the essence of the sword dance.
The dance of Janea was not one style, not one way. A watcher would see elements of Wu-Shu, Hungarian and Cossack, and even Choliya, but it maintained that single essence.
To balance on the razor blade between life and death. To trim the hairs but not the skin.
When Janea came to her feet and started dancing, her costume was already in tatters. As she danced, it became more so.
Roll out of the bed
Look in the mirror
And wonder who you are
Another year is come and gone
“Okay, we found Janea,” Wulfgar said, his mouth hanging open.
He had seen Janea dance before. He’d even snuck into a club she was working at, which made him feel very much like a pervert. But he’d never seen her dance. Not like this.
She was a spinning dervish across the stage, the double swords flickering in and out and a veritable torrent of material flying away from her rapidly denuding body. There could be no question that the swords were razor sharp. Not only were they slicing through the fabric of the costume like paper, she was, in time with the dance and often while in the air, catching pieces in midair and cutting them smaller. She was already down to not much more than a micro-mini and a halter. She couldn’t go much further without being down to “no costume.”
“I think the judges are enjoying it,” Sharice said dryly, as Janea flipped one of the cut bits of dress with a sword tip to settle on the head of the creator of Dawn.
“They’re not calling time on her, anyway,” Wulfgar said.
“I think the crowd would rise up in fury if they did,” Sharice said. “Damn…”
“That is…” Drakon said, his jaw dropping as Janea somersaulted across the stage, bits of material still flying off as the swords flashed in and out. “I would have said that was physically impossible.” But maybe you touch one life
And the world becomes a better place to be
Maybe you give their dreams another day
Another chance to be free
Janea had carefully choreographed her planned dance. This wasn’t it. What she was doing, how she was doing it, she wasn’t exactly sure. She also didn’t know if she was dancing well. But she also didn’t care. There was only the dance.
As the last bars of the song closed, she dropped to a split facing the judges, slid her swords up between the veil and her face, ripped the veil away with a flick of the wrist to give it some heft, then dropped the prescribed lock of hair over her cheek. As the piece of gauze settled to the stage, it was quiet enough she thought she could hear it touch the ground. She distinctly heard the “tink” as the swords crossed in front of her.
The MC wasn’t asking any questions-she wasn’t sure why, but he looked too stunned or something-so she bounced twice to get some momentum, popped straight to her feet and walked off the stage.
“Beat that, bitch,” Janea said as she walked past Garnet.
“She gets presented the Crown and the Prize in the Hyatt main lobby,” Wulfgar said, pressing through the crowd. “We can probably make contact there.”
“Think again,” Drakon countered. “She’s going to be surrounded by security. All you’re going to get is blinded by camera flashes.”
“It’s the best chance we’re…” Wulfgar paused as someone even larger than he was stepped in front of them.
“Sorry…” the guy said. He was dressed a bit like some sort of bird and was wearing an eagle mask. “But it’s time for you guys to go home.”
“Excuse me?” Wulfgar said. “And who are you to…”
“Wulfgar,” Sharice said, carefully. “ Don’t start anything. We’re looking for a friend.”
“We know,” the eagle man said. “Which is why I’m explaining, politely, that she’s going to be busy for the rest of the convention. And that Pat says it’s time for you to go home. Most of the mundanes go home after the Dawn show. You don’t want to stay for Dead Dog. Mundanes who stay for Dead Dog sometimes never make it home.”
“Is that a threat?” Wulfgar asked.
“No, that is information,” the bird man said, tilting his head sharply to the side. “If you’d like a threat, it can be arranged.”
“We’re just going,” Sharice said, suddenly, grabbing his arm.
“But…” Wulfgar said. It wasn’t as if she could move him.
“We’re going, Wulfgar,” Sharice said. “Back to the room. Then we’ll pack and go home.”
“But…” Wulfgar said as he let himself be dragged away.
“Just shut your fool Asatru mouth,” Sharice said, walking as rapidly as she could through the crowd.
“No call to be…”
“Asatru are horrible about studying other religions,” Sharice said as they left the Hyatt. “So take my word for it, we are leaving.”
“Malakbel?” Drakon asked.
“Ancient Assyrian?” Sharice said. “Maybe. I don’t think so, though. Think…Barb.”
“You mean the White God?” Wulfgar said, craning his head to look for the Eagle Man. The guy, despite being huge, had disappeared. And most of the crowd seemed to be people in mundane dress who were headed for the exits.
“Not…exactly,” Sharice said. “ But those who wait on the lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They shall run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint. I can quote a half a dozen other verses, not to mention Nostradamus. I don’t think that messenger was from any minor god you can care to name. So we are leaving.”
Doris was left alone for a moment to blink at the crown in her hands. There was no way that those were actual rubies. They looked real, but it was amazing what they could do with synthetics these days…
“Janea.”
The woman was probably in her forties, blonde, with a face that was not so much kind as so understanding of humanity, it had sort of gone past un kind to wise.
“Ma’am?” Doris said.
The past hour had been a blur. Garnet had most assuredly not won and security had become involved. She’d never even gotten close to Doris. Knowing what was going to happen, two guys dressed like goons had interposed themselves when she left the stage to very muted applause. One move towards Janea had been enough for them to wrap her up in tentacles and drag her out of the room.
The judges had asked questions, later, mostly along the lines of “Are you seeing anyone?” She wasn’t even sure what she’d answered. Pretty much everything from when she’d picked up her swords was a blur.
Now someone else she didn’t know wanted something.
“I am Regina,” the woman said. “I’m the Senior Director of Programming. Since you are now Programming, I’m your Senior Director.”
“Okay?” Doris said.
“Your time from now until Dead Dog is blocked out,” Regina said. “First there is the formal presentation of the Crown, and the prize of course. Then interviews with select media. Then the visit to the Green Room to meet select Guests. Last, Dead Dog where you will be formally Chosen and given appropriate transportation home.”
“I get a ride?” Doris said.
“Yes, dear,” Regina replied, softly. “You get a ride home. You didn’t know that was the actual prize?”
“No…” Doris said, confused. “Don’t most people have rides home?”
“Oh, most of the regular congoers can get home just fine,” Regina said, taking her arm. “You, of course, are
