“It is one of the old gods,” they whispered when he stepped into the room.

I barely noticed their mutterings, so caught up was I in the spirit of Anna’s of-age party. Beautifully dressed ladies swirled and spun on the dance floor, and the more somberly clothed gentlemen seemed but a background for their glory. Only a moment ago I had been among those colorful figures, wearing the first not-black dress I’d worn in a year. That was why I hadn’t had my own-of age party, you see. Father had died barely a month before I turned sixteen, and Mother said that since a girl could not wear black to her own of-age party—and since we were to wear nothing but black for the full year of mourning—there should be no party. Well can you imagine how long and hard I pleaded with her, but in the end Anna promised me that she would make her own of-age party partly mine as well. And so I was mollified.

But then this man arrived. I barely took note of him until he began to move toward me from across the wide room. Then it was impossible to not take note of him. He did not barge, nor even weasel his way through the crowd. It was simply that wherever he chose to step, there was no one in his way. I am still not sure if that was because he read the room so well, or because the room read him. Either way, he came steadily, though not hurriedly, and I was given quite enough time to take his measure.

He was taller than I, but not by much, and no more broad in the shoulders than a normal man. He was tanned less than a farmer but more than a scholar, and carried himself like one of the noblemen who glided in and out of the Duke’s great house atop the hill. His hair was all thick and pale cream—halfway between gold and white it seemed, and falling softly all round his head like feathers. He was dressed in a white suit with gold trimmings and brocade, and his mask—for Anna had chosen to hold her of-age party as a masque after the current fashion, though most of the guests had by now uncovered their faces—was also white-and-gold. Brocade of any kind had just recently gone out of style, but I felt sure—by the way in which everyone stared at him—that it would shortly come back in.

He bowed to me, very low, and said in a voice more mellow than I should have expected, “May I have a dance, m’lady?”

I, partly flustered and partly delighted, curtseyed back and said, all serious, “M’lord, you may.” And I put my hands in his, and we began to dance. At first twas a very ordinary sort of dancing, slow and not at all magical. But then the music began to come as I’d never heard it come, and we began to move as I’d never known people could move. He spun me out and in and out and in until I thought he’d spin me right into the other world. My red silk skirts went twirling and twirling and the room spun around me until finally he clapped his hands to mine and we waltzed again. I smiled up at him as if I weren’t a bit breathless, and said, “You are a very fine dancer, m’lord.”

He did not smile, but his bright eyes glittered. “How do you like the ballroom, m’lady?”

“Why, I like Anna’s house very much,” I said, then suddenly stopped as I looked around myself. All was light and crystal, and I had no notion of how large the room might be for it was all walled in with mirrors and full of our dancing reflections. But every time I thought we might crash into ourselves, he would spin me again, and I would find myself moving through nothing more than air. I could see a chandelier above us, or part of a chandelier, for in this room I could not be sure whether it were half a reflection or not even there at all. Strangely, I was not a bit afraid. “Tis a very lovely ballroom, m’lord,” said I. “I feel as if I were in a fairy story.”

“And yet neither of us is fairies,” he said, and though his voice sounded as if he were smiling his face did not agree.

I colored. “I did not mean to speak so fancifully, m’lord. I suspect it is only a special treat of Anna’s, something meant to cheer me from the fact I did not have my own of-age party. And you must be some relation of hers, an uncle perhaps, who was kind enough to play a part in her charade.”

The man shook his head. “Your friend is nothing to me. Nor is this room anything of hers.”

“Why then, what is it?” I asked. And, made suddenly bold by my strange circumstances, I dared to query, “And who are you?”

He did not answer, but spun me as he had before, and when I came out of the spin we were in Anna’s house once again, though her ballroom looked very commonplace after the mirrored hall we had just danced in. And then I scolded myself for having such fancies. Mirrored ballroom indeed. I must have had more of the punch than was good for me. I looked up at the man to beg his pardon for my nonsense, but he shook his head, ever so slightly, as if to bid me be silent.

All was silence, I realized abruptly. Though the man moved with perfect confidence, the musicians had ceased to play, and I became gradually aware of the eyes of the whole room, watching me dance with this unusual stranger I had not even been introduced to yet. My feet hurt in their tight little shoes, and I began to wonder how long we had been dancing. As there was no music, I could not tell when the man might stop, and so when I could bear it no more I said very softly, “M’lord, I fear I must rest my poor feet.”

He stopped sharply, and by the flash in his bright eyes I feared he would be cross. But then he took my arm in his and escorted me to the chairs that lined the ballroom, and sat me down upon one of the handsome cushions. “Would you like some punch, m’lady?” he asked me gravely.

Remembering the mirrored ballroom, I smiled and shook my head. “Just water, if you would be so kind.”

With a nod he retreated, and I slipped my feet out of the dancing shoes, being careful to hide them under my wide skirts. I was just looking up from this secretive exercise when I saw Jonahn, my eldest brother, walking towards me like a thunderhead. If I’d not had my shoes off, I would have run, hurting feet or no. He stood before me, his arms crossed most angrily, and scowled. “And who was that man you were dancing with so familiarly?” he demanded.

I tossed my head. “A man. It need not concern you, Jon.”

“You are my little sister, your affairs will always concern me. I will not have you making eyes at such a man, especially as we know nothing about him.”

“Anna must know him,” I replied. “Or else he would not have been invited.”

“Neither Anna nor her mother has any notion of who he is,” said Jonahn.

“Nor would they.” It was all I could do not to laugh when the man spoke from right behind my brother’s shoulder, startling him so much he looked ready to jump out of his own skin. The man stood there, with my water glass in his hand, and scowled so darkly that it made Jonahn’s scowl look like a sunny smile. “Marila is of age; she does not need your permission to dance with whomever she pleases.”

My brother tried to regain some of his dignity. “Who introduced you to my sister?”

The man handed me my water. “I no more need an introduction to Marila than she needs anyone’s permission to dance with me.”

Jonahn frowned so wrathfully at the man that I was sure it must soon come to blows. It might have, too, if Mother had not arrived at that moment. She looked like a butterfly fluttering between two thunderstorms in her purple dress, with her fan all flapping and quivering. She smiled at the man, that same nervous smile that had replaced her old one ever since Father died. “You must think me very bold,” she said. “But pray tell me your name, sir, as it seems none of my friends can identify you.”

“You already know some of my names,” he told her.

“Oh?” She went very pale at the sound of his soft voice, as if it were the keening of her own death-bell. “Pray refresh my memory, kind sir, if you would be so good.”

The man crossed his arms. “Some call me Kinoran, but you, Widow Serah, would have known me as Letoor in your parent’s homeland.”

Mother’s face had gone very white, and she staggered as if about to faint. Jonahn sprang forward to steady her, then rounded on the man, no doubt to curse him soundly. But though neither of us could remember seeing him move, it was most certain that he was no longer in the ballroom.

* * *

That night after we had gone home and the servants had made us some tea and put the three little ones to bed, Jonahn and Mother and I all sat up in the drawing room, and Mother told us all she could remember about Letoor.

“You know my parents came from Franques,” she began, dabbing at her forehead with a moist towel. “And when I was a little girl, they would tell me stories about the old gods, the ones who ruled the heavens and fates of men before ever there were such things as civilization and carriages and oil lamps. The king of the old gods was Nerdon, a very powerful and thunderous man he was, and his dominion was the sky and his wife was Teriss, who watched over the lights in the sky, such as the sun and the moon and the little stars. Now, Nerdon had three younger brothers: first came Irasim, who was lord over the seas and rivers, and was the god of the trade winds as well; then Laniro who ruled over the dry land and all that walked upon it, and then came Letoor, the youngest. And when Letoor was born, there was nothing left in the world for him to rule. So Nerdon told him he must wander until he found something to be god of.

“Well, Letoor tried, as you can imagine, and first he thought that he might be the god of messages, for someone had to keep the gods apprised of what each other was doing. But just as Letoor went to his brother to tell him he’d found what he would be god of, Teriss gave birth to Nerdon’s first son, and Nerdon made him god of messages. Letoor was very annoyed, but as he could not speak out against the queen of the gods nor her son, he went back to wandering. It was about this time that Nerdon created men to walk the earth, and so Letoor thought that there must be something related to men over which he could rule.

“Well, the first thing he saw the first man do was go and kiss his wife. And so he thought he should be the god of love and kisses and such. But when he went to his brother to tell him his choice, Teriss had just given birth to Nerdon’s first daughter, and of course she was given the charge of ruling the hearts of men and women, being a female herself and much more suited to the task.

“And so it continued. It was not long before the wives of Letoor’s other older brothers began to bear godlings, and so there was even more competition for Letoor to contend with, and because he was the youngest brother he was always passed over in favor of his older brothers’ children. Letoor himself had no time to find a wife, so busy was he with trying to seek out what he could be god of. Before long, it seemed as if everything that one could be god of had been taken, and only then did Letoor finally give into his temper, which is said to be very long, but very black. He went to his brother Nerdon and raged at him, laying all his troubles at his brother’s door and accusing him because he had not had the sense to give his youngest brother a domain, but had bid him go out and find one of himself.

“Nerdon grew very angry with Letoor—for his temper is very short but only burns white-hot and then is cooled—and the two fought together such that the very heavens trembled with their fighting. Nerdon, being lord of the sky, took up a lightning bolt to hurtle at his brother, but Letoor, being very quick and nimble, managed to avoid it. This lightning bolt fell accidentally to earth, where it struck a man as he was going about his business. This was the first time in the history of all the world that a man had died, for Nerdon had never intended that they should do so. He was much grieved at what he had done by accident, and all repentant that he had quarreled with his brother, whom he loved extremely. In order to make amends both to the men—who must from that time on suffer death, whether it be by accidents or war or old age—and to Letoor himself, he made Letoor the god of death, and gave him a realm all his own deep below the earth.

“And for a time Letoor was content. He saw to the dead and made sure to judge them justly, whether they should be sent up to heaven to feast in the gods’ halls, or whether they should remain forever in the other world, and if so, where in the other world they should stay. But after a time Letoor began to be lonely for a wife and children of his own, and so began to court all the pretty young daughters of his brothers. To a goddess, they all turned him down—even though he was extremely handsome—for none wanted to live in the other world when they much preferred to live in the heavens. Letoor was extremely sorrowful, but he was also angry. He went to Nerdon again, and again they quarreled, though this time no men were killed because of it. Letoor vexed Nerdon so much with his demands for a wife that Nerdon declared his brother should not marry a goddess at all, but must find a mortal wife for himself. Moreover, he must find a woman who would not only agree to live with him in the other world, but whom the gods themselves would deem a worthy wife for a god.”

At this Mother stopped, and put aside her wet towel and looked at me, all serious. “Marila,” she said, and her voice was very grave. “I am much afraid that he has chosen you.”

“But why should he chose Marila?” Jonahn asked. “My sister is a beautiful and virtuous girl, but surely there have been girls more beautiful and more virtuous since the beginning of the world.”

Mother sniffed as if she did not think there had ever been a girl more virtuous or beautiful as me—though in truth I agreed with Jonahn. I had fine black hair and a good face, and everyone commented on my lovely green eyes and how my mother’s Franques blood showed in them. But it was widely said that the Duke’s daughter—one Farina with long blond hair and blue eyes—was much lovelier than any girl in the county. I was a good help to my mother, and did my best to be patient with my little siblings, no matter how much they vexed me, but all remarked how Anne, my dear friend, was quite the sweetest-tempered and most virtuous girl they had ever known. I was clever enough and could read and write and do my sums like a proper young woman, but I was not truly brilliant. As for singing and the playing of musical instruments, I knew I was far behind my peers, and even farther behind them in practical things such as sewing and weaving and keeping a household. If there was one thing I thought myself particularly gifted in, it was painting. I loved to play with colors and canvas, and make a reality all the lovely things that danced constantly through my head. Mother called it a childish fancy, but Father had loved my paintings, and used to buy me new brushes and little pots of paint, even when it was not by birthday. Of a sudden I missed him very much, though it had been more than a year since his death and I was now all of seventeen years old.

But I put all these thoughts and musings aside, so as not to upset Mother, for I could see she was much disturbed. “Most likely tis not this Letoor at all, but just some prank that someone has played upon me, knowing as they do that I am partly of Franques blood,” said I, with a confidence I could not truly feel.

Jonahn nodded. “Finally she speaks sense. Your stories are all very well, Mother, but the time of the old gods is long passed now. Even if they ever did exist—which I doubt—is it not very likely that Letoor would have found a wife in a world which believed in him, rather than a world in which he is little more than a fairy tale?”

I was reminded of what my dancing partner had replied, when I said something similar to him: “And yet neither of us is fairies.” I shivered, though I did not know why, and pled extreme weariness to Mother so that I might be excused to go up to my room and take off the red silk dress and fall into my lovely feather-bed, where I was sure I could finally be free of these strange things that had begun to happen all ‘round me.

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Obviously unfinished; I would appreciate any and all advice. This is actually a little piece I'm doing for a Fiction Writing Workshop class, and while it's due this Thursday, I'd be more than happy to accept ongoing critiques. Let me know what you think, and then bug me to crit something of yours in return!