The Abulon Dance by Caro Soles Read Free Book Online Page A

suggested Quana, pulling back on the reins.
    Cham jumped. It was a relief to be on solid ground again. Remembering that he was supposed to look after Quana, he raised his arms and she slid into them. For a moment, neither one moved. It was an interesting feeling.
    “You’re very strong, aren’t you?” she murmured, drawing away.
    Cham felt the flush in his cheeks. He tossed back his hair and laughed nervously. “I’m a dancer. When your partner weighs about the same as you do, you have to be strong.”
    They left the amax to graze peacefully and waded into the tall grass that was over Cham’s head. The dry, pungent smell tickled his nose and made him sneeze. Around him, small tricolored insects pursued each other with high-pitched chirping noises. Two red butterflies, their delicate wings curled up at the edges, hovered above his golden head.
    Quana climbed up onto a slab of rock and took off her yellow skirt. She wore a sort of short jumpsuit underneath. The air shimmered with heat. He pulled off his boots and the lacy white shirt and stretched towards the sun, his hands clasped above his head. He leapt for the next rock, twirling effortlessly in the air for the sheer pleasure of movement. “This is wonderful!” he exclaimed, as he took a bottle of Merculian mint wine out of his shoulder bag and poured them each a glass. “To picnics,” he said.
    She raised her glass and smiled. “It’s really exciting seeing people who come from so far away. We even had a holiday when you arrived.”
    “I love holidays.”
    “Then you’ll love the next one. It’s called the Festival of Dreams and there’s a great procession and dancing in the streets and we all get a chance to talk to the Dream Weaver.”
    “Could I dance with you then?” Cham asked.
    She laughed, her hand covering her mouth as she dipped her head. “Do you always do things that get you in trouble?”
    “You mean like last night? But you invited me to come over, didn’t you?”
    “Certainly, but I didn’t expect you to actually do it!”
    “You mean it was just a game?”
    “In a way.”
    Cham shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
    “It’s all right. I’m glad you didn’t play the game by Abulonian rules. Just between you and me, I was hoping you wouldn’t.” She smiled, looking straight at him, this time. Then she looked away. He lay back in the grass sipping the wine and sampling the various strange delicacies Quana had brought. It was obvious she had put a lot of thought into her preparations and it didn’t matter that his palate couldn’t distinguish between them. He appreciated the thought.
    “Tell me about that man last night—the one who told the story. Everyone seemed really…well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t see what was so unusual in the story. I mean, the character was so important he didn’t have a name? Can you explain it?”
    “That was the Dream Weaver. He keeps our dreams alive, looks inside and shows us what they mean. The story last night about the Hunter who was lost is very old, but everyone tells it differently, and only some storytellers, like the Dream Weaver, or some other great leader, can make us see the images.”
    “Images? What images? You mean, the words he used were so powerful you could see the scenes?”
    “I mean pictures, the ones he drew in the air to illustrate his words. That’s what makes his stories so wonderful.”
    “I…don’t understand. Are you talking about real pictures? Like in a hologram?”
    “You mean you didn’t see anything last night?”
    Cham shook his head.
    “Nothing at all?” She stared at him, her lips parted.
    “Nothing.” He remembered the low thrumming sound, the delayed echo underneath the old man’s words. “I heard something strange but I guess whatever it is doesn’t work for Merculian eyes. Can you all do it?”
    “Oh, no. It’s a gift only leaders and dreamers have.”
    “We just use holograms,” Cham said.
    “Maybe one of my children