Suddenly, without warning, the heady throb of a drum began, and then, far distant, the sound of voices raised in an eerie, tuneless song.
Atop the hill, people jumped, and heads craned.
‘Look!” whispered Erith.
From east and west danced two lines of light; one line came from the White Mount, one from the banks of the Magyl River to the west of Og’s Hill. As the lines drew closer—the crowds surrounding Og’s Hill parted to give them egress to the hill—the watchers could clearly see that they were composed of barefoot dancers, each line being constituted of alternating young men and women dressed identically in short white linen skirts that flared in tiny pleats from their hips. The dancers’ chests were left naked, the men’s torsos strong and muscular, the women’s breasts firm and high. The women held in their right hands a torch, while their left hands held lightly to a thick woven scarlet ribboi the men held the torches in their left hands, their right holding the ribbon tfc snaked between the dancers, binding them in a line of mystery, enchantmen and seductive movement.
At the head of the western line, which had emerged from the Magyl, dance Genvissa, bare-breasted, garbed similarly to all the other dancers save that he white, pleated linen skirt hung to her ankles.
She held nothing in her hands, clasping them lightly to her waist, so tha her every movement, her every step, made her hips and breasts sway in pro vocative invitation.
The scarlet ribbon was tied lightly to her left wrist, and with it she led he dancers toward Og’s Hill.
Brutus, the Kingman, led the other line that had emerged from his palaci atop the White Mount.
In contrast to every other dancer, and to Genvissa, he was completely na ked save for his gleaming bands of kingship on his legs and arms and for < circlet of gold about his brow. His hair, newly washed and oiled, was bound it a tight braid and then clubbed under at the back of his neck with a thin scarle’
ribbon.
It glowed in the torchlight and with his movements like a black pool reflecting the light of the stars.
The ribbon that bound his line was tied, as lightly as was Genvissa’s, to his right wrist.
In his left hand he carried something round and as black as his hair. It was a ball of pitch.
The twin lines danced, slowly, sinuously, their dancers singing the ancient hymn of the labyrinth, wending their way to Og’s Hill through the great crowd that surrounded it.
They reached its foot, and, very slowly, as if they hardly dared, began to climb the hill, each line taking an opposite slope and line of ascent.
As they mounted, their voices growing louder and their movements more confident, the two lines of dancers intertwined and twisted, dancers raising and lowering their arms in arches so that the other line might dance under or over them.
It was an intricate dance, a dance of great beauty and mystery, and everyone watching atop the hill found themselves caught up in its enchantment, no matter whether they wished the dancers death or life.
Loth risked a glance at Cornelia.
She stood, her hands tightly clenched and unmoving before her, tears streaming down her face.
Then there was a shout, a cry of victory, and Loth turned his gaze back to the dancers.
The two lines had emerged on top of the hill, Brutus and Genvissa still leading them. Now the lines danced toward each other, moving close enough to the watchers that they could see the sweat trickling down the dancers’ bodies, and see the brightness in their eyes.
Brutus and Genvissa led their lines in opposing circles about the labyrinth, in one, two… seven circuits.
At the completion of the seventh circuit, Brutus and Genvissa unbound the ribbon from about their wrists and tied their two lines together.
The lines began to move about the labyrinth again, but now in a very different pattern.
The dancers still formed two lines, but they did not use the lines to form two complete circles. Instead, the two lines—in reality one line doubled—danced in the shape of an almost-closed U about the labyrinth, the opening of the U marking the opening into the labyrinth itself. The outer line danced sunwise, the inner line countersunwise, the dancers moving from one direction to another when they moved from outer line to inner line at the open mouth of the U.
They danced, Erith realized with a jolt, in the shape of a woman’s womb.
Mag! she thought. What are they going to birth from that womb ?
Brutus and Genvissa stood at the mouth of both womb and labyrinth, hand in hand, looking into the labyrinth itself. They remained still for long moments, staring, perhaps praying, then Genvissa stepped back from Brutus, and walked to the edge of the hill.
She raised her arms above her head, her breasts lifting high, and spoke in a ritualized, chanting voice that carried over the watching crowd.
‘Behold!” she cried. “The Kingman stands before the labyrinth! Here, tonight, in this land of magic and mystery and power, he will risk his life to guarantee yours! Here, tonight, in this land of magic and mystery and power, he will lift from this land the evil which has beset it, and best it, and trap it, so that you will live your lives long and happy. Here, tonight, we will witness the birth of a new city, a new age, and we will consecrate the talisman which will protect us from all evil and harm forevermore!”
She lowered her arms, and turned to face Brutus.
As she did so, the dancers lowered their torches, holding them down and away from their bodies, and turned their faces away from the labyrinth. They kept moving, but their movements were very slow now, very deliberate, as if they danced the measure of Death itself.
‘Behold,” whispered Genvissa in a voice that, while very low, nevertheless traveled to every ear, “the Kingman!”
And Brutus began to dance, moving into the paths of the labyrinth. He lifted his left hand so that he held the ball of pitch high above his head, and his right he held out before him, his arm slightly curved, as if he held a woman within its bounds.
His body moved sensuously, very slowly, displaying its beauty. With each dance step one of his legs lifted, its foot turned slightly outward, held, then lowered, moving the dance forward with measured deliberation.
With each dance step, his left hand, high above his head, moved a little, twisting the ball of pitch this way and that, his head moving slowly, deliberately, contrariwise below his hand.
Each step took him farther into the labyrinth, each step marking a seductive, measured invitation to follow.
Everyone felt his pull, felt the urge to follow him into the labyrinth, but no one moved.
As seductive and compelling as Brutus’ dance was, and as much as all the watchers felt that urge to dance after him, all also realized that this was a dance and an invitation meant for one person only.
Or for one thing only.
Genvissa, standing at the mouth to the labyrinth, lowered her head, and stepped to one side.
Brutus moved deeper into the labyrinth, twisting and turning within its coils, the ball of pitch slowly
turning this way and that over his head. A beacon of, and to, darkness.
Loth gasped, the next instant feeling all about him stiffen in shock and horror.
Something had slithered up to the mouth of the labyrinth, coming to rest only paces away from Genvissa who was carefully keeping her gaze on her feet.
It was a mass of darkness, a writhing malaise of evil and ill feeling and bad doing.
Everything, Loth realized, his heart thudding, that had afflicted Llangarlia this past generation.
ACROSS THE GRAY WATERS OF THE NARROW SEAS, THE nascent infant Asterion stirred in his mother’s womb. Protected by its walls, the magic of Brutus’ dance did not affect him, nor did the ball of pitch tempt him. For the moment he was safe.
GENVISSA STOOD AS STILL AS DEATH, GIVING THE writhing mass so close to her no recognition at all.
Brutus, although he must also have seen it, continued on with his deliberate, sensual dance through the labyrinth.
The mass of evil quivered uncertainly at the mouth of the labyrinth, then it sent forth a tentative sliver of darkness.
Finding no pain, no concern, the mass slithered to catch up with its leading tentacle, then humped even farther into the labyrinth.
Brutus danced on, and by slow degrees, the corrupt mass humped after him, stopping occasionally as if to sniff out any potential trap, then gathering its energy and following the ball of pitch ever deeper into the labyrinth.
Loth’s mouth had gone completely dry.
This was to lie buried at the heart of the new city? At the heart of Llangarlia? This obscenity?