Firedancer



First the robe, cold silk slipping sensuously over skin soft with bathing and smelling of milk and honey, holding still as servants silently pulled the front shut, tying three narrow pairs of golden thread and attached bells to sleeves which dwarfed the muscular arms they contained. Next the sash, a luxurious band of scarlet and gold wrapped three times around an athletic waist, tied over the lower back with a knot that left cloth trailing like two elegant peacock feathers. Wide, paper thin beaten gold bracelets were slipped on next, a collar of similar style snapped into place on a powerful neck. Jewels and bells were hung in long red hair with the precision of a child placing ornaments in a tree.

Then move to kneel in front of a plain, low alter, breathe deeply of spicy incense and accept the quiet words of the cleric, the molten gold daubed on the forehead. Take the staves offered by an acolyte, one in each hand, clutch the familiar texture of heavily oiled wood, and proceed through the wide doorway held open by another silent attendant. Pass cat silent on bare feet through a long dark hall and out onto a high stone platform. This was all a familiar, beloved ritual.

This was his element, his place, the focal point of an entire city on his stage in the sky. And today was to be his most important performance yet, for today the Master was watching. He knelt, facing the elaborate palace that was the dwelling of the Master, imagining perhaps that the Master was looking his way, maybe smiling, and then swept his staves forward through the only other object on the stone stage, a single torch. The flames caught at the oil soaked wood and began to burn with a fierce heat.

And the dance began.

His world narrowed down to the whirling flames, courting and teasing them like a playful lover. He caressed the flames down the side of his face, across his chest, catching his scarlet robes on fire. His movements were a sinuous flurry of fire and silk, his eyes closed in his intense pleasure of the dance. He tossed the staves, pulled them across his body, embraced them, engulfing his entire form in flame. And still he danced. The heat encouraged him, pulled his pulse to a frenzied pace. At once terrifying and erotic he danced with the fire, not noticing when his robes were burned completely away, leaving just his bare, muscular body and the staves in his mesmerizing exhibition. Then, obeying a cue only he could hear, he collapsed into a position of sublime submission, pressed to the stone, his staves clattering to the ground at either side and extinguishing. Silence reigned supreme, the only sound his strained breathing and he lay panting into the granite of his stage. Not a burned marred his perfect body, not a hair on his head was singed.

A bell sounded a deep, throaty sort of chime, and the spell was broken. The crowd below broke into a murmur of appreciation and awe as he rose back to a kneeling position. Daring a glance towards the Masters palace he caught a flash of white robes, and smiled. The Master had been watching. He shivered then, cold as he ever was in the absence of the fire. Now was the time to return to the shadows, his performance over. Now was the quiet time, the dark time, full of rest until his particular skills were needed again. He allowed himself to be led from the stone stage by two silent acolytes. His time was over for now, as he walked off, quivering in exhaustion and exhilaration.

“Well, I assume the Gods were well pleased by this season’s show of erotic subservience.”

“Dia!” The servant choked out, appalled. “You shouldn’t speak so!”

“Oh, hush. I’m some sort of avatar, correct? If my tongue displeases the Gods I’m sure they’ll take care of it directly.” Eyes bearing an uncanny likeness to smoldering coals narrowed for a moment as the corner of an almost delicate mouth lifted in a sort of disdainful sneer. Dia waited a moment, lounging back on silken pillows and smoking scented tobacco from a long, slender pipe. Only after unleashing a rather substantial lungful of haze into the dark room and did he speak again. “You must be new here.”

“Yes, Dia.”

“Served less than a season, I take it?”

“Why, yes Dia. It honors me that you take such an interest…”

“Don’t let it swell your head, boy. I’m not interested so much as attempting to figure out why Kaio has not been brought to me. No one who has served over a season would make such an error as they all know I dine with him after the Dance.”

“Dia! I am sorry, Master.” The boy prostrated himself flat onto the marble floor of the room, shaking and awaiting the Masters displeasure.

Red eyes closed and a shadowed, silk-clad form shifted slightly, pipe set to rest. Water dripped delicately somewhere in the room, keeping track of the passing of time as the servant waiting, muscles quivering. Nothing happened and finally curiosity won over terror, and the boy looked up at his master. Dia was, for all appearances, fast asleep. The servant didn’t know whether to remain prostrate or settle back onto his heels and wait for the Master to awaken.

His decision was made for him as Dia spoke in a dry voice, not even bothering to open his eyes. “What are you waiting for, boy?” When the servant made to grovel and apologize Dia snapped glittering eyes open. “You’re wasting time. Leave.” The servant saw anger in those eyes and fled. It was generally just a descriptive phrase when eyes were said to be burning with some emotion or another, but it grew tangibly cooler as Dia shuttered red back behind languid eyelids and settled deeper into his cushions.

Time to wait for Kaio.

Once, years ago, a small child wandered away from his mother. A lizard had crossed the path in front of him, all enthrallingly sinuous movement and bright red and yellow patterns. As with any child, he was curious, and in his curiosity neglected to inform his mother of his plans. It was moments later, when she dropped her hand to affectionately muss his hair as she spoke with a friend that she realized her son was gone.

Off he went, silently stalking his reptilian prey with the attentive patience of a cat. Unfortunately he also acquired the single-minded scope of the cat, not taking any notice of how far or in what direction he traveled. The little lizard obviously had some sort of goal, and the boy was determined to see where that was, maybe catch a hold of the reptile at some point, as the scales seemed so slick, so shiny…

It wasn’t until the lizard scrambled beneath a small pile of rocks that the boy looked up and around and realized he was lost. His mother was nowhere in sight. Frantically he whirled around, trying to find something familiar, some landmark that would signify he was somewhere he knew. The only impression his surroundings granted him was that he was obviously somewhere Not Meant For Children. Before him was a sprawling building of elegant marble, and all around were flowers and elaborately twisted and bent trees. There was a guard standing silently at attention before the massive doors of the marble titan, and that guard was eyeing him with poorly disguised concern. Yes, this was definitely not a place for boys.

Given this less than stellar situation, he did the first thing that occurred to him; he began to cry, deep heaving sobs part distress and part fear. He knew he was in trouble.

“Hey now. Stop that.”

Hiccoughing out an aborted sob the boy turned around, startled. There, off to the side and most definitely not on any sort of path, stood what had to be the largest man he had ever seen; an imposing figure in plain white silk with a rebellious mane of night-black hair, the kind that gleamed almost blue-black when the light hit it just right. He would have been terrifying, all muscles and size, if not for the hooded, almost sleepy, eyes. He looked like he had wandered out of bed, and couldn’t quite figure out how he had gotten to where he was.

Maybe he was lost too…

The boy reached out, latching onto that one thought, that here was another in the same plight as he, desperate in the way of all children for an adult to fix what had gone wrong.

The man made a sound that managed to convey reassurance and sympathy as he moved through the flowering bushes he had been standing in, and hefted the child into a solid embrace.

“Dia!” One of the guards called out, obviously displeased.

“Shut it.” The man growled, his voice rumbling from some irate depth of his chest. The boy leaned against into that vibration, comforted by the fact he was obviously being defended.

“Dia, it’s not proper.” The other guard spoke up, trying soothing tones where disapproval had failed.

“If I need to be any purer you are going to have to boil me. Honestly man, it’s just a child, and one of mine, if the wisps of hair are any indication.” A calloused hand smoothed across the boys head and down his neck, settling on his back.

“It is time, Dia.” This voice was smooth, rubbing down nerves like expensive cloth, but with a hint of something a little less seductive and more dominating, and more threatening, a bit of leather beneath the silk. A striking man in ornate red and gold robes exited the massive doors as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the man holding the boy.

“Hey, little one.” A finger on his chin forced the boy to look up and meet his savior’s eyes. Those eyes… “I have to go, alright? One of these guys will set you back with your marm.” He settled the boy back on the ground, and knelt so as to look him in the eyes, which prompted angry muttering amongst the guards and attendant. “Ignore those pompous asses for a moment, kid. You aren’t doing anything wrong, so there’s no reason to look upset. Look me in the eyes now, c’mon. No reason to be scared.” The boy did look up then, and met eyes that looked for all the world to contain smoldering coals in the place of actual sight organs. Those eyes bore into the boys, all humor and indolence burned away. “If you need anything, want anything, you come here boy, to me. You understand?” the boy gave one stiff nod, more confused than anything else, and that seemed to satisfy the man, for he stood, shimmering heat waves dancing in the air around him.

“You heard. You will honor this.” He snapped at the guards.

“Dia…it is not proper.”

The words of the unlucky attendant, silky and smooth, didn’t faze the man in the least. He whirled, hair and eyes sparking. “I gave my word.” He hissed.

There was the tiniest of pauses, minuscule evidence of a power struggle, before the garishly clad attendant bowed slightly. “As Dia wishes.” To his dubious credit only a little mockery was audible in his voice.

Dia’s response was a wordless snarl as he stalked through the open doors and vanished into the building, attendant and single guard in tow. Which left the boy with the unlucky guard in charge of seeing him home.

It had been years ago when the small boy had returned only to find something had happened to the man who had been so kind to him. He had come back the very next day with some pasties he had helped his mother prepare, and been met by something inexplicable. When he had brandished the pastries at the main gate, excited, the guard had given him a Look, and said it would be awhile before Dia would be eating things like pasties. The guard had eventually taken pity on the confused boy, and took him to Dia’s chambers, where a newborn babe was being fussed over by a dauntingly large assembly of gold and red-garbed attendants.

Now, standing once again in front of those elaborately massive doors, eyeing guards who still ignored him in casual disapproval, Kaio had to smile. “Bloody Pheonix. You really managed to confuse the hell out of me back then.”

Somewhere a bell tolled solemnly three times, and Kaio jerked out of his reverie. “Storms! It’s that late already?! Dia’s going to be furious!” Pulling up on his billowing, wide-legged pants to allow for swifter movement he sort of scurried up to the guards, sketched a hurried bow and pushed his way through the doors they opened more out of ritual necessity than any sort of respect.

Apart from the tangible displeasure of every guard and acolyte he passed, Kaio had always found the Master’s Palace to be a comforting place, a retreat from the expectations of the city. At least here he knew everyone resented his presence, and that they couldn’t so much as lift a finger against him. On any other day he would take a leisurely walk through the austere marble halls, enjoying the delicate music of water falling on carefully tuned and placed bits of metal, all the while waving merrily at guards who wanted nothing more than to toss him out on his ass. Any other day.

He had learned, early on, that Dia was not a patient being. The longer he managed to not be where he was expected, the angrier Dia would become, a silent, smoldering anger that was about as pleasant as cauterizing ones own wound, without the benefit of strong alcohol to dim sensation. This was an excellent reason for every bit of haste he could muster. Ignoring the disgusted looks the clerics he passed shot him, or the obvious snickers of the guards, Kaio all but jogged through the austere halls. They didn’t have what was most likely a cranky gods-touched man waiting for them, they could afford to look suave and relaxed.

Dia’s door was closed. A good sign. But, as Kaio paused in an attempt to rein his breathing back into a more relaxed pattern he noted the absence of scented smoke drifting from behind said door. That was unequivocally a bad sign. Chalking it all up to bad luck, Kaio knocked and waited for whatever servant was unlucky enough to be serving the Master to open.

What he hadn’t expected was the Master himself to greet him.

Dia’s eyes were hooded and lazy, his expression sleepily blasé, but Kaio knew better. He was within an inch of being smacked by the Master’s blessed right hand. There were some times when pride was more of a nuisance than it was worth, and that being understood, Kaio threw pride to the wind and dropped to his knees right there in the hall. Even if the action didn’t serve to disarm the Master’s volatile temper, at least it would be harder to hit Kaio when he was flat against the floor.

“You’re late.”

“Yes, Dia.”

“The tea is cold.”

“My fault, Dia.”

Then, the silence. The painful, threatening, unbearable silence. It was the sort of heavy waiting where Kaio knew he was about to be very, very sorry he was late, but couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

At least the floor was clean. And rather cool against his nerves-flushed face. An important observation in the event he needed to soothe abused flesh later. First aide through subservience- an idea Kaio would have preferred remain some sort of uniquely arcane idea. Unfortunately he had, through the last few years, developed it into a rather fine art.

A strong hand hauled Kaio up by his long red hair a moment later, knowing just how to tug so as to tear at the hairs in the sensitive scalp regions located behind his ears, at his neck…Masking a wince, Kaio allowed himself to be lifted, stoically refusing to give into the urge to support himself with his limply hanging arms.

“I have been waiting.”

Kaio met burning eyes, gauged the red writhing with black, and determined Dia was merely mildly irritated. Well, that was something at least. “I am sorry, Dia.”

The Master glared for a moment longer, and then relaxed his grip on Kaio’s hair. It was, sadly, with a sort of practiced grace that Kaio managed to catch himself before slamming into the floor. The heels of his palms would not be thanking him later, but at least his chin was spared the impact.

“Come in for tea.” Dia murmured, turning in a swirl of silk to walk back into the room.

If it had just been an issue of cold tea, Kaio would have thought, like the rest of those who served in the Master’s Palace, that the Master was little more than a spoiled, spiteful brat of a creature. Powerful, but spoiled. This was where Kaio had the advantage. It wasn’t the tea that bothered Dia, it was the thought that, perhaps this time, Kaio was not coming. There had been a good share of fear mixed with anger in those inhuman eyes, and it was for that fear Kaio would forgive the man almost anything.

After all, not even the holy nursemaids were privileged enough to have witnessed Dia weeping. That was Kaio’s little secret, his little treasure; the reason he didn’t haul himself back to his feet and storm off, enraged at being treated so poorly.

“Kaio.”

And here he was keeping the Master waiting yet again, woolgathering in the hall. He was in rare form today. With a sheepish sort of wince on his face, Kaio all but scurried into the room. Dia was in the process of reheating the tea, caressing a hand along the glazed pottery until steam trailed up from each cup. In his own quiet way of apologizing Dia handed Kaio the first cup. Kaio accepted with a grin, knowing the honor, having been witnessed by anyone else, would have gotten him soundly beaten. Then again, doing things that would irritate his clerics seemed to be one of the Master’s favorite pastimes.

“Your Dance was perfect.” Dia muttered, no trace of his previous derision apparent in his voice.

“Thank you, Dia.”

“Would you please drop the demure nonsense? There is no one here and that grin on your face ruins it anyway.”

“You sure? I thought I heard something skittering in the walls.”

“There are no vermin near my chambers.” Dia ran a hand down one wall, cracking the marble with the heat he left behind.

It probably became very uncomfortable for which ever cleric had drawn the short straw and had to spy on the Master that day. To his credit the poor thing didn’t cry out at all, which was far better than the last one Dia had scorched out of hiding, though he did scrabble a bit as he fled, giving himself away.

“Well then.” Dia glanced at a water clock, a thoughtful look on his face. “I give it three marks.”

“You are far too conservative. I give it just barely two. They will want to shoo me out of here as fast as possible. Old Oily won’t want me around ruining his fine control of your higher brain functions any more than can be helped.”

“Why Kaio! So disrespectful of His Holiness!” Dia feigned disbelief, albeit rather poorly, and then took a sip of tea.

“I have shat things holier.”

That last comment set Dia snickering so fiercely he was forced to abandon his tea lest he spill the rather hot liquid down the front of his robes. “They are going to kill you some day, my friend.”

“Only if you let them, Dia. Only if you let them.”

“What a comfortable trump card you have. I am glad to be of some sort of practical use.”

Kaio took a contemplative mouthful of tea, not knowing how to respond to the almost wistful tone beneath the humor. “Well, you do serve as a rather convenient space heater when the weather turns cold and wet…” When in doubt, default so being a smart ass. Nothing kills melancholia faster.

It created the desired effect, in this case inspiring Dia to launch his cupful of tea at Kaio’s face in mock outrage. Kaio, in turn, decided to go for some sort of indignation, throwing a poorly aimed punch at Dia’s smirking face. They tussled about like rowdy youths for a good handful of moments, all differences in rank and privilege blissfully ignored, propriety tossed to the wind, and sense of decency pleasantly abused.

And, as with all good wrestling matches, it was stopped only when their parents came bustling through the doors. Well, Dia’s parents in this case, the various clerics and clergy which ran the Masters Palace, their robes hiked around their heels in their haste.

“One mark. I’m impressed.” Dia muttered, turning his lunge for a fistful of Kaio’s robes into a rather sultry lounge, aided by the fact the front of his robes had slipped open a bit more than was proper.

“Some sort of record.” Kaio agreed, his dodge melting perfectly into a more acceptable crouch of subservience.

Zelos, clad in his usual garish reminder of rank, strode forward, a practiced frown on his face. “Kaio.”

“Yes, Hierarches?”

Zelos’ eyes narrowed, suspicious, as ever, of Kaio’s deference. “Troublesome child. You should know better by now than to trouble the Master on Festival days.”

“By the Gods, can’t you just bleed me here and leave me to my servant and my tea?” Dia drawled, managing to appear even more indolent, allowing some of his long hair to slide almost suggestively over a bare shoulder.

“It would displease the Gods, as you well know.” Zelos graced Dia with one of his oily smiles and returned his attention, and ire, to a more appropriate target. “Kaio, I am sure you have duties elsewhere. Let the Master attend to his.”

Kaio recognized a dismissal, and the threat under the silky tones of the Hierarches’ speech. Still, he cast a swift glance at Dia, inquiring. Receiving confirmation that he should obey Zelos by way of a slow blink and almost imperceptible nod, Kaio stood, made his bows, retreated.

There were some days it just wasn’t worth getting out of bed. For Kaio, on the final day of the Festival, when the bitter acidity that heralded the shedding of holy blood simmered on the breeze, he wanted nothing more than to bury his head beneath a pillow and ignore the most revered of proceedings taking place outside. That not being an option he wrinkled his nose in heretical displeasure, scratched his stomach, and gave in to the fact he should bathe and get to temple proper.

Lighting incense to observe the proper morning ritual, as well as attempt to mask the insidiously caustic scent in the air, Kaio muttered morning devotions as he fumbled water into his washbasin. All thoughts shrieked to a halt as Kaio dunked the better part of his head into impossibly cold water. Sputtering his displeasure, and most definitely completely awake, Kaio managed to finish the last necessary prayer before soundly cursing the enchanted water.

“Kaio! Brother! You’re late!”

Just what he needed- someone to remind him he had managed to sleep past second bell. Kaio glared at the door and pulled on an only slightly rumpled pair of silk pants before answering. “Thank you for that stunning bit of information.”

The door opened and a man walked in, uninvited. “You’re the usual bit of sunshine this morning, aren’t you?”

“Tease me later. I need to find my gods be damned sash…”

“Hanging over the back of your chair.”

Kaio snatched the scarlet bit of cloth and tied it around his waist; not bothering to make sure it was even and flat.

“Brother, you could at least pretend.” The other man sighed and reached to adjust the surly Dancer’s clothing. “You wouldn’t want to appear sloppy before the Master, would you?”

“Arri, I’m sure the Master has seen worse. Where are my bells? Storms, I don’t have the time to get decked out like a whore today…”

“I should get you a cat. You’d never oversleep that way.” Arri grinned before wrinkling his nose. “Speaking of whores, it smells like a brothel in here. Who did you bring home last night?”

“That’s the incense, as you well know. And no one, as you would know had you not been so busy…entertaining someone yourself last night.”

“Cyra is a good girl.” Arri beamed, and then set to helping his brother arrange the necessary bells in long red hair. “You could have any of them you wanted, brother.” Arri ran a jealous hand through his brother’s hair.

“Yes, until they realized there is nothing novel about rutting with the Dancer.” Kaio fussed with a particularly rebellious bit of hair, face set in a frown. “And it would be just that; rutting and hoping for a little red haired baby. And thank you, but I would rather not be ritually killed when some wench births my replacement.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing, little brother mine.” Arri waggled an eyebrow suggestively, and ducked a punch with practiced ease. “C’mon, I think your head jingles enough. Let me attend to your face and then we can run over to the temple.”

Kaio sat still, if not patient, as Arri darkened around his eyes with kohl, applied red to his lips, added a faint blush to his cheeks, and finally brushed a pleased peck of a kiss onto Kaio’s temple, grinning with pride. “There’s our Dancer. Mother would be proud, as always.”

“I should have asked for some sort of mute for an attendant.” Kaio huffed, uncomfortable.

“Then who would make sure you get your lazy ass out of bed each morning?”

“Lazy?” Kaio snorted. “Who gets up early every morning…”

“Surely not you…” Arri interjected with a laugh.

“…who gets up every morning and practices the Dances so that the Master will not be displeased?” Kaio struck a haughty pose.

“You could flop about like a beached fish and the Master would applaud the same.”

Third bell rang, and the brothers flinched. “Maybe we can sneak in the back?” Arri offered.

“You can. I have to walk up the damn center isle.” Kaio flipped his hair over one shoulder and sighed. “How do I look?”

“Presentable. Let’s run.”

There was something deeply distressing about smelling ones own blood. Dia despised laying out his arms to be bound, to be cut, to be bled into pretty little bowls for the acolytes to spread with pomp and ceremony across and around the city. It would be days before Dia would be able to take a breath of incense-free air without wincing, without retching.

But, most of all, he hated having to sit through the incomprehensibly long rituals the damn clerics had decided were necessary to honor this butchery. He was damn well aware he was bleeding for their safety, and he was pretty secure in the fact at least a few housewives appreciated the gesture. He didn’t have to sit through the better part of a day and hear about it.

His stomach roiled a bit as he caught another faint whiff of blood. Less talking, more incense burning. That would make him happy.

Ah…that and Kaio. There was his dancer, late as usual, pleasantly flushed and flustered but not at all meek or apologetic as the Hierarches shot a withering glare his way. The graceful man shrugged minutely as he made his way up the center of the temple, decked out in his ritual finery. Beautiful. Kaio made his way to the dais and settled to his knees at the Master’s feet. Dia inhaled deeply, the subtle and familiar scent of musk and oil that hovered around the Dancer soothing.

“Honor be to Dia.” Zelos bowed his head, finishing the Festival Devotion.

“Honor to Dia.” The assembled crowd sighed.

Dia stood, as was expected, and proceeded to feel terribly silly as he brandished his arm so that all would be able to see the healing wounds. “As was sworn years ago, my blood for your safety.” Gods, who wrote this insipid drivel…

“Safety in return for honor.” All assembled responded.

Duty fulfilled, Dia hauled Kaio to his feet with a firm grip of braided, bell tangled hair, and began an irate retreat.