The Favourite by Almiria Wilhelm

The Favourite

by Almiria Wilhelm

They say a good teacher has no favourites, but that is not true. Look at my students. Do you see how happy they are? I love them all. They are my garden and I their gardener, equally watering and nourishing those that will grow large and beautiful and those that will remain insignificant. Or almost equally. A good teacher shows no preference, but in her heart every teacher has a favourite, one that is dearer to her than the others—or maybe I am not a good teacher. I don't know. I only know that my girls are happy, they flourish and thrive, and they have grown used to the situation with Annika.

There is only one thing that I am not easy about in my mind. I have never singled out any student for special attention. Never have I given any one child all my attention, until Annika came along. I have never seen anyone like her. I do not need to teach her to live and breathe dance. She does this already. She radiates it. She never moves but she dances. Must I leave this jewel unpolished, because it will shine brighter than the others? Must I refrain from exerting myself on the hard surface of the diamond so that the emeralds will not feel envy? So, I teach Annika privately. She alone commands my full attention for a period every day.

At first it was difficult. Parents complained. Some of my students lost heart and quit. Others, with wealthy parents, cried themselves into being sent away, to a teacher nearer the Cultural Centre. Doubtless their parents’ money would buy them anything they wanted until they were done with their training.

But we weathered the storms, Annika and I. She clung to the dance, not caring for friends. I tried to remain, in all other ways, impartial in my treatment of my students, loving and tending them as before, and at last the outrage subsided. Annika became a fact.

* * *

I was in the middle of Annika's lesson when Janni came running in.

"Lady Teacher, the Cultural Centre is coming to inspect! It's the Blue Council Teacher and she's looking mad!"

No one is allowed to disturb me while I teach Annika, but Janni was so full of the idea that she brought me vital news—perhaps she thought my private attention to Annika would enrage the Council Teacher—that I let it go. A moment later the self-important woman from our Capitol found me, settling in my studio with a heavy silence that I could almost taste. It weighed on me, but not on Annika. She shone. She glowed. She danced with an inner fire that would have kindled a response in anyone but the severe official in the blue teachers’ wraps. When her lesson was done, I let Annika go and braced myself for the usual argument on method and ethics, the Code of the Cultural Centre, and accepted teaching practices. I know them well, these practices. I spent ten years training at the Cultural Centre, where they do their best to indoctrinate young teachers. But I saw things differently from the Council. I saw their greed. I saw them give attention and privileges to those with means. With money, you can buy yourself into almost any school, buy yourself almost any prize. Almost.

You see, I know that once my students leave me, if they wish to pursue this sublime and punishing art, the highest judges will not care for anything but their ability. And because I live far out, where they have little influence or control, the teachers from the Cultural Centre grumble, then go away and leave me to my methods.

But this time the teacher said nothing about my methods. She wanted to take Annika away with her.

"She needs to train in the Cultural Centre," the woman said. "She shows ability, but she will stifle here in the Slowlands."

I bristled with anger.

"What does she lack here?" I flamed. "In what respect is she behind other children her age in the Cultural Centre? You will take her there and put her three classes back, because of her youth! You will stifle her progress with rules and crush her spirit with boredom!"

"You are spoiling her by singling her out," the teacher insisted. "You are breeding in her a sense that she is unique, and you know that is not true. In the Cultural Centre we get the best talent from all our provinces and competition is intense. You yourself have expounded this to me in defence of the unorthodox methods of your training. Now I see that you have gone back on your own philosophy and are raising one child above the rest."

"You must see that she is not a common talent, that she is worthy of this raising. Stay an hour, and you will see her in my advanced class. It is challenging to the others, but to her it is a game. She needs so much more than the others."

"Therefore do I say that she must come to the Cultural Centre! She is becoming complacent here. She has no competition, nothing to strive for, since she is the best. I will speak to her parents."

When she said that, I knew I had won. Had she threatened me with the Board of Ethics I might have been concerned, but clearly I had not overstepped the rules so far. Where the re-schooling of a student is concerned, the highest authority are the parents and, sad to say, their money. Lacking parents, the authority to consent to and finance a re-schooling falls on the teacher. Annika had parents, somewhere, but she had come to me in the company of a dirty woman who was merely passing this way, bringing nothing but a change of clothes, her dance shoes and a begging letter:

Beloved as she be to us, we may not stop her destiny with our loving wish of closeness. We have no money but beg your helping. Give Annika her future. We bless and say no further.

Annika herself spoke so gratingly when she arrived on my doorstep, and I was reluctant to take the uneducated, plump little girl into my studio. That changed when I first saw her dance, of course, but the crux of the matter was that she had no contact with her parents and no support from them. All of that came from me, and placed me in a strong position to determine her future. And of course I would not let my Annika go. With this the Cultural Centre would have to make peace.

* * *

One thing that the Council Teacher said has been on my mind. Annika needs to be extended. I do not believe that she is complacent, but she has nothing to measure herself against. As little as I like to admit any truth in what the Council dictates, Annika needs competition. Therefore I have done the unheard-of. I have taken another student into Annika's class.

Raykesh is a charity student. I saw her dance in the marketplace during the Appeasement Rites one day. Her parents said they didn't have the money to send her to me for lessons. She is small and dark, serious even when she dances, but she has great facility of movement. Oh, nothing like Annika, nothing at all like my Annika! Where is the spirit? The glowing inner joy of movement? Where is the warmth that flows from her to the viewer? No, Raykesh cannot touch Annika's spirit. But Annika doesn't know this. Annika cannot see her own spirit. And Raykesh is good. She will serve the purpose.

Once again, I upset the peace of my studio. Annika, by now, is an accepted fact, a unique circumstance as incomprehensible and unquestioned as the sun. But Raykesh is just a common girl, one of them. Her parents and her parents' parents grew up here. Not one of them has ever distinguished themselves, except perhaps the crazy, occult-loving great-aunt. Again, parents came to complain, to withdraw their precious and undervalued daughters. One of my resident students, who paid well for her board and tuition and somehow came to believe that she was next in my affections after Annika, merely because her parents’ money bought her my best room, left in a storm of tears. I gave her room to Annika. I no longer care about the money.

Raykesh is elated. She has even begun to glow a little, in her dusky way. She is begging her parents to let her move in with me, and live with me as Annika does. I have offered her Annika's old room, but her parents are proud. They will not accept more charity than absolutely necessary. Annika, on the other hand, is in a daze. I see I did the right thing. The idea of competition, of struggling to be the best, has never entered her consciousness until now. She is pushing, trying to extend her own ability and put distance between herself and Raykesh. Her new room, and my offer of her old one to Raykesh, seems to console her. She reads it as a sign that she is still first. Raykesh is her shadow, but like a shadow, a little too close behind for comfort.

* * *

There is a mansion near here which, standing untenanted for years, has become decrepit and fertile ground for rumour. Ghosts dancing in its empty halls, witches using its high roofs and chimneys for obstacle courses and other such nonsense has sprouted from the ignorant and imaginative minds of the uneducated. This mansion was recently visited by members of the Cultural Centre Council. The mansion was once home to the legendary Ayalein, a dancer and society queen who made her home the hub of cultural activity in what is otherwise known as the Slowlands. The Council intends to clean it up and open it as a museum. So the Council Teacher tells me.

"I don't know who will go," I said to her, "The neighbourhood has lost its pride in their local muse. Superstitions and ghosts inhabit the minds of these people, and they have given them Ayalein's house to live in."

"The Council will change that. I have heard that in some cases it has been alleged that Ayalein herself haunts her old home. Such blasphemy spoken of a Council Dancer must stop," said the Orange Council Teacher, who had once been the Blue Council Teacher. "The Council wishes to elevate artistic consciousness in the Slowlands."

This is the pompous way Council Members always speak.

I believe there is a more sinister aspect to this sudden interest the Centre takes in a ruined house. It is a move to extend their influence over the remote regions. I wonder whether my refusal to let Annika go has had anything to do with this? The Orange Teacher did not inquire about her this time.

However we shall visit it, my girls and I. I need to give them a broader education. Sometimes I do feel my isolation here in the Slowlands. Of course, it is only on Annika's account. The others will never amount to much. They are the common flowers, easy enough to grow, and pleasing to have around, but Annika is my orchid. I must nurture her with all the means I have and all the ability I possess. I am giving her more of my time now, and by default Raykesh reaps benefit too. She is determined, she works hard. She exerts herself for my approval. But she will never match Annika.

* * *

My proposed visit to the Ayalein Cultural House, as the Council has named it, has not been well received. One of my students has been prohibited from joining us by her vulgar grandmother. Neither her tears nor my rational explanations could move the superstitious old woman. In fact, a few parents came to disapprove of my scheme, but the force of my reasoning and the Council's seal of approval on the infamous building prevailed over their confused minds. I promised to pay all the tributes as well, though I am not in a good position to do so. Since I took Raykesh into Annika's classes I have lost too many paying students. I would charge her parents something for her tuition, but I know that they would immediately remove her. I cannot afford that to happen. She spurs Annika on.

* * *

I have never seen Annika like this before. She is wild with excitement. For once she did not concentrate in class, and Raykesh out-danced her. I said as much, and my darling is looking faintly crumpled, while Raykesh is showing a faint, dusky glow that she only gets when she is intensely moved. But Annika will not stay subdued for long. She is like a caged animal that smells freedom. I don't understand it. Or maybe I do. It confirms my belief that she needs more stimulation. It unsettles me a little. I did not realize that there is so much desire bottled up inside her. She always looked so content. At least she is firing up the enthusiasm of the others. It looks like I won't be dragging a group of reluctants around a musty old building after all.  

* * *

This morning I was pulled out of my sleep earlier than I wanted by a very unpleasant incident. Raykesh's mother pounded me out of bed, banging on my door at an unreasonably early hour, demanding her daughter back. A few months ago Raykesh had, by dint of tears and pleading, received her parents’ permission to take up residence at my school after all. Now here was the crazy mother, insisting I give her daughter back, as if I had ever stolen her! I was intensely offended, especially considering all I have done for Raykesh, without putting any strain on her parents' resources. The woman was crazy, shouting at me, "I will not let my girl go to that witch's place! You will dance her to death there, dance her to death! Wicked woman, you took advantage of us and our poverty!"

From her irrational outpourings I gathered that she was referring to my intended outing to the mansion. I told her that none of my students were obliged to come and that she was perfectly free to take her daughter away with her. This seemed to awake her to some degree of reality.

"I am sorry, Lady Teacher, I did not mean to be rude. It is just that I dream so badly sometimes. I dreamt that my Raykesh was trapped forever in that evil place. I dreamt that you left her there."

"When have I ever failed in my care and attention to any of my students, and yours in particular?" I asked the confused woman, and she duly apologized, but nevertheless, she insisted on waking Raykesh and taking the protesting girl home with her. I was sorry and annoyed, but as long as Annika remains part of this, my purpose will be accomplished.

* * *

Why did I not hear the warnings? Had I but given in to the pressure of the parents! Had I taken fright at the irrational dreams of Raykesh's mother! Had I at least recognized something strange in Annika's excitement and left her at home!

We did the journey on foot. The weather was gentle and my girls are strong and fit. The energetic walk excited them and we arrived at the old house with the irreverent sound of children’s voices turned to full volume. Once there, I saw I had been misinformed. The money I had brought for the tribute was not required. There was no curator at the entrance to take it. Clearly the mansion had not been formally opened yet. The door, however, was unlatched and my magpies and starlings swarmed in without permission. The place looked spruce and clean, well lit by the sunlight flowing through the windows. I saw no reason not to continue. I was foolish. I am not in tune with the native soil, but everywhere I was reassured by the signs of the Centre's work—modern railings to guard against dangerous spots on the staircase, glass cases for the precious objects and soft ropes keeping the children from approaching the paintings and antique furniture too closely, from touching and spoiling it with their curious fingers. I tried to keep Annika by me, but she was too excited to keep to my pace. My eyes followed her as she danced through the corridors ahead of the others, always flying on before they caught up with her. My heart soared at the sight of the hall filled with the portraits of the legendary dancer in her various celebrated roles, and for once I blessed the Centre for opening up its closed fist and releasing these timeless images of greatness, restoring them to their original home and into my reach, and that of my precious protégé.

The first sign of unease came from Janni. For once ahead of Annika, she came rushing back, always the eager bearer of news, with a wild story of music in the distance. I could not understand why music should seem so distressing to her. I could hear nothing. Maybe her child's hearing was sharper than mine. Maybe the children were making too much noise. I called Annika, who had been right behind Janni.

"What music is this, Annika, that you and Janni are hearing?"

Annika looked at me with her open, glowing face and said,

"What music?"

Janni turned on her in outrage: "Annika, you know, the music! You heard it first!"

"I was pretending," Annika retorted.

Foolishly, I left them to their little argument. Later, through the babble of children's voices, I, too, heard music. Because I could not listen to it in silence, because I had noise and distance between myself and the music, it sounded strange and distorted to me, like a popular song played first too fast, then too slow. I tried to hush them, but they would not hear, Annika least of all. Janni trailed near me. The others would not listen.

Vague forebodings started to gnaw my insides. I tried to ignore them. They were foolish. The neighbourhood was not so deserted that there could not be a band of traveling players about. But once through the heavy door at the far end of the Portrait Hall, it was clear that the music came from within the house, in fact from directly ahead of us, where the staircase turned into a smooth downward sloping passage which eventually bent sharply to the right, prevented me from seeing the end of it. I felt my panic rising like gall. I screamed to Annika, who was hurtling down the passage, followed by the rest of my students. At that moment I believed I was afraid that she would hurt herself in her wild scamper towards the music. I had managed, in those seconds, to form an image of a concert happening in the museum, with the curator and all the visitors I had missed seeing attending it. I convinced myself that it was fear for Annika's limbs that was making me scream, but I must admit, now, that I was really afraid of those otherworldly sounds.

"Run, Janni, and tell Annika to stop! Tell her to wait for me!" I said.

"Lady Teacher, I am too afraid!"

"Run at once! Run!"

Janni ran, fast, faster towards the bend in the passage that Annika was approaching. Strangely the safety of Janni's limbs did not concern me. She ran faster than Annika, steadily catching up to her, but then Annika and Janni disappeared around the bend.

"Annika! Annika stop!" I screamed, running too.

The end of the passage was still hidden from my sight, but the sound of music and crowds doubled in volume. The heavy doors must have opened suddenly, and I rounded the bend just in time to see my charges pouring into that room full of wild, sweet, dangerous music.

My youth was spent at the Cultural Centre. By the time I returned to teach my art in my homeland, I had lost all fear of the supernatural. Superstition equalled ignorance. I was not ignorant. I differed from the Council. I disliked their Code. But I had learnt to be rational. Now how I regretted it! As I entered that whirling room, my eyes searching for Annika, I saw the pipers of the old wives tales, the wild-eyed dancers of superstition, the Other People. They were green-eyed, long-fingered, with tapering noses and chins and hair that floated, curled and snagged of its own accord, like snakes on a hundred Medusa heads. Here I saw one of my students, and there, appearing and disappearing as the chain-dances wove around the hall.  Wild with fear for Annika, I pushed through to where I saw my girls, hoping to find them all near. But when I got there only green-eyed Other children crowded around me, grinning and grabbing my skirts.

"Where is my girl? Where did she go?" I demanded, and they answered me, but only to say a hundred different things.

"Which one?"

"Are not they all yours?"

"Why do you have so many? Can't we keep a few?"

"We like them more than you."

I brushed the repulsive things off me and started again in pursuit of Annika. I found Janni and grabbed her wrist, dragging her along. She was crying, though whether for fear or from disappointment at having been separated from the snake-haired children I found her with, I did not know. I ran aground against a tall Other man with oak leaves growing among his hair.

"Where is she?" I asked him, too frantic to think that he might not know who I meant, but it didn't matter. He ignored me. Only the children responded to me, followed me around, grabbing at me and hindering my progress. I was losing my hold Janni's sweaty hand, and I knew that if I lost her in this crowd, I would not find her again. I realized that even if I held Annika by the hand, I would not know how to bring her to safety. Therefore I stopped looking for my lost darling for a moment, to search for an exit, a loophole to escape by.

The room was strangely configured, neither rectangular nor oval, but a little of each - rectangular where the heavy door lay through which we had blundered to our misfortune, and oval on the opposite side, with heavy, vine covered arches opening to the outdoors. There I saw the vague figures of three of my students, soaked with rain and tears, but too afraid to re-renter the treacherous hall. I grabbed Janni firmly by the wrist and dragged her through the crowds to the archway where the others huddled. I pushed her through.

"Stay where you are!" I shouted over the sound of the wind and plunged back into the crowd. A woman with cat-whiskers swiped a claw at me as I pushed her aside, but she missed. I found a few more of mine, ordered them out. They were dancing with freakish Other children, but at my shout they burst into tears and ran. The Others called after them.

"Stay, stay and be our pets, we like you, you are different"

"Why do you make water come from your eyes?"

"Come back, funny ones!"

But my girls ran.

Where was Annika? Coherence had left my mind. I saw everything in flashes, eyes with moth-feathered eyebrows waving above them, teeth studded with gems, colours I had no name for and smells I could hardly comprehend. Over, under and through it all ran the music, so strangely distorted to my ears, but exciting the Others to never-ending chain dances.

I saw her at last! She was whirling in a chain-dance with Others that looked just like her, all with nutty brown hair that glinted gold in the weird-lights, all full and creamy, radiant and absorbed in their dancing. But I knew her, they could not hide her from me in a crowd of clones. No-one dances like my Annika, not even the Others. I struggled towards her, calling her name,

"Annika, Annika, I am here!"

She heard me, she smiled and continued dancing.

"Annika, come!" I commanded, "You must come with me!"

She shook her head and the circle moved on. I tried to follow, but the crowd surged against me.

"Annika, my Annika, come to me! If you stay here you will not be able to dance anymore!"

"She is dancing, is dancing, is dancing," the Other children sang at me.

I saw her again...the circle was returning to me, Annika was nearing...I grabbed her as she passed, with both arms and all my strength.

Annika screamed.

The music stopped and silence rushed in my ears like the wail of a siren. All movement in the hall stopped. Annika stared at me as though I were a frightening Other. I stood in a vortex of silence and observation until a woman on Annika's right moved and drew my eyes to her. She was slender and dark, with the fierce green eyes of all the Others. As she turned them on me, she became the first adult Other that truly regarded me, that looked into me with her mystical eyes and sent my consciousness reeling. But I did not lose control of myself. I clung to Annika.

The Other woman opened her mouth and made fluting sounds, like bird calls, then she switched to the language I understood, though the words came out stretched and distorted.

"She cannot go back," the woman said.

I wanted to scream at her, to blast her with my powerful teacher's voice, but my vocal chords failed me.

"She is mine, she will come back with me!" I tried to say, "You cannot have her. You have no claim."

But only a panicky hissing sound came out.

I think she understood me anyway.

"We wish her closeness" she said pitilessly, "You cannot command her will or our right."

"You have no right! I spent my life on her, her future is mine, not yours!" I insisted, finding some wheezing breath in me with which to speak aloud.

Annika, who had lain still in my arms, struggled with sudden violence and, catching me off guard, slipped out of my grasp.

"Annika! Come to me!" I cried, "You love me, I am your teacher, I will make you great!"

"She will not go back," the woman insisted, "she has come to us."

"I do not believe you!" I snapped, staring at Annika, my protégé and darling, who seemed suddenly not to care at all about me anymore. What had these witches done to her? She did not look changed, but no fear or distress marked her. She smiled serenely and shook her head at my reaching hands.

"She is ours. We are tired of you. Go!" said the witch-woman, and the crowd surged around me as the music resumed, driving me before it until I found myself in wind and rain, with my soaking wet students clinging to me. A milky haze in the archways hid the dancers from my sight and I could not push back inside.

* * *

A Council Teacher came to my sick-bed today. I asked about the Museum. He said it was formally opened yesterday. He said no-one has visited it before that time.

"It would be an impossibility, my dear Lady Teacher! All the doors were locked!"

"What about the Arched Hall? Surely someone could enter through that?" I insisted.

"Not at all, my lady, the Arched Hall, though lovely, was not restored by the Council and the door leading to it is blocked up. You could certainly explore it from the outside however. I believe that is what you and your students were doing when you were caught in that unfortunate storm?"

"We were indoors," I whispered feverishly. "We saw the paintings."

"Ah, the famous paintings! No doubt you remember them from your visit to the Galleries in the Cultural Centre. You must really not teach yet, Lady Teacher, it would be very unwise. Rest is what the Council most emphatically prescribes for you."

I said nothing. The pompous idiot took my silence as agreement and left. It is a month since I lost my Annika. I believe her loss has greatly hindered my recovery. I must start teaching again soon. I must earn my living, but I have no heart for it. I also don't know how many students I have left.

* * *

It seems that all my students except Annika found their way out of that spellbound hall. I recall very little of the journey home. Certainly I did not have the presence of mind to count my charges. Early darkness and that supernatural storm followed us home, and I am told that each one of us took ill. Some of the children babbled wild things in their delirium, but now that they are all more or less well and rational, they seem to accept what the Council says, namely that we found the Museum locked, explored the ruins of the Arched Hall and were overtaken by an unseasonable storm. Annika's absence has gone almost unremarked. Raykesh's great-aunt, the occult-loving Karol, says that a ragged man and a dirty woman arrived in town the same night that we returned, soaked and hysterical, from the Ayalein Mansion. It is generally accepted that these were Annika's parents, come to take her home again. No-one else recalls them, but then there was enough panic, what with all the children being ill, for a couple of stragglers in the Slowlands to go unremarked. I do not contradict them.

* * *

Raykesh came to see me today. She wants to know when her lessons will resume. I told her I can no longer afford to teach for nothing.

I must teach again, but I have no appetite for it. My thoughts torture me. I think of ways to save Annika. And then other ideas intrude. I wonder why she was so feverish to see the old house. I wonder whether she lied to me about the music. I wonder where she came from...

I searched for the letter she brought, but I can't find it.

* * *

Raykesh is back. She brought money. Her great-aunt Karol has agreed to pay for her tuition. So now I have resumed teaching. Raykesh has moved back into her old room. She wanted Annika's, but I am keeping that the way it is. Annika may escape and return to me—I may be able to get her back—how? I think Raykesh's great-aunt knows something of the occult.

* * *

They think I am crazy. I, who was always so rational, now spend hours drinking tea and learning the secrets of the Otherworld from Karol. Why would Annika not speak to me? Why did she laugh in my face and ignore my distress? How could she forget her future in a moment? These are the questions that preoccupy me. I would spend all my time on it, trying to find a crack into their world, but I cannot live without money. It is hard to keep my life together. Many of my students didn't come back after their illness.

"You were irresponsible," the parents told me. "You did not heed our warnings. It may be that our fears take the shape of superstition, but these fears guard us, guide us, and we warned you. Our children became ill. It is a miracle that they all survived!"

Others came back, but not for long.

"The Lady Teacher has been touched by madness," I heard them say. Yes, by the madness of despair, and loss, and my crushed hopes. So they took their children and their money away from me. Raykesh is almost the last one. Her great-aunt pays me well to give her private tuition, and she will only speak to me about the Otherworld once she is satisfied that Raykesh has received the best teaching I am able to give. Then, then I can immerse myself in the hidden side of this dreary world, to try and find my lost dreams again.

* * *

Why can't I find the letter? It nags and pulls on the edges of my memory. The Other woman used a strange phrase: “we wish her closeness". That is not how we speak, here in the Slowlands, and certainly not in the Centre, yet I have heard this curious expression before. It was in the letter Annika brought. Why can't I find it?

Karol does not think this is significant. She thinks my memory is playing tricks, because I am grasping at straws.

"The Other language sounds to our ear like notes, much like birdsong. The meaning lies in the pitch and length of the sound."

She says I was able to understand the children easily because they can take on properties from the world around them. Most they discard again. A few they keep, like oak hair, or cat's whiskers...

"The woman is an adult and for her it is more difficult to morph. She took what she could of your language from you, though she could not make it sound quite right. So that phrase you think is so significant, she picked from your mind."

But I do not use that phrase. I have not thought of it since I read it in Annika's letter. Karol says I misremember. Nevertheless, she has promised to skry the letter for me.

* * *

Where did Time go? It has left me, like Annika did. The Appeasement Rites have come around again, as they do every few years. The last time, I was in bed, ill and grieving for Annika.

Raykesh came to me today to say that she has been chosen to lead the Rites, and would I please help her prepare for them?

I said no.

I said she should have asked my permission before entering the Rite Selection.

Truthfully, I did not realize that so much time has passed since I lost Annika.

* * *

Karol refuses to help me any further unless I prepare Raykesh for the Rites. I said that would be no loss. Karol has brought me no closer to Annika. She did not even find the letter. She says it must have been destroyed.

It will be hard to carry on without her money, but I have a few little girls who come for posture and deportment classes. I will get by.

* * *

Well, she got around me. There she is, "Queen of the Rites", leading the Appeasement Dances. Karol says that the Rites are held to entertain the Otherworld creatures, to hold their attention and keep their minds free of boredom and mischief until the Gap between our worlds closes again. This is why they stole my Annika. Because the Gap was open.

Maybe now I can find a crack. Karol assures me that this is the best time. Tonight I will return to the Mansion. I will put herb pouches in my pockets and nettles in my shoes. I will drop truewort oil in my eyes and drink vinegar before I enter the hall. Then they will neither be able to harm me nor flee from me...

My thoughts keep being interrupted by the Rites, by the applause. I think it may be for Raykesh. Several people have come to congratulate me. I may have more students soon.

* * *

Karol lied to me, and now she is dead. The Mansion was empty. The night was still and harmless. I called Annika until my throat was hoarse. I searched the hills until my feet bled. I found nothing, but eventually the searchers found me. Karol sent them out when I did not return the next morning. By the time they brought me back, the old woman was dead. I cannot ask her why there was no-one there. I cannot accuse her of lying. I cannot find out the truth.

In her will she has left me a generous allowance, as long as I continue teaching Raykesh. So I must. My reputation has not been improved by my disappearance. I did not get any new students from the Rites after all.

* * *

The Council Teacher is back again - the one that came to visit me oftenest in the past. I have not seen a Council Teacher in years, not since most of my students left me. When I first started going to Raykesh's great-aunt, and gossip went around about it, I thought that the Council would try to stop me, or penalize me in some way, but I suppose the Cultural Centre sees no harm in a crazy teacher if she has no students.

My reaction to the Council Teacher's visits shocked me. I greeted her like an old friend. I was close to tears. With her, a part of my old self came back.

"Lady Teacher," she greeted me, "how goes life with you?"

"With pain and difficulty," I said.

"As it does with us all," she responded.

"Life has dealt me harder blows than most," I insisted, "but I am glad to see you, come inside. My means are limited, but I can offer you some refreshment."

To my surprise, she came. Never before has a Council Teacher—and she is now an Indigo Council Teacher—done any more than finish their business and leave the Slowlands behind them as soon as possible. But then again, I have never invited one into my house before. So we all change.

"Your illness, indeed, was a hard blow. I believe you gave up teaching entirely?"

"Not by choice, but my judgement was questioned. As indeed it might be—" The teacher wanted to interrupt, maybe to contradict me. "But I have a few students, a few village girls that want to learn how to curtsey gracefully. And one more serious student."

"Ah? I was not aware of that. The Council believed you had stopped teaching entirely. Is this your protégé that we had our disagreement about years ago? She should be of graduation age now. You clung to her for dear life, I remember."

"Annika was my life," I said, snappishly, and the Council Teacher looked at me in surprise, "but she also left. However, if you wish to observe this girl in class, I would be grateful. She has been bothering me with graduation questions these past months."

So the Indigo Teacher watched Raykesh's class. For more than an hour her now-serene presence hushed my voice as I taught. It has become such a routine for me that I feel as if I am teaching in my sleep, but the Council Teacher’s presence brought something of my old awareness back, and Raykesh surprised me. She danced well. She is older than I had remembered. No wonder she wants to graduate. It is high time for her - almost too late.

After class, Raykesh looked expectantly at the Council Teacher, but she said nothing. She nodded to Raykesh and left the room ahead of me. Outside, she turned with a suddenness that startled me.

"I thought, all those years ago, that Annika was the most talented child I had ever seen, but here you have another student, far superior to her. Such artistry, such refinement has not been seen in the Cultural Centre since, oh, I cannot even say since when. Maybe never. When do you plan to let her graduate? Soon, surely, she is mature..." she stared at me and my silence for a few minutes. "She is graduating soon, surely?"

I was startled into speechlessness. I stammered and stuttered, but I think the Council Teacher understood that my thoughts were far from Raykesh's Graduation. Clearly she believes that my illness has damaged my mind in some way. She has promised to arrange Raykesh's Graduation.

* * *

I have come alive again, in a way. Raykesh is graduating in one month, and I must prepare her First Performance.

The Indigo Council Teacher has arranged her appearance in the Cultural Celebration. This is almost unheard of. The winner of the Cultural Celebration will become a Council Dancer, and places in the Celebration are hard to obtain, certainly impossible for unknown Graduates. But I suppose she has influence, as an Indigo Teacher. She seems to think that Raykesh will win. I agree with her. Now that I look at her properly, I see that Raykesh is sensational. Her limbs are like branches bowing in the wind. Her presence exudes a dark mystery, like a pool of near-motionless water. Her appearance transforms with her subtle moods and her eyes—after the Council Teacher's visit woke me from my semi-stupor, I realised that those eyes remind me of someone. Raykesh has the olive-coloured weird-eyes of the Other woman that took Annika from me.

* * *

Raykesh is ready. Her costume is complete—we nearly sewed her into it. What did I choose as the theme for her Graduation Dance? Was there any question in my mind about it? No—as soon as I saw those eyes, I knew. She is a Wood Woman of the Otherworld. (I know their names now.) She has oak leaves in her dark hair, twining around her face. Her limbs are like growing things, her nails are long and green. We built up her ears - now they are pointed. She is nervous, I know. In fact, she is terrified. I did not know she wanted to become a dancer so badly. I missed a lot, after Annika disappeared. She asked something strange, just before I left her to await her appearance. She said, "Why do you never call me 'my Raykesh'?"

"I never use such familiarities with my students," I said. Her green eyes stared at me for a moment, then she dropped them and I, released from their spell, hurried to my seat in the auditorium, beside the Indigo Teacher—what honour has been heaped upon me.

It is long, long since I watched a Cultural Celebration, but I realised soon that none of the others had a chance against Raykesh. But oh Annika, this was meant to be your debut. None of them can touch you—no, not Raykesh—she is your shadow. Annika, come back and show us how the sun dances.

* * *

I think I lost consciousness. The last thing I remember is the collective indrawing breath of the audience as Raykesh lifts her head from her crouching position and fixes us all with the eyes of the Otherworld. The eyes that stole Annika.

Give her back, Raykesh. Why did you take her from me?

Why did you steal her place? Why, why...

The End