The Dance
"You will not be trained by the wizard. No lord would want a woman thus instructed and as my first daughter, you will be married as I direct. Now go ready yourself for the dance." He stared down at her, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the cavernous room. The veins in his neck stood out, pulsing his anger.
Kalry felt tears welling into her eyes. She pushed a strand of long black hair behind her ear, took a deep breath to control herself, curtsied to her father and turned to leave. She would not cry.
The room spun dizzily, and for a moment she realized that she was dreaming. Then she was gone again and her ears abruptly filled with music.
The sound found a place in her body. She whirled and spun, felt each note and the rhythm bind her, felt it speak to each muscle in her body. With ecstasy, she moved through the dance. The music became solemn. She felt the cloth slip from her calves as she leaned to the side, lifting one leg high until her toes pointed to the flaring torches on the walls.
Rising to tiptoe on the leg that supported her, she twisted from her waist and for a brief second felt the cool air touch the insides of her legs, her body weightless in the spin. Then back to the floor dancing, carried away by the music.
Finally as the last note fell, she stopped and bowed to her father. Her face flushed with pleasure. The guests clapped and her father stood beaming with joy at her performance.
She felt hot. Her eyes opened to see the sun shining down onto her face and the blankets that covered her. It had been a dream, though she was covered with sweat as if she had actually danced. Her breathing slowed. The blood drained from her face as her excitement fell to an aching hurt in her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled her left leg over the side of the bed. Weak, thin and cold from the plague of ten years back, she had no use of the limb. But she took a deep breath and pulled the clothes from the bedside table.
She would not cry.
It would be another day as any other. She would dress, eat, and then, using the walking sticks they had fashioned for her, she would haul herself up the long stairway to the wizard's chamber. He refused to teach her anywhere else. She thought once again of the dance that she had never had, and feeling the tears coming too near, she banished the thought.
After all, the wizard said she had great natural talent, and the magic had many uses.
If she would never dance ... perhaps someday she would fly.
Originally appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine.
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