Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

  “The time is nearly gone.” Lajollae’s voice broke into their fascination.

  He checked the floating timer. Sure enough, the upper bubble was almost empty of the sparkling contents, sagging in upon itself. “What do we do?”

  “Pick the globe meant for you,” Lajollae said. “You’ll know which one is your destiny.”

  “What if we pick differently?” Sandy clutched at his sleeve. “I can’t lose you again!”

  Lajollae shook her head. “You can each choose your own destination, or one may decide for both.”

  Mark and Sandy exchanged glances. “We stick together,” he said, clenching his jaw.

  “Agreed, this mad escapade we’re on is because I trusted you,” Sandy said, releasing his sleeve with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “So I trust you to decide for us.”

  Mark took a step toward the globes, studying them, trying to decide which to pick, not sure what would happen next—there was no retreat, no other way to end this.

  He kept going back to one particular globe, high on the tree, dangling precariously on its crystal branch. Nothing differentiated this bubble from all the rest, but it drew him nonetheless.

  When he stretched to touch the globe, it fell into his hand.

  “You’ve chosen, now breathe the air of the destination you’ve selected,” Lajollae said in a harsh whisper. “Make haste, for your time is over—I’m leaving this place for my next station.”

  Mark stared at the surprisingly heavy globe in his hand, not sure what she wanted him to do. Breathe the air? Was that what the shimmering glass encapsulated—air from somewhere else? How could air win them freedom from Kliin’s pursuit?

  Mark knelt, the gesture feeling somehow appropriate at this moment. He let the globe roll from his fingertips onto the carpet. Rising, he positioned his heavy boot on top of the orb and glanced at Lajollae. Features difficult to discern in the blinding aura now surrounding her, she nodded. Mark drew Sandy into his arms. Closing her eyes, leaning against him, she locked her hands behind his back, over his spine. Angry shouting grew closer, Kliin calling the princess’s name. Mark raised his foot and brought it down in one violent motion, shattering the globe.

  Heat and a rush of spice-scented air swirled around them. Mark felt as if he’d been picked up by a whirlwind. He was afraid to open his eyes as the air filled with grit, scraping across every inch of exposed flesh. Tightening his arms around Sandy, he buried his face in her soft, fragrant hair. From the sensations, he’d have said they were flying through the air, yet a solid footing remained under his boots.

  Worries flooded Mark’s mind. Had Lajollae been trying to save them, or had she sent them into the path of some worse fate?

  Too late for regrets.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The first time Mark opened his eyes, the world continued to swirl around him, so he blinked hard, hoping to quell the vertigo. His head ached like he’d been on a three-day bender with cheap rotgut, his left shoulder throbbed like someone had stuck a jagged knife into it, and his stomach was on fire with cramping pain. Closing his eyes against the mad whirl of the vertigo, he tried to curl into the smallest ball of sheer misery possible.

  Murmuring reassurance in a soft, feminine voice, the medic treating him tugged at his right shoulder.

  Mark half opened his eyes to see the woman, preparing to tell her with a blistering string of profanity to let him die in peace. But even through the dizziness and nausea, he was startled to see Sandy, not a Sectors medic. Pressing an inject to his bicep, she said, “I hope when you regain consciousness next time, these symptoms have worn off. I don’t think you were as good a candidate for Traveling as Lajollae thought.”

  Vague memories surfacing, he said, “What happened? All I remember is breaking the globe and then a whole lot of hot wind—like being in a sandstorm.”

  “Exactly,” she said, pushing him to recline. “Now rest.”

  Before he could continue the conversation, the injection she’d given him took effect, and the world lost focus as he spiraled into unconsciousness.

  As Mark passed out under the influence of the medication, he sighed and rolled onto his side. Sandy studied his face, noting that he appeared younger now that he wasn’t consciously worrying about their safety. She pushed the glossy brown hair out of his eyes. “Hardly regulation, soldier,” she murmured.

  Pulling the stolen Kliin coat serving as a blanket higher on his body, she watched him for a moment, assessing his condition. When he continued to sleep, snoring a bit, she slid off the dais, or bed, or whatever the piece of furniture might be, and took his blaster from the spot she’d arbitrarily designated as the foot. “It’ll be hours before you wake again and we can compare notes,” she said to his sleeping form. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you breathe. Time to find out where we’ve landed and what we’re facing.”

  His blaster was surprisingly substantial in her hand. The weapon had a dull finish, nothing to attract the eye, and seemed fairly simple to operate, although she’d never fired one and had no true idea of the process. Did blasters have safety mechanisms? She studied the buttons on the grip for a moment. “Not testing this in here,” she said out loud, mostly to dispel the eerie quiet.

  She had no pockets in her evening gown, no belt, so she carried the blaster as she walked from the chamber where she’d dragged Mark. After they’d arrived it became clear how severely incapacitated he’d was as a result of their traveling. He’d been able to stagger most of the way, leaning on her, although she’d had to speak sharply to get him to cooperate.

  She retraced their steps now and studied the arrival point, not planning to go too near. Who knew how Lajollae’s magic or technology worked? Sandy didn’t intend to travel again and certainly not without Mark. A circular platform denoted the arrival spot, dark black stone veined with iridescent accents. Opal maybe. What interested her right now was the pedestal set into the stone floor next to it. The column was plain black stone, but the top had been carved into the representation of a three-horned animal with a long, graceful face and huge eyes. Two necklaces hung from the outermost horns. When they’d arrived, the place had been cold, pitch black. Mark had been suffering convulsions, and she’d been terrified. Rubbing her arm as she relived those moments, Sandy shivered, although the ambient temperature now hovered in the comfortable range. Trying to locate her bag or his by touch after landing, she’d brushed against the necklaces, and like magic, the lights had come on and the room had warmed.

  Thankful for small mercies in a mad adventure, she’d prioritized Mark’s situation, but now the necklaces drew her. Not liking the utter silence, she spoke aloud. “Keys maybe?”

  The chain on the one closer to her was a simple set of gold links from which hung a translucent, lavender rectangle incised with tiny characters completely unfamiliar to her. There were cutouts in the stone at irregular intervals. The pendant suspended from the other necklace was black, flecked with gold, but identical in shape. With one hand she lifted the lavender necklace off the hook, pausing for a long moment to see if anything happened.

  Lights flickered on in the hallway and she heard a sound as if machinery was whirring into life. Gripping the blaster, she set off to explore the place. Realizing she couldn’t afford to have both hands full if she had to defend herself, she bent her head to loop the necklace over her hair. Working one-handed was awkward, and the key tangled in her messy chignon, but eventually she got the chain settled properly, pendant dangling between her breasts.

  A single short corridor extended from their point of entry. There were two closed doors on the right-hand side, and two open entrances on the left, beyond the bedroom where Mark lay oblivious, snoring. The room next to the bedroom struck her as possibly being a bathroom, with an odd fixture in the far corner and a sunken area like a tub in the opposite corner, although she couldn’t find a way to draw water. Some basins at waist height might have been sinks. Deciding not to experiment further, she went to the next open r
oom, pleasantly surprised to find a massive table, made from stone like everything else here. There were thirty ovals and squares of lighter stone, ranging in color from blue to green, set into the far wall. “Controls maybe? Or storage cabinets?” Sandy waved the key at the closest one, but nothing happened.

  Frustrated, she walked into the hall. Why had she and Mark been so quick to trust Lajollae? Maybe I could have negotiated with Barent. If Mark didn’t kill him first. Her stomach rumbled, and she decided to check his kitbag for something to eat.

  Sure enough, there were energy bars in one side pocket. Wandering to the bedroom, she sat on the side of the bed, munching on the relatively tasteless item. She derived comfort from proximity to Mark, even if he was unconscious. Being virtually alone unsettled her. An Imperial Princess of the Outlier Empire was surrounded by guards, courtiers, servants, all of whom were supposed to carry out her slightest wish. Give their lives for hers. Even at Portuc’s house on Freemarket, there’d been a maid. His personal guards had watched over her wherever Portuc escorted her, ineffectual though the men might have been. The constant surveillance chafed, but at least someone was always there if needed. Sandy took a deep breath. Here, there was only her. Even Mark, indomitable as he was, had to rely on her at the moment.

  No longer hungry, she folded the remaining third of the bar into its packaging. Fingering the key, she eyed the hallway. Taking a moment to check Mark’s pulse and respiration, she grabbed the blaster and forced herself to walk to the hall and face the other doors. A humming noise attracted her attention, because the whole place had been so silent from the moment she’d arrived. Realizing the sound emanated from behind the door at the end of the hall, she felt hopeful as she walked to it. No indentation or other sign provided an indication where the key necklace might fit. Berating herself for expecting anything so simplistic to work, she waved the key at the door, pressed the lavender to various spots on the slab, and finally retreated in frustration. Hands on her hips, she resisted the urge to kick the offending door.

  All right then, time to explore the remaining doors, if doors they actually were, on the right side of the hall. She waved the key at the first, not really expecting any result, and jumped sideways, blaster raised, as the portal slid noiselessly aside. Inky blackness loomed on the other side of the threshold. Tiptoeing, she crept to the edge of the door and stuck one foot inside. Lights sprang to life, startling her again. The illumination revealed a capacious space, completely empty. Squinting, she saw another door at the far end. After a moment, she stepped into the room and retreated in the same breath because a flicker of the disorientation she’d endured when she’d Traveled whirled through her body.

  One step at a time, Sandy retreated from the door, which closed when she’d moved two feet down the hall. Hand to her forehead, she leaned against the wall, trying to control her breathing and quell the panic response induced by the sensation of Traveling. Trembling, leaning on the wall to counteract her vertigo, she made her way to the bedroom and sat next to Mark for some time, blaster in her lap. Maybe solo exploration isn’t the best idea. Yet the one door she hadn’t tried was enticing. Finally, she rose and walked into the hall, straight to the door.

  He woke with a gasp.

  Having learned his lesson the last time, Mark had no intention of opening his eyes too soon. He rolled onto his back, assessing how he felt, trying to remember what the seven hells had happened. Memory answered him with the kick of an adrenaline rush. Forgetting caution, he opened his eyes at the same time he moved to a sitting position, staring at his unfamiliar surroundings. A mild wave of residual vertigo chased itself through his head, passing in a moment. He pushed aside the coat lying across his body.

  He was in the center of a large chamber, opening onto a hall. The ceiling soared twelve feet above him, a translucent white surface crisscrossed with thin bands of black. The room had been cut from living rock, veined in greens, yellows, and browns of semiprecious mineral polished to a high gloss. Here and there along the walls he saw seams and other indentations whose geometric regularity indicated deliberate placement by sentients, not natural processes. He sat in the middle of a large, three-stepped dais. It wasn’t rock, having molded itself to his body like a supremely comfortable mattress, but he couldn’t identify what the material could be.

  No sign of Sandy, which sent his adrenaline spiking higher.

  He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, reaching for the boots flung on the floor. A slight noise distracted him, and boot in hand, he stared at the princess, standing there like an illusion. Incongruous in her beautiful turquoise silk and lace dress, leaning against the wall, she smiled at him. Meeting his gaze, she padded barefoot toward the bed. He noticed she carried his service blaster.

  As she tossed the weapon on the bed, she said, “Oh good, you’re awake again. Symptoms any better?”

  He rubbed his forehead, remembering the pain and vertigo. “Yeah, I’m firing on all jets now.”

  “How’s the shoulder?”

  Mark flexed his arm, kneading his shoulder with the opposite hand. “A little sore. What happened? All I remember is breaking that globe thing under my foot and then a whole lot of hot wind—like being in a sandstorm.”

  “Exactly like it. Barent Kliin shot at you just as we were Traveling out of there, but the blast went wide—a near miss.”

  “Lucky for me. But why was I so sick? Near misses don’t make you gut sick. Because let me tell you, I’ve had near misses and I’ve been shot before, and it’s nothing like this experience.”

  She sat on the bed, close to him but out of arm’s reach. Her face serious, the princess seemed to be studying him as she answered. “I don’t think you’re as good a candidate for the Traveling process as the Nelafinari led Lajollae to believe. Or else she didn’t care. Traveling didn’t affect me much beyond a bit of nausea, but you were in agony from the moment we arrived. Wherever we are.”

  “You’re calm about it all, pretty sure of the facts.” Mark straightened his tunic and reached for the blaster. He flipped the safety on and holstered the weapon. “You shot at something?”

  Sandy shrugged. “Target practice. I’m at least a day and a night ahead of you on this planet. And I didn’t take any ill effect from the trip.”

  “I’m sorry, but can we slow down and begin again? My ears are still ringing. Where is here? What is this place?”

  “I don’t know.” She held up one hand. “You do remember Lajollae and the tent on Freemarket?”

  Rubbing his forehead, he grimaced and made a motion for her to get on with her explanation.

  “The tent began dissolving or transporting or something after you broke the globe. Barent Kliin and his men were right there as we were starting to Travel. Like I said, he shot at you, and then I couldn’t see him or much of anything. The grit got into my eyes so I closed them and hung on to you, which is what you kept ordering me to do.” She shook her finger at him, a smile on her face. “Quite vehemently. You give orders well.”

  “If me being in command got us away from Kliin, got us here in one piece with our gear, then I don’t mind if you find it amusing.” Struck by a new concern, he glanced around the barren chamber again. “Is my gear here?”

  “Yes. And my bag, lucky for you. I left the luggage in the arrival chamber where we landed. I’m sporting some magnificent bruises, and you took the brunt of the fall, for which I owe you. I wonder if the original Travelers came and went the way we did?”

  Temper rising at her insouciant air in this unknown-to-him situation, concerned she’d felt the need to fire his blaster, he took a deep breath. “Sandy—”

  “What, you prefer factual reports?” She fidgeted with the necklace circling her graceful neck.

  Scooting closer, he snagged the links with one hand. “Where did you get this?”

  “It’s the key to this place, I think. It hung on a hook right next to the circle of stone where we landed, as if someone left it there for us. The last Travelers through
here maybe.”

  The gemstone did resemble a key, he had to admit. “So you found the key and I was laid out cold on the floor.” He led the conversation to the facts interesting him the most. “Then what?”

  She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I was frightened. It was pitch black and you were out of things, and I’d no idea where we were. I flailed around a bit, searching by touch for your bag, hoping maybe you had a handlamp, and I touched the necklace. The lights came on as soon as I did. You were convulsing, only semiconscious. So I tried to make you comfortable in here, and then I explored.”

  Rising, blaster in his hand, he paced to the open doorway, staying out of the line of sight. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he said, “You confirmed the place is deserted?”

  “I don’t think anyone has been here in a long time. The rooms have a musty, abandoned-building feeling.” As she continued, she ticked off her points on her fingers. “I can’t find any furnishings, no pots and pans—you know, none of the things you’d need to live here. All the furniture is massive, like this bed, or carved out of the rock, like the table in the dining room. The place is laid out like a cottage.”

  “Traveler vacation resort? At least the bed is comfortable.” Another fleeting memory came to him. “I dreamt a medic gave me an inject. Was that you?”