beat filled the empty vessel which failure had left of Gaius Alphenus Varus, would-be poet. Voices were chanting.
A cone of raw, rust-colored rock lifted from the ocean. It was hard tosee. A dank northern mist bathed it, but there was something wrong with the air also. It was as though Varus were watching through layers of mica.
Things moved on the narrow beach below the cone. Portentous things, but they were invisible exceptâ
The cosmos toppled like a lap marker at the racetrack, bringing up a different face. Varus still felt the disjunction, but he was on the other side of it.
The cone was a great volcano. The sides were too steep to have a real beach where they rose from the sea, but waves had battered a notch in the coarse rock. On it, licked by spray, twelve tall men danced about the ivory image. They were nude and hairless.
Hyperboreans,
Varus thought, for they were all so similar to his fatherâs friend Nemastes that they could have been copies of the same statue. Their expressions were cold and angry, and they looked more cruel than stoats.
As the tall men danced, they chanted. At first the sound was as raucous as crows calling in a field of stubble and seemed empty, but Varus began to understand its patterns. Similarly, the rhythms of the dance wove together into a great whole and merged with the dancersâ wild cries.
In the center of the ring was an ivory carving of a manâs head. It wore a fur cap over its ears and was no bigger than a thumb. The figurine drew Varus inward.
The dancers watched Varus as they shuffled on their round; their eyes were hungry. Flickers like the blue flames of sulfur began to lift from the broken rocks. The wisps waved in time with the dance, rising and keeping pace with the jerking feet of the dance.
The flames brightened and became demons of blue fire. Ribs showed beneath their tiny scales, and their very bodies were translucent. Their skulls were like those of lizards, and their lipless mouths twisted in grimaces of fury. They danced like marionettes, under the compulsion of the Hyperboreans.
The chant roared in Varusâs ears. The dancers, human and demon alike, stared at him as they paced their circle.
Varus reached out to the ivory miniature. He wasnât sure he had a body, but he could feel the vague, slick warmth of the yellowed ivory.
Almost
Varus could grasp the pattern of the dance. That pattern was that of the whole cosmos. He raised the figurine, staring into the carven eyes of someone more ancient than Varus could grasp even with his new understanding.
The Hyperboreans grinned, and the demons licked slaver from their pointed jaws. The chant was too loud for the cosmos to hold. Varus almostâ
There was a crash and blinding light; the pattern burst. Varus pitched forward. He was shouting.
âF EARLESSLY WITH A WINGED ARM our Regulus hurled his spear through the air like a thunderbolt,â Varus droned.
Does that sort of thing make sense to men?
Alphena wondered. Certainly the freedmen farther down the row from her looked comatose. As for Corylus, he might as easily have been carved from a tree trunk.
When Varus spoke normally he sounded, well, normal. His voice had been spiky and nervous when he started his reading, but it was lots worse now. He seemed dead, or at least like he wished he were dead.
Though at this moment, Varusâs voice sounded like blocks of stone being dragged across one another at a building site. Alphena remembered that sheâd come here by her own choice when nobody wouldâve forced her to come. Listening to her stepmother go on about Alphena having to get married didnât seem like such a bad thing now.
She couldnât walk out once sheâd sat down, though. She and Varus hadnât been close, exactly, but theyâd bumped around together in a household where their father didnât pay much attention and there wasnât anybody who even pretended to be their mother. Varus had
A cone of raw, rust-colored rock lifted from the ocean. It was hard tosee. A dank northern mist bathed it, but there was something wrong with the air also. It was as though Varus were watching through layers of mica.
Things moved on the narrow beach below the cone. Portentous things, but they were invisible exceptâ
The cosmos toppled like a lap marker at the racetrack, bringing up a different face. Varus still felt the disjunction, but he was on the other side of it.
The cone was a great volcano. The sides were too steep to have a real beach where they rose from the sea, but waves had battered a notch in the coarse rock. On it, licked by spray, twelve tall men danced about the ivory image. They were nude and hairless.
Hyperboreans,
Varus thought, for they were all so similar to his fatherâs friend Nemastes that they could have been copies of the same statue. Their expressions were cold and angry, and they looked more cruel than stoats.
As the tall men danced, they chanted. At first the sound was as raucous as crows calling in a field of stubble and seemed empty, but Varus began to understand its patterns. Similarly, the rhythms of the dance wove together into a great whole and merged with the dancersâ wild cries.
In the center of the ring was an ivory carving of a manâs head. It wore a fur cap over its ears and was no bigger than a thumb. The figurine drew Varus inward.
The dancers watched Varus as they shuffled on their round; their eyes were hungry. Flickers like the blue flames of sulfur began to lift from the broken rocks. The wisps waved in time with the dance, rising and keeping pace with the jerking feet of the dance.
The flames brightened and became demons of blue fire. Ribs showed beneath their tiny scales, and their very bodies were translucent. Their skulls were like those of lizards, and their lipless mouths twisted in grimaces of fury. They danced like marionettes, under the compulsion of the Hyperboreans.
The chant roared in Varusâs ears. The dancers, human and demon alike, stared at him as they paced their circle.
Varus reached out to the ivory miniature. He wasnât sure he had a body, but he could feel the vague, slick warmth of the yellowed ivory.
Almost
Varus could grasp the pattern of the dance. That pattern was that of the whole cosmos. He raised the figurine, staring into the carven eyes of someone more ancient than Varus could grasp even with his new understanding.
The Hyperboreans grinned, and the demons licked slaver from their pointed jaws. The chant was too loud for the cosmos to hold. Varus almostâ
There was a crash and blinding light; the pattern burst. Varus pitched forward. He was shouting.
âF EARLESSLY WITH A WINGED ARM our Regulus hurled his spear through the air like a thunderbolt,â Varus droned.
Does that sort of thing make sense to men?
Alphena wondered. Certainly the freedmen farther down the row from her looked comatose. As for Corylus, he might as easily have been carved from a tree trunk.
When Varus spoke normally he sounded, well, normal. His voice had been spiky and nervous when he started his reading, but it was lots worse now. He seemed dead, or at least like he wished he were dead.
Though at this moment, Varusâs voice sounded like blocks of stone being dragged across one another at a building site. Alphena remembered that sheâd come here by her own choice when nobody wouldâve forced her to come. Listening to her stepmother go on about Alphena having to get married didnât seem like such a bad thing now.
She couldnât walk out once sheâd sat down, though. She and Varus hadnât been close, exactly, but theyâd bumped around together in a household where their father didnât pay much attention and there wasnât anybody who even pretended to be their mother. Varus had
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