Her face, Derlian thought, was both wild and grave As they glided together into the middle of the dance. She was wild with courage he thought could save A child in danger from the most awful chance. But she was grave, too, as though realizing (As he had, he thought with wonder rising) That this wildness was almost too grand, too brave. Mortals were not meant with such light to dance.
But then she lifted her eyes, at him smiled, And Derlian let his fears melt away into the air. He took Alferia's hand as others filed Towards them to join them, and she was so fair That it seemed as though a quivering flame Had come to he who bore fire's name. He forgot about leaving or being exiled For those few moments that beauty was there.
"Thou art beautiful," he said, in ancient form. But Alferia's eyes blinked, then shied away, And Derlian resolved to be a little less warm. He did not want her to shy or flee, but to stay. As the music crashed, faster now than a jig, Of his courage he took a deep swig, And then spun, the center of a light-swarm As the magewinds made night into day.
Their lord dancing was something rare, And they were determined to make it pleasure Rather than the burden he sometimes found there. The music began to play a faster measure, And, his face asmile, his green eyes ablaze, Derlian took his way into the steps' maze, Knowing himself in the dance to be fair. Dancing was something he could still treasure.
The magic would not let him create or sing, But for some reason, from its list of rules It had long chosen to except his dancing. Perhaps, Derlian thought, I use no new tools, But only the music that ever enchants Whether or not someone enters into a dance. And then his thoughts took flurried wing As he sprang into the air, eyes shining like jewels.
Around him, the magewinds sang and flurried, And Derlian floated back to the ground, Then like a deer back into the air he hurried, With a swift step that was more like a bound. He hit the earth again, and sprang in a circle, While around him the magewinds sang like purple Birds whose feathers in dreams he had curried. Derlian flung up his hands, and all around
Him and Alferia the light took on new gleams, Dividing and sprouting branches like trees, Rising like mountains and running like streams, Roaring like cataracts and surging like seas. Derlian spun, and held out a beckoning hand To where he had last seen Alferia stand. Looking uncertain if she faced nightmares or dreams, She accepted the clasp, and into melodies
Derlian drew her, into music that compelled Steps from bodies that had never heard it before. Alferia almost seemed to draw back, repelled, But then the music cried out like the sea on a shore Where gulls unknown to the world outside More musically than mere melody cried. Alferia's face softened, almost as if impelled, And she whirled into his arms through dance's door.
Derlian smiled at her, and then whirled her, Ignoring her startled motion, half-startled cry, Into a newborn forest as green as swift summer, As pale as the false dawn in eastern sky- A forest of murmuring pallors and greens, A forest to put to shame all unmagical scenes. As Alferia stared, a breeze made the leaves stir, And Derlian released her and began to fly.
His body lifted by magic into the air, He flitted from leaf to leaf like a jeweled bird, The wind fanning the red wings of his hair. Then a voice singing sweet a single sweet word He realized was coming from behind him, and turned. Alferia, though embarrassment in her face burned, Continued singing, and her voice was very fair, Quite the fairest that Derlian had ever heard.
He found himself wishing that he could respond, And then his voice lifted and sang a round note. He blinked in astonishment; he had thought beyond Simple chants the wild magic waited to gloat, And deny him any expression at all in song. Could he, just possibly, have been thinking wrong? Hesitantly, he continued to softly respond, Though the fairer music came from Alferia's throat.
Alferia stared at him with wide violet eyes, And Derlian grinned back at her as he sang. To him the sweet notes were no less a surprise. The music swelled into a brassy clash and a clang, And then Derlian's voice outpaced it, flinging Itself into the heavens at his will, singing, still singing. He built with his voice shining scenes of sunrise Where he had felt the bite of his punishment's fang,
The price paid by his line for all their wild power. He could not sing, not even when the sunrise came Over the world, in that primal lovely hour When all the world burned like Summerfire flame. But now he was, his voice free and wild ringing Into the heavens at his will, singing, ever singing. Derlian felt something racing to come to flower In his music; eagerly he awaited; then it came.
The music burst into a roaring cry of longing, And Derlian saw all the places he had yearned To see: the Starspikes with ice thronging, The Sea of Sparks that for Ages had burned, The wide meadows where the white ollori Danced, greater than unicorns in their glory, And further than that his voice went in songing, And the edges of the true seas he learned,
And saw the waves shimmering with green That outdid his eyes on their brightest days. And further than that were islands never seen By any authors available to Derlian's gaze. There were butterflies shifting and flowing, And greater treasures polished by water's going Up with the aid of magic into a pastoral scene, And nurturing there a wonder still ablaze.
His view swelled with colors he had not known, With sounds that filled both his ears and his heart. His sight ranged into the seas and the earth's bone; He saw the greatest of all works of art. He heard the laughter of the past, the cries of unborn Heroes, and the swelling of joy and of scorn. Not in his wanderlust was the Summerfire Lord alone; Not only he had ever wished Summerfire to depart.
There was one who had left not so long ago, And Derlian thought he could see some part of his fate. But before the whole he could either seek or know, He was pulled back to earth by a blast of hate. He blinked, and panted, and slowly opened his eyes. Through him seared fire like the fire of a sunrise. What had brought him back from vision's flow? What else, but the magic, seeing his heart too late?
Derlian knelt in the courtyard with his head bowed, Feeling once again the stone beneath his hands, Knowing himself humbled by the watching crowd, Knowing that he was once more a prisoner of his lands. For a moment, longing and hatred and yearning Set his heart afire like triplet fires burning. And then he lifted his head, once more proud, The lord they needed, bound with his fate's bands.
"I am well." At that, the crowd relaxed around him, And the music began to play softly once more. Derlian still knelt for a while as they had found him, And then rose, trying to forget the shore Where his visions had taken him, the sights he had seen. How was he to know that learning other shades of green Would only strengthen the bonds that had bound him, That he would only long to go more vividly than before?
It was no longer enough, to hope for a vision That the magic might grant him at some distant time. He knew now that Summerfire was only a prison For any soul who wished for another clime. He found himself brooding, and forced it to halt. This was not, if he was brutal, anyone's fault. But in that moment of flight he had made a decision: He loved the sights more than he loathed the crime
That he would be committing to leave Summerfire. The people would dwell in peace upon the sward, And learn to have another governor of their desire; They would find some other, more worthy lord, Or, for that matter, they might find a lady. Derlian pictured Alferia walking in the shady Courts holding court, and smiled a little. Higher In character was she still, bright as a sword.
He looked up then, and saw her watching him, Her eyes so wide they looked as if they would tear From the sockets, one hand out as if to swim Over to touch his shoulder through the murky air. "My lord, are you well?" He mastered his pain, And said, with a smile, "To you I am Derlian. Yes, I am truly well." "Was that some wild mad whim?" "It might have happened because you were there,
"But it had never happened before. There abounds Much fairness I had never seen. But my fate The wild magic still controls. It binds me to grounds I would forsake if I could. Some surge of hate Brought me back, so that I could not fly." He looked up at her silence, and wondered why Her face was pale, and as if pursued by hounds She fled then, before he could ask her to wait.
Or, if you like, on to the eighth canto.
Or, if you want, back to the sixth canto.
