Flash Fiction: And the Shadows Danced

I wrote “And the Shadows Danced” a while ago, forgot about it, and found it again while sorting out some files. I would actually like to write another story in this world…

And the Shadows Danced

The fire dancers were preparing for the midsummer feast on the beach. Most were by now stripped to their waists in the gathering twilight. Shallow fire pits adorned the beach of fine, white sand beyond the reach of the waves. The pits were arranged in gleaming bands radiating from the centre platform where the dancers were. If the stars were to look down they would see a second sun burning upon the earth itself, drowning out the fickle light of the moon.
As the sun set and its fires died upon the waves, the drummers started to beat out a rhythm for the dancers.

Magicians of great power, the dancers were a chosen few who could control the elements. With the control of fire you could lay your enemies waste, but you could also make the heavens cry for the beauty of the fire dance.
The five dancers gathered in the centre of the platform started moving to the beat. Their feet stamped faster and faster to the beat of the midsummer dance and then, when the music reached its crescendo, the fire joined them in the dance. Flames sprouted from the pits, some high, some low, some burning red, others nearly blue. All in a pattern that followed the dance and the movements of the dancers.
The people standing on the dunes cheered. Some shuffled where they stood, clapping their hands to the tune of the drums. From where they stood they could only see part of the pattern, but the rain dancers would be able to see the whole sun medallion from the high cliff where they were ready to call forth the clouds for the midsummer rain.

Inanna stood between the cliff and the dunes. Her hair was blowing in the wind and when she closed her eyes she imagined that she could feel each strand moving in its own little dance. The light grey smoke of the fires curled high into the sky as the fires burned hotter and faster with each passing minute of the dance. She stretched out her arms. This was her moment to show off her own talent.
She screwed up her eyes and concentrated on the smoke. Gathering it. Twisting it until it was like clay in her hands. The dance stopped, as did the drums. Only now people looked up into the sky.
Inanna pulled sparks from the fires and sent them swirling into the smoke, creating the shadowed outline of men and horses. Galloping between them, and then downward to the platform – so that the dancers scattered – came the legendary hero Milkilu on his horse. The rest of the scene slowly faded until only his shadow figure remained.
The people were stricken dumb in awe and wonder. The figure of Milkilu threw his arms in the air and a banner unfurled from the spear he was holding. Inanna dragged sparks onto the banner to form a miniature of the sun medallion still burning on the beach.

People gasped with delight and some cheered, looking around to see who it was that was doing the conjuring. But Inanna dispersed the smoke, letting it drift up into the night sky and the waiting rain clouds.
And it started to rain.

But the next year the rain did not come. Neither did it come the year thereafter and the people stopped believing in the magicians’ powers. Too soon the magicians themselves stopped believing. The midsummer and midwinter dances stopped. Soon all the dances stopped. And yet the sun kept on rising and the stars kept shining. And the fickle moon kept on waxing and waning.
Their enemies, hearing that the magicians were no longer and how almost all had been run from the lands, came to take the fertile tracts of land and the great stone city for themselves. And the people cursed the magicians who had failed them and who had left them when they most needed them as the great city was burnt and laid waste.

It was twelve long years before adequate rain started to fall once more. Though some of the elderly who had survived the severe drought remembered the magicians and wished that they would return, most had set all such thoughts behind them through the long years of suffering, thirst, hunger, and death.

With renewed fervour, the people fought their enemies and slowly regained their city and burnt what had been rebuilt before they again started to rebuild the city from the ashes of the previous. Soon a kind of normalcy returned to the land.
The fairy tales of fire dancers and magicians that could make it rain slowly died out with the elderly and the magicians who, in their new identities as simple citizens, slowly passed on to the next life. But there were some who still remembered.

Inanna sat by the fire in the inn’s common room. Around her most were drunk, but a few still had their wits about them enough to call for a story from the old wizard. She listened to them talking about the great battles and the great victories she remembered quite differently. She listened to the forgotten sorrow replaced with faded memories. And she conjured from the sparks the sun medallion she had seen so many years ago.

“It was midsummer,” she said, moving her hands and the smoke obeyed her, casting shadows and filling all with wonder. “And all the fire dancers were ready to dance just as the sun died upon the waves of the ocean.” From the sparks she conjured the dancers, swirling and stamping their feet, jumping into the sky against a background of smoke rippling like water. “It was the happiest night of my life,” she whispered. Her hands moved slower and the conjuring unravelled as fatigue overtook her. Slowly she fell asleep to the voices of those few elders who remembered the old festival, the drums, the dancers, and those tiny honey-scented sweetmeats they all use to have as children. In her dreams, the shadows came alive and danced.

About Carin Marais

Bibliophile, writer of speculative fiction, non-fiction, and maybe-fiction, language practitioner, doer of stuff.

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