Storiesonline.net ------- The Dance by Prince von Vlox Copyright© 2005 by Prince von Vlox ------- Description: A story set in the Kalliste Storytime Universe. Kalliste dances the sacred dance in thanks to Her. Codes: no-sex hist ------- "I don't know how you scored tickets to the ballet, Anna," Chelsea said as they pushed open the door to the Women's Co-op. "And not just any ballet, either, but the Kirov." "They just dropped into my hands," Anna said. She unbuttoned her coat and headed for her ledgers, stopping when she saw movement in the back of the room. "Who's there?" "What... ? Oh." The figure appeared out of the dimness, Kalliste Periakes. "I didn't expect you back." She was a slender woman of an indeterminate age, an archaeology grad student at nearby Northwestern University. Her dark hair was pinned back, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her olive skin. She was also barefoot, which was unusual. "I have some bills to pay," Anna said, waving at the ledgers. "We went to the ballet," Chelsea said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "The Kirov Ballet. They're touring the US, and Anna got two tickets." "I saw them last night," Kalliste said. Anna looked at her in disbelief. "... last night? I thought tickets were impossible to get." "Not so hard if you know the right person," Kalliste said. She began moving around the room, picking up candles. "What were you doing?" Chelsea asked. "I was... it's complicated." For once Kalliste looked uncomfortable. "This night's important, and, well, I was..." Her voice trailed off and she looked way. "Important?" Chelsea glanced at Anna, who shrugged. "It's the end of September. I can't think of any holiday, unless there's a Greek one." The edges of Kalliste's generous mouth twisted momentarily. "There are a lot of holy days in the Orthodox calendar, but this wasn't one of them. No, I..." "What's bothering you, Kalliste?" Anna asked. "This is so unlike you." "Bothering me? I don't know what you mean." Anna turned on the light over her desk. There was a CD player on the desk. She looked at Kalliste, her finger hovering over the Play button. "May I?" After a moment Kalliste nodded. Anna pushed the button- the room was filled with the sound of flutes, cymbals and drums. After a few seconds she shut it off. "Is that music from where you're from?" Kalliste nodded. "It sounds, I don't know, complex." "It's an old piece. You wouldn't believe how old." Anna looked at the way everything had been pushed back from the floor. Something clicked deep in her mind. "Kalliste, were you dancing?" Kalliste looked down, nodding. "Alone?" "Some dances are best done alone, Anna." "But... why?" Kalliste shrugged. "It's in my blood." She sighed and sat on the table in the corner of the room. "Crete, dance, life, they're all entwined. Let me tell you a story." ------- The land of your birth is always your Home; no matter where you live, your Home never leaves you. And the things of Home never leave you, either. In Crete it is the Dance. Legend has it dance was invented in Crete. Logically speaking we know that isn't so. The whole Human Race has been dancing since music was invented. But our hearts tell us otherwise. The simple truth is that Dance and Crete are inseparable. Millennia have marched across this land and the people of K'ftiu, of Caphtor, of Crete are still circling, arms around one another, stamping their feet in time to the music. Dancing may have arisen spontaneously around the world, but in Crete Dance is far more than just recreation. Dance--Crete--Life, they are all one, all the same in the hills and vales of my Home. Every few years, as I have for the past two or three hundred years when the harvest is in, I return to my homeland in secret. It is the same every time. I assume the guise of an old woman and travel deep into the countryside. I look for a small village tucked away in the hills. It must be a small village filled with the people of this land. Once I find a place that feels right I wait for one particular day, for one particular night. Thousands of years ago, on this day, was celebrated The Festival to The Lady, and it was celebrated with dance. Dusk creeps over the Land, but the Land does not rest, not on this night. There is a restless feeling in the air, as if everyone knows something is going to happen. Across the land lamps and hearth fires beckon. I hear the music begin. I hear the slap of feet on the ground as the people of the village dance, and the Land calls out to me. I resist the call, waiting until it is right, and then I step out of shadows to enter their dancing. I appear to them as an old woman with my gray hair unbound, my feet unshod, and I join their dance. At first they do not notice me, for this is their work, their harvest which they celebrate and at this celebration all K'ftiu are welcome. Then one of the elders, or perhaps one of the very young who has listened well to a storyteller, sees me, truly sees me. At first there is question--can it really be her? For they know of me, the stories have circulated quietly from village to village, passed on from mother to child, from neighbor to neighbor. There is that moment of realization, then recognition quickly whispered to neighbor and kin. I hear the excited murmur race through them as the dancing continues. Though they see me as a woman, they know me to be more than just a woman, and I am given respect far more than I would have received walking their streets in daylight a few hours before. We dance, all of us together, for the Harvest. We dance, all of us together, for the bounty of the Land. We dance, all of us together, for ourselves, and we dance, all of us together, for the sake of the Dance. I show them all of the old steps, and they respond as they always have no matter the year, the century or the millennium. We dance until our breath is short, our arms are tired, our feet are sore, and our minds are blank. There is silence, then, but it is the silence of expectation. They know what will follow. They have heard it from their fathers and mothers, from their grandfathers and grandmothers. They have heard it over a quiet glass of wine in a taverna, over a glass of fiery óuzo late at night or over a fence in the lazy heat of the afternoon. They know what is to come--it is as carefully scripted as a play, it is engraved in the very stones of the Land. Around me I feel the taut expectancy, and it fills me with purpose. The silence stretches out, for three heartbeats--four--five, and then one of the old ones will start a slow rhythmic clapping. No music plays as I take up the clapping myself, giving the time for the steps. The musicians pick it up, a simple, infectious rhythm. As the clapping spreads I take the first steps. The others watch me for a moment, seeing what I do. And then, hesitantly, they join in. They are slow at first, cautious, even shy for this is a great thing they are doing, and they know it. But they join, men and women together. To that ancient simple rhythm we Dance one final time. It is the most sacred Dance, the one that ends the Harvest Festival, the one that thanks P'dania for Her blessings on this Land. I know it, and they know it for it is written in our very blood. And it is always the same, the clapping, the music, the stamp of the feet, and the hiss of the lights. We Dance as we did when the world was young. We Dance as we have on K'ftiu since time began. We Dance until there is nothing but the Dance, and through that Dance we reach Her and She reaches us. And as we Dance my guise falls from me. I Dance before them as a woman in the joy and the prime of her youth. And then, because it is wise, I turn and walk away into the night. Not a word is spoken, and none follow me. I am a vessel that has been used and is now empty. It is the same exhaustion that follows the times I've met Her, and it is as welcome now as it is then. I stumble through the night, an old/young woman traveling the back roads of my Home, feeling my Land around me, feeling at one with Her. It is a sacred feeling, that most precious feeling of all. There is none like it in the world. I wonder if this is why I have remained on this earth when everything I know has passed. Certainly She has no other worshipper who remembers all of the old forms, none save me. Neither do Atane, P'sudi or the Others. I have heard some say the Old Gods are dead, and even most of the Young ones. I cannot agree with this. Divinity and belief, these two things are jumbled together. A God cannot exist without believers, but belief cannot exist without the God. A God needs worshippers--worshippers need Gods. I used to think that as long as P'dania had me She existed. But on nights when I have celebrated Her Dance, I know that for foolishness. Her worshippers still know Her, though they have forgotten the proper Forms and long ago ceased to raise their voices in the Devotions. But they know Her, and through the Dance they acknowledge Her. Some say Greece is a man and Crete is a woman--Greece/Danaan/Hellas belonged to Zeus--Crete/Caphtor/K'ftiu belonged to P'dania. They say Zeus is gone these many years, that He has not hurled thunderbolts of late, though I have wondered at the stubborn resilience of His folk this last millennium. And P'dania? She was here when Zeus was born. As long as there is a Crete, as long as there is the Land, She will be, for P'dania has always been more than Zeus or the Others. Home never leaves you. This land, this beloved piece of ground between the Aegean and Mediterranean, has been occupied by Danaans, by Romans, by Christians, by Venetians, by Turks, by Nazis and by Greeks. But the Land never forgets. The Dance never forgets. We Dance, and because we Dance, deep down, buried so deep you can barely find it, buried like so much of my past, but there, still there, still so much a part of us, K'ftiu still lives. ------- "I hate it when she tells me stories I can't repeat," Anna whispered as Kalliste left the room. "At times she makes me think she must be thousands of years old." Chelsea shook her head at this impossibility. "Huh. Old Man Methuselah--it'd be funny if he turned out to be a woman." "I'd keep that thought to myself," Anna said. She looked at the cleared floor. "Somebody told me that ballet was the purest form of dance. Now I wonder." "You mean Kalliste's Sacred Dance?" "That's the beauty of Dance," Kalliste said, returning. She had her coat on and was carrying her candles in a bag. "Dance is an expression of the soul through movement, and that's what makes it sacred." Her eyes were dark pools in her pale face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Anna. And I would appreciate--" "Not a word," Anna said. Chelsea nodded agreement. Kalliste smiled. "Why don't we go to the ballet tomorrow? My treat." "But... tickets..." Kalliste waved away Anna's objection. "Don't worry about them. Dance is a special thing, and nobody does it better than the Kirov." She picked up her CD player and headed into the night. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2005-12-24 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------