Waltz of the Bladed Pit

The horns beckoned.

Young Lord Mikhail felt a tremor vibrate from his chest to his intestines. The masquerade was in full swing and he still had not found a dance partner.

Half the crowd had paired off already. The minted couples danced to the tune of the old Russian Waltzes their parents knew. A practiced orchestra with two extra bassoons provided a spirited rhythm that rotated the two dozen active dancers through paced steps across the center floor.

At the front of the room, the “royalty” sat indulging their cigars. Wispy vapors of smoke dissipated above them, vanishing in the upper reaches of the ballroom’s magnificent open center. An intricate design of a sword and a spike were patterned across the floor in clean ceramic tile, the dancers’ feet glided over the blades like ice. The candelabras surrounding the space’s perimeter glinted of rusted gold. The dull orange light from their wicks clawed up the marble walls, bleeding into the cool blackness overhead.

The sweaty Venetian mask Lord Mikhail was instructed to wear stuck to his high cheek bones. A shy boy, Mikhail found the task before him a fright. The dance steps were not the problem. It was the proposition: he’d never asked a woman to dance before.

The room was hot. The body heat of the crowd fogged the ceiling high windows encasing the ballroom. Frost clung to the outside of the glass like crystal strings, weaving a stunning spider’s web around the indoor festivities.

“Best to hurry, Mikhail.”

Mikhail felt a brush move through his shoulder. His dear friend Lord Danilo left their comfortable spot on the wall to catch the hand of a young woman draped in a dark red dress. Her face covered, it was challenging to discern who the woman was and thus if she was a fine dancer.

“May I?” Danilo requested.

“You may.” The woman in deep red approved. Her hand trembled, but as Danilo grasped it, he applied a gentle pressure that steadied her nerves. They took to the ceramic floor and entered the mix, Danilo leading the steps and the woman in dark red following.

A pang of anxiety straightened Mikhail’s back. The options were dwindling and the boy knew what would happen if he did not find a partner by the end of the next song. With his posture improved, he began a lap around the dance floor. He was careful, for his partner must not only be a fine dancer, but she must also be willing to accept his request. As a rejection also had consequences.

Mikhail passed a woman in satin blue, her hair bunched into a tight bun sealed by a diamond encrusted clip. He attempted to catch her eye by nodding his head, but she ignored him with a brisk flare of her nostrils and a sharp turn toward the gentleman on her opposite side. Mikhail was shy, but he could take a hint, no matter how subtle. He moved on.

As his lap continued, the orchestra sped up their tune and the dancers circled at a hastened pace. Danilo and the woman in dark red moved with grace. Mikhail watched their feet swing, precise steps that matched the cadence of the horns. The souls of their shoes drifted over the clean rivets that formed between the tiles. This hard circular pattern spiraled toward a depression in the dance floor’s center. A sunken circle six feet in diameter and ten feet deep. A fixture of the room that made Mikhail hold his breath.

For the pit at the center was not empty. Extended up from the floor like the brill of a comb were dozens of cast iron spikes, peaked by pronged blades that glinted sharp. Mikhail never did an official count, but his brain surmised that there were enough spikes to match the number of guests at the masquerade.

“Please, no…” Mikhail turned to see a young man drop to his knees in sorrow. The lad’s jet black hair was held with sculpting cream, but as he leaned forward the crafted follicles frayed out of their assigned place.

In front of the lad was a young lady, who it appeared had rejected his offer to dance. He pleaded with her. “I- I know the steps. I promise you.”

She shook her head, affirming the rejection. “I’m sorry-” Her voice caught in her throat as she stepped back, her eyes wide, frightened at what was about to happen.

At the front of the ballroom, the “royalty” now enjoyed a round of dark red beverages in their wine glasses. They did not instruct the guards on what they must do next. Although they did enjoy watching it unfold.

A pocket cleared around the boy with jet black hair. He did not fight as he knew it would lead to nothing. The back of his neck blushed bright pink as he accepted his fate. Shame, Mikhail thought. Then, two imposing men stepped out from the crowd and grasped the boy from each side, their hands slid under his perspiring arm pits and raised him into the air with ease. They strode onto the dance floor as the bassoons bellowed, the dancers continuing their pattern around the bladed pit.

But the imposing guards stepped in synchronized rhythm with each other and the music, as if they were partners themselves. They progressed across the floor weaving between the spinning couples until they reached center. With no ceremony, they flung the jet black haired boy into the pit.

The initial cry was quick as he submerged into the iron pond. The young man’s unfortunate position spread him over a half dozen spikes. His weight burrowed the blades through his torso, his biceps, his groin, severing crucial arteries and spilling important organs from his wounds. He entered a state of shock. Suspended off the bottom of the pit as the sound of the bombastic waltz turned above him.

Then gravity took effect. The boy slid down the poles at a snail’s pace. The metal widened further toward the base, expanding the wounds through which he was gored. The adrenaline lowered and his nerves screamed. He echoed their sentiment aloud. His agonized vocalizations reverberated out of his jagged tomb. Their vibrations funneled above in a beautiful pour complimenting the orchestra, spreading over their tune like raspberry jam atop a slice of bread.

Mikhail observed the plunge as his heart raced even quicker, sweat accumulating across his lower back and buttocks. He snapped to the remaining crowd who were not yet dancing. The music was close to crescendo and his window to ask a woman for her hand was at its close. The others around him must’ve felt the same way.

The jarring cries from below prompted many of them to grasp at the closest body. With haste, these clumsy pairs took to the floor and attempted to enter the waltz. But with the addition of the vocals from the pit, the rhythm was difficult to follow and in little to no time, a couple stumbled over each others’ feet.

The guards emerged from the shadows. This time four tall man, strong with lanky frames. They each clasped the couples beneath their arms and sauntered to the bladed pit. In tune with the swell of the horns they tossed the clumsy couple into the hole where they joined the jet black hair boy on a slow descent toward the bottom.

Mikhail watched as Danilo and his partner continued their pattern around the dance floor. His friend’s neck was tight, but his feet did not show it. And his partner trusted Danilo’s lead. Knowing the steps is not everything, Mikhail thought. Chemistry is what makes a fine pair.

“Ahh.” A young man on the floor twisted his ankle as he tried to lead his partner, but their thighs collided and bumped them into another spinning pair. This couple contained the woman in satin blue with the diamond clip. The violins chimed into the score and propelled a set of eight guards out to where the error occurred. These men wasted no time and hurled both the offending couple and the disrupted couple with the woman in blue into the barbed center. A chorus of screams now merged together providing fine accompaniment to the woodwinds.

Mikhail froze. This was his fate. He could not muster the courage to join the fray so he might as well plunge himself over the edge. And no matter, time was up.

But then Danilo passed him once more. This time catching Mikhail’s eye and mouthing two words. “Behind you.”

Mikhail did not pick up on it at first. But after a beat he turned and saw her. A beautiful young woman in a frilled black dress. Of the two dozen non-dancers left, she was the only one sitting. Almost as if she did not care what her fate held.

Mikhail glanced toward her and their eyes met. Behind her mask were a pair of brown eyes. Eyes that swallowed the orange light from the candelabras around her. Mikhail scolded himself. Don’t be a coward. Perhaps you fault a step. But at least you will try.

The young man made his way to the girl in black and held out his hand. He mirrored the words of his friend. “May I?”

“Do you know the steps?” She asked.

It threw him off, but Mikhail felt no desire to lie. “Most. But I’m a fine improviser.”

The young woman smiled with a twitch. “Very good. Because I know none of them.”

Confused, Mikhail tilted his head, “Pardon?”

“I know other things though.” With a wink, she took Mikhail’s extended hand and led him out onto the dance floor. Mikhail could’ve sworn when she closed her eye for that split second, it engulfed all of the light in the room.

The orchestra’s pace was smooth and quick, the climax was approaching the top of its bell curve. Mikhail and the girl in black took no more than three clean steps onto the floor before the music stopped.

At the front of the room, the “royalty” perked up. Their row revealed men and women wearing shimmering finery, who each raised their glasses of red in a toast, saluting those who found their partners.

But for the two dozen that hadn’t…

Four dozen guards emerged from the shadows and dragged the loners, men and women alike, to the center pit. Many of this crowd squirmed and fought but the strength of the guards was firm. With no music playing, the faux elegance that shaded the earlier throws was gone. The a cappela wails produced shivers in Mikhail’s spine. Now on the dance floor, he peered over the edge of the opening.

A woman who was tossed head first had the misfortune of her lip catching the tip of one of the spears. The rest of her body had somehow slipped impalement. It was just the lone pole that bored through her lip and right cheek. Her hands clasped at the spear handles around her, gripping anything to protest the slow slide down. Her jostling the poles sent a ripple of pain to the former dancers gouged above and below her. Jerking the spikes to and fro ripped the metal through terrible wounds. Blood spritzed down on her, like a spitting rain. It mixed with her own sanguine fluid leaking down her neck as the thin epidermis of her cheek began to tear. Then as gravity sucked her down, there was a POP! And the skin tore at the corner of her lip, leaving a ghastly mouth opening that favored her right side. She fainted. Then dropped. Her head cracked against the hard stone floor at the pit’s bottom. A thickening pool of blood and brain fluid formed, its level ascending with each new swimmer that contributed.

Mikhail wanted to vomit. He glanced to his dance partner and what he saw triggered a silent gag. The young woman in black had the faintest smirk on her face. As if she were enjoying the spectacle. Her eyes drank in the torture and misery that befell half the masquerade’s guests in the center depression. Then when she’d had her fill, she nodded toward the front of the ballroom at a man with similar dark eyes. This very man waved his free hand (the one without the artisan wine goblet), gesturing to the orchestra.

Mikhail’s dance partner turned to him. “I’ll tell you a secret. But only if you let me lead.” The woman was in her early twenties but her tone rang of someone half her age. A child almost. That tone combined with the glee in her expression at the gruesome suffering before them made the young man shake. He wanted to run.

But then the music roared, fast paced into a heavy waltz from centuries before. His partner nudged Mikhail and the two started their steps, swaying and bobbing with the speedy rhythm. With fresh legs and a spurn of adrenaline, the pair progressed well through the paces. Others were not so lucky.

Pair after pair faltered and were met by the faceless guards who sent them on their last trip to the bloody pool. The crimson red climbed the sides of the pit’s base. Splashes of it congealed over the walls. As more and more dancers took missteps, their weight was added to the spears, forcing the previous plungers down further, turning them into veritable skewers of living meat. Many of these poor souls did not die quick. They moaned and caterwauled, pleaded for a quick conclusion to the misery. But the only solace they received was the booming score from the orchestra.

Panicked, Mikhail no longer heard doubts in his brain, it seemed even they were scared of the woman in front of him. All he did was proceed through a clean progression of the ballroom steps he knew. Until his partner decided to shift her torso away from his grip. Mikhail bit his lip, but concluded he must go with what this wild child was attempting. So he slid his hand around her waist and rotated her in a gentle turn, painting the move as an intended one. Then he clasped her hands and twirled her, sending the frills of her black dress fluttering into the air. Mikhail saw shimmers of obsidian stones woven into the fabric.

The flourish garnered a round of thunderous applause from the royal table at the front. And to his dismay, Mikhail realized it distracted half the remaining dancers, resulting in them stepping off rhythm. The floor flooded with guards once again, doing their gruesome duty until the pit was filled close to the brim with writhing bodies. Danilo passed by Mikhail. This time the friends did not look at each other. Their concentration magnified on their partners.

“I like you. You’re a better dancer than the last boy.” The woman in black chirped. Mikhail clamped his eyes shut. Last boy? What does that mean? He did not want to think about what this woman would try next. “Don’t worry. The song is almost done.”

The horns blared and the violins screeched as the pace of the waltz hit its peak. Mikhail kept his eye lids shut and let the rhythm take them where it would. He heard foot steps on all sides, then a whoosh, followed by a puncturing squish. Then the shrieks. So many shrieks.

Again and again the cycle continued until the music burst with an explosion of sound… and the ballroom went quiet.

The woman in black squeezed Mikhail’s shoulder. “You can look now.”

His eye lids released and Mikhail studied the scene before him. They were the sole pair remaining on the dance floor. Every other couple had been cast into the pit, which was now so overburdened, bodies overflowed from the edges. Mikhail gasped.

On the top of the knot was his dear friend Danilo. A metallic blade jutting from his throat. His kind eyes cold and gazing up into the abyss above.

“He was your friend, wasn’t he?” The young woman asked, curious.

Mikhail nodded.

“Well. You will be my friend now.” She said this as if Mikhail had lost a pocket watch, and all it took to replace it was a simple trip to the shop.

The blood in the pit did not reach the surface floor, but the remains of the dancers on the top released a light stream of bodily fluid that channeled into the cracks between the tiles of the ceramic floor design. It flowed across most of the pattern. So much that Mikhail could see his and his partner’s footsteps contoured in glowing maroon behind them. As if the prints were outlined for a beginner to follow.

“Oh and I nearly forgot.” The young woman was giddy. Her arm coiled around Mikhail’s the way a school girl does to her new crush. “Daddy did this all for me. He knows how much I like it. But he prefers to spoil me in private. Don’t tell anyone.”

A long shadow cast over Mikhail’s face. “There’s no one left to tell.” His eyes looked over the blood soaked shaft before them. Then he noticed the young woman’s hand tightening its grip. A shiver warned him that although Danilo’s ordeal may be over, his was just set to begin.

“Come. You did so well with the dance. We have many more games to play in the castle.”

The strange shimmering hosts who sat at the front of the room nodded at the happy couple. The young woman in black smiled ear to ear. Mikhail took solace in one simple fact: at least she said yes.

Then the girl blinked both her eyes and all the lights went out.