by K. M. Tolan
“My sect isn't going to be much help to me, if my father's any indication of their attitude."
Dalen shook his head in wonder. “Well, every Dathia's cheering for you, but your sect seems to want to stay out of this. Oddly enough, it's the Ipper who've risen to your defense. It's the first time I ever saw them commit to anything so intensely. They're usually the ones watching everyone else bicker. If they keep stirring the other sects up, the Tasuria may have to try something other than a Judgment with you as well."
“You mean offer me a deal?” Mikial looked down at the draining water. “It's already been tried once before, Dalen. My banishment to the frontier was Principal Kyian's idea of a compromise. I don't expect the Tasuria will be in the mood to offer another.” Her face hardened. “Especially since I'd refuse it. If a Judgment's the only way I can warn the Holding about what's going on beyond these hills—and this world—then that's the path I'll take."
Dalen pressed himself against her. “Right now I'll settle for you taking me again if you don't mind."
Mikial looked at him with bewilderment. “Why me, Dalen? I'm not the only female running around this Holding with an aile necklace. I'd hardly call myself attractive, either."
He flicked a finger at her ear. “Spare me that Dathia's lament you ladies love to sing. There's more excitement in a Dathia when she's only standing still, than in an Ipper's wildest dance.” Dalen rubbed at the nape of her neck. “You never look tamed, Mikial. You don't act it either, especially running around both Kioranna and Minnera as you did. “Weren't you ever afraid out there?"
“Not in our conditioning. Besides, I was born out there, remember?” She cuddled closer to him. “If anything scares me, it's Ryan's people. He talked about destroying an entire Force of Minnerans just by himself. If he has weapons capable of that, what chance has any Holding if these humans attack us?"
“Which is what I'd expect you to worry about,” Dalen said. “Try and see this like a Cothra, Mikial. You'd see an opportunity to learn new sciences like nothing we've ever encountered before. My sect tried for days to drag Ryan away from the Shandi. They won't let us near him."
“Spoken just like a Cothra,” Mikial said with a laugh, not wanting to argue the point. “Come on, my love. I need to drag you over to a Shandi. Your back is a mess."
“Might as well add a few more scratches for them to yell about,” he grinned, rolling on top of her.
“But we have water all over..."
* * * *
The following days were enfolded in a bliss that seeped into everything Mikial thought or did. Dalen proved himself as capable a companion as he was a lover. He talked of his home back in Kinset, bringing her still-recorder pictures of coastal palisades rising many times the height of the walls of Chekena Palace. He also talked of how he had flown gliders off those cliffs, kindling a love that followed him to his adopted Holding. Late in the week, he set up a motion-recorder and viewing screen in her room at the inn. He showed her images of himself doing spins and loops in a red airsail with a yellow tail fin. Mikial saw the freedom in Dalen's eyes as he watched himself fly, and she began to understand the nature of this Cothra she found.
Mikial was not as proud of what she revealed to Dalen in those nights when she stared past his shoulders while in bed. It was in those quiet interludes that pleasant thoughts wore thin, and her father's disapproving face shone through. The first time her tears had fallen on Dalen's skin, he thought he had done something terribly wrong. Mikial had simply explained them away as part of her Passion. That excuse worked until late that week when she felt her Passion begin to slip away.
Mikial spent her last evening with Dalen curled up on a garden bench atop Keep's Ridge. She wore a simple yellow-and-white dress to remove herself from anything that resembled her sect. Far better to have nothing on her mind. Dalen was also in a casual mood. His brown grass-stained work pants contrasted nicely with the green shirt she bought him earlier that day in the market. They finished off a second bottle of wine after a late meal of field hen, the sun a reluctant glow upon the horizon. Mikial made the mistake of looking back across the terraces, and caught herself staring at the roof of her house. The first sob pulled itself from her heart. Clutching Dalen, Mikial could not help the many more that followed. Saying nothing, he folded his arms around her, and let Mikial cry herself out.
“I've made your shirt all wet,” she sniffed, finally reining-in her emotions. Shaking her head, Mikial wiped her cheeks and looked off toward her home. “How long will he hold this against me?” she whispered, wondering if she would ever be welcome there again.
Dalen gave an exasperated sigh. “Does your father ever take that uniform off in his mind?"
“He did once,” Mikial said, reaching back for that one precious memory when her father had picked her up after she sang First Greetings. “He won't again."
“Let's go see Paleen."
Mikial looked at him in confusion. “Paleen? Bad enough that I've saddled you with my bawling."
Dalen gave her a reassuring kiss. “Paleen and I have had plenty of time to talk about you since you've been gone. Especially about how you might be treated on your return.” His face set, Dalen helped her to her feet. “She's found another place for you to live, Mikial. A nice cottage down by the river that the both of you can share. Until it's ready, you can stay at her house."
Mikial gave a weak laugh, hating to pop that nice bubble he fashioned in her mind. “Until it's ready? I'm not sure I have that long. My Passion has all but ended, Dalen. Principal Kyian stopped by today while you were at the forge, and told me I've started the two-day wait before my Judgment."
Dalen gripped her arm with a strength that surprised her. “Since when did your sect start admitting defeat before a battle?"
“You made your deals, Dalen,” Mikial growled back, pulling free. “I've run out of them. All I can hope to do is become the warning this Holding badly needs.” Mikial looked away, not wanting to be angry with the one person who had given her so much relief. “I can't stand up to the Shandi, Dalen. Nobody can."
His fingers delicately held her chin, and tilted her face to regard him. “Silly Dathia. You're not alone. Come on. Let's see if your Ipper friend and I can breath a little future into you. You can stay overnight with her, then see your parents in the morning if you have to."
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* * *
Thirteen
Wearing the green sleeping gown Paleen had given her last year, Mikial stared over her plate of meatcakes. She had decided not to spend the night with Paleen after all. This was still her house too, and she preferred the comfort of her own bed in the two days left her before Judgment. She expected her father to be gone by the time she had finally gotten up, but he surprised her by both being home and preparing breakfast. Instead, it was her mother who had departed before dawn to attend a meeting at Healer's Ridge. It was just as well, Mikial sighed to herself. Her mother had barely said a word to her yesterday evening that had not ended with at least one of them running off in tears.
Mikial regarded Jakar, who had not said anything at all. His worn fursnake robe gave him the appearance of a large rock bear as he hunkered over a steaming plate of meatcakes across the table. She could tell from the smolder behind his timber-brown eyes that congenial breakfast talk was not on the menu.
“So?” she ventured. “Will you be sitting up there with the Tamerid tomorrow?"
Her father set aside a meatcake, his mustache pulled down in a frown. “Eighth Force's Commander, Neth Keel, will be acting Principal for your Judgment tomorrow."
“Not by your wish,” Mikial concluded, picking another cake from her dish.
“The Ipper Principal, Jia Yeffer, demanded the change. It seems you have quite a few friends in that sect.” Growling, Jakar slid his plate aside. “Look at me, daughter. I am a Sur. My life is the Datha. My life, understand?” He held up his hands. “Everything I am is bound to the sect, including you. First in your cl
ass, the most promising Dathia this Holding has seen...” Jakar shook his head.
Mikial leaned forward. “This Holding needs to stop being so blind to what's going on around it.” Her tone darkened. “Especially you."
Jakar's expression remained immovable. “There is no vindication for disobedience in our sect. I thought you understood that."
Mikial responded with a growl of her own. “My problem is that I understand too much."
“You only think you do,” he countered. “That, Mikial, has been your problem all along."
“Others believe differently."
Her father gave a derisive hiss. “The Ipper? They've made it practically impossible for you to be forgiven. How are we supposed to face Minnera, and this combined army they lead, when the Ipper are splitting us apart? It's the worst time for such mischief, as Jia herself will find out."
“What? The Shandi are going to go after her, too?"
“As I said, this is not the time for dissension within the Holding."
“Does that include reprisals against the Dathia showing support for me?” Mikial quietly asked.
“We can tolerate our Dathia rallying around one of their own, despite her actions.” Jakar scowled. “Your sect sisters can afford to grant you some leniency. I can't."
“Even as my father?"
He let out a hopeless-sounding breath. “Being a father doesn't save me, any more than being my daughter excuses you. Mikial, you set aside the love of your family for what you thought was right. Now I have to do the same in turn to you, for the same reason."
Mikial slid back her chair and stood up. “What would you prefer? That I run bawling to the Tasuria? Make a mockery of what I did, while I slobber for forgiveness at her feet?"
He eyed her over his plate. “Do you think what you did wrong?"
Mikial showed him her teeth. “No!"
“Then I expect you to act like any Dathia and fight to defend yourself.” Jakar nodded toward her breakfast. “Now sit down and finish breakfast."
“Acknowledged,” Mikial quietly returned. She started to take her chair, but paused at the sound of a carriage. “Who's bothering us this early?” She wiped her mouth with an exasperated growl and turned on the outside lamp. Eyes wide, she stepped back from the window. “It's the Tasuria!"
Jakar got up, fumbling to straighten his robe. His expression was no less surprised then hers. “Don't stand there like a fool. Let her in!"
Unlatching the door, Mikial was mindful of her own sloppy appearance as she clasped her hands in respect. In contrast, Sencia Ellis was dressed in a Tasuria's traditional cream-colored blouse and pants with heavily brocaded gold side-skirts. Mikial eyed Sencia's belt. Yellow over brown, secured by the lantern insignia of Mental Studies. This was as official a visit as it could get.
“Mikial,” Sencia greeted with a nod as she stepped in. The ruler inclined her head to Mikial's father. “Principal.” Her small mouth curled slightly. “Forgive my unannounced arrival, but I am sure you both will appreciate the advantage of early maneuver.” Sencia's dark eyes were like nails pinning Mikial against the wall. “I have already been in discussions with Principal Kyian and Mikial's mother this morning, among others. Now I have things to discuss with your daughter."
Jakar gestured to the living room. “My house is yours, Tasuria. If you wish to wait while we dress appropriately..."
The Tasuria waved a hand. “I am the one who walked in on breakfast, Jakar. Why don't you just let Mikial and I talk for a bit?"
He nodded. “I'll be in my study."
Mikial regarded Tasuria Sencia with more than a little suspicion. “If you don't mind me asking, my Tasuria, this seems a bit irregular right before you Judge me."
Sencia sighed, reaching back to smooth her calico orange-and-copper hair. “There will not be a Judgment, Mikial. At least not here."
Frowning, Mikial didn't like the look of sorrow that crossed Sencia's face. “I'm entitled to one, Tasuria. You can't just have me killed."
The Tasuria gave a weary nod. “No, Dathia, I cannot. One item on a list of things I will not allow.” She faced Mikial with a set expression. “I can not have the Shandi and Ipper at each others throats when our Holding is facing dangers it hasn't seen since its founding. I cannot have you telling us that the most revered Suria in history was a disillusioned traitor who started Min Saja out of spite. Finally, I can not tolerate having the Kiorannans cease all baby exchanges as their Steward has threatened if you came to any harm."
“The Steward said that?” Mikial replied with a weak look.
“The head of that ranch family we prize so much, your Set Commander Dahin Chadrak I believe, actually dared walk into our frontier with the message, and demanded to know if you had returned safely.” The Tasuria grimaced. “You should have left your heritage buried, Mikial. Now I have no choice but to get you as far away from it as possible.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Tasuria Amari of Tessana Holding has accepted my request for your emigration. You will be provided one day's preparation for your trip. The Cothra will help move any belongings you wish."
Stunned, Mikial could only gape at her. “You...” She gave a soft moan. “You might as well kill me! Tasuria, everyone I love is...” Mikial's eyes squeezed shut, refusing to cry in Sencia's presence.
Sencia's touch seemed to pierce through her like a spear. “Mikial, look at me."
Mikial obeyed, marshaling her torn feelings under the intensity of Sencia's gaze.
“You see this clasp I wear?” Sencia pointed to her belt. “That tiny crystal inside the lantern holds a very special importance within my sect. I received it in White Canyon, in Tessana. It is the High College for Mental Studies. White Canyon is the only school outside of Kinset qualified to instruct Surs and Surias. Tasuria Amari believes they can help you deal with everything your mind has been poisoned with.” The Tasuria's tone softened. “Wouldn't you like a normal life again?"
Mikial regarded her in disbelief. “Away from home?"
The Tasuria stepped closer, placing her hands over Mikial's bared claws. “In a new home, with a fresh start. I have talked with your Dalen Goss, Mikial. As much as I would hate to lose one of my most gifted engineers, I have agreed to his request to emigrate with you. The only thing I ask in turn is that you keep your experiences outside this Holding to yourself while you prepare to leave. No helping the Ipper with their mischief.” Sencia's eyes sharpened. “Otherwise, Dathia, you will not have even one chime for your goodbyes.” She released Mikial's hands. “Do we understand each other, Mikial?"
“Acknowledged,” Mikial replied tightly.
The Tasuria nodded. “Good. I am pleased to see that you have some discipline about you still. Principal Kyian was convinced that confronting you alone was far too dangerous a risk. I chose to have more faith.” She took a breath. “I truly wish you well, Mikial. Perhaps you are a visionary, as Principal Jia seems to think. Unfortunately, this is not the time for one."
Which leaves me fending for myself into a foreign Holding, Mikial thought miserably as the Tasuria left. She sank down on the chair next to her half eaten breakfast and ran her fingers across the familiarity of the kitchen table's worn wood. The scents of home were imbedded in each scratch and stain. One day to pack. It seemed horribly unreal.
Her father returned with a questioning look. “Well?"
She scowled at him. “You knew Sencia was going to exile me.” It was not a question.
“It was the best compromise I could manage,” Jakar returned. “We didn't know if another Holding would want you."
“It's obvious that you don't!” Mikial returned to her room and angrily dressed in the two-piece black uniform she had worn to Paleen's Keering ceremony. At least they can't take my sect away from me. Hissing, she tied on the red belt she earned in Bramble Ravine. Her amber eyes fell on the necklace that draped over her mirror. Seizing it, Mikial glared at the rifle ball dangling from the gold clasp. Crying out, she hurled it into the glass.
<
br /> Her father was at the door a moment later. He looked down at the glittering mirror fragments littering the floor. “I suggest you curb your anger while you still have things intact enough to pack."
“You really don't care, do you?"
Jakar turned back for his study.
Shrieking, Mikial leapt into the hall behind him. Her father spun around, and for a tense moment they stared at each other with extended claws and flattened ears.
“I want an answer!’ Mikial spat. “I need to know that you'll deserve the hate I feel right now!"
“I saved your life!” he roared back. “I gave you one more chance to rebuild what you tore down!"
“In White Canyon? You call that rebuilding my...” Further vehemence seized in her throat as the hall window vibrated with the elongated scream of sirens.
Mikial looked at him in disbelief. “You planned a recall exercise today of all days?"
Jakar's response was to abruptly turn for his study. At a run.
Mikial stared after him. “Creation!” A moment later she was back in her room, pulling her armor bag and rifle from the closet. An instant later she had her camouflage battle dress on. Mikial almost collided with her father in the hall, Jakar dashing from his study with his own gear. He threw aside the kitchen door as they both ran for the stables.
The community center siren wailed at them through the mists of an early sky. More alerts rebounded down the canyon, bringing neighbors outside their homes with confused looks. Their faces reflected her own thoughts. Was the Qurl Hills actually under a major attack?
Mikial quickly threw a saddle on her yhas, ignoring Kikia's irritated bleats as she lashed the straps tight and swung on.
For a brief moment, Mikial caught her father's eyes as he tied her armor bag and rifle to the saddle. “Good luck,” she finally said, relieved he hadn't ordered her to stay home.
