by K. M. Tolan
“We'll get to work on her, Ninell,” Parva promised, giving Mikial a rough hug. Keeping the large tankard straight in Mikial's hands, he poured in a measure of his own drink. “This is for Feren. Any of us would've done the same for you, Mikial."
“This is for Chark Morssant, Dathia!” Her Line Officer walked up and gave her a clap on the shoulder, gesturing to the first Memory of a Datha leaning against a wall with folded arms and an almost mischievous smirk. Cort Havada laughed and dumped some of his beer in her tankard as well. “You would have liked him. Half Ipper, I swear!"
Six more times she was introduced to another of the Memory statues while the speaker added more beer to her stein.
“Now drink, Mikial!” Parva roared as they all held up their mugs. “Show them what a Dathia's made of!"
With a turn toward the bar, Mikial stepped back and hefted her brimming drink. Taking a breath, she tipped the tankard up, the strong beverage widening her eyes as she swallowed with determination. It burned her throat, and sent hot waves through her body. Would it drown her guilt as well? Head whirling, Mikial downed the beer until there was no more. Gasping, she pounded the tankard on the bar as hands steadied her amid the cheers.
“Didn't plan on having to carry you out this early,” Dalen said, coming up to guide her to a nearby table.
Parva walked over as Mikial sat down with one hand to her chest. “In case she gets thirsty,” he said to Dalen as he set the refilled tankard before her.
“You ... don't expect me to drink that too?” Mikial half laughed to the amusement of the Datha around her.
“Not before you get some food in you,” Dalen said, getting up. “I'd better find you a plate."
She returned a smile, enjoying an emotional respite as the warmth settled inside her. Other Datha showed up, a few introduced as new replacements. Mikial joined in pouring a portion of her beer into the newcomers’ tankards, shouting her encouragement as they too honored the eight Memories. It became more of a party, something she would want if ever her statue sat on that bar.
Mikial was not sure when the drums started. They were rolled out from the recesses of the hall while she ate. A few bass drums were as large as the Datha who slowly beat them. Contrasting tempos rose from hollow cordwood. Table legs scraped as the floor was cleared. Parva was the first to leap out in the center of the room, roaring as if in challenge. With braid swinging, he shook the floor with every stomp of his foot. Bramble Ravine unfolded in his dance pattern. The drummers closely followed Parva with the pound of their beat as he leapt around enemy barrages and forced them back. Nearby, Cort Havada nodded with approval, the Line Officer slowly drawing out red tactical symbols on the black background of a glow board. Solid angles of a block-and-envelope maneuver. The arcing lines of bombardment. Mikial joined others in hoots of agreement as Parva's newest battle pattern took shape. One that would shortly join the rest on the side-skirts of the Strike Leader's uniform. The Sewing had begun.
Parva ended his pattern, but the drummers kept up their driving tempo. Parva summoned Mikial with a dancer's hand signal. Grinning, she could hardly contain herself as the rhythm slowed seductively to appreciative shouts. Unsnapping her robe, Mikial took the floor like a stalking huntress. Her low two-piece costume was black as the night, save for the bright red Datha wheel-and-dagger symbol on the wispy side-skirts of her chira. A thin crimson border outlined Mikial's brief vest, the hemispheres of her moderate breasts revealed through the loose ties. Parva yielded the floor, cheering with the rest as she replaced him. She tried to forget how long it had been since she last danced.
Mikial found Feren's wife sitting near Cort. As Yora Horian had taught her, Mikial did a half sweep forward in the fluid grace of the Shoa Keeran style, extending her arms toward Ninell. Recovering in a reverse spiral, Mikial arched her back, hands weaving instructions to the drummers. Night Fire was a composition with a tempo that started disarmingly mild, much as the mission that day in Bramble Ravine had. The drummers crept the beat along accordingly. Mikial transited to the more expressive Cher Keeran form, the same style Parva had employed in his dance. Night Fire was about an evening storm starting with a gentle rain. Mikial spun lazy circles around the floor in a reflection of her descent from the sky. She danced One Beat, moving her whole body to the tempo while mimicking the furtive movement to cover among the bushes. The drums paused. Mikial froze in mid-crouch.
The lightning struck! The firestones around her neck flashed as Mikial vaulted skyward. The drums boomed and crashed as Mikial swept around the room. Her bare midriff took up the Second Beat, summoning memories of Feren as he ran with her. Mikial gave a low snarl, her glistening body becoming as savage as the drums that carried her into the gully. Claws extended, she slashed her way through the pattern like she had slashed the three Minneran lives. At her signal, the drums quieted to a furtive rumble and tap. Crouching once more, she bared her canines. Sweat dripped from her palms as Mikial gathered herself. She bunched her muscles and leapt for the rafters, discharging a sharp crackle of energy between her spread hands. The bass drums followed with a boom loud enough to shake the hall windows.
Mikial entered her Third Beat movement upon landing, her torso taking up the lighter drums. She retreated across the room toward the bar, twisting and tearing at herself, and collapsed on one knee before Feren's Memory. Her hands balled into fists that pounded uselessly against the floor beneath her. Tears more than sweat sent rivulets down her cheeks as she faced the wife Feren Cloa left behind. Amid the clamoring approval of her Strike, Mikial bowed deeply to Ninell, wondering if the new widow would ever understand the kind of forgiveness she, Mikial, needed so badly.
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Five
Mikial rose before dawn in order to catch Paleen's Keering, grateful that her mother had helped clear her head after the Sewing. She had ended up dancing for each of the fallen Datha; the party continuing well into the night. At least Dalen had gotten her home in time to enjoy a few chimes of sleep before she had to get up again.
Since Paleen had not told her what was appropriate at the ceremony, Mikial chose to wear one of the more casual variations on the black Datha dress uniform. At least a Dathia had more choice than the single uniform her male counterparts wore. She decided on a short vest and pants to temper the formality of her first battle pattern. The red embroidery stood out alone in the lower corner of her right side-skirt. Parva himself had worked the stitcher. A sweeping arc depicted her dash behind enemy lines, the curve punctuated by a starburst representing the destruction of the Minneran cannon.
After running a brush through her hair, Mikial tiptoed out to the kitchen for a quick breakfast of eggs and cider before heading to the stable. Saddling Kikia, she rode down streets dimly outlined in the purple illumination of the Curtain. She stared up into the wash of stardust, thinking of how the Curtain was a perfect lesson in people's perspectives. The Ipper claimed it sang to them, but then Paleen's sect was incurably romantic. Cothra astronomers looked through their great sky glasses and dreamed about other worlds. Her mother's sect often meditated beneath its splendor. The Datha viewpoint? It promoted excellent vision for night fighting. Sighing, Mikial wished that she had been born an Ipper.
Mikial crossed Lani's Bridge north beyond the sky port, where the Holding's largest valley ended. Below the arches of the bridge, the White River was a band of darkness highlighted in glittering rose-colored ripples. She looked up at Castle Ridge, so named for the silhouette of granite outcrops along its spine. Craning her neck, Mikial could see her destination as flecks of light perched upon the massive horn of rock.
A lively predawn breeze made Mikial regret wearing her short vest, as her yhas negotiated a narrow road cut into the cliff face. Lamps set within stone niches outlined her way, while a wooden fence ensured that she did not ride off of the precipice. She received a respite from the wind when the road curved sharply into a tunnel. Kikia's hooves echoed along the smooth walls as t
hey continued upward, Mikial breathing in noticeably thinner air.
Mikial entered a lamp-lit granite cave filled with the scent of new hay. Carved by Cothra miners, the chamber was large enough to house the half dozen yhas lounging around its interior, as well as accommodating four parked carriages opposite the animals. Across from the tunnel entrance, brass lights illuminated a painting with a silver frame that covered half the length of the room. Cloud dancing, Mikial mused, gazing up at life-sized figures that flew and swirled among fluffy white piles. Is that what it means to be Ipper? It soberly reminded her of another kind of flight. Legends were told of how Taqurl Datha fell on cities like shooting stars, obliterating those beneath them. Min Saja was four hundred years past, yet its stigma still weighed heavy on her sect. Better to leave such aerial fancies to the Ipper.
Mikial dismounted and patted Kikia's neck, letting the animal find its place among the rest. Muted conversations wafted down from a shaft to her left. She stared in amusement at the large brass counterweight that hung there. It was fashioned into a round-bellied fish, the cables of the lift rising from its hooked mouth. Definitely an Ipper touch.
Electric motors hummed as Mikial slid a lever to summon the platform. The cage arrived quietly, transporting her up into a comfortable mix between workplace and living quarters. A handful of Ipper chatted around a glowstone hearth, or sat at desks along large windows. Paleen waved from a kitchen beneath rafters supporting a sleeping loft.
Returning her greeting, Mikial recognized Paleen's parents first by their cinnamon Cothra dress that stood out among the blue Ipper clothes. Pella Chimmer was a shopkeeper in the market, a brunette whose round face featured large brown eyes over an easy smile. Pella's husband, Rell, maintained charging stations for household batteries. Mikial guessed that Paleen had gotten her most of her hair color from her father, whose mustache and pointed beard were almost blond in color.
Paleen's dress made everyone's clothes look dull. She wore an ivory gown with lavish folds that mimicked the clouds in the painting below. Twists of indigo lace curled down from Paleen's light hair, matching embroidery that tumbled from a high collar into cascades that weaved their way between her breasts. The lacy patterns spread out over Paleen's waist to become lost among the floor-length folds.
“Aye, you look beautiful!” Mikial exclaimed, giving her a warm embrace.
“I'm terrified,” Paleen squeaked in a near-whisper, although her hazel eyes spoke more of excitement.
Laughing, Mikial turned and clasped her hands respectfully toward Rell and Pella Chimmer. “I suspect few parents could be as proud of their daughter today as you two."
“Thank you, Mikial,” Pella answered. The Cothra glanced around with uncertain eyes. “Though I hardly know what to expect up here. Ipper keep their customs very much to themselves."
A crystalline chime sounded. Everyone's attention turned toward the appearance of an Ipper male almost as tall as Mikial. His forehead formed a pale rectangle bordered by curly orange hair, his eyes a complementing bright amber. Mikial glanced at his blue tunic and trousers, not surprised at the lack of any insignia. How the Ipper Qurl identified their hierarchy was anyone's guess.
The newcomer turned to an Ipper at a seat before one of the large glass panes. His voice was a mellow tenor that carried the strength of ritual. “Signal Point to Keering."
“Owun Cull,” Paleen whispered, giving Mikial's hand a nervous squeeze. “My teacher these past years."
Mikial watched as Owun faced the window. Beyond it, cobalt shadows of an approaching sunrise outlined a small cabin high on a rocky spire.
“Point at Keering.” Paleen responded quietly to her teacher.
Nodding, Owun faced his apprehensive student with what appeared to be a long-awaited smile. “Point signals at Keering, Paleen Chimmer. Will you listen?"
Swallowing, Paleen stepped forward. “I will."
Paleen followed her teacher down steps beneath the windows. Mikial accompanied Paleen's parents as they fell in behind the two Ipper. They were led down a corridor fashioned with granite walls hewn and smoothed to a lustrous sparkle. Icy air frosted the glass panes of lamps strung along the way. Mikial tried to rub warmth across her exposed midriff as they approached a second set of ascending stairs. This was the last time she let fashion overrule common sense.
Mikial was grateful when Paleen's teacher opened another door to a warm interior. They walked into a small room with four bunk beds covered with thick patchwork quilting. A peaceful lack of distractions seemed to be the theme. Beyond a set of curtains she heard a murr pot bubble its welcome from over a glowstone. Mikial could feel a cozy heat rising from the floor where she guessed a portion of the glowstone output was directed.
She joined Paleen's parents near the curtains and looked down over their shoulders at a large desk. Papers poked out of a variety of nooks and shelves. Paleen's teacher seated himself in the worn leather chair of a desk overlooking three bay windows along the north wall.
At each window was a chair, a thickly padded recliner resting on a brass swivel. Encircling it was a waist-high metal ring with a polished surface that was notched with precise measurements. From the chair extended a magnifying lens that Mikial guessed would help the operator see the readings. When the chair swiveled, the lens followed along the ring.
Two Ipper stood on either side of Owun's desk. Both were dressed in loose pants and woolen sweaters. The one on the left was a short male who barely hid his smile behind a respectful demeanor. The other Signaler was a fawn-haired female whom Mikial guessed was not much older than Paleen. Her pale cheeks held a quiet pleasure, as if she was remembering her own ceremony.
Ear fans flicking, Paleen walked around the main desk and approached the middle bay. Mikial could see Paleen suck in a breath as she arranged her gown before seating herself. The other Signalers wordlessly took positions beside her.
“Start very gently, Paleen,” Owun cautioned from the desk. “It's just like taking a warm bath. Ease yourself into it just as I told you.” He looked at the other Ipper. “Show her."
On edge herself, Mikial watched Paleen's assistants spread their ear fans. Paleen's eyes widened. She gave a short gasp. The panicked expression faded quickly, her jaw slackening with a sudden wonder. “I ... I can hear them!” Paleen cried softly. Tears welled from her eyes. “Mother, they're singing to me! So beautiful ... can you hear them?"
“Listen for me, my love,” her mother spoke quietly.
Pella Chimmer's cheeks were not the only wet ones as Mikial watched her friend experience a rapture like nothing she had ever seen herself.
“What she feels is always there for her,” her instructor answered to Mikial's questioning look. “However, the first time is always like none other."
And what exactly did he mean by that? Mikial exchanged glances with Paleen's parents and shrugged. Another Ipper mystery left unexplained. Leaning against the back wall, she considered the irrational idea of asking for a chair.
“I'm scaling back down,” Paleen finally reported with a sigh. “Nothing left but ... I do hear some sort of buzz around twenty-first octave."
Mikial did not know what to make of the look on her teacher's face. The other Signalers abruptly left Paleen's side for their own chairs, their ear fans rising. “I'll contact Kinset,” the Ipper said from the left bay. “Just in case."
“Paleen,” Owun said slowly, “center on that sound until you have it clearly.” Mikial watched as he too spread his fans. “That's it, Paleen. Hold it there. Corad, do you have Kinset Holding?"
“Listening now,” the Ipper Signaler acknowledged.
“Tell them we have another little buzzer. Janeen, contact Tessana Holding and have them listen for the big buzzer. Paleen, look down at your glass and give me the azimuth."
Mikial watched in puzzlement as Paleen gently turned her chair until she seemed satisfied. “I don't think this is part of the ceremony,” Mikial whispered to Pella, who shook her head in agreement.
“Three-four-seven, point five,” Paleen spoke, her voice questioning.
Owun got up and walked over to a large world map of Dessa framed behind glass against the right wall. He drew a line along a compass angle with a red wax pencil.
“Kinset reports little buzzer at zero-seven-seven, point three,” the male Ipper informed.
Baffled, Mikial watched another line being drawn, based on what some Ipper had “heard” thousands of lengths away in another Holding. The two lines intersected on the border between Kioranna and the Holding.
“That's a new one,” Owun grunted, running his fingers along grid lines. “Corad, contact Datha Signal. Inform them we have a fresh transmission on the western border, eighteen lengths north of Thunder Gorge.” He faced Paleen's mystified witnesses with an apologetic look. “Something a little unusual for Paleen to remember her Keering by. Please be patient."
“Tessana has the big buzzer again!” Janeen reported, her fingers curling around her armrests. “Same azimuth, one-eight-four, point nine."
Nodding, he drew a line from the northeastern Qurl Holding. “Paleen, drop two octaves below the first fundamental tone. You should hear the same buzz, but louder. Give me your azimuth again."
“Have it,” Paleen responded, her voice catching with excitement as she turned her chair. “Zero-nine-three, point one. Sounds like a stuttering insect."
He marked the map again. “Also same azimuth. Corad, tell Datha Signal we've confirmed our big buzzer again. Same area."
Mikial's lips curled back in a sharp hiss as she saw where these new lines met. Minnera!
Owul looked back at her. “Keep what you're thinking to yourself until told otherwise, Dathia. No one has to know about this unless they have a need to. Is that understood?"
“Acknowledged.” Mikial glanced at Paleen, who could only give her a perplexed shrug. “Are these Minneran Signalers?” It fit too well with everything else.
Owul shook a cautioning finger. “Mikial, we don't know. Nor do we want to create unnecessary worry until we find out."
