Spring, Day 12, 511AV
A quiet hush fell over the tavern as the dancer appeared, a dark veil covering her arms, nose, and lips. There were no announcements, no advertisements prior to that moment. She simply walked over the freshly swept floors with slow, deliberate grace, turning once she was at the center of the room to face the musicians.
Oriah was nervous. It was always risky, performing traditional Benshira dance outside of the deserts themselves, where musicians of her people were scarce if not impossible to find, and few knew what to expect or appreciate. But, for these very same reasons, the dancer felt a thrill of determination and pride. Every success, every performance followed through in such foreign lands was a feat on its own. She felt as though she was a traveling teacher in some ways, except instead of books, stories, or songs, she taught with the curves of her body, the patterns of her feet, and the swirling of her veil.
To bring greater understanding of her own culture while obtaining that of others--there were fewer things more noble in the Benshira's mind.
As luck would have it, that night at World's End Grotto, Yahal had seemingly brought together two of his followers to perform his will. Ramid had not even been playing when Oriah had caught sight of him, sitting by himself, his drum kept snugly in its case as it say by his sandaled feet.
When the girl slid from her seat and joined him at his table, introducing herself as Oriah, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Malech, the joy in Ramid's crystalline eyes mirrored her own. For a long time, they simply chatted in their native tongue, reveling in the immense pleasure of its familiarity.
And then, when she explained that she earned her bread and shelter through dancing, he got up without another word and went to speak with the trio musicians playing for the night at the tavern. A few chimes later, he was back, a warm smile on his weathered face. He told her that these musicians, who were his friends, would be honored if they could accompany her in a traditional dance. They knew a little of Benshira melodies, courtesy of their friendship with Ramid, and would have no trouble following her.
Gods above, how Oriah had nearly lost her composure right then and there. The next thing she knew, she was emerging from her temporary room with her dress and veil, the coins jingling faintly as she descended the stairs. Her outlandish garb had instantly attracted the attention of the other customers. The girl's heart was beating so fast she almost turned tail to run, but Ramid's encouraging smile reassured her.
As she glided past, the other musicians nodded to her in respectful acknowledgement. One was a woman on fiddle, another on the lute, and a third with a tambourine. And, last but not least, was Ramid, sitting on a wooden chair, his drum held comfortably between his left thigh and arm.
When they began to play, all of her fears and worries melted away. Her mind was transported thousands of miles back to the hot sands stretching infinitely in all directions, to nights of open fires and vibrant mashas.
The fiddler was drawing out long, luxurious on her lower strings, following Oriah's languid movements as she twisted the veil through the air, keeping most of her face and body hidden from view. The silky cloth moved like water as it rippled with her movements, allowing only a peek here and there of the dancer. Then she tossed it in a straight line and spun, guiding the veil into a quick spiral that wrapped around her entire form, round and round until it touched the floor. Oriah flicked it up and over her head one last time. Her fingers released the edge of the cloth and it fluttered away behind her to fall into a limp heap.
A moment of silence held as she kept perfectly still, her arms framing her face as she leaned backwards in a graceful arch.
And then the music burst to life with a fast paced drum solo. Ramid held nothing back as he displayed his incredible mastery of his instrument and Oriah followed suit. Every pop, every tek, every doum was met with a rhythmic lift of the chest, bump of the hips, and jerk of the shoulders. When the solo slowed, she slowed with it, her belly undulating, her head tilting up or to the side along with each accent of the beat.
As the drum solo neared its end, Ramid's hands pushing the beat faster and faster, she began to shimmy, the coins on her dress matching in rhythm to the tambourine. When the drummer then transitioned into a serious of impossibly flawless rolls, Oriah threw her body into a spinning blur, going faster and faster, her arms rising high above her head.
And then Ramid signaled the end with three final notes, and on the last she came to a dead stop, her finishing pose immaculate. The tavern burst into thunderous applause, most of the audience having never seen such a performance.
Oriah bowed, moving to the side and extending an arm to allow the fabulous musicians a chance to shine as well. Then the quartet struck up the melody once more for her final exit. She bounced back to her feet, throwing a few more moves for the cheering crowd, and picked up her veil as she danced on tip toe until she was completely out of the room.
In the dark of the stairway, Oriah let her back sink against the wall as she panted from exertion. She felt as though nothing could exceed that moment in happiness.
"Thank you," she offered up to the air.
