Tales from the Village
Keyalie- the Firedancer
v1n2 © 1998 Elaine Isaak

"Far away from here, yet very near," he began, "lived an old couple who had among their ten children, seven daughters. The youngest of these daughters had been born beneath a Dancer’s Moon, and raised to be a Fire Dancer. On high feast days, she learned to leap the flames, and tend the fires on the hill in praise of the spirits in the stars. She learned all of this to the honor of her family, and the pride of her village, but she had no love for the fire. This daughter was a vain creature, she wept when her tail was singed, and always insisted that the feathers upon her head be the tallest. The other dancers shook their heads at this, but the girl had been born beneath a Dancer’s Moon, and so she would be a Dancer.

"The Dancers noticed, too, that this girl’s eldest sister, Keyalie, always walked her to her lessons, and to the fires on the hills to be sure the girl did not shirk her duties. And Keyalie was as reverent as her sister was vain. Keyalie watched every leap and turn, and gathered up the smallest of the feathers, which no dancer would wear. Late at night, when her work weaving nets was done, she would go to a distant fire with those small feathers upon her brow, and she would dance with the fire. She sprang lightly over it, turning in the air, and tossing her tail as if to tease the flames, for they would never catch her. But Keyalie had not been born with the Dancer’s Moon, and her love for the sacred fire was commendable, her parents thought, but not great enough to overcome the misfortune of her moonless birth. Surely the spirits would be angered if such a one became a dancer! And so she would sneak home again before dawn, so that none knew she had been dancing.

One night, she came in tired, yet full of joy that she had danced well, even though she and the spirits alone knew it. She lay down in the furs she shared with her youngest sister, for, like a true Fire Dancer, Keyalie kept herself apart from men. Her sister woke up at a tiny tickle, and found that Keyalie still wore her feathers, and guessed what she had done. She confronted her, saying that she would reveal her secret. Keyalie knew if this happened, her parents would be ashamed of her, and begged that the secret be kept.

‘Well,’ said her sister, ‘I will not tell if you do one thing for me.’

‘Of course. What must I do?’

.Three days from now, the Sky-Watchers have foreseen that a shadow will pass over the moon. We must dance the great fire to dispel the shadow. You will come with me, and I shall tell you what to do.’

Keyalie agreed, although she feared what her sister might demand. On that night, she stood by the girl waiting for the ceremonies to begin when they heard a whisper from the bushes. A young man came out, and the girl immediately went to him, much to Keyalie’s shock. ‘What are you doing? Tonight, of all nights, you cannot be with a man!’

The girl only laughed, and took off her feathers, handing them to her startled sister. ‘But I am not dancing tonight, you are!’

‘The whole village will be there!’

‘Yes, but with the moon in shadow, and only fire to see you by, they’ll never know. Just be sure to leave before the shadow fades.’ Then, before Keyalie could stop her, the girl ran off into the woods with her young man.

Grimly, Keyalie bound the feathers on her head, and stepped up to take her sister’s place at the fireside. Deep voices chanted for the spirits to release the moon, and the Great Drum rolled its voice into the darkness. Terror held her, but Keyalie knew she must dance, or both of them would be revealed, so she walked to the long fire where the other dancers waited. A round edge of darkness swallowed up the moon, and she leapt over the fire. The warmth of the fire filled her mind, and she danced, twirling in the smoke as no other had ever done. Sparks danced in the air with her, as if the spirits in the stars had come down to bless her, and she became as one of them. Slowly, the shadow crept back from the moon so that the light turned silver, but the fire burned within Keyalie’s heart, and she did not notice until the chanting fell silent, and the drum’s roll ceased.

The other dancers, caring for the singed tails and aching feet stared at her. The entire village gathered there sat motionless, and her parents held their breath to see what the elders would do. Grynha, the chief elder, rose with his cane of bone, and scowled as he often did. ‘Since my great grandmother’s day, no one has dared to dance the fire who was not born with the Dancer’s Moon,’ he growled.

He looked her up and down, but Keyalie did not tremble, for she had felt the spirit dance within her, and knew that she had served them well.

Grynha thumped his cane upon the ground and continued, ‘Since my great grandmother’s day, no one has danced the fire so well. Whatever moon it was that shone upon your birth, Keyalie, you are a Dancer.’