Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  This time Mikial did not stop herself. She ran, not caring if anyone shot her, or if the sheer weight of history simply crushed her instead. Mikial ran until she slammed the door of her room hard against them all.

  She found sleep impossible, and took to staring out the windows. A moment of brightness outlined the huge dome. The image fled again into the darkness like an unwanted memory. Only to reappear with the next flash. Mikial pressed her hands against the glass, feeling the vibrations of distant thunder. “Curse your truths,” she whispered. Mikial glanced back at the bed behind her. Instead of quilts, Mikial saw that silent face looking back up through the crystal. “What have you done to me?” Holding her head, Mikial wished she could force it all out. The most revered Suria in her race's memory had confessed to starting Min Saja in a fit of spite. Then went on to join the enemy. How many Qurl girls looked up to Corias? Who would they look up to now for strength?

  Mikial sat back on the bed. Did she really want to go back home? Shatter that myth? Her eyes searched into the darkness beyond the moments of light. Dying here was easy enough. What better fate to serve Corias with then by giving her the ignominy she deserved.

  It was time to leave. Shredding her way out of the dress, Mikial slipped into her cleaned battle attire and hurriedly strapped on her armor. Unfortunately they had her rifle, but what did it matter? She was not even sure where she was going anyway.

  The last thing she expected to see before leaving was the frowning visage of Commander Chasa at her door. “No pistol?” Mikial scowled, tempted to slam the door in his impassive face.

  Chasa gave her a long look, taking in the obvious fact that she was preparing to leave. “Your mother wishes to have a few words with you before she goes. A message to take back to your leaders regarding her ... change of heart."

  The bitter disappointment in his eyes was obvious. “Change of heart? Her?” Mikial edged past him. “This is one impossibility I'll enjoy listening to."

  Wordlessly, he motioned her to follow. “She's in the courtyard."

  And you hate every bit of this, Mikial concluded as she followed him down the stairs and outside across the palace steps. The sky flashed above her. A hollow rumble raced to catch up. Frowning, Mikial glanced around. There should be guards. Lightning rendered her hunting eyes all but useless. Still, she sensed a familiar intensity ahead that rivaled the stormy skies around it. Rounding a hedge, Mikial found the source. Maltenna's carriage? Carriages didn't have skids for wheels. Nor did they look like a flattened bubble. Beside it, someone raised what looked like an odd-shaped rifle. Backhanding Chasa, she launched herself at her attacker. Something like a cannon discharge impacted against her chest in mid-leap.

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  * * *

  Nine

  “That was a full charge she took.” It was an odd flat-sounding voice. “She's actually coming out of it?"

  “Your outsider weapon is useless,” came a gruff and familiar response. “I may have to shoot her again."

  “You want to kill her? Just hold on."

  Mikial's blurred eyesight cleared. It felt like her body wanted to explode, her glands burning with the need to discharge excess energy. Gasping, she found herself strapped to a bench inside a light green cabin. Mikial craned her neck to see out the front windows into surprisingly bright daylight. The clouds! They flashed by at speeds that devoured every ounce of reason she had. She was airborne. This had to be the Minnerans’ flying carriage. Blinking, Mikial turned her attention to her captor. With one hand, he pressed what appeared to be a green field dressing to his bloody left cheek. The other hand held an odd square-barreled rifle on her. “Chasa! You're working with the Minnerans!"

  The Set Commander leaned forward in the green webbing of a restraint harness, allowing a slight smile to pass over his grim expression. “You've learned about as much as you need to, Taqurl."

  Mikial bared her teeth in a defiant hiss as a snap of energy leapt from the weapon Chasa pointed at her. Mikial's muscles jerked in a painful spasm, brilliant webs of energy crackling across her over saturated body. She convulsed, sending a powerful discharge of her own through the cabin. Screaming, Chasa was thrown back against the bulkhead, his chest and face riddled with smoking holes.

  The pilot's shout from the front of the carriage accompanied a shrill squeal. The air abruptly fogged. They were dropping! Gasping for breath, she struggled uselessly at her restraints. Behind Chasa's quivering body, electrical fires spat angrily within serpentine tangles of exposed conduits.

  The cabin thrashed and shook with harsh deceleration. Odd noises loudly hooted and warbled over the clatter of loose equipment. Still bound in its webbing, Chasa's limp body seemed to dance with glee as Mikial struggled for each successive breath. Her last scrap of consciousness floated away as she saw the ground rush toward them.

  * * * *

  Mikial became aware of hanging almost upside down in a tangle of straps above a sharply canted deck. The bench had collapsed beneath her, giving her arms a measure of freedom. Energy still screeched and snapped where her discharges had pierced the walls. Acrid smoke hazed the air.

  She reached over and seized a knife off the belt of Chasa's still body. Cutting herself free, Mikial dropped unsteadily to the deck. She regarded Chasa with a sneer, noting neither movement nor breath. How was he involved in all this? Had Maltenna planned this treachery all along? Or had Chasa acted on his own? It no longer mattered, since he obviously was dead. She kicked at the broken stock of the weapon Chasa had used on her. It had not fared much better than its owner. Mikial looked up at the forward section of the airship. The pilot with the odd accent was gone.

  Pulling her aching body up the angled deck, Mikial inspected a left-side window that had been pushed out. A long yellow rope was hooked to a fixture above it. Mikial looked out the opening, following the rope as it dangled six spans down to a forest floor. Apparently the pilot had used a large tree to cushion their drop. In his panic to escape, he had not thought to kill her. Mikial's lips pulled back into a feral grin.

  Sweat-soaked palms from her recent discharge made for slippery going as Mikial eased herself out the window and began her descent. Looking around, Mikial saw only treetops. The pilot had not even reached the Qurl Hills yet, despite the speed of his flight. This meant a long walk back home with, hopefully, a valuable prisoner in tow. She felt grateful to both her soon-to-be prisoner and Set Commander Chasa for one thing. Until now, she had little in the way of a purpose to keep living.

  One problem at a time, Mikial counseled herself, dropping from the rope to the leaf-scattered ground. No doubt her prey was putting as much distance as he could manage between himself and her location. Mikial looked up at the stricken machine jammed into the high branches. The dun-colored oval airship looked like a tree house that had slipped from its perch. The Holding would be relieved to know of its demise. Perhaps they could even send a Strike out here to salvage it. Maybe it would prove enough of a prize to salvage her own future as well. Mikial's hunting eyes reached out around her. Bringing that pilot back alive might serve the same purpose.

  Growling, Mikial found her quarry's trail in the soft soil near the tree. Taking a steadying breath, she put aside the complaints of her body, content that her armor had prevented worse than the bruising she received. She filled her nostrils with an unusual animal-like scent that could only belong to her intended prisoner. Senses primed, she broke into a moderate run.

  It took less than a chime before her she caught the consistent blur of a body's movement among the faint emanations of surrounding foliage. He appeared to follow an old game trail, perhaps in an attempt to hide his tracks.

  Mikial broke from cover, moving swiftly in a wide arc to put herself ahead of the Minneran. She caught glimpses of him, a slender yet solid-looking figure that carried himself with an assurance she would shortly deflate. His light brown hair was closely cropped and capped with an odd beret of deep forest green. His uniform was not khaki, but
a more sensible mottled camouflage pattern. He also had on a small backpack. She fought the urge to simply leap out and tear his throat. He was her best hope to regain her people's trust. Despite the truths she had been exposed to.

  The male took a twist in the trail and came to an abrupt halt by a gnarled stump. His brown eyes widened with alarm upon seeing her blocking his path. Lips above a sharp jaw line uttered something she could not understand, then he aimed a hard kick at her stomach. Sidestepping the attack, Mikial delivered a cuff to his head. He was no faster than any other Minneran she faced, but he did prove persistent. Spinning with the blow, he surprised her with a sweeping kick that almost knocked her legs out from under her. A quick fist to her jaw followed.

  Stunned more by her own inept response than the force of his blow, Mikial sprawled him out with the lash of her forearm, his beret flying into the brush. Baring her teeth in an enraged hiss, she advanced on him with claws extended. Let the Shandi sort through his guts instead!

  He scrambled to his feet, yelling in that flat toneless accent she had heard before. “Wait! You don't want to kill me. Ears ... look at my ears!” He pointed at a pair of malformed rounded ears. “I'm not Minneran! I'm not even from your world. That's worth keeping me alive, right?"

  She stared at him, drawing in a peculiar brutish scent that was matched by an equally bizarre aura emanating from his body. Mikial dismissed such distractions. “All you are to me is a prisoner of the Datha Qurl!"

  “Fine,” he blurted out. “Just take me to your authorities. I'm not with these Minnerans by choice, Mikial. In fact, my people can help yours."

  She snarled at the strange Minneran's familiarity with her name. “That's for the Shandi to decide, after they've sifted you like flour.” Mikial turned him around none too gently and pulled off his belt. “I'll happily volunteer for your execution afterward.” She tied his hands behind him, satisfied at his grunt of pain when she tightened the knot. The Minneran's skin was an odd pasty white that made even an Ipper look tanned.

  It did not stop him from talking nonsense. “We don't need to be enemies. My people are helping the Minnerans because we have no other choice. My name's Ryan Donald ... I'm a human.” He pointed his stubbled chin upwards. “I come from beyond that thing you call the Curtain. My world isn't all that different from yours; maybe a bit smaller."

  Mikial's eyes widened. She rewarded this Ryan's audacity with a backhand that sent him reeling. Reaching down, she seized him by his throat, her claws drawing blood. “I watched my Strike get cut to pieces with weapons you probably supplied, so spare me your ravings!"

  Eyes bulging, he brought both of his feet up hard into her stomach. Gasping, Mikial slammed Ryan against the ground and drew the knife she had freed herself with. He didn't move. Poised to drive the blade through his skull, Mikial checked his pulse. He was alive, but unconscious.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! Mikial berated herself as she threw his limp body over her shoulder and headed down the trail. What is wrong with me? This prisoner is invaluable, which means he's not a kicking bag. She let her temper cool as she sought her bearings. Mikial aligned herself with the sun and headed east with her captive.

  Ryan regained consciousness shortly and proved sturdy enough to walk under his own power. He kept silent, giving Mikial a grim look as she inspected the wide bruise along his forehead. His strange scent was almost exotic enough to lend credence to his fantastic claims. Crossing a fern-choked creek, Mikial swatted him into a run. It was best to put as much distance between them, and whomever the wrecked airship might attract. Ryan's machine certainly looked and acted like something that might come from beyond the Curtain. Hissing, Mikial forced such conjecture from her thoughts. Being deep inside Kioranna, without the safety of Dahin's company, was worry enough.

  Ryan collapsed late that afternoon in a soaked heap along a stream Mikial used to thwart potential trackers. The vacancy on his dirt-streaked face was explanation enough that further ground was not going to be gained. Feeling the edges of her own endurance, Mikial decided against carrying him again. The forest gave neither scent nor sound of hunters. There was time to spare for rest while she reoriented her bewildered mind.

  Confident that her captive's fatigue would provide the heavier bondage, Mikial tied Ryan's hands to a bush and then climbed a nearby tree. Claws digging into the moist bark, she rapidly ascended in hopes that she would find a landmark. She was rewarded instead by a seemingly endless carpet of trees. So where were the plains? The river? Mikial slid back down. Keep going east. Sooner, or later, she would bump into something meaningful

  Mikial paused in her descent. A blue haze of smoke drew her amber eyes in the direction of the setting sun. A village? She exposed her canines in a wicked grin. They would have yhas. Tonight they would have two less.

  Her elation turned to surprise when she reached the ground. The brush she tied Ryan to had been torn up. He was gone. No wonder we don't bother with prisoners, Mikial fumed, sniffing out his scent. “You keep running upwind!” she jabbed spitefully, sprinting back along the stream bank. And I shouldn't have been so sloppy, Mikial added to herself. This is getting out of hand.

  She had the satisfaction of pulling Ryan out from beneath a brush-filled hollow like an ill-tempered rock bear. He came out swinging. Fed up, Mikial hurled him back into the thicket again. What am I supposed to do? Drag this idiot bodily across Kioranna? Killing him was becoming a more attractive option by the moment.

  Ryan crawled to his feet with a sullen look, wiping blood from his nose. “Okay, I can't fight you. Can't even outrun you. Bad enough that you're not even raising a sweat."

  “I'm Dathia Qurl,” she spat. “Common sense should tell you not even to try."

  “Common sense is in short supply on this planet.” Ryan slumped down by the water. “Look, you want us to stop supplying the Minnerans with weapons, right? What if I can help arrange that?"

  She sat down across from him and removed the captured pack. “Like you arranged things for Chasa?” Despising every moment with this fool, Mikial unzipped the canvas pack he carried. “What's this yellow case in here?"

  “Crash kit.” Ryan raised his hands in a hopeless gesture. “Are you listening to me? The Minnerans forced our cooperation.

  We get free, and these weapons stop getting made."

  Mikial put her fingers to her lips, a signal for silence that he apparently understood. She breathed out a calming breath. Every lie sawed at her fraying patience. She released the clasps on the case.

  Her captive reached for the discarded pack.

  Ears flattening, Mikial gave a warning hiss.

  Ryan raised a cautioning hand. “Relax the fangs, would you? I put some murr roots in there, along with the kit. They're one of the few things I like about this place."

  Mikial placed the pack between them and shook its contents on the ground. She could certainly use some murr right now. Mikial sorted through other objects, which included collapsible glasses, and even a small pot. All made from an unusual bright orange material.

  “It's called plastic,” Ryan explained, watching her puzzlement as Mikial tapped at a glass. “Your race doesn't use oil that much, or you would've come up with this for yourselves."

  “Well I recognize this,” she sneered back, picking up what appeared to be a heating coil for the pot. Her senses detected what probably was a battery in the round base that supported the coil. Mikial gestured toward the creek. “Fill the pot and start it boiling.” Her smile was devoid of humor. “I wouldn't recommend any further escape attempts, such as tossing that water in my face. I'll kill you before you even realize how slow you are."

  Ryan's reply was unintelligible as he followed her orders.

  At Ryan's return, Mikial divided her attention between him and the yellow case from his backpack. There were two thin blankets that looked like they were woven from metal. Next to them were several brown packets of what might be medication or food. There was also a clever pocket-sized black case that unfo
lded into a powerful set of field glasses. The biggest prize she found was a shiny kind of white vellum. Unfolding it, Mikial was rewarded with the most detailed Minneran map she had ever seen. Cities, forests, rivers, all clearly marked and labeled. It was as if the map had been constructed from an impossible height. Mikial looked sidelong at her captive. Each new discovery she made only substantiated Ryan's wild stories. True, the Cothra liked to speculate about other worlds beyond the Curtain, but she paid little interest to such idle talk. Until now.

  Intrigued, Mikial brought out yet another inexplicable device on a wrist strap. She detected the presence of a miniscule battery. Bright red symbols glowed from an otherwise featureless black faceplate. The designs changed as she turned. “A compass,” Mikial guessed. “What are the markings?"

  “Numbers,” Ryan explained, stirring the roots within the pot. “Human numbers.” He embellished his response with more garbled phrases.

  “Stop babbling."

  Ryan gave a tired laugh. “What's wrong? Can't deal with the concept of another language? Your ancestors probably did a great job of squashing any competing dialects.” Ryan let loose with a string of sounds.

  “Enough,” Mikial said, not liking the tone or pitch of what she heard. She also had her fill of history. Enough to drown in.

  “Just trying to prove my point,” he explained. “I think the murr is ready."

  There was no spice to enhance it, but Mikial welcomed the soothing effect of the dark liquid despite her company. Especially with the way her own self-discipline had slipped today. Hopefully there would be enough murr to keep her from killing this human out of hand. Mikial eyed her captive as he sprawled against a tree. She would be lucky to get a few steps with him tonight, and sunlight was waning. “We'll camp here until you regain your strength."