Dindi (Spring Equinox - Midmorning)
Dindi looked around the crowd, hoping she could sneak into the plaza without anyone seeing her.
Barter Hill was full of people. Aunties from the three clans came here to trade every half-moon. But today it was more crowded than ever, because it was Spring Equinox and the warrior-dancers—the Tavaedies—would perform!
A kraal at the bottom of the hill held aurochsen and horses. Rectangular adobe buildings made a square around the top of the hill.
The old uncles, trying to look dignified, sat on a long bench leaning against the wall, under the shade of the roof. They drank corn beer and chatted in a friendly way. They covered their legs with waist blankets and wore shoulder blankets that reached the ground. Dindi slipped by them quietly.
But the first person Dindi saw was Great Aunt Sullana.
Even though the plaza was wide, Great Aunt Sullana rushed across it like a tornado on the Purple Plains. She would want to see what Dindi had in her basket, and when she found nothing but a kitten, she would pinch Dindi's cheek until Dindi gave some explanation.
Of course, the best defense was to lie. But Dindi was a terrible liar. Her face always turned red like a tomato. Her eyes darted everywhere. She couldn't even convince a child that honey was sweet, never mind fool Great Aunt Sullana, who chewed up secrets for breakfast.
She had to escape.
Dindi rushed past two older women arguing over a trade—vegetables for pottery. Married women, their gray-and-black hair coiled in rings on top of their heads, sat with their goods on blankets around the dancing platform. Dindi moved through piles of tubers and bone awls, behind bunches of water gourds that hung like grapes, and beside racks of smoked venison.
Aunties called out to her, trying to catch her attention. Some smacked her calves with horse-hair whisks to make her stop.
Great Aunt Sullana turned to follow.
Dindi darted behind a group of bare-chested warriors play-fighting with each other. They knocked over a tower of baskets and annoyed the auntie who owned them. A group of girls giggled nearby. Great Aunt Sullana walked in the wrong direction.
Dindi let out a quiet sigh of relief.
A slow drumbeat rolled through the market square.
The Tavaedies!
No one could see the drum, but each beat made the ground shake like a small earthquake. People's heads snapped up. Eyes sparkled.
Rattles and flutes joined the drumbeat.
From a hole in the ground in front of the dancing platform, a line of masked dancers came out. Each costume was a little different, based on the dancer's magic color and the dance they would perform. Each dancer wore a big headdress and a matching mask made of cloth or paint. Their costumes were dyed and painted in one of the six magic colors, their Chromas.
Dindi had never told anyone she wanted to become a Tavaedi. She didn't want people to laugh or feel sorry for her. Besides, what did she care what they thought? She knew it would be hard, but she had a plan.
Every eye in the square stayed fixed on the Tavaedies.
Drum, rattle, and flute rose into powerful music. The masked dancers leapt into motion. Sometimes they shouted or chanted to go with the steps.
Dancing made magic. Some dances, called tama, brought good crops. Others kept away drought. This tama was Massacre of the Aelfae. It told a true story from the past. The Tavaedies only danced it once a year. When Dindi was little, it had been her favorite—until she understood what it truly meant.
Half the dancers wore wings.
"We are the Aelfae, we are the Aelfae," they chanted.
The other half carried spears.
"We are the humans, we are the humans."
The dance told the tale of a clan of Aelfae, the high fae who once lived in the Corn Hills before humans came. High fae were not like low fae—pixies, brownies, or sprites. They were tall, glowing, graceful beings with great beauty and power. Some said they were more beautiful than humans could ever be, with wings like swans.
There had once been seven races of high fae, and the Aelfae were the most beautiful, powerful, and wise.
The dancers playing the Aelfae came first. They flapped fake wings. To show flight, they did flips, handsprings, cartwheels, and somersaults over each other's backs. They flew across the platform in graceful moves—until the "human" dancers with spears appeared.
Dindi made herself focus.
She had to pay attention to every move, every detail. She planned to teach herself all she could by watching. When the time came, she would be ready to join their secret society.
She wasn't supposed to know, but she had listened to enough conversations to learn one secret: at the Initiation, each new dancer had to perform a tama. Only those with real magic could dance it right.
The two sides began to pretend-fight. They kicked, punched, and clashed spears. They threw each other and leapt overhead to strike from behind. The humans began to kill the Aelfae. Maybe the dance made the humans look stronger than they really were. Still, the Aelfae dancers cried out and ran across the stage. None escaped.
While they danced, Dindi copied tiny bits of the movements—just with her hands and feet. She didn't make it noticeable. She just wanted to memorize the steps so she could practice them later. At first, she missed most of the movements. But each moon, she learned more.
Lately, something strange had begun to happen.
She saw something amazing. The dancers didn't move randomly. They formed rows and lines, circles and arrow shapes. These shapes glowed. It looked like the dancers made shining ribbons of light, drawing symbols in the air with their steps. The dancers themselves glowed too, in the color of their costumes.
Even now, she couldn't always see it. Only if she really focused.
The human dancers circled around the last of the Aelfae, who fell in a careful pile of pretend-dead.
"The Aelfae are no more, the Aelfae are no more," the winners and the fallen chanted in a sad voice.
The chant hit Dindi hard. Sadness washed over her.
The glowing lines the dancers had made rippled outward like waves. When they touched her, she felt dizzy. She stumbled. Almost fell.
And then, just for a moment, the dancers disappeared.
She saw true Aelfae—beings with swan-like wings. And instead of flips and leaps, she saw horrors she could barely understand.
Aelfae men forced to eat their own guts.
Aelfae women bleeding, trapped under human attackers.
Aelfae babies, held by their wings, smashed against walls…
Underneath it all, she sensed more than one battle. She sensed years and years of fighting—traps, attacks, broken truces—slowly wearing the Aelfae down. Until finally, they were gone. Not just from the local area around the Corn Hills.
But from all of Faearth.