To Free the Rising Storm (The ReEmergence Chronicles Book 1) by C.N. Maxwell

Author:C.N. Maxwell [Maxwell, C.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arcantus Worlds Publishing
Published: 2022-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

I knew the song as well, but not for its dance.

I knew it for the lyrics and the lower line of notes to be sung beneath the main melody, creating a haunting harmony unlike anything I’d ever heard before.

Even now as the music fell over us, as the plucking mandolin melded with the reedy pipes, the hairs on my arms rose. It was both sweet and moody, and each time the chords flipped to the minor tone, I was struck with an emotion I could never truly place. Compositions like this reminded me that our Deity of Fertility and the Arts, Formos, might have created music, but Krayd, their lover, was the God of Chaos. Tales spoke of how they were inspired by Krayd when giving Xaladorians the ability to create art and song, for what good would those things be without a little deviance?

And a deviant was what Mae became the moment she stepped on to the dance floor. Her poised stature turned fluid, graceful steps falling in place with the beat, and her beautiful body seemed to fill with charged energy. When she twirled to me her eyes were wild, the violets and blues seeming brighter than normal. My heart within my chest was nothing less than a pulsing flame as she paused us away from the couples already dancing.

“It’s simple,” she said, and gods, her voice was all ice and smoke. “The steps are repetitive. By the time they start singing, you’ll know them well enough.”

I wasn’t so sure. But as she stepped away from me, I took in the sight of her once more. That dress...I was suddenly weak in the knees and yet filled with more courage than a thousand soldiers.

“Bow,” she instructed. “On the start of the next bar.”

The beginning of the melody came back around. Four-quarter time. Four beats per bar. I dipped my head on one, and she curtsied as I did, the skirt of her dress fanning over the wood floor momentarily. When we rose, she stepped forward.

“Put your palms to mine,” she said. “On the second beat, step in to me. On the third, step out. On the fourth, spin me.”

Easy enough. And at least I didn’t have to spin.

“But when they begin to sing, the movements change.” She aligned our palms. “Just follow me.”

I did. We stepped into each other, faces inches apart for a mere beat before we moved back.

“Now the spin.” She guided my arm up and instructed me to act as if I were drawing a circle around her head while keeping my hand as flat as possible so she could twist around and our fingers wouldn’t tangle. The first attempt was rough and she laughed through the off-kilter turn. The second was flawless, but it was her talent alone that had her twirling in a blur of silver and white.

We completed the steps again. It was a good thing the music repeated as it allowed me to practice where my feet landed and how much room to give her as she spun.

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