Page 27 of The Source of Storms

“Don’t try to tell me you weren’t planning on dancing, wearing something like that.” He gestured to my dress. The top was fitted, with short fluttery sleeves and a plunging V-neckline, while the bottom flared loosely, perfect for spinning.

“You don’t like it?” I asked.

“I like it very much.” He smiled. “In fact, I think I have to see it in action or this whole night will feel like a waste.”

“I think I’ll have to finish this first,” I said, and took a sip from my mug to calm the flutter in my chest.

“Good idea. If you’re a terrible dancer, you can blame it on the ale.”

“Is that your usual excuse?” I asked.

“I don’t need an excuse, I’m good,” he said confidently, and did a few steps in time with the fast music to prove it. I clapped enthusiastically.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he joked, then gestured to the metal hair beads I wore. “I like those.”

“Thanks, your mother made them,” I said. “She has a great eye for detail. How’s she doing?”

“Good. Busy as always. Been helping my brothers with the midsummer harvest lately, and making as much as possible for the market while it’s busy season.”

“I’ll have to come back for those earrings of hers I liked,” I said.

I stole another glance toward Catriona. Byrgir noticed and followed my gaze.

“Friend of yours?” he asked.

“I thought so, but apparently not. She pretended not to remember me. Think she was ashamed to show she knew a fae-touched woman in front of her new man. Paragons got to her too.”

“Bastards.” Byrgir shook his head and swigged his ale. “Although I know her man, and I’ve met her before too. You’re not missing out on much, trust me.”

I chuckled. “Seems that way. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Fuck ’em, I guess.” I shrugged, and took another sip of ale.

“Aye, fuck ’em!” Byrgir smiled, lifting his mug to tap my own. My heart skipped a beat when his eyes met mine, sparkling green and joyful.

∞∞∞

I finished my first ale and began to buzz with warmth from it. Byrgir bought me another as the band picked up the tempo.

We wandered around the clearing to a vendor on the far side. A cart covered in buckets of flowers and draped in woven garlands of bright blooms distributed bouquets and flower crowns. I picked out two matching crowns for us, bright white flowers woven with ferns. We downed the last of our ale, and with our flower crowns planted securely on our heads, Byrgirheld out a hand in invitation. I took it and followed him to the bonfire.

The midnight sun was just beginning to dip below the clouds toward the horizon as we joined the crowd of dancers stomping and spinning their way around the towering bonfire. We fell into step together, and I quickly discovered Byrgir hadn’t been lying. He was a good dancer.

He spun me with graceful control as we moved together with the music. He was a good leader, and I followed his steps easily enough at first. Yet as we drank more and attempted more complicated combinations, I sometimes stepped on his toes or missed a spin. We laughed at my missteps, and we practiced spins and combinations until we either got them down, or became too intoxicated and giddy with the energy of the night to keep trying.

After some time, we decided to explore another fire, and followed the glow of the other celebratory inferno through the dark woods, giggling with drunkenness as Byrgir led me by the hand. The band stationed at the new fire was even more upbeat than the first, and I was soon exhausted by keeping time with the music. I danced with no one else the entire night. We were inseparable.

When the sky dimmed toward twilight––the darkest it would get that night––a space cleared in the patch of dancers. Four women, clad in heavy black hoods and nothing else, entered the circle. Their bare skin was entirely painted with runes and knots winding about their arms, legs, and torsos. Two of the women carried long poles, while two held large hoops. On their shoulders they wore frames of bent poles that reached up and away from their bodies, arching out over their shoulders.

They walked gracefully up to the fire and dipped their poles and hoops into the flame. Some of the crowd oohed and cheered as the poles and hoops burst ablaze. Other onlookers mumbledto each other, seemingly displeased with the appearance of the hooded dancers. The women tapped their flaming instruments to the frames they wore, and they too ignited.

They began to dance and spin as they repeatedly chanted, “Anvellach tao Litha,anvellach tao Litha.”

The band quieted, except for the drummer, who matched the women’s chanting tempo. The women began to stomp in time with the drumbeats, then twirled into a dance, spinning flames around them with their poles and hoops. Their faces were all shadow beneath their thick hoods, which lent an eerie, haunting feeling to their performance, while also protecting their hair from the sparks that showered down from the frames above them.

Some of the crowd began to trickle away, clearly upset by the display.

One woman chided as she walked hurriedly past us, away from the fiery dancers, “Who do they think they are, playing at damn old fae rituals like this? Don’t they know they endanger us all? Are they trying to summon the shadowfiends to kill us?”

“It’s reckless, is what it is. Plain reckless. They’ll bring the darkness down upon us all like this. If the Paragons were here, they wouldn’t stand for this,” the man walking with her said.

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