I could feel Margaret’s irritation as I followed Chandara to my seat at the back of the stone amphitheater. I understood it. There was just something strange about this play. When I was invited to watch it, I felt obligated to do so. I could admit that the magic behind it fascinated me. The way the lights were handled with no roof and in broad daylight. Despite being a performance of Aethon's story, it seemed to defy him.
As we sat, the sky went dark around us, and I once again felt like we were the only two in the audience. In the darkness surrounding the stage, stars announced themselves a few at a time, like someone stood above us and sprinkled them in with a salt shaker. It felt different somehow, than the last time. I couldn’t remember the performance perfectly, but it almost felt like it had changed.
The notion briefly vanished as the starlight centered on a familiar woman dressed in dull gray colors. I expected her to dance in the center of the children as she had before. Instead, as the light revealed her, I saw she was held by the man garbed in such bright reds and yellows. One of her hands held his, and her other rested on his shoulder. The two danced together, her long and muted cloak flowing into his fiery robes. It grew hard to follow where one’s clothes stopped and the other started, almost like one flag of swirling grays and reds was waving on its own.
As they spun around the stage, bodies moving like paint brushes, I spotted the children in white. Again, they mimicked the central figures, pairing up and dancing across the stage with heartbreaking movement. I didn’t understand how they carried such sorrow in such sweet movements, all while the same dance seemed to carry such carefree joy for the man and woman who led the group.
Finally, the narrator added her musical voice to the scene.
"The world was once young and in love with life. She carried such vibrant hope that it burst from every step she took. She was the sort of woman who lived so brilliantly that it was impossible to hurt when you were near her. She danced, and she loved, and because she was near, the spirits on her back could breathe, and drink, and sleep.”
As the narrator spoke, green smoke seemingly sprouted from the ground wherever she stepped, a dozen colors blooming inside it like flowers. The children danced through the smoke, and as they did, their own dances were filled with an energy and hope that had been missing before.
“Her joy had a beauty that shone nearly bright enough to rival the stars. It was too warm and kind to be ignored, and as she danced past a star one day, he left his post and followed her. Where her foot landed, so did his. When she turned on her toes, so did he. He forgot his duties in a moment and danced with her wherever she would go. Together they shone even brighter, for she loved life and life was all he had to give.
“Aethon was his name, and the spirits loved him. He kept them warm and safe, and he loved their mother.”
The children stopped mimicking the dance of the earth and sun, instead running to Aethon and dancing individually around him. They seemed like they should disrupt his dance with the earth, but he seamlessly transitioned between the children and his partner, moving from dance to dance without ever leaving a single partner unattended.
“The spirits adored Aethon, and Aethon was fascinated by the spirits. He wanted to offer them more than his presence. He wanted to offer them their own. Toes to feel the grass and eyes to see the colors of their dance. He made them strong, and clever, and oh so curious. He made them something more than spirits. He reached out, and he touched them. At first, it was just one spirit at a time. When he touched them, he gave them homes to live in and purposes to live for. The first spirits were given soil to breathe in, and they fed nutrients to the world as hills and deserts and mountains. The next spirits were given the rabbits and the grass as homes. As Aethon touched more spirits, the world grew more beautiful. But the spirits were too large to simply bathe in the light of a star. They wanted to shine themselves.
“‘Aethon,’ the spirits begged, ‘Aethon, share with us your knowledge, that we might create light of our own and shine alongside you!’ Their voices sang like the birds in the trees as they begged for his teachings, and Aethon knew he could not refuse them. For the more of himself he poured into them, the more they spread his light, and with his light so too did they spread his name. As his light shone, the world found herself on her own entirely, but she didn’t mind. She no longer needed to dance with Aethon, not with such brilliant life breathed into her spirits.”
More children had joined the original dancers, although at no point could they have been spotted entering the stage. They simply danced, and as they danced from step to step, it became apparent that their numbers were growing. The stone stage could no longer be spotted among the mirthful bodies and the colors of their moving feet.
"Before long, the world wore snow and rain and wind in her hair. She boasted canyons and prairies and islands, and she was beautiful. So she grew to admire Aethon’s light as the spirits admired it. In her caves and waters were dragonflies and fish, and chief among all creatures were the people. The most studious of spirits who learned from Aethon most quickly, and shone with the most of their own light, shaped for themselves sharp minds and resilient bodies. They built safety and communities and found new ways to celebrate the life and the light that Aethon had helped them find."
The woman playing the world danced with each and every one of the now colorful children, drinking in their light as she herself began to glow brighter with each interaction. No one on stage could outshine anyone else, yet somehow they all looked more brilliantly lit than the rest. Each child she visited offered just a little of their color, and her clothes lit in one spatter of color at a time until she looked more beautifully adorned than the man playing Aethon’s role. At the same time, the entire stage seemed to reflect these new colors, like they were no longer dancing on stone but on the color itself. As they did, Aethon’s eyes wandered from the world, fixing more and more on the children around them.
"All was well and everyone was happy. There was no pain, and there was no war. The world continued to dance through the sky. Aethon taught his new friends, and they learned all they could. All the creatures of the world came alive when Aethon faced the world and went to sleep when he hid behind her back. It was a time when there was only joy and unrelenting life. The world felt such happiness that she alone could not contain it, and she created a child of her own. Not quite a star and not quite a world, but a reflection of all the light Aethon had brought. A reflection that would light the spirit’s way when Aethon was relieved of his duties. Luna was her name, and she shone with a gentle touch.”
A new woman emerged from behind the woman playing the world, shining and sheer cloth in blue and gold wrapped around her body, and flowed around her like she was underwater. Her hair expanded from her head in all directions like rays of the sun, but black and beautifully curled. Her eyes were like the sky itself, and they locked onto everyone in the audience at once. She grabbed the world’s hand and began a slower yet somehow more animated dance than the first woman had with Aethon. The stage had so much movement, color, and light; Aethon’s clothes somehow seemed muted in comparison.
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“The spirits grew beyond Aethon. No longer did they need his guidance to shine. No longer did they need to share his light to fuel their own. And when they dressed the world in their light, no longer did they share Aethon’s grace with it. They had learned to shine too brightly by their own beauty. Aethon missed their voices. ‘Aethon, share with us your grace!’ ‘Aethon, offer us your wisdom!’ ‘Aethon, lift us in your hands!’. No more did they cry for his help. No more did they need him, and many had grown taller than he ever intended. Instead of flags with his name on them, the spirits had become a distraction from the very star who taught them to wear it.”
The change in the dance was subtle; the children didn’t distance themselves from the man at all, still circling near and around him. But they took more turns with each other than with him, and with their movements, he was growing harder to see. He lowered first to his knees and then his hands until he could barely be spotted.
"As the brilliant world flew through the skies, her floral and green hair and the vibrant life in her hands began to attract attention. All the stars spoke of the most beautiful world and the spirits she brought with her. Many admired them, but Aethon was jealous. He wanted to show them to the skies and claim them as his own. The world and the spirits paid him no mind, but that possessive glint in his eye couldn’t fool Luna. Where Aethon had once been light and warmth, Luna now saw cold stone. Where Aethon had been life and joy, Luna could feel the cruel sting of envy surrounding him."
More actors hurried onto the stage, most in muted reds or yellows. They crouched around together and whispered, pointing to the colorful woman and the numerous children as they danced and pulled long, flowing cloaks behind them. At some point, Luna and Aethon had stopped dancing entirely. I lost them and had to search before I realized they had somehow made it to the front and center of the stage. Their backs were pressed to each other, but as they returned to the dance, their movements complemented each other perfectly. Their legs and arms always moved in the same direction, like a single dancer.
"Every night, after Aethon was done speaking with the spirits, Luna would follow in his steps. The light she brought was cool and blue, and the spirits welcomed her with the same warmth as Aethon himself. She would speak with each spirit, listening to their stories of invention and art. Every night, she was reassured that Aethon’s envy had not driven him to any action that could harm her little siblings.
"'Tell me of your new home, spirits! Of your paintings and your poems!' She would ask for every detail of every kind thing, and the spirits only seemed stronger and brighter every day. She began to think she was mistaken, as her mother danced through the sky again and again. For years, she believed she’d worried for nothing."
The actor portraying Aethon hid behind curtains and props as Luna moved from child to child, lifting them up and basking in their light. Whenever she turned her back, he would creep up behind one of the children and run his fingers along their clothes. As he did, the child would grow more energetic, losing much of the coordination to their dance, but with far more exuberance. And then, one at a time, they would quickly grow weary, the color draining from their clothes and their dancing slowing to a shambling walk, still circling the stage.
“But there was a trap in the wellness of the spirits. Luna saw them grow stronger and more confident, and she thought all was well. But as the years rolled by, their homes started to fail them. Their bodies slowed and aged until Luna thought it was surely time for a new home. But when the spirits tried to leave and find somewhere new, they found they were trapped. Their homes could burn, and decay, and suffer. These were new ideas, ones the spirits didn’t know yet. But they couldn’t leave them. They were burned to their homes, and their homes were carved into the stones. No matter how many times the world danced through the sky, their bodies remained. As beasts arose, they hunted and they chewed on the spirits. They ate and they fought, but still the spirits were trapped, even as they bled.”
One by one, each child had become dull and gray. One by one, their actor would leave the stage, only to be replaced by adult actors, caked in white makeup and with slumping shoulders. Actors dressed as foxes and wolves joined the stage, following the spirits and miming at attacks.
“Aethon had poisoned them. He had locked them inside and offered his own life, bright and eternal, to their flesh. But only enough to keep them dull and stationary for the rest of time. Not enough to maintain comfort, or joy, or sight. He let them grow brighter than him, then he ensured they would pay a steep price for that joy. Their light would fade while their life didn’t. Meanwhile, Aethon grew brighter than he’d ever been before, feeding on the spirits as he believed they’d once fed on him.”
Aethon’s actor presented himself on the stage again, his clothes now bearing all the colors the spirits had lost. Instead of dancing, he simply walked across the stage and faced Luna, once again in the center.
“‘Why have you done this, Aethon?’ Luna pleaded. ‘Why have you trapped the spirits and taken their light for yourself?’ But Aethon wouldn’t answer. Her turned his face from the spirits and only scowled at Luna. So Luna sighed and turned her back on him as well. Instead, she sat in the center of the stage and held out her arms. A warm glow radiated from her as she clasped her hands and addressed the spirits on the stage.
“‘I’m so sorry for what's been done to you,” she wept, ‘I can’t fix it. I can’t heal the damage that has already been done. My power is only what I have received from my mother, and I cannot challenge the stars. But I can offer you this one, simple gift. What pieces of myself I can offer.’”
As she said this, she breathed softly into her hand, and silver ribbon flowed from her palm, growing with every moment, billowing across the stage until none could be seen behind it.
“Luna’s gift was flawed, but it was all she had. She carved craters into her body, offering the magic that lived within her to the spirits. Her magic was so different from Aethon’s. Where the star was eternal life, the daughter of the world was subject to the cruelty of time. When the spirits took her magic, it couldn’t erase Aethon’s, but it could fight it. When the spirits bathed in Luna’s light, they were offered a chance to rest.”
The ribbon finally fell, and all the actors but two had collapsed on the stage, bathed in harsh red light. The woman playing the world had left, and only Aethon and Luna remained, returned to the ethereal, back-to-back dance.
"For this was Luna's gift. It had never been teeth or claws. It had never been filthy tricks or sharp weapons. Luna's gift was the death they brought, and it was the only thing she could offer to any of them. And so Luna's final gift was time. The most unrelenting and powerful thing she could give the spirits. It bit into every spirit in every corner of the world and ensured that each would be allowed her embrace eventually. It was the only victory Luna could claim, and she will always offer it. She always offers her gift when Aethon's grace fades.
"But Aethon is persistent. He did not give up. When a spirit escapes from the cage he built for them, he captures them and guides them to a new one to start anew. He never leaves for long, and his eyes fall on the spirits again every morning. So while Luna freed the world with her gift, she couldn't fully protect the spirits from Aethon. For he grants his cursed grace far faster than she can take it away, and he is the most jealous among the stars."
As the actors were bowing, I simply stared. I had never heard that version of the story, and I wasn’t certain any theater troupe’s reputation could survive such a performance, however beautiful. It was also a part of the loop, yet completely different than the last performance. I couldn’t make sense of it, and a glance revealed Margaret couldn’t either.
Chandara spoke from directly between us as I was processing the play. "Do you believe Luna?" she asked. I had no idea how to answer. "Do you believe in her innocence? In her gift?"
“I believe in her gift, yes,” I responded. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but the answer felt true.
