Blade Dancer
Page 8
“Hey, you’ve got nineteen to go!”
I hit the access panel and strode out into the corridor, nearly knocking over a wide-bodied Dakrith.
“Watch where you’re going,” he snarled, then stumbled back as I turned on him. “Sorry. My fault. Won’t
happen again.”
I didn’t storm into the dancer’s quarters. I signaled politely. I could be civilized about this. I could find out
what his agenda was. The door panel opened.
Or not.
I lunged, knocking his stick out of his hand and pinning him against the nearest wall panel. “You
sabotaged the weight unit. Admit it.”
“You have speed. Strength. Courage.” He took out another stick and transmuted it into a blade, then
rested the tip against my belly. “Need wisdom.”
“Obviously.” There was nowhere for either of us to go, so we were staying right here. “Why all the
games? Why not just kill me the first time I stepped on the ship?”
“I never play.” He moved then, somehow sliding out of my strong hands, whirling his blade up in front of
my face. I jerked back, but it was so close I could feel the air displaced by the edge whisper across my
skin.
I backed into the corridor, watching him advance, still holding the blade. “You’re a blade dancer. I know
what you are. Why am I alive?”
“Because you are fast.” He brought his knife to within a centimeter of my right eye. If I blinked, he’d slice
open my eyelid. I could smell a strange, pungent herb on his breath as he leaned in close, still not touching
me anywhere. “You go Reytalon.”
“Why?”
He grabbed me then, whipping me around until my face collided with the wall.
“Go to Reytalon,” he murmured next to my ear. “Find Kieran. Kill him.”
I was going to Joren and forget about this whole bizarre situation. But he had a blade, and obviously
expectations, so I lied. “I will.”
His grip vanished. I tensed, but all I felt was another whisper of air against my neck.
When I turned around, he was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Beware the obstacle that seeks the path.”
—Tarek Varena, ClanJoren
Joren wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. Oh, it was just like the planetary survey data said—the seventh
planet in a single-star system, big, multilife-form sustaining, etc. The moment I stepped off the launch at
Lno Main Transport, though, I knew they’d missed a few things.
I breathed in deeply. “Nice. I could dab the whole place behind my ears.”
The air smelled like flowers. Colors were sharper, clearer. Even the gravity felt right—on Terra, I’d
always felt like an oversize, lumbering t’lerue. Now I felt my muscles shifting, as if finally relaxing after
twenty-five years of tension.
Amazing what an extra couple pounds of atmospheric pressure per square inch would do for you.
As I walked down the ramp, a big blue-skinned female walked out of a nearby building and approached
the launch. She was a little shorter than me, but wore a fancy green tunic with slashes of purple and blue
on the sleeves. I’d given my mother a reproduction Tiffany lamp once with the exact same colors in the
stained-plas shade, and she’d kept it by her bed until the day she died.
My spirits took an abrupt dive. Everything on this damn planet was probably going to remind me of
Mom.
Why should it not? her ghost wanted to know. This was my home.
The Jorenian female didn’t stop at the ramp, but strolled up to meet me. Transport Admin, I read from
the discreet badge on her chest. A well-paying job, judging from the amount of expensive body
ornaments she had hanging from her ears, throat, and wrists. She gave me a not-too-enthusiastic smile
and reached up to put something around my neck.
I ducked out of the way. “No, thanks.”
“Loceg Jorenhai?”
“I speak Jorenian,” I said in a coherent, Terran-accented version of the same.
“Forgive me. I assumed as a human you did not, and only wished to give you a vocollar to ease your
path.” She indicated the necklace of translinks.
Interesting, the way she said human. The same way I’d say dirtbag.
Be nice, Jory, my mother’s ghost said.
I could do nice. I shifted my case from one hand to the other. “Thank you, but I think I can make myself
understood.”
“Very well.” Her expression remained polite but clearly indifferent. “I am Enale Raska, visitor guide. May
I assist you in reaching your destination?”
Raska. That explained why she was wearing Mom’s HouseClan colors—she was a relative. Might as
well make that my first stop. How did Mom tell me to say it? “I bring news of some importance to relay
to your HouseClan, ClanDaughter Raska.”
That thawed her a little, and she smiled. “You are most welcome, then. Come, I will guide you there.”
She paused at the end of the ramp. “May I know your name, lady?”
So I was welcome, but only because I was the delivery girl. “Call me Jory.”
Enale didn’t have much to say as she drove me from Main Transport outside the city to HouseClan
Raska’s territory. I mostly blocked her out and drank in the sights I’d only heard Mom describe to me in
stories.
Yiborra grass fields, stretching in pools of silver in every direction. Bloodred jaspfayen flowers, their
chambered petals singing in the breeze. Thin streamers of cloud overhead, in a thousand rainbow colors,
echoed on the rippled surfaces of a placid, purple-water lake. Half the population still dwelled out here,
on huge tracts of HouseClan land in communal pavilions with their entire family.
Joren is like no place in the universe, my ClanDaughter, Mom would say. She’d tell me all about it in
a fond, remembering voice. Then, when she thought I was sleeping, she would weep for hours.
“Is this your first sojourn to Joren?” Enale asked as we pulled up outside a huge, sprawling structure built
of white stone and etched with pictographs in all shades of the purple, blue, and green Raska colors.
“Yes.” I thought of Reytalon and the blade dancer. He was wrong about me. I could stay here; I could
make a life for myself and forget all about Kieran. I didn’t even have to find the others. I can do this. I
can start over here.
“If you have the opportunity, you should visit Gafa Lno Lake country before you leave. It is quite
beautiful this season.” Enale glanced at me. “May I remain to hear the news you bring, or is it a matter of
confidentiality?”
I wasn’t sure how the Raska were going to react, but I couldn’t see confiding in this ice princess. Before
you leave—now that’s subtle. “I’ll have to check with your ClanLeader.”
Mom had told me about the pavilions that served as home to the HouseClan’s leader and his immediate
family, and as a meeting place for the rest of the kin. I tried to imagine Terrans living and working
together with their extended families.
They have a hard time tolerating each other for the holidays.
The interior impressed me more than the outside of the place. Expensive furnishings in the free-form,
no-corners style I’d seen at Main Transport were artfully arranged to provide little conversation clusters,
beneath artwork in the same green/purple/blue colors. Jorenians seemed to like a lot of landscapes and
star vistas, but there was one portrait of a stern-lookin
g, big man with a slightly smaller, equally
stern-looking woman.
“Who are they?” I asked Enale, nodding to the portrait.
“Our ClanLeader, Skalea Raska, and his bondmate, Tnefa Raska.” She made a peculiar gesture, then
explained, “My ClanMother Tnefa embraced the stars during the last rain cycle. Those who journey
beyond us are celebrated with delight, but I… miss her.”
So the ice princess did have some warm blood in her veins, and, although she didn’t know it, she was my
aunt.
Be nice, Jory.
“I lost my own mother a few weeks ago,” I heard myself say.
Enale looked uncertain. “I am told offworlders do not find joy in the path that is diverted.”
“No, death tends to be a little inconvenient.” When that confused her even more, I shook my head.
“Never mind.”
She smiled briefly, then escorted me over to some kind of main console, where she signaled someone. A
happy voice directed us to the “ceremonial chamber,” where everyone was working on “preparations for
the feast.”
“Having a party?”
Enale nodded. “Tonight begins Nadamar, the sacred time of the Mother.”
The ceremonial chamber was huge—much bigger than I’d expected. It could comfortably hold over a
thousand people, and from the food being laid out they could feed twice that many. As we passed
members of Enale’s family, I noted how everyone appeared to be uniformly attractive—evidently there
was no such thing as an ugly Jorenian—and happy. The smiles and laughter were plentiful and practically
nonstop.
If I had to live here, I’d want to punch someone out by the end of the first week. Two weeks, tops.
Still, the healthy-looking males and females seemed to be in the perfect mood for a party. It fascinated
me how even their smallest movements seemed graceful and effortless. They spoke in melodic voices and
gestured with fluid hands, especially with their children, who were evidently the cleanest and most
well-behaved kids in the universe.
Poor Mom. She expected one of these, and got me instead.
I could pick out older members of the HouseClan only by the vivid streaks of purple in their matte-black
hair. No stoop-shouldered, wrinkle-faced senior citizens on this world. A couple of males with solid
purple hair lifted a heavy-looking table and shifted it across the room with every indication of ease, so I
guessed advanced age didn’t equal infirmity here, either.
As for the banquet, the theme was flowers and more flowers. I’d never seen so many in my life. Every
color of the rainbow, they hung from the ceiling on ribbons, sprouted from enormous open silver baskets,
and adorned countless platters of fruits, vegetables, and bread. They smelled even better than they
looked.
“You are welcome to stay and join our celebration,” Enale added when she noticed my interest. I
imagined she’d invite a Hsktskt with exactly the same lack of enthusiasm.
“Thanks.” I was watching one of the solid purple-haired Jorenian males head our way. He wore a
different tunic than the others, and had a funny, knotted thing that hung from his shoulder and went
around his waist. The closer he got, the less he smiled. “Here comes your ClanLeader.”
“ClanFather!” When the ClanLeader halted and made a formal gesture of greeting, Enale returned it with
a much bigger smile and fluid hands. “ClanFather, this is Jory, a visitor who just arrived at Lno Transport.
Jory, this is our ClanLeader and my parent, Skalea Raska.”
My ClanFather is such a wonderful man, Mom had told me once. I wish things had been different. I
know he would find so much delight in you.
I made a gesture of deep respect—awkwardly, since I’d only practiced it a few times with Mom—but
completely sincere. “Greetings, ClanLeader Raska.”
Skalea’s white-within-white eyes inspected me like a line judge on third down. “ClanDaughter, excuse us
for a moment.”
He didn’t like me any more than the ice princess did. I could feel it. When Enale departed, he stepped a
little closer. We were exactly the same height, but he couldn’t see through my dark lenses.
“Your kind are not welcome here.” He slashed his hand back toward the entrance. “Leave our House.”
I’d expected them to have a little dismay over the color of my skin, but still, after showing him the proper
respect it was like being slapped in the face.
And I didn’t like getting slapped. “Don’t you want to hear my news first, ClanLeader?” I let my lip curl on
the final word.
A couple of Raska nearby stopped what they were doing to stare at us. He put his hand on the funny belt
part of the thing he wore, and I saw the dull gleam of a knife hilt appear above his fist. “Say what you
will; then go.”
“Kalea Raska is dead.” Since I’d never been one to crash a party, I turned on my heel and headed for the
exit.
Skalea caught up with me and put his hand on my arm. To an onlooker it might have appeared like a
charming, old-fashioned gesture. They couldn’t feel the grip he had on me. “You will come with me now.”
I didn’t like Jorenian hands on me any more than I liked Terran, so I shook him off. “Uh, no, I won’t.”
“Kalea was my eldest ClanDaughter. I would know how she embraced the stars.” He pointed to a
corridor off the banquet hall. “If you would accompany me to my chamber, there.” He studied my face,
then added, “Please.”
That last word cost him, so I went along to his office. Once inside, he secured the door panel and
gestured for me to sit down in one of the comfortable-looking chairs in front of a wide, U-shaped desk.
I didn’t need his grudging hospitality, so I stayed on my feet.
His eyes narrowed as he sat down behind the desk, but he didn’t make a fuss about looking up at me.
“Kalea embraced the stars from Terra?”
“Yep.”
“How did her time come to her?”
I saw no reason to spare him the gory details. “She contracted a Terran virus lethal to Jorenians, was
unable to seek medical treatment for fear of deportation, and died alone, in pain, screaming.” I smiled
politely. “Get the picture?”
He sat back and stared past me for a few seconds, his expression blank. Then he made a gesture of
acceptance. “She chose her path.”
Oh, so it was okay with him? My fantasy about making a fresh start on Joren collapsed into a heap of
torched dream rubble.
“After your ClanDaughter died, they put her into a disposal unit and reduced her body to recyclable
organic matter.” I came forward, leaned over his desk. “I can guarantee you, ClanLeader, she didn’t
choose any of that.”
Skalea gave me a suspicious frown. “How did you become involved with Kalea?”
He hadn’t guessed who I was. Gee, I might actually have a little fun with this. “The authorities found me
trying to bury her body in the desert. They deported me for violating their laws.”
“That is not what we do with our kin.” His hands clenched. “Did she Speak to you?”
Now I lied. “No.” My plans in ruins—a lot like what was left of my heart—I decided it was time to go.
“Any other questions?”
“Who are you? Why did you meddle in my ClanDaughter’s affairs?”
Meddle. That was the final straw. “Can’t you see the resemblance?” Now I too
k off my shades, then my
gloves, and tossed them on his desk. “I’m not as tall, and the eye and skin color came from Daddy—but
I have her look, don’t I?”
Dark color rose in swatches over his angular cheekbones, while the rest of his face turned a powdery
blue. He made a gesture, unable to speak.
I moved in so he could really choke on it. “She named me Sajora, by the way. After your ClanMother,
right? But call me Jory.” I braced my hands and got close enough to kiss the end of his big blue nose.
“And what do I get to call you? Grandpa?”
“You are not of this House!”
“Oh, boo-hoo, now you’ve hurt my feelings.” I pouted. “I’ll have to cross you off my Christmas card list.”
“You—you—” He struggled up from the chair, then sagged a little. His pale face looked haggard, and he
wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Why did you come here? What do you want from us?”
“To tell you that she’s dead. That’s all.” I covered up my eyes and hands again. “Good-bye, ClanLeader.”