by K. M. Tolan
Reaching back into his coat, he brought out a small journal. “Ryan gave this to Yora, saying that he wanted you to have it. Something he'd been working on while in captivity."
Mikial opened the worn leather binding. Its pages were full of common words that had been meticulously penned in black letters. Each was followed by what could only be writing scripted in Ryan's own language. A pronunciation of the alien phrase was placed beside it. She looked up at her father. “This is a translation book.” Inside the cover, there was a brief message to her.
That's twice I've saved your life. Remember that the next time we meet. Good luck learning how to rule, Mikial.
She set the book aside. “Where is Ryan now?"
His lips curled in disdain. “Heading home. I'm told that Yora gave Ryan an earful of what would happen if they ever returned."
“I'm surprised she didn't just blow us up."
Jakar gave a snort. “Yora's mission parameters did not authorize her to sacrifice this sect's first Suria. Otherwise, I would've drank to your memory statue instead of watching your torses grow cold."
“Sorry,” Mikial said, picking up the fork he placed on her plate.
“Get your strength back quickly, daughter.” Jakar looked back at the door, where a couple of Shandi Healers waited expectantly. “I think these ladies would like you left in peace for awhile.” Bending down, he kissed her forehead, then turned for the doorway.
“I still want to make you proud of me,” Mikial half whispered.
Her father hesitated, then continued out the door.
She let out a slow exhale after Jakar had gone. At least he had not condemned her for what she did at Keper. Just as confused as I am, Mikial thought.
She ate every torse on the plate under the approving gaze of the Shandi, who put her back to sleep as soon as she finished.
* * * *
Mikial woke late in the afternoon when she was visited by over a dozen Shandi, all Teachers in one discipline or another. Principal Kyian was among them. She performed an examination of the glands around Mikial's wrists, her manner no different than if she had been treating her for a cough instead of Change. Mikial did not recognize the others, but saw them continually glance back at Kyian during their own examinations. The disbelief in their eyes was obvious. Afterwards, it was back to sleep, with two Shandi tending to her temperature as evening came.
Such became her daily cycle of existence for the next several days: long intervals of sleep punctuated by sudden examinations and a large meal that was usually served by Yeneen. Her mother kept their conversations personal, putting aside Mikial's questions regarding the Holding's reaction to her Change. There was time instead to cry over her inevitable rejection of Dalen's First Promise. Or finding ways to seek forgiveness in Paleen's eyes. There were so many torn relationships to mend that Mikial even welcomed counseling from the Mental Studies branch of her mother's sect. Late in the week, Mikial saw a change in the constant examinations. The Teachers were mostly foreign now, first from Tessana, and then Kinset. Their expressions were no different, ranging from skepticism to fascination to outright incredulity.
Mikial's own disbelief over her condition eroded with the physical changes she experienced. She only needed to raise her arms to see the Change at work. Her skin was gradually losing its dark complexion. So, much to her dismay, was her hair. It was heading from a rusty hue to a pale auburn. Mikial did not need to guess what the second color in her Suria's belt would be. The tufts at the end of her ears were falling out, replaced by a fine line of clear hairs all along the ridges. The start of ear fans. Mikial viewed the alterations with mixed feelings. She always wanted to be an Ipper, but that only brought fresh memories of Paleen falling before her cannon. At least her hair had begun to cover her ears again.
A morning came when Mikial finally had enough of her changes, the fever, and the combined efforts of everyone to keep her inside a smothering cocoon. The balcony beckoned her to a world that was still in the process of living. Mikial wrapped herself within a cream-colored robe her mother had provided, and rolled back the screen door. Unnerved by her lack of strength, she eased herself into one of the wicker chairs with a view of the hospital gardens below, Ryan's book on human translations in her hands. If nothing else, she might discover some of what he mumbled about in his own tongue. Curses, no doubt. Mikial made a mental note to turn the book over to the Shandi. They would probably find it a more useful curiosity than she did.
The scent of flowers and greenery perfumed the breeze that plucked at her hair. She was irritated to find that the balcony had been enclosed on both sides by wooden lattices. Her ears had to strain to hear voices. At least they had not blocked her view of the garden itself. Within a chime, Mikial found all the company she needed. The sculpted hedgerows filled with well-wishers, both Shandi and patients alike. The most exuberant were Datha, who roared their greetings up to her. At least they're not throwing rocks, she thought, smiling back. Not yet, at least. Mikial lay back in the cushions of her chair, content to let the morning sounds drift her off to sleep once more.
The following day, Mikial marked her progress with several basic stretching exercises to relieve the aches in her muscles. The fever had become more of a shadow than a pounding presence. Her activities and appetite were monitored closely, the suppressed excitement on the faces of her caretakers increasing with each successive day. No one had yet uttered the title of Suria in her presence. Mikial realized that she was already caught up in the rituals that surrounded one of the greater Qurl mysteries.
Six days into Change, Mikial found herself able to perform the full range of exercises used by her sect without any rush of exhaustion. When her body ached, it was from needed exercise, something she gladly threw herself into. Tired of the inadequate hospital linens, Mikial had her mother bring in several changes of combat dress. Her keepers took note, conducting more examinations and measuring her performance as she exercised. She started to get Shandi visitors from as far away as Janara Holding on the southern tip of the continent. Like everyone else, they smoothly deflected her questions with well-mannered smiles. Mikial began to wonder if Principal Kyian coached them too. When boredom and frustration threatened to overwhelm her, there was always the balcony where Mikial exchanged shouted greetings with the inevitable crowd that gathered below.
Her fever, and the monotony, ended after nine days. The firm knock on the door that roused her that morning did not belong to any Shandi. Her eyes traced out a body's silhouette that she had been dreading to face. “Come in, Paleen,” Mikial said cautiously, slipping into one of her olive combat dresses. She stood before her bed, not sure what kind of reception this would end up being.
The face that poked slowly around the opened door looked like a Dathia who had been out in the field too long. Paleen's sandy hair was bound behind her, as if to show that the majority of wounds across her small face had vanished. She wore a simple blue dress, and a hesitant expression. Walking in, Paleen shut the door again and faced Mikial with flickering ear fans.
“How is Pella?” Mikial ventured.
“She's home. She can see a little now. The Shandi said her sight will be back to normal very soon."
“I'm pleased to hear that. And you?” Mikial asked quietly.
Paleen looked down, her lips pursed. “I'm here."
Mikial inspected Paleen's face closely, noting the slight discolorations along the left side of her forehead. “You were a mess when I saw you last."
Paleen stiffened slightly. “I swam against the river."
Mikial sighed. Enough dancing around this. “Spare me your Ipper sayings, Paleen. I almost killed you. How do we reconcile that? How do we reconcile us?” Pain stung at her eyes. “I've already lost Dalen."
A shiver ran through Paleen's ear fans. “You've lost neither of us.” She took an uncertain step forward. “Unless you want to."
“I didn't want any of this Change!"
“Are you so sure?” Her ear fans raised, a
nd for a moment Mikial swore she heard Paleen sing.
Putting her hands up around the short comb of hairs along her ears, Mikial gaped at her. “That was you?"
Paleen nodded with a smile. “I had to scream at you, but yes. When your fans have grown, and with much training, you'll hear so much more.” She spread her arms, her lips trembling. “Please, Mikial."
Mikial gave a sob of relief as they embraced. “No explanations, Paleen. No anything; it didn't happen."
“It happened,” Paleen whispered back. “You are Suria. Let's start over as well."
“Suria.” Mikial wiped at her eyes. “You're the first to call me that."
“I won't be the last,” Paleen replied with a sniff. “Principal Jia's on her way with our gift to you."
Mikial could not help the bitterness. “I've had about all the meddling I can stand from her. Leaking my first report, sending crazy letters. Itsa! She didn't do either of us much good."
Paleen pressed a finger to her lips. “I'm sure she'll explain better than—"
“Paleen!” Both Paleen and Mikial gave a start as Yora crossed the space from the door to Paleen in three strides. She wore a black dress uniform with crimson borders and battle patterns and was all business. The Strike Commander favored Paleen with bared teeth. “Step away!” Yora dropped the package she carried on the floor, her ebony eyes narrowed in deadly earnest. “Now."
Growling at Yora's extended claws, Mikial quickly got between them. “What's wrong with you?"
Yora's dark eyes remained fixed on the Ipper. “Paleen, you knew you weren't allowed in here.” She pointed an extended claw toward the door.
“Were you expecting her to assassinate me?” Mikial scoffed, as Paleen exited with a hiss of defiance.
“Excuse me,” Yora replied, “but you did discharge a cannon in her face.” The officer walked back and picked up the package she dropped. “Your friend can be a bit vengeful, or hadn't you noticed?” Yora's demeanor lost some of its terseness. “I assume that you both decided not to kill each other."
Mikial shrugged. “I didn't ask for apologies, and neither did she."
“Well I've got some mixed feelings of my own,” Yora said, tossing her package on the bed. “You are Suria, Mikial. You just started a new life.” Her face momentarily became a wall of granite. “Otherwise, I would have ended your previous one."
“I know that, Yora.” She swallowed. “I'd begged you to, if you recall."
Sighing, the officer shook her head. “You don't know how close you came to that wish.” Yora's voice trembled as she held herself to a whisper. “You're the first Dathia Suria. The first! Promise you won't put me in that position again and I will forgive you anything."
“Never again,” Mikial replied, not knowing how else to rebuild trust with her mentor. I can't stand alone. I don't want to. “You knew it was a bad mission, Yora."
“It wasn't my place to question it.” Yora wiped her eyes and prodded at the brown paper bundle. “Apparently, fate decreed that it was going to be yours.” She straightened, sweeping her hands along side-skirts laced with battle patterns. “It is my honor to represent the sect in your preparation, Suria. Do you accept me?"
Mikial gave a relieved breath. “Of course."
As steadfast as she was, the Strike Commander seemed to dance with excitement as her voice rose. “Surian Guard!"
Two dark-haired Dathia entered. Unmarried, both wore dress uniforms with their belts tied to the left. They would stay with her until her Presentation. Her status as a mere patient was obviously over.
Between them, the Dathia held a heavy basalt murr pot with its own built-in glowstone and handles. Mugs of the same dark stone clinked on hooks that surrounded the huge pot. The two Dathia placed the bubbling pot on the side table near her bed. Mikial recognized one of the Surian Guard, who gave her a quick nod in acknowledgement before they left. Mureak Cellas from Seventh Force.
“The Ipper practically fell over themselves getting this here,” Yora explained. She inclined her head toward the door. “Principal Jia is outside for the formal presentation."
“I finally get to meet her in person,” Mikial said as Yeneen ushered everyone out.
“Privately,” the Strike Commander added, following the Surian Guard out.
Mikial folded her arms and considered a test of her new status by hanging the manipulative Ipper by her ear fans. When Jia Yeffer entered, the first impression in Mikial's mind was of a much older Paleen. Jia's hair was as white as Parva's braids, an impressive spray of ear fans framing rounded cheeks and a small nose. Age had put a few wrinkles in her brow, but had not dampened a sense of cleverness in the Principal's amber eyes. She wore a loose-fitting sky-blue blouse and matching pants. Her side-skirts carried no marks regarding her status or accomplishments.
“Do you like the pot, Suria?” Jia inquired in a soft melodic voice.
“It's wonderful,” Mikial said with a smile. She ran her hand over the bas-relief of a spindly-limbed kett carved into the side. The marsupial clung dexterously among exquisitely fashioned branches as if stalking a bird for its next meal. “I'm rather surprised. I would've expected artistry like this to take months."
“As if we knew you were going to become Suria?” Jia gave a soft laugh. “Laying traps for me already, Dathia?” She walked over to the bed and sat down. She looked up at Mikial with a disquieting smile. “The future is much like a pond. Throw in a pebble, and the little water bugs can see those ripples coming, even if they never reach them. Throw in a stone...” The Principal shrugged, but her amber eyes steadied on Mikial. “Perhaps we may show you what wonders your new ear fans can bring you. In the meantime, you must learn to exercise a virtue which seems to give most Dathia trouble.” She held up a forefinger. “Patience."
Mikial's eyebrows creased with consternation. With Paleen talking to dead Ippers, Jia's foretelling the future did not seem that far-fetched. Her father worried about implications? Here was a bundle of them, all sitting on her bed. “Was releasing my first field report an act of patience?"
“Flowers will not grow if you don't water them.” Leaning forward, Jia clasped her hands together. “Allow this to be your first lesson as Suria. The Ipper are not just entertainers and signalers. We are also advocates of change.” Jia chuckled. “Oh, that does makes the Shandi irritated with us from time to time. Sometimes, though, one has to lift one's anchor to avoid the coming storm, no matter how much that anchor complains. We have been watching you, Mikial. I am surprised you haven't noticed. So far, you have managed yourself quite well.” A slight hint of mischief came across Jia's face. “Admittedly, we have prodded you here and there."
Scowling, Mikial saw little to laugh about. “Like putting me into a position where I had to betray my own kind? You could've told the Tasur about those beacons!"
For a moment, something unyielding flashed from behind the Principal's amber eyes. “Not if I wanted to see how much you would be willing to sacrifice on your Holding's behalf. Merely giving one's life is something any Dathia could do. The Suria we need had to surrender far more.” She sighed. “Paleen wasn't meant to be part of that sacrifice, Mikial. Had we been able to perceive her intentions, we would not have let your friend be our eyes and ears. As it was, Paleen tested you far more severely than we ever dared to. You and I owe her much for the devotion she showed you."
“She almost threw her own life away just to save my reputation.” Mikial looked at Jia with a frown. “I'm not worth that much."
The Principal gave a small laugh. “Along with patience, Suria, you will need to learn how to judge yourself a bit better than you do.” Standing, she reached up and lightly brushed the budding hairs along Mikial's ears. Jia's voice fell to a whisper. “Don't fret. You will never be alone now."
Clasping her hands respectfully, Mikial watched as Jia Yeffer left. “Ipper Qurl,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.
Yora Horian was quick to return, her grin quickly doused by Mikial's sober expressi
on. “Mikial?” Yora glanced back outside. “What did she say to you?"
“Just implications,” Mikial replied, walking over to the rumbling murr pot. “Do yourself a favor, Yora. The next time you see Paleen, apologize and give her a hug."
“I was a bit over-protective,” Yora admitted. “Paleen's Principal vouched for her, I assume."
“I think you can safely trust Paleen with my life, if that's what you're asking.” Mikial handed Yora a mug, then pulled one off a ring for herself. “I'm beginning to see why they sent me this pot. One conversation with Jia and I'm ready to drown myself in it."
“Wait until you see our sect's gift.” Yora pointed to the bathroom to the right of her bed. “After you've cleaned up, of course."
What Yora had waiting for Mikial after a quick shower was the most beautiful dress uniform Mikial had ever seen. The pants ran smoothly up her legs as she put them on, the seams hidden in the luminous black weave. The blouse, with its flowing side-skirts, featured the same shimmering material. Its feel suggested that the sturdy cotton had been meshed with silken threads. Both the bright crimson trim along the side-skirts and high collar, as well as the battle patterns on the skirt panels, were brocaded using lustrous sea spider thread. Eyes wide, Mikial gaped at buttons fashioned from faultless blood crystals. Chuckling at Mikial's reaction, Yora had to keep prodding in order to get her to finish dressing.
“This is the first time in history that our sect gets to boast a little, you understand,” Yora said, running a comb through Mikial's hair.
Mikial plucked at the finery. “This all fits so well."
“Thank your mother for getting the measurements while you slept. Blame me, and quite a few other Dathia, for the sewing on your newest battle patterns. Parva had quite a time trying to represent your collapse from Change. Wasn't exactly like being wounded in battle, you know. Oh, and you have no belt. That comes with your formal Presentation."
“At least I know what my second color will be.” Mikial ran her fingers gently along her ears. “I'm not happy about what it's doing to my skin, though."
