Kammie closed the door behind Kim and Aliya and leaned her forehead against it. Aliya's fear and anger echoed her own. Trapped in this room by a promise, she felt powerless to control even the smallest part of her life.

She moved back to the bed, lying face up. Kim had suggested following the drums -- well, that Kammie should follow them and the others would follow Kammie. But she'd promised Thomas... she wanted to tell him.... He seemed so far away these days, and so focused on Ford. But there was so much more going on than Ford. So much dangerous and unknown.

Kamie sighed and tried to relax. She realized after a few minutes that she was slapping her palm against the bedspread in time to the remembered beat of the drum. Now, it seemed, if she couldn't listen to the drums outside the room, she would make her own. She took a deep breath and stilled her hand.

But the beat did not stop.

Kammie sat up, listening carefully and -- yes -- it was there. Whoever or whatever it was had broken through the wards. She turned her head, listening for other sounds in the room. There was nothing but that drum. Nothing until...

Looking out the window
I see the red dust clear
High up on the red rock
Stands the shadow with the spear

... a sight. She could "see" something. No, not "regular" eyesight. This was different. It seemed an inordinately tall man, perhaps 7-1/2 or 8 feet tall. The shape was dim as if seen through light curtains or a smudged and smoky window.

She froze "looking" at it. Details became more clear. It had the look of an aboriginal man, with skin darkened and weathered by the sun. An Australian aborigine or a wizened Native American. Or an African old enough that the dark color of his skin had grayed, looking dusty.

The man was naked, painted with symbols in some kind of "paint" in white, red, and black. He held a spear taller than himself by a foot or more. He pounded the butt against the ground in rhythm with the beat that increased in volume and body with every one of Kammie's heartbeats.

The land here is strong
Strong beneath my feet
it feeds on the blood
it feeds on the heat

As Kammie watched this man, she noticed other figures appearing behind him. They faded into being like movie ghosts, never quite becoming clear enough to identify. They were in constant motion, at first seemingly random, but as the forms took on more solidity, she could tell that they were dancing. Dancing as she had danced when Thomas found her in the hall. Her blood pounded in her ears, as if joining the musicians.

Kammie swallowed and clasped a pillow to her chest. It took effort not to join the dance -- and she supposed she should try to learn something.

"Who are you?"

-silence-

(Well, silence but for the pounding drums.)

"What do you want?"

-silence-

"Where are you calling me?"

-silence-

The figures slowly danced toward Kammie.

Drawn across the plainland
To the place that is higher
Drawn into the circle
That dances round the fire
We spit into our hands
And breathe across the palms
Raising them up high
Held open to the sun>

The dancers' nebulous arms reached toward Kammie and the pull became too strong. She dropped the pillow and slid off the bed, feet beginning to pound against the floor in the rhythm of this dance. Vaporous hands grasped Kammie and pulled her...

pulled her...

-through-.

Through what -- into what -- Kammie didn't know or care. The man with the spear seemed shorter here, but no less powerful. The dancers were more in focus, but still undefined. She didn't care. She didn't observe or think about it then. Later, yes, but not here and now. No -- here she danced. NOW!

The rhythm is below me
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul

How long the dance lasted Kammie could never determine and she wasn't sure she needed to know. At some point the dancers danced her back "through" whatever it was, maybe the barrier Sue had talked of, to leave her sitting on the edge of her bed, sweat-drenched and panting.

The dancers returned to circle the man with the spear, once more preternaturally tall. He turned his back toward her, as did the dancers, and they all moved away, fading somehow at the same time. Kammie reached out with one hand and the man turned back to look at her. His only gesture to her was to point from her then away, as if saying "Go!" Then the dancers danced away into invisibility with the man walking in their midst.

Kammie panted, still "staring" at where they'd been. She noticed, the drums were with her still, quieter, but present inside this protected room... no, not the room... inside her very soul.

The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul

[Lyrics: "The Rhythm of the Heat" by Peter Gabriel from Sanctuary.]