Brena
Brena bowed her head over the body of her fallen enemy. He hadn't stabbed her with a spear—but he had still destroyed her.
She didn't know why she had saved him from Kavio's final blow. Maybe it was to spare his life. Maybe it was just so she could kill him herself later. Could she do that? Could she stab him in cold blood and make him a human offering?
With Gwena and Gwenika dead…
The young man who had fought like no one else gently touched her shoulder. She thought maybe she should say sorry for calling him a traitor before, but she didn't have the strength.
He didn't seem to care about that anyway. Instead, he asked, "Would rain cleanse the hill?"
"I suppose," she said. She rolled her eyes toward the cloudless, moonless sky. "Do you know how often it rains in Yellow Bear?"
"No more often than it does in the dry canyons where I come from," he replied. That's when she remembered—he had once been part of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe.
"But I am a Rain Dancer," he added.
Her mouth dropped open. When he asked for space to dance, she just nodded, too shocked to speak. She stumbled back to tell the other warriors and Tavaedies to move the bodies aside.
"He says he's a Rain Dancer," she told them, though she was afraid to believe it. Many claimed they could call the rain. But real Rain Dancers were rarer than rain itself.
Still, everyone helped. They cleared the center of the Stone Hedge as he asked. Brena helped too—organizing the wounded and the dead—yet she kept her eyes on the young man.
He began to dance.
Just like his fighting, his dance was flawless. Quiet magic moved with each step. It made the hair on her arms rise. Something about him filled her with awe—and fear.
She was glad he wasn't her son. What kind of woman could give birth to a child with such terrifying power?
Thunder cracked the sky.
Rain poured down in sudden, heavy sheets.
Blood and filth washed away. The rain touched her skin—cold and sweet—and it eased the pain of the lash marks.
It's not just rain, she thought, stunned. It's healing rain.
Blue Chroma dancers could call rain. Yellow Chroma dancers could heal. But to do both? That was rare magic indeed.
The storm lasted only ten minutes. Then it was gone.
Brena turned to the young man. "Who are you?" she asked.
He didn't hear her. His gaze had locked onto someone crossing the clearing.
It was Hertio, War Chief of the Yellow Bear tribe. He walked through the standing stones with a band of Bear Warriors at his back. He must have arrived during the rain.
He pointed to the Rain Dancer.
"Seize him!" Hertio barked. "He's an exile from the Rainbow Labyrinth!"
"No!" Brena cried. She stepped in front of him without thinking. When Hertio looked her up and down, she blushed—but stood firm.
"He may be an outsider—even an exile—but he fought for us! He saved us!"
"Did he?" Hertio's voice turned cold. "Or was this whole thing planned from the start? The battle, the attack—all to hide the fact that the Initiates are dead. Maybe that was the goal all along: distract us while the children suffocated."
"No!"
"No, they didn't suffocate? Then prove it! If the children are still alive, show me. Finish the ceremony. Open the way. My men will take care of the wounded, the prisoners—and this one." He pointed again at the Rain Dancer. "Until we decide whether he is a friend or a traitor."
***
Brena
The twenty-one Zavaedies and Tavaedies dressed in silence. The sky before dawn was black, just like their grief.
The healing rain had eased their wounds, but not the loss in their hearts.
They began the final dance to open the faery gate. Not one of them believed they would find the children alive.
At least they died innocent, Brena told herself. Better to die before learning how cruel this world is.
A round hole opened at the center of the circle. Normally, the magic would allow each child to rise from the ground one by one, as tradition required.
Abiono was the first to climb down.
He shot back out almost right away, his face completely changed.
"They're alive! They live!"
"But how?" someone gasped.
"The magic of the tor? It was built by the fae…"
"Who cares? They're alive!"
The confusion turned quickly into joy. They agreed to finish the ritual as if the horror had never happened.
Each Tavaedi took their place before one of the great stones—not bound now, but glowing with soft, magical light.