by K. M. Tolan
“This from a Dathia with a husband and four children,” Mikial whispered to Paleen beside her.
“Now for a performance to suit the occasion,” Yora announced in a smooth contralto. The calico Strike Leader produced two wicked-looking swords. “Blade dance!"
A crash of drums announced the martial glory of Hane's Retreat. The music depicted a sacrificial delaying action by Datha Taqurl forces against Kiorannan Servants four hundred years earlier during the Holding's violent creation. With the feral snarl of a cornered huntress, Yora leapt and spun about the room, her blades seen only as droning blurs. Mikial joined in the delighted shrieks as the Dathia faced both an imaginary enemy and the very real danger of sharpened steel.
The excitement surged as Parva Conn abruptly swung over his table and entered Yora's pattern. Mikial gasped with the rest at his encroachment.
Ears flat against her head, Yora switched to a duet version of her pattern without missing a beat.
She's going to let him get away with this? Mikial thought, gaping as Parva quickly found the tempo and began a counter-weave of his own.
The thunder of a bass drum made clear Yora's intentions as she flung a sword at her uninvited partner. Parva caught it in mid-leap, then took the external portion of the pattern, spinning and twisting around her in a magnificent display of dancing prowess.
He's Four Beat too! Mikial realized, picking out the nuances as the two Strike Leaders synchronized their timing.
Yora Horian grinned with predatory anticipation and began to make Parva earn his right to dance with her. Their swords clashed, using the quick rhythm of Hane's Retreat to pace their blows.
“She's going for his braid!” Paleen shrieked with glee as Parva barely fended off a blurring slash.
The music swept out like racing yhas, both dancers caught up in the frenzied rise and fall of the tempo. Their blades flickered and sang. Yora and Parva's bodies weaved in harmony to both the tempo and each other. Although they performed like two chezels bickering over a pile of nuts, Mikial saw smiles widen on both officers’ faces.
Hane's Retreat ended in a collapse of drums and shries. In that moment the two swords rang together over Mikial's head, the dancers leaping to her table in final salute. Steadying herself on her cane, Mikial rose, giving her head a shake of elated disbelief. “You two planned this!"
“Actually,” Parva said between breaths, giving Yora an appreciative look, “it was more of a dare."
“Didn't believe he'd try it,” Yora said with a laugh. “You've shown yourself well Mikial, and have made us all proud of you.” Yora gave Jakar a sidelong glance. “I expect her back at Dowin Hall the moment she heals, Principal."
“I wouldn't presume to disappoint you, Strike Leader,” her father replied with a chuckle. “Neither, I suspect, will Mikial."
“Once I determine that she is fully healed,” her mother reminded with a stern look before Yora and Parva returned to their tables.
Paleen was next to dance, providing a performance as energetic as her nature. Others in Mikial's dance class also took turns on the floor. The families of Jakar's two brothers got together with Yeneen's sister to present Mikial with a green dress bordered in lace the color of deep ivy. Neighbors and friends transformed her table into a fragrant bouquet of flowers.
Her father's gift came last. Eyes wide, she lifted up the camouflage helmet, the solid armor countered by its slight weight. Mikial looked at her father. “Tensa?"
Smiling, he nodded. “There isn't a better metal, daughter. The Cothra have been fashioning your battle dress for some time. Tensa is not the easiest to work with."
“This is magnificent,” she breathed. The forehead of the helmet was composed of two wings with finely etched feathers flared back to protect her ears and neck. Chinstraps had been fashioned to look like talons. It fit perfectly. She inspected the body armor, each piece artfully shaped in the same feathery motif. She got to her feet slowly and gave as graceful a bow as her aching side would allow. The applause of friends and family filled the room. It was a celebration Mikial knew she would remember for the rest of her life, despite the memories preceding it.
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Four
It took two more days after the celebration before Mikial's hip was healed enough to permit her to exercise in earnest. By then her feelings had wilted along with the flowers from her First Greetings breakfast. How much of her sect's upcoming Sewing was simply an attempt to boost morale? The whisper of powerful enemy weapons was on everyone's lips. Her father came home late every night with a scowl etched into his face. Mikial wanted to forget Bramble Ravine and Feren's dead eyes staring at her.
Paleen chose to visit as Mikial went through a series of morning dance exercises while wearing an old black practice chira. With little space in her bedroom, Mikial took advantage of both her parents being at work to perform her stretches in the living room. It was the largest part of the house, the room curving around a rough-hewn red granite fireplace with a mantelpiece stretching twelve hands in length. Paleen sat on the overstuffed leather couch they had moved back toward the windows, providing a bare workout area the size of Mikial's bedroom.
The Ipper's expression looked as worn as the blue blouse and slacks she had on. “Sorry it took so long to visit. You know how many community meetings I've talked at these last few days?” Paleen grumbled, giving her short nose a rub. “No, we are not about to be invaded. No, don't worry. Minnera's about to cross our border intent on mass kidnappings. No, Kioranna is not crossing our border either. No, the Datha aren't crossing anybody's borders. Itsa!"
“Truth is, we don't know what Minnera's up to,” Mikial said, stretching her right leg toward the ceiling rafters. “I bet you didn't tell them that."
“I'm not that silly.” Paleen peered at the fading mark on Mikial's thigh. “The scar's all but gone, I see."
“Still gives me a twinge,” Mikial grimaced, keeping her foot above her head for three more heartbeats. “My Strike has been brought back up to strength. Parva called for our Sewing tonight, so I expect we'll be off to the frontier soon. Wouldn't doubt that this is the last chance I'll be getting to dance for a long time."
Paleen fingered the Minneran rifle ball at the end of the gold necklace, which the curious Ipper had brought out from Mikial's room. “Thought these things were supposed to be round."
“So did we."
Her friend gave her a cautious look. “You don't talk about it, but ... you killed someone, right?"
Mikial leaned back against the mantelpiece. Paleen had a habit of choosing odd subjects but few as awkward as this. “That tends to happen in battle."
“So what was it like?"
Mikial tried to shrug off the question. “I don't really know."
Paleen's hazel eyes widened incredulously. “You killed someone and you don't know?"
“I just didn't think about it, it happened too...” She gave a hiss of impatience. “I feel nothing.” Lowering her voice, Mikial avoided Paleen's eyes as she remembered those Minnerans she fought hand-to-hand. “Nothing. A glowing tribute to Shandi conditioning, no doubt."
“I'm sorry.” Her friend tried a smile. “Can you at least tell me if you were scared?"
“Of course I was scared. Wanted to kill anything that moved, and a few things that didn't."
Paleen regarded her with confusion. “You call that being scared? Yours is a strange sect, Mikial."
“No, we just do what we're born for. Paleen, those I killed in close combat never had a chance. Servants are like watered-down Cothra. Four of them together couldn't come up with enough charge to light a glowstone, much less fight my sect. All the Taqurls ever used them for was manual labor."
“So we won, right?"
“I ... yes, we did."
The Ipper plopped down on the couch, drawing her knees in close as she eyed Mikial suspiciously. “You don't sound like someone who won. What's wrong?"
“Other than wha
t?” Mikial snarled. “Watching people die? You think I liked that?” She abandoned her exercise with a frown. “What else have you heard about me?"
Giving an innocent shrug, Paleen slid off the couch and reached out to hold Mikial's left hand. She gently pushed against Mikial's claws until they sheathed themselves. “Mikial, can't you tell me what's wrong? I expected you to be running around boasting, not holed up in your house like this."
Mikial took a long breath and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry for the temper. I'm just not ready to go out right now."
“Is that so?” Ear fans flicking, Paleen looked up at her. “I thought we were beyond keeping secrets from each other."
Crying out, Mikial sank down upon the sofa, seeing herself become less in Paleen's eyes. “It's not a secret. It's...” Mikial's lips thinned into a grimace. “I watched another Datha die protecting me. An entire life gone. His childhood, all that schooling. Friends, family ... and for what? So he could lose it over an idiot Dathia who played dead beside him?"
“Played dead?” Paleen sat beside her with a pondering expression on her small face. “Were there too many of them?"
Accepting Paleen's comforting arms, Mikial nodded miserably. “I was behind their lines when they retreated. I should've kept firing. Done something more than just lie there."
“Like what?” Paleen derided. “Die? You weren't taught to be stupid."
“The Tasuria gave me the same lecture.” Mikial banged her hand on the ironwood armrest of the couch. “They trained me to simply accept something like this. So why do I feel like I owe so much and did so little? Like it's my fault he died?” She rubbed at her forehead. “We'll be remembering him tonight, and his widow's going to be there, too. How am I supposed to face her?"
Paleen stared at the floor for a moment before speaking. “Maybe what you need is another chance to believe in yourself.” Her face brightened. “There's somebody I want you to meet."
“Please, I'm in no mood for any of your match-making."
“The last one wasn't that bad!"
“No? Everything was fine, as long as I kept seated so he could look me in the face."
“Most males outside your sect do have to look up at you, silly, but that's not what I've got in mind this time. Dalen's too busy with his work to scratch his own nose, let alone notice either one of us."
“Dalen, eh?” Mikial tried to imagine someone with such narrow focus. “Let me guess. Cothra, right?"
Paleen nodded. “Dalen Goss. He's trying to put engines on a very large airsail and—"
“He's what?” she snorted. “Any battery that could do the job would snap an airsail's wings as it left the catapult! Or is he planning to have an airship tow it?"
“Neither, actually. It's a big airsail with really lightweight batteries. I've seen where they've impounded it."
Mikial got up from the couch and stared at her friend. “Impounded it? Paleen!"
“He wants to fly it over Minnera, Mikial. He needs someone from your sect to go with him. Someone popular who'll be listened to. Someone who'll fit inside it, too."
“Someone to persuade the Datha he's a complete fool,” she said with a growl. “Why is it impounded?"
Paleen's voice dwindled. “The Shandi suspect he's using forbidden Taqurl science."
“He's using what?” she said with a strangled voice. “Our less-than-delightful ancestors burned a quarter of Dessa and your Cothra's busy finding out how? He deserves any Judgment coming to him."
Paleen's eyes flashed, the white filaments of her ear fans spreading in agitation. “He deserves no such thing! He needs help from your sect. You need your self-respect back, why I don't know. What better match than that?"
Mikial walked over and thumped the back of her head against the wall next to the living room windows. “Please don't tell me you're in love with this Dalen. Don't you already have someone who gave you a love cup last winter? He was what, the third one you had given First Promise to? That Ipper fellow with the black hair?"
“Yes, and I withdrew my Promise last winter, too! Mikial, would you at least listen to him?"
“This Cothra actually wants to fly over Minnera?"
“Please?"
Shaking her head in exasperation, Mikial went back to her bedroom and pulled a loose brown smock and pants from her closet. “Come on. Let's go see this Dalen Goss. No promises beyond that."
“You really ought to find yourself somebody,” Paleen said as they left the house. “Need I remind you that you're late for your first Passion? You want to go through two weeks of that alone? I'm glad I had someone at the time, or I would've gone crazy."
“Spare me more of your amorous adventures,” Mikial groaned. “I can't help it if my reproductive cycle is reluctant to make its first appearance. Besides, going half crazy twice a year isn't something I especially look forward to."
“You will,” Paleen snickered as Mikial headed for the stable outside.
Mikial's ears flicked, picking up persistent thumps from behind the door. “All right, Kikia, I'm coming!” She unlatched the door and watched as the tall animal strode out with its long neck arched back indifferently. The animal's elongated ears were erect with alertness as if mocking her dour mood.
“Insolent yhas,” she muttered, running her fingers through its golden fur as it knelt expectantly. Ignoring the usual bleating complaints, she secured the saddle across its broad back. Mikial put her left foot in a stirrup and swung on. “Up, ugly!” The yhas complied with an indignant snort. Smiling, Mikial gave the beast an affectionate pat.
“You've got her well trained, Kikia,” Paleen commented as she saddled her own yhas outside.
Mikial gave her a long look. “Please, do you have anything else to cheer me with?"
“Yes,” Paleen said with a grin of anticipation. “I wish your presence as my witness at Signal Point tomorrow before dawn."
Mikial stared at her friend. Signal Point was where the Ipper Qurl passed messages between Holdings. The tall wedge of rock was almost sacred to the otherwise frivolous sect. It was rare for those outside the Ipper sect to be allowed up there, except ... “You're graduating?"
“I've been accepted as a Field Signaler. My Keering ceremony begins even before First Greetings."
“Of course I'll come!” She pulled Kikia up beside Paleen. “What do I have to do?"
“Just watch, and pray I don't make any mistakes while signaling."
With Paleen's upcoming ceremony to look forward to, Mikial found it easier to put heavy thoughts aside as they rode toward the gates of the Engineering Park. She eyed the interlocking buildings that sat along Valleyway Road. Some said that the Cothra sect had as many rooms below ground as above.
She followed Paleen to a courtyard fountain. Dismounting, they let their yhas enjoy the fresh water that gurgled within the stone basin. “Stay,” Mikial instructed. The yhas gave a quick snort before dipping its muzzle back in the fountain. Turning toward the building, Mikial paused a moment to admire the polished ironwood timbers that thrust outward from the stone façade of the reception hall. Cothra had a penchant for dramatic design, and why not? Being by far the largest of the four sects had its privileges.
Paleen seemed sure of herself as she opened the glass door and explained their presence to a Cothra female dressed in the cinnamon colors of her sect. Mikial followed her friend along a wide corridor behind the waiting area. Mikial's attention was drawn to beautifully carved figurines of the sect's noteworthy members that stood in backlit niches along the walls. Offices gave way to laboratories and workshops as she followed Paleen deeper into the building. Metallic scents clung to her nostrils as Mikial went by workers engaged in muted conversation. Her hunting eyes detected the turn of heads as she passed. “My dear Paleen, are you certain of where you're going?"
The Ipper nodded. “Forge Two in the second sub-level."
Sub-level, Mikial thought. Wonderful. We'll be lost for weeks.
Her receptors came alive as the
y descended several twists of stairs next to a cargo lift. Normally she ignored the energy fields given off by others; it was little different than idle chatter in a crowd. Not this. Even a sizable group of people could not give off the kind of emanations that echoed through her head like an approaching storm.
“It's only the forges,” Paleen assured as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Sorry,” Mikial managed, realizing that her teeth were bared. She folded her hands behind her in an attempt to keep Paleen from noticing her extended claws. No wonder few Datha ventured here.
The forge consisted of three rooms. Paleen brought Mikial through the outermost chamber, a sparse room with polished white granite walls. A metal towel rack hung over a steel sink next to a pair of gray metal doors separating them from the inner work area. Through thick observation glass Mikial could see four seated workers in the room beyond. Each gripped a pair of gold rods extending through brown ceramic walls into the forge itself. The window the workers stared intently through was fashioned from a solid crystal block.
The only light in the room came from a glowing ingot positioned within the forge upon a large ceramic table. Fingers of gossamer plasma played across the surface of the ingot and reached back to the control bars piercing the forge wall. How the workers on the other side managed to avoid getting their hands seared off was beyond her.
The Cothra labored there with expressions of intense concentration. Their faces were cast in fiery shades, each bead of perspiration glistening off their skin like a crimson gem. All wore the simple tan work clothes favored by the sect. One, a female, turned as if sensing their presence. She prodded the slender worker next to her, who also looked back.
“That's him,” Paleen pointed out. “Intelligent-looking one with the brown hair"
