maybe it will be an ice planet,” he added

hopefully.

Rheba looked around the control room at the sweaty races of Fourth People she had

rescued from a lifetime of slavery on Loo. Some were furred, some not. They had as

many colors as Rainbow, the Zaarain construct that was at the moment a necklace

knocking against Kirtn’s chest.

AH of the passengers had two things in common: their past slavery on Loo and their

present hope that it would be their planet’s number that would be chosen by theDevalon’s

computer in the lottery. The winner was given the best prize of all—a trip home.

The owners of the ship, Rheba and Kirtn, were not included in the lottery. Their home

had died beneath the hot lash of an unstable sun, sending the young Bre’n and his even

younger Senyas fire dancer fleeing for their lives. They had survived, and they had

managed to find two others who had survived. One was Ilfn, a woman of Kirtn’s race.

The other was her storm dancer, a blind boy called Lheket. Rheba had sworn to find more

survivors, to comb the galaxy until she had found enough Bre’ns and Senyasi to ensure

that neither race became extinct.

But first she had light-years to go and promises to keep. She had to deliver each one of

the people on the ship to his, her, orhir home. The first such delivery—to a planet called

Daemen—had nearly killed both her and Kirtn. Since then there had been several other

planets, none dangerous. But each number the computer spat out could be another

Daemen.

“You may be ready,” Rheba sighed, “but I’m not sure I am.”

She licked her lips, then whistled a phrase in the intricate, poetic Bre’n language—

Instantly the computer displayed a number in the air just above her head.

Kirtn whistled in lyric relief. That was the most civilized planet in the Yhelle Equality.

Certainly there could be no difficulty there. Besides, the Yhelle illusionists on board had

more than earned their chance to go home. Without them, Kirtn certainly would have

died on Daemen, and Rheba, too.

On the other hand, they would miss the illusionists. It was piquant not knowing who or

what would appear in the crowded corridors of theDevalon .

Fssa keened softly into Rheba’s ear. He, too, would miss the illusionists. When they

were practicing their trade, they had a fey energy about them that could appeal only to a

Fssireeme—or another illusionist.

“I know, snake,” Rheba said, stroking him with a fingertip. She sent currents of energy

through her hair to console the Fssireeme. “But it wouldn’t be fair to ask them to wait just

because we like their company.”

Fssa subsided. With a final soft sound he vanished into her seething gold hair.

Rheba stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of the people crowding the control room.

“Where are they?”

Kirtn, taller than anyone else, spotted the illusionists. “By the hall.”

“Are they happy?”

“With an illusionist, who can tell?” he said dryly. Then he relented and lifted Rheba so

that she could see.

“They don’t look happy,” she said.

Kirtn whistled a phrase from the “Autumn Song,” one of Deva’s most famous poems,

variations on the theme of parting.

“Yes, but they still should be happy,” whistled Rheba. “They’re goinghome .”

All of her longing for the home she had lost was in her Bre’n whistle. Kirtn’s arms

tightened around her. She had been so young; she had so few memories to comfort her.

And she was right. The illusionists did not look happy.

With a silent sigh, Kirtn pm her back on her own feet. He tried to imagine why anyone

would be reluctant to go back home after years of slavery. What he imagined did not

comfort him. At best, they might simply dislike their planet. At worst, they might have

been exited and therefore did not expect to be welcomed back.

He pushed through the disappointed people who were slowly leaving the control room.

Rheba followed, unobtrusively protected by two J/taals. On Loo, the mercenaries had

chosen her as their J/taaleri, the focus of their devotion. They continued to protect her

whenever she permitted it—and even when she did not.

“Congratulations,” said Kirtn, smiling at the illusionists. “The ship is

computingreplacements from here to Yhelle. Are there any defenses we should know

about?”

F’lTiri tried to smile: “Probably not. No one has fought with Yhelle for thousands of

years. The last people who did conquered us. They retreated five years later, babbling.”

This time he managed a true smile. “Yhelle is hard on people who expect reality to be

what it seems to be.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” said Rheba. “Practicing?”

I’sNara’s confusion showed in her voice as well as her face. “What do you mean? We’re

appearing as ourselves right now. No illusions.”

“Then why aren’t you happy?” Rheba asked bluntly. “You’re going home.”

The two illusionists looked quickly at one another. At the same instant, both of them

appeared to glow with pleasure. Rheba made an impatient gesture. She had been with

them long enough to separate their illusions from their reality ... some of the time.

“Forget it,” she snapped. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” they said in unison. “We’re just overcome with surprise,” added i’sNara.

“We never expected to go home so soon.”

Kirtn grunted. Their voices were as unhappy as their faces had been a few moments ago.

“Fssa, tell everyone to clear the control room and get ready forreplacement .”

The Fssireeme slid out of Rheba’s hair into her hands. There he underwent a series of

astonishing transformations as he made the necessary apparatus to speak a multitude of

languages simultaneously. It was not difficult for the Fssireeme. The snakes had evolved

on a hot, gigantic planet as sonic mimics, then had been genetically modified during one

of the earlier Cycles. The result was a resilient, nearly indestructible translator who

needed only a few phrases to learn any new language.

In response to the languages pouring out of the snake, people hurried out of the control

room. When the illusionists turned to go, Kirtn stopped them. “Not you two.”

He waited until only four plus Fssireeme were left in the room. He stretched with

obvious pleasure, flexing his powerful body. TheDevalon had been designed originally

for twelve crew members and hurriedly rigged for the two who had survived Deva’s solar

flare. Even after dropping off people on five planets, the remainder of the refugees from

Loo’s slave pens seriously overloaded the ship’s facilities. As a result, Kirtn spent most

of his time trying not to crush smaller beings.

“Now,” he said, focusing on i’sNara and f’lTiri, “what’s the problem?”

The illusionists looked at each other, then at him, then at Rheba. “We’re not sure we

should go home,” said i’sNara simply.

“Why?” asked Rheba, slipping Fssa back into her hair.

The illusionists looked at each other again. “We are appearing naked before you,” said

f’lTiri, his voice strained.

Rheba blinked and began to object that they were fully dressed as far as she could tell,

then realized that they meant naked of illusions, not clothes. “That’s rare in your culture,

isn’t it?”

“Yes,” they said together. “Only with children, very close friends and sometimes with

lovers. A sign of deep trust.”

“I see.” Rheba hesitated, knowing the illusionists were proud as only ex-slaves could be.

“You didn’t leave your planet voluntarily ... ?”

“No.”

Rheba and Kirtn exchanged a long look. She slid her fingers between his. They did not

have the intraspecies telepathy of the J/taals or the interspecies telepathy of master mind

dancers, yet they sometimes could catch each other’s thoughts when they were In

physical contact. Once, on Daemon, telepathy had come without contact; but Kirtn had

been dying then, too high a price to pay for soundless speech. Now there was no urgency,

just a long sigh and the wordtrouble shared between them.

“Tell us.” Rheba’s tone was more commanding than inviting, but her smile was

sympathetic.

“It’s a long story.” began f’lTiri, “and rather complex.”

Kirtn laughed shortly. “I’d expect nothing else from a culture based on pure illusions.”

“Don’t leave anything out,” added Rheba. “If we’d known more about Daemen, we

would have had less trouble there.”

F’lTiri sighed. “I’d rather be invisible while I talk,” he muttered. “Holding invisibility

couldn’t be much harder than telling you....” He made a curt gesture. “As you said, our

society is based on illusion. Nearly all Yhelles can project illusions. Some are better than

others. There are different categories of illusion, as well.”

Rheba remembered the young Yhelle illusionist she had seen on Loo. His gift was

appearing to be the essence of everyone’s individual sexual desire. The result had been

compelling for the audience and confusing for her—she had seen the appearance of Kirtn

on the young illusionist, yet Kirtn was her mentor, not her lover. The image still returned

to disturb her. She banished it each time, telling herself that it was merely her knowledge

of legendary Bre’n sensuality that had caused her to identify Yhelle illusion as Bre’n

reality.

“The result is that while other societies have tangible means of rewarding their members,

Yhelle doesn’t,” continued f’lTiri. “What good is a jeweled badge when even children

can make theappearance of that badge on themselves? What good is a magnificent house

when most Yhelles can project the appearance of a castle? What good is a famous ‘face

when almost anyone can duplicate the appearance of that face? What good is beauty?

Even poetry can appear more exquisite than it is. One of my daughters could project a

poem that would make you weep ... but when anyone else read the words, they were

merely ordinary.”

The illusionist sighed, and i’sNara took up the explanation. “He doesn’t mean that

everything on Yhelle is illusory. Our money is real enough most of the time, because we

need it for the framework of real food and cloth and shelter we build our illusions on. But

the elaboration of necessity that is the foundation of most societies just doesn’t exist on

Yhelle. We have nearly everything we want—or at least theappearance of having it.” She

looked anxiously from Bre’n to Senyas. “Do you understand?”

“I doubt it,” said Kirtn, “but I’m trying. Do you mean that a Yhelle could take mush and

make it appear to be a feast?”

“Yes,” said i’sNara eagerly. “A good illusionist can even make ittaste like a feast.”

“But can’t you see through the illusions?” asked Rheba.

Both illusionists looked very uncomfortable. “That’s a ... difficult ... subject for us. Like

cowardice for the J/taals or reproduction for the Lems.”

“That may be,” said Rheba neutrally, “but it’s crucial. We won’t be shocked.”

F’lTiri almost smiled. Even so, his words were slow, his tone reluctant. “Some illusions

are easier to penetrate than others. It depends on your skill, and the power of the creator.

But it is unspeakably ... crude ... to comment on reality. And who would want to? Who

prefers real mush to an apparent feast? Especially as they are equally nourishing. Do you

understand?”

Bre’n and Senyas exchanged a long silence. “Keep going,” said Rheba at last. “We’re

behind you, but we’re not out of breath yet.”

I’sNara’s laughter was light and pleasing. Rheba realized that it was the first time she

had heard either Yhelle really laugh.

“You’ll catch up soon,” said f’lTiri confidently. “AfterLoo and Daemen, I don’t think

anything can stay ahead of either of you.”

Rheba smiled sourly and said nothing. They had been lucky to survive those planets.

“We don’t have much government,” continued f’lTiri. “It’s difficult to tax illusions, and

without taxes government isn’t much more than an amusement for wellborn families.

There’s some structure, of course. We are Fourth People, and Fourth People seem

doomed to hierarchy. We’re organized into clans, or rather,dis organized into clans. Each

clan specializes—traders or artists or carpenters, that sort of thing. I’sNara and I belong

to the Liberation clan. We’re master snatchers,” he said proudly. “Thieves.”

Rheba blinked. The illusionists treated reality as a dirty word and thievery as a proud

occupation. She sensed Kirtn’s yellow eyes on her but did not return his look. She was

afraid she would laugh, offending the Yhelles.

“And quite good at it,” said Kirtn blandly, “if Onan is any proof of your skill. Without

you two we’d still be stuck in Nontondondo, trying to scrape up the price of an Equality

navtrix.”

F’lTiri made a modest noise. “We were out of practice. The only thing we’ve stolen in

five years worth mentioning is our freedom—andyou stole that for us.” He sighed.

“Anyway, we weren’t good enough on Yhelle. We were assigned to steal the Ecstasy

Stones from the Redistribution clan. We were caught and sold to Loo.”

“I’m out of breath,” said Rheba flatly. “You spent a lot of time telling us about

appearances being equal or superior to reality, then you tell us that you tried to steal

something. Why? Couldn’t you just make an illusion of the Ecstasy Stones?”

“That’s the whole point. Oh, we could make something that looked like the Stones, but

no illusionist in Yhelle history has been able to make anything thatfelt like the Stones.

That’s their value,” said f’lTiri. “They make you feel loved. That’s their illusion.”

Rheba looked at Kirtn, silently asking if he understood. He smiled. “You’re too

pragmatic, fire dancer. It’s your Senyas genes. Think of it this way. The Yhelles have,

orseem to have, everything that Fourth People have pursued since the First of the

Seventeen Cycles. Wealth, beauty, power over their environment—if there is a name for

it, the Yhelles have someone able to make it appear. Or,” he added dryly, “appearto

appear. The illusion of love is the only exception.”

He looked at the illusionists. They moved their hands in a gesture of agreement.

“Exactly,” said the Yhelles together.

F’lTiri continued, “We create illusions, but we aren’t deluded by them. Illusionists who

fool themselves are, by definition, fools. So when it comes to love, we’re no better off

than the rest of the Fourth People.”

“Except for the Stones,” put in i’sNara. “Their fabulous illusion—if it indeedis an

illusion—is love. They love you totally. The more Stones you have, the more intense is

the feeling of loving and being loved.”

“That would make them valuable in any society,” said Rheba.

“Perhaps,” conceded f’lTiri. “But in Serriolia, the city-state where we were born and the

most accomplished illusionists live, the illusion of everything is available. Except love. In

Serriolia, the Ecstasy Stones are priceless. Most of our history hinges on the masterful

illusions that have gone into stealing one or more of the Stones. Master snatchers of each

generation used to try their skills on whoever owned one or more Stones.”

“Used to’.’” asked Kirtn. “What happened?”

“The Redis—the Redistribution clan—snatched almost all of Serriolia’s Stones. You see,

the Redis were formed out of the discontented thieves of various clans. That was

hundreds of years ago. For generations, the clan trained and sent out platoons of master

snatchers. In the beginning, the clan’s sole reason for existence was to steal Ecstasy

Stones from the selfish few who had them. The Redis hoped to combine the Stones into

one Grand Illusion available to every citizen.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Rheba hesitantly.

“It wasn’t,” agreed i’sNara. “Bat the Redis didn’t share. Only Redis were allowed into

the Stones’ presence. And only a few Redis, at that. So another clan was formed out of

unhappy snatchers, the Liberation clan. Besides,” she smiled, “there were all those highly

trained snatchers and nothing to practice on but their own clan—unthinkable. Stealing

from your own clan is grounds fordisillusionment .”

“And you were caught stealing the Stones?” said Kirtn. “Is that why you were exiled?”

“We’re Libs,” said f’lTiri proudly. “It was our duty to snatch Stones from the Redis. But

the Redis didn’t have any sense of humor. It wasn’t just that we were snatchers—our

history is full of snatchers—but that our mere existence suggested that the Redis were not

holding the Stones for the good ofall Serriolians. The Redis Charter is quite specific

about the Redis stealing Stones for high purposes rather than for selfish pleasures. The

Redis Charter is posted in every clan hall. The fact that the Charter rather than the Stones

circulates among the clans is attributed to the Stones’ extreme worth.”

“Or the Charter’s extreme worthlessness,” added i’sNara sarcastically.

Rheba rubbed her temples and wondered why she had urged the Yhelles to tell her

everything. She was totally confused. Her hair crackled. Kirtn stroked the seething mass,

gently pulling out excess energy. After a moment her hair settled into golden waves that

covered her shoulders.

“What’s the worst that can happen if you go back?” Rheba asked bluntly.

“That’s just it,” said i’sNara, her voice soft. “We don’t know.”

“Will your clan disown you?” asked Kirtn.

“No,” answered f’lTiri. “Never.”

“You haven’t broken any local laws?” pressed Rheba.

“No.”

“Then why are you reluctant to go home?”

“We may be sent after the Stones again, and caught again, and sold to Loo again. Or

worse.”

Rheba tried not to groan aloud. The more she heard of Yhelle and Serriolia, the less she

liked it. She could, and should, just set down in Serriolia, sadly hut firmly say goodbye to

the illusionists, and then lift for deep space with all the power in theDevalon’s drive.

But without f’lTiri’s masterful illusions, a fire dancer and a Bre’n would have died on

Loo or Daemon.

“You don’t know what will happen to you?” said Kirtn, his voice divided between

statement and question.

“No, we don’t.”

Kirtn sighed. “Then we’d better go find out.”

II

Rheba activated the privacy shield on her bunk, enclosing herself in darkness. She sat

cross-legged, eyes unfocused, her breathing slow and even. Light bloomed from her

hands, curling up from akhenet lines of power that were so dense her fingers seemed

solid gold. Within the pool of light, like a leaf floating on a sunset pond, lay her Bre’n

Face. She stared at it, letting her worry about the illusionists’ future slide away with each

breath.

The Face had been carved by Kirtn and given to his dancer when she was ten years old.

Each Senyas dancer had a Bre’n carving; no Face was the same. Normally Rheba wore

the carving as an earring, depending from the seven intricate fastenings that insured

against accidental loss. It was more than a decoration, and more than a pledge of Kirtn’s

Choice of her as an akhenet partner. The Face was also a teaching device. Dancers,

especially young ones, were supposed to meditate upon their individual Face every clay.

In time, the Face would teach them all they needed to know about the relationship

between Senyas and Bre’n.

Rheba, however, had not spent enough time in meditation. The fact that she had spent

most of her hours since Deva’s burn-off in pursuit of bare survival did not excuse her. If

her partnership with Kirtn went sour because she did not understand what was required of

her, neither one of them would survive. Bre’ns whose akhenet partners thwarted them

long enough went into a berserker state calledrez .In that state they killed everything

within reach—most especially their dancers—and ended by killing themselves.

No one knew precisely what drove a Bre’n torez ,or if anyone did, she had not been told.

Kirtn had slid intorez once onLoo .Only a combination of her innate skill as a fire dancer

and Fssa’s incredible ability to withstand heat had saved them from burning to ash and

gone. Afterward she had silently vowed to study the Face no matter what happened.

Except for her time on Daemen, she had done just that.

She gathered her thoughts, focusing only on the Face. It looked back at her, benign and

aloof, waiting. Then, as she inhaled, the Face changed into a Bre’n profile against a

subtly seething field of dancer energy. In the next breath it was two faces, Bre’n and ...

was it Senyas? Was that bright shadow a young woman’s face, eyes half closed,

transported by an unknown emotion? Her smile was stow, mysterious, as inhumanly

beautiful as Kirtn, but the woman was Senyas, not Bre’n. It looked like her own face, but

she was not half so beautiful, had never felt an emotion so intense.

The Face shifted with each breath, each pulse of her blood. • It was countless faces now,

waves on an ocean stretching back into time, waves swelling toward future

consummation on an unseen shore. Bre’ns and Senyasi intertwined, turning slowly,

akhenet pairs focused in one another, touching and turning until they flowed together,

inseparable.

Their faces were all familiar, all the same, Kirtn’s face with yellow eyes hotter than

dancer fire. He turned and saw her and she burned. He called her and she came, turning

slowly, touching him passionately, and his eyes another kind of fire touching her....

Rheba’s hands shook, breaking the Face’s hold on her mind. She realized that her

akhenet lines were alight, burning in the closed compartment until the heat was stifling.

Reflexively she damped her fire, sucking energy out of the air until it was a bearable

temperature.

She did not look at the earring. She fastened the Face to her ear with fingers that still

trembled. She was glad that Kirtn was not with her. What would he think of a dancer so

Ann Maxwell - Fire Dancer 3 - Dancer's Illusion

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