IN THE CHAMBELÁN’S tower room, Will remained frozen at attention beside Link, both slaves to the Song playing in their heads. Near the black pool, Beroald also stood like a statue, the Chakana dangling from his outstretched arm. Behind him, the masked Watchers still knelt circling the pool, which now showed an enlarged image of the Chakana.
The Dancer-Chambelán rose from her throne, throwing off her cloak to reveal her diaphanous gown. She spun around the room, confident, arrogant, the Dancer once more, her gown changing color and shape as she leaped. Will watched her from the corner of his eyes, the only part of his body he could move.
She talked as she twirled. “Since the birth of the Cámara, there has always been a Dancer. One and only one at any time. The one who hears the Song, not
