RELEASE DATE: 01 June 2022
Running out of time to perfect the Dance that determines his future career and success, Dallon practices for hours on end. His sister Dasha watches and supports him—but longs to choose a Dance for herself outside the scope of those delegated to women.
The fact that she can dance the Warrior Dance, the most complicated of them all, far better than he… Well, he tries not to dwell on that.
Though it may come in handy when an unexpected problem arises…
For everyone who knows what it’s like to long for a place in the world other than the one assigned by society, don’t miss Dancer, Dreamer, Seer!
Dancer, Dreamer, Seer
“I’m never going to get this right,” Dallon told his twin Dasha without looking up.
“Arch your foot a little more,” she advised while she picked at some stitching. Dallon tried, but failed to catch the knife with his foot. “Perhaps there’s another dance you’re better at?” she asked.
Dallon nodded and began another dance, a series of fluid, violent motion. A series of motion that turned Dallon from a twelve-year-old boy into a frightening predator, a fierce protector, and a man.
After several minutes, he stopped. “I do that one best.”
“Which one is it?” Dasha said, unaffected.
Dance was magic, each movement, each step a call to the inner-being, the holder of the magic.
Every child learned Dance, and as the last years of youth faded and adulthood beckoned, mothers and fathers pulled their youngsters in to teach them the secrets of Dance.
Dance of Courtship. Dance of the Maiden, Dance of the Lady, Dance of Men, and all the Dances needed to work the magic of each individual calling.
Everyone from the baker to the Lord of the Land had a Dance. Dallon was trying hard to find the one that suited him best so he could Dance for his apprenticeship.
“Dance of the Lord,” Dallon smiled happily. “I thought it would make Father proud.”
Dasha nodded. “Mother would prefer you to be a warrior, or a scholar perhaps. She does favor the scholars when they ask for dinner.”
“Mother favors anyone who knocks and begs supper. I’ve never seen her turn anyone away.”
“She will one day.”
Dallon didn’t need to ask what Dasha meant; there wasn’t a need to. The women of their blood had always been gifted with vision, the ability sometimes as small as knowing the right path to choose, and sometimes as frightening as Dasha’s ability to know the future, without truly knowing it.
“So, which Dance shall I do?” Dallon continued as if his sister-twin had not spoken.
Dallon was seven months younger, which by law made them twins, and by math made them a confusion. No one had ever commented on the impossibility—unless Dallon was born very early—but occasionally the twins had thought about it separately.
“You do know I’m not supposed to see these Dances?” Dasha questioned, putting aside her stitch work. They were sitting along the side of the manor house, Dallon Dancing in the dirt, and Dasha sitting on the stoop in the shade. “Mother was quite insistent that some things are best left to mystery. Especially the Dance of Men.” She looked at her brother shrewdly.
He shook his head. “I’m not showing you that one.”
“Why not?” she asked indignantly. “You’ll watch me at the Courtship Dance on the new moon, why can’t I see your Dance?”
“Because you’ll laugh.”