“Dance with me,” she said, and I lifted my arms into hers.
For the first few steps I worried that my human legs had lost the grace and speed that had made my dancing the toast of the Wild Hunt. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the entire kingdom of the dead. After a minute of dancing, though, I had cast aside my concerns. I was clumsy and graceless in this mortal form but I no longer cared. I was dancing, and dancing with Belis.
She led us through the dance, darting and ducking as we swung through the matrix of couples, moments from collision but never tripping. I had been smiling at the start and now joy bubbled up in my chest like a geyser and I laughed out loud. Belis grinned back at me, colour rushing to her cheeks until they were as red as her hair, which had spiralled into a cloud behind her.
More and more people joined us, old men spinning toddlers,young warriors partnering grandmothers, giggling teenagers and war chiefs all dancing together to end the summer and bring the living world as much joy as they could muster.
There was a great crescendo of drums and the band roared to a halt. The crowd cheered and the dancers fell apart, sweating from their efforts. The musicians began a slower tune and about half of the dancers headed back to the tables to swill more mead and beer.
I looked up at Belis, still holding me in her arms. “Do you want a drink?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Another dance? Maybe just one more?” she asked. I smiled at her and we began again.
One more turned into another and then another. We danced as long as the band played, ’til the stars spun overhead. Part of my mind remembered that we had more work to do tomorrow, that we should probably be saving our strength, but the rest of me ignored it. I danced until my feet were slipping in my boots and then I kicked them off and danced some more. I knew that I would never forget this Calan Gaeaf, this inverse feast in the land of the dead, would remember this night until I forgot my own name. Belis never tired. She was always there above me, smiling and whirling us back into the melee.
At last, when the western sky brightened with the dawn, Arawn strode into the centre of the floor.
“Souls of Annwn! You have feasted and drunk and danced enough to welcome in the winter! I warrant that the winter in the living world will be gentle enough that your descendants will think it nothing but a second summer!”
The crowd cheered, if a little tiredly.
“We have one last dance to do and I ask everyone to join us, shepherd and king, druid and drudge. Join your hands together!”
The crowd streamed back into the dance, forming huge concentric circles of dancers. Belis was whipped away from me and I found myself holding hands with a laughing farmer and a dark-eyed youth. Across the ring from me I could see Belis. Igrinned at her and she smiled back at me. Even the musicians had joined the circles now, and the only music was the song we were suddenly singing.
So we watch the old year go, let it rain and let it snow,
still our crops will grow and grow.
Sing the songs our fathers know,
Dance the steps our mothers show,
Hand in hand through life we trow.
“What is this?” laughed Belis, swooshing past me. “The dead sing children’s rhymes?”
“It’s older than that,” I called, when the circle took me back to her. “It’s a counting song, humans have been singing this song since they came to the island. The living—” I broke off as we parted again, waiting for the rings to turn. “The living world has forgotten its origins but the dead have a longer memory.”
The rings of dancers were wheeling faster now, bellowing out the words
Sing the songs our fathers know,
Dance the steps our mothers show,
Hand in hand through life we trow.
The song finished and about half the dancers stopped with it, gasping for breath. The others kept going and all was cheerful chaos. I could see Arawn still spinning in the centre, holding hands with a pair of young children and wheeling them around until they were breathless with giggling. Behind him a man was forcing himself towards the king, elbowing his way through the dancers. I focused on his expression and frowned. None of the joy of the festival was visible on his face, only grim determination.
“My lord,” the man called, shoving his way forward through the exhausted crowd.
Arawn turned and I watched as the mirth left his face. I dropped the hands of my companions and hurried forward.The man had reached Arawn now and was reaching up to say something in his ear. I stopped beside him. The Lord of Annwn looked grim, his skin greying as the blood faded away.
“Ill tidings indeed, Luc,” he said, nodding to the messenger, “you must have ridden hard to arrive ahead of them.”
“What is it?” Belis reached my side. Around us the souls of the dead were still celebrating but here in the centre the air had chilled with the arrival of the messenger.
“News from the borderlands,” Arawn said, keeping his voice low so that I had to strain to hear him. “I need Rhiannon, she— ah!”
