THE LORELEI SIGNAL
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Written by Sylvia Hiven / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti
Twirled to Pieces
































What would my life be like if Syona had been the firstborn twin instead of Lasya? Those five, small minutes
between the births of these sacred sisters… Did those minutes select my beloved for me when they saved
Syona from the dancer's burden and made her the anchor instead?

Did my heart even have a say in which one I loved, or did time choose for me?

Karesh resents that the more he thinks about these things, the less he understands. Providence, fate, and love…
Their mysteries always demand his attention like a band of child beggars tugging at his sleeve for coins.

The thoughts prod harder than usual now as the twins' ritual unfolds before him.

The afflicted boy lies in a bed in the center of the room. His eyes are bulging, and a moist moan rumbles in his throat.
Karesh has heard that sound many times before. The rakshasa, the demon they are here to collect, is prying the
boy's thoughts apart and soon it will drive its teeth into his heart. Karesh knows these things as the greed of the
demon makes them predictable. After all, what tastes sweeter to a rakshasa than the heartbeats of a child?

Nothing.

Except, perhaps, the heartbeats of a dancer.

Before the bed, the elder sister Lasya spins and twirls. Despite the intensity with which she moves, the only sound in
the room is the soft shuffling of her bare feet across the floor. Her hair flows about her face, occasionally caressing
the golden mask she wears.

The onlookers around the room marvel at the dancer. Her graceful movements fool most into thinking the dance is
effortless, but Lasya's eyes betray her; they scream the pain her lips refuse to release. Even from across the floor, the
writhing agony reaches Karesh through her mask.

He shudders, and looks at Syona instead. His Syona.

Her face is identical to Lasya's, yet so different. The beauty, which in Lasya's face was corrupted years ago, still
sparkles in Syona's. Her eyes are alive; her gaze is steadfast. She strokes her hand over the drum with unyielding
rhythm, guiding Lasya's movements with each thud. They are both a part of the ritual, but while Lasya always dances
with one foot in the realms of darkness, Syona is forever in the light.   

"Dance, sister," Syona murmurs as she pats the drum quicker, pushing speed into her twin's movements. "Pull the
shadow out."

Lasya obeys. She moves faster; her arms rise and fall. Her feet rage across the polished floorboards. The quickening
dance seems almost orgasmic, as if she is in the thralls of passion with an unseen lover; but when Lasya finally
collapses upon the floor, it is pain and not pleasure in which she thrashes. A broken moan escapes her. Then, she is
still.

Syona's drum falls silent, but Karesh's heart carries on a hard beat in its stead. He looks at the child. He can tell from
the boy's slowing breaths the demon has been exorcised. A hum of whispers rises from the onlookers.

None of us saw the darkness pulled out from the child, Karesh awes. By Vishnu, she dispels them swifter than the
eye can see.

Syona has already crossed the floor and kneels by the dancer. She removes the mask from her sister's face and
tosses it aside as if disgusted by it.

"Lasya, open your eyes," she insists. "The demon is gone."

Lasya's eyes flitter open. "The demon is never gone, Syona," she says with a faint, yet insightful, smile.

She speaks the truth. The demon is inside her now, joining the other creatures in her soul, where all of them together
will rip at her spirit until it is nothing but shreds.

Karesh pities Lasya for her pain but he knows that this is how it must be. He is grateful to be her keeper, to aid her
and to witness the sacred service she provides.

To his shame, however, he is mostly grateful for those five minutes.

~*~

On the way back to the dancer's villa, Syona sits next to Karesh on the wagon. The amber dusk does its best to
distract her, slashing the sky with wounds bleeding oranges and golds, but she will not be appeased. She is angry.

"Something is wrong," she says. "In the past fortnight we have performed five dances. It is too many, Karesh. The
demons are too active."

"Last moon, there were no requests for the dancer at all. I am sure it is just a coincidence."

"They have all been children. Is that a coincidence, too?"

Karesh hesitates for a fraction of a breath. "Perhaps."

Syona knows better than to be soothed--as he knew she would.  

"Not one victim has been a person of importance," she objects. "The rakshasa seek out lords and ladies; Rajas and
their queens; people of importance. Their goal is to reign bodies that in turn rule the world, not to fight over toys and
play trackball on the streets." Her face tightens. "There is just one reason why they would take a child. You know
what that is just as well as I do."

Indeed, Karesh does know. He has read the chronicles many times over. Fighting over a child is a wasted effort for
both the dark warriors and the champion of light. The heart's blood of a child may be sweet as syrup, and their souls
are indeed a treat to consume, but youngsters are powerless vessels. Furthermore, a possessed child is a nightmare
for the dancer. Nothing is more difficult than dispelling dark forces from a child, for there are many places to hide
within the young; many things can be clung to, twisted and broken if the dancer is reckless. So why would demons
infect children in households where men of stature are just as readily available...Unless their intent is to weary the
dancer?

"You think the demons are tiring her on purpose," Karesh says.

"Is it not obvious?" Syona replies. "They wear her down, and they won't let me recover her with the cleansing after
each dance. They are trying to kill her."

Karesh glances over his shoulder into the back of the wagon. There, still in her wrinkled saree, Lasya sleeps.

"Lasya will know," Karesh says. "The demons are a part of her now; they cannot hide from her. If they have an
agenda, she can see it. We will ask her when she wakes up."

Syona's eyes glisten. Karesh knows what she is going to say before she utters it.

"If she wakes up."

~*~

Lasya does awaken, but she looks partly dead already. She lies upon her bed, her cheek resting against the pillow.
The candlelight that ought to bounce and reflect in her eyes instead is trapped and extinguished in her matte gaze.

When Syona and Karesh approach her bedside with incense and crystals to perform the cleansing ritual, Lasya
shakes her head.

"Not tonight," she says.

Syona sinks down to her knees by the bed. "There are five demons in you," she says. "We have to banish them back
to their realm."

Syona reaches for the incense, but Lasya stays her sister's hand with a barely discernible smile. "Please, let me rest
first," she says.

Syona sighs. "There is no time," she says. "The bell can ring any time, Lasya. The demons..."

Her voice trails off into fear, but Lasya finishes the sentence with bluntness. "They are wearing me down," she says.
"They are preparing for something. I already know, sister. The last seven have all been disciple demons."

"Disciples..." The fateful, no-going-back-now word floats across Karesh's lips like a corpse drifting down a river.
Lasya nods. "Yes," she says. "They are all his rakshasa. Goren's. The foretelling from the chronicles is coming to
pass."

Syona drops her hands into her lap. "There is no ancient demon lord, waiting for the right moment to strike the
dancer line," she asserts, her calm demeanor replaced with thundering eyes. "It is just a foolish myth!"

Karesh knows why Syona won't acknowledge the truth. The story of Goren is just one among many myths listed in
the dancer's chronicles, but it is one of the most feared. The prophecy promises fiery damnation to the cowardly
dancer who will not fight him, and glorious but painful death to the brave one who does.

"We are not ready," Karesh breathes. "We do not even have an apprentice yet."

"We do not need an apprentice!" Syona insists. "Lasya's reign is not over; not for years to come!"

"Karesh, send word to the convent." Lasya's voice is weak, but it still cuts through their disagreement like sharp
steel. "Tell them to send the apprentice. We will begin her training in the morning."

Karesh rises. As he walks out of the Lasya's chamber and down to the courtyard to send for a messenger, his heart
is heavy.

We are too late. The training will take months, even years. Learning the steps is one thing; learning the
control is another. The apprentice will never be ready in time. If the disciple demons attack again...

He, Karesh Sarmah...Will he be the keeper who fails the dancer line? Will he be the protector who loses a war
meant to be waged for eternity?

His only consolation is that if the prophecy is fulfilled, there will be nobody alive left to blame him for his failure. If
Goren emerges into their realm, it is the end of all.

Still, he prays that the bell will not ring.

~*~

The bell does ring.

The very next morning it tolls all three of them out of weary sleep. It rings with bronze impatience this time, and with
good cause, for the courier who arrives wears the belt of the city of Chapra, and he carries a message marked with
the purple seal of royalty.

Syona won't believe it. Her head shakes with fervor.

"The Raja?" she asks. "It cannot be."

"The seal doesn't lie." Karesh glances at Lasya. "This is a summons from the king."

The dancer rises, seemingly already consolidated with her fate. "We must be on our way then," she says. "Karesh,
prepare the wagon. We will leave at midday."

Syona shakes her head still. "No," she says.

"We must do what we must," Lasya says, her voice calm and cool like fresh milk.

"You will be torn apart!" Syona voice is assaulting. "You will exorcise the demon, and you will hold it prisoner in
your soul for a while, but you will die!"

"And the Raja will live," Lasya replies.

Karesh cannot stand to see the dread in Syona's eyes. Nevertheless, he knows Lasya is right.

"Goren himself is inside the Raja," Karesh says to Syona. "You know he would not let just any disciple possess the
highest man in the land. This was his agenda--his goal. If Lasya doesn't exorcise him, he will reign over all. Lasya,
you, and I...We will all die as the sky melts around us."

Syona still protests, but pleadingly now. "The apprentice has not even arrived yet," she says. "Who will instruct her?"

"You know the steps, sister," Lasya says. "You have seen me dance since I dispelled the first demon. You will teach
the apprentice for me, won't you?"

Syona answers with nothing but silence...But it is answer enough.

Lasya is carried into the covered wagon. Karesh takes the reins, but Syona will not join him upon the driver's perch.
Instead, she takes the incense, crystals and sandalwood into the wagon with her sister. She raises her chin defiantly
as she sees Karesh's apprehensive glance.

"She may not let me cleanse her soul, but she cannot stop me from praying for it."

She disappears behind the canvas. Karesh is left with only the thick morning air wrapping its humid arms around him,
and it is a pitiful substitute for his beloved.

The capital city is not far. The dancer's troupe has been there before, but that time they entered through the back
gates. Their calling, once sacred, has now fallen into the lowest esteem of men; they are even below the
untouchables, the beggars and pariahs. The inhabitants of Chapra have thrown many a stone at their wagon in the
past. The same people, however, now line the street and humbly bow their heads in respect as the dancer's wagon
rolls past them towards the palace.

"Goren himself must know we are coming for him," Karesh mutters to himself.

The wagon stops in a gleaming courtyard and they are escorted into the white halls of the palace. The dance is not
timely in daylight, for the demons are always easier to tempt in the dark, so they are brought to a private chamber
where Lasya can rest.

Again, Syona brings up the cleansing.

Again, Lasya refuses it.

"I know my heart is numb, and my body weakened," Lasya explains. "Yet, their anger fuels me. I shall keep the
demons inside, and I shall use their wrath in my dance. I shall twirl Goren into pieces, sister."

Karesh must leave the chamber while Syona prepares her sister for the ritual. He sits outside the door, holding
Syona's drum in a tight grip. Its leather surface is softened and worn from the countless strikes it has endured for the
past ten years. He realizes now its faded face has been screaming at him for months telling him the anchor has
steered a weary dancer for too long. He hates himself for not seeing it sooner.

Karesh watches the shadows lengthen and stretch in the hallway for several hours before Lasya appears. Her golden
mask gleams, and behind it, her black eyes are marbles of grief.

"Syona will not come." Lasya's low voice hitches on each word.

Karesh is bewildered. "But...It is her duty," he objects. "The first-born dances, the second-born drums. Why would
she refuse?"

"She won't drum for my death. Will you drum, Karesh? Will you be my anchor?"

"If I must, you know I will. But first, let me talk to Syona. She can't just turn her back on her duty."

The dancer reaches out for him, clenching his arm. "I am weakening," she says. "I must dance now, or I will not be
able to dance at all. My sister and I already said our farewells, Karesh. Now, it is time."

As if her words are a cue, their palace escort arrives. He leads them through marbled passages to the royal
apartments.

Perhaps it is the overwhelming splendor of the chamber, or the size of the ornate bed, but the Raja looks weakened
to a degree that Karesh has never seen before. His face is still, but something moves beneath his sickly skin--
something vile and hungry. Royal staff surrounds him, and while they look upon their master's condition with
concern, they regard Lasya with fear that is ten times deeper. She is, after all a heathen witch--a demon's mistress,
even, calling for her dark paramours with churning hips.

Lasya turns to Karesh, her fingers caressing the drum in his hands.

"Play it well," she whispers.

She steps upon the tiled floor. Karesh has heard the drum enough to know each inflection needed, and each tone he
must craft. As he begins to drum, Lasya's body stirs.

The dance is hesitant at first, the demons in her heart undoubtedly protesting her movements as they feel her
intentions. Her hands rise and fall like they have done so many times, yet to Karesh, this time it is different. Her eyes
do not sputter desperate anguish this evening; they smolder with purpose instead.

She launches into pirouettes of glory, steps savage yet refined, and motions pleading and demanding. She dances;
she reaches; she kicks. The gasps from the bed confirm she has found the demon within the Raja and is clutching him
by his bulging, red neck. Karesh still drums, entranced by the dancer as if it is the first time he sees her. It is her
death dance, he knows...And she seems to know as well.

"Sister… No…"

The words tug at Karesh in his trance, floating into his ears from the doorway, but he pays them no mind. Not until
there is a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye does Karesh turn to the entrance.

There, in a wrinkled saree and with tousled hair, is Lasya. The first-born twin.

Karesh looks back at the dancer on the floor in dazed confusion. The eyes behind the golden mask look back at him
with defiance. They are the eyes that look into his with laughter during play, with lust during lovemaking, and with
anger during quarrels. They are Syona's eyes.

The realization spears Karesh's heart, slicing it apart.

Lasya stumbles across the floor. She embraces Karesh from behind, breathing a tired, burning demand into his ear.

"Anchor her, Karesh," she whispers. "Bind her soul to you with all your might."

So, he tries.

The five minutes no longer matter. All that matters is Syona's reaching and pulling hands, her light feet and
determined soul. She is not a natural like her sister, but she is capable enough. Goren is slowly tearing from the Raja.
Karesh can see the flicker of the demon as it is dispelled out of the man. Its shape shakes through the air before it
plunges into Syona. She moans at the impact, and sinks down on her knees.

Karesh drops the drum. It clatters and breaks against the tile floor. He reaches Syona before Lasya does, but just
barely. Both of them cradle her shivering frame.

"Syona," Karesh mumbles, removing her mask. "You tricked me."

"Perhaps, but I tricked Goren more," Syona sighs through her pain. "I danced the demon out. Did you see me
dance, Karesh?"

"I saw, love. It was beautiful. But the price...Syona, you do know the price?"

“Yes." Karesh can see the shape of the demon inside of her, stalking her soul like vultures circling a cadaver. "The
demon may have me, but it will not have Lasya." She pauses and smiles. "Oh, but Karesh, I twirled him to pieces."
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Sylvia Hiven is Swedish-born but lives and writes in Atlanta, Georgia. Her
fiction has previously been published in Everyday Fiction, AlienSkin
Magazine, Absent Willow Review, and more.

Visit her website at: http://sylviahiven.webs.com/