Dragonfly Song Read Online Free PDF

the Bull King’s men slept, and hauled buckets from the well for scrubbing tables. But she hasn’t even started. She’s back in her nook against the wall, watching the Lady call the sun to rise.
    Everyone on the island seems to be there: townsfolk packed tight in the square, children in front, toddlers on shoulders; fishers, herders and farmers crowded outside the gate, where Fox Lady left Aissa so long ago. Maybe she’s there now; Aissa doesn’t know. And tells herself she doesn’t care.
    Even the Bull King’s men, watchful as wolves, shiver when they hear the Lady’s strange, high notes and see the snake coiling up to her neck. Gold streaks appear in the sky behind the mountain, blinding the watchers. The singing Lady, the sanctuary and the mountain behind it, all disappear in the sun’s slanting rays.
    But the instant that the sun appears and the song stops, the captain strides impatiently to the gate.
    The olive oil, wine, grain, dried fish and cloth have been stored for weeks now, ready for this day. Now twelve goat kids are led in through the garden gate, bleating for their mothers.
    Goats can cry, but people can’t. The only chance of the bull god being merciful is to trick him into thinking that the island is happy to send tribute. When the two dancers come out from the Hall, their faces as white as their fresh new tunics, they’re greeted by a cheer of a thousand voices.
    Even Aissa opens her mouth, though no sound comes out.
    The Lady kisses the dancers’ foreheads. ‘Given freely,’ she chants, and the people echo.
    ‘Given with joy,
    to honour the gods.
    Accept our offering,
    given freely,
    sent with joy.’
    The gates swing open, and the two dancers fall in behind the captain to lead the long procession of bearers and tribute down the road. People throng around them, touching their arms, tossing flowers and gifts of dried figs or honey cakes for the voyage. The black cat weaves between their legs, his tail high.
    The ship’s warriors bring up the rear, their eyes darting anxiously and spears at the ready. The chief marches beside the captain, but the Lady stays at the sanctuary, because she’s wearing such tall shoes that she can’t walk.
    Aissa follows the crowd. They’re mostly so busy trying to trick the gods that they forget to spit at her.But she knows how fast the mood can change; she stops at the first bend, where she can look down at the cove.
    ‘So lucky to serve the gods!’ she hears, as she watches the sailors haul the tribute up onto their black-decked ship. The goat kids’ bleating carries over the noise of the crowd.
    The two youths are hoisted aboard. Aissa can see the fear on their faces from here.
    ‘What joy, to go across the sea!’
    Aissa doesn’t have to worry about lying to the gods. If they can hear her thoughts, they know that she’d trade places with the dancers in the blink of an eye.

3
    THE FIREFLIES OF REBIRTH
    Pretending to be happy only lasts while the ship is in sight. When not even the sharpest eye can see a smudge on the waves, the weeping begins.
    The last quarter of the late spring moon has always been the time of mourning – the farewell for all the souls who have died during the year. Now, if two families are crying for the new bull dancers, who are still alive, not even the gods need to know.
    Grieving is the only way to make sure that the dead don’t come back to haunt the living. They need a lot of tears, a lot of wailing, and the people they’ve left behind need it too. Families tear their hair and rip their clothes because that’s better than feeling as if their souls have been ripped from their bodies. The potter takes her pots, one by one, and smashes them in front of the sanctuary. Sharp shards litter the square and bare feet bleed, but the potter still can’t stop crying.
    Aissa thinks of the dead she knows: the bull dancers,the old gardener who just didn’t wake up one morning, the tanner’s little girl who fell into the pits with the