Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  “How can it?"

  His hand gripped her shoulder hard. “Mikial, do something! It's right behind us!"

  Insane as it seemed, the thing hung just off her tail. What she had first assumed was a tarp pulled over some truck was actually the thing's hull. It looked like a bubble someone had sat on—a bubble made of a dull green metal. It had skids instead of wheels. She saw neither wings nor propellers. There were two figures visible through a sloping windshield. They wore helmets.

  “Someone's opened a side door,” Dalen said, his eyes wide. “They have a gun!"

  “Surprised?” Mikial hissed as she made a sharp turn, the harness biting into her shoulders as her head rocked to one side. The thing followed. Trying to keep her and Dalen's skulls from banging into the canopy, Mikial repeated the maneuver in reverse.

  The Minneran machine chose otherwise. It pulled up along her left side with effortless grace. Her hunting eyes picked up a great ball of power within the thing, energy that made Dalen's batteries appear as mere candles in comparison. Braced in the open hatch, a Minneran swung his rifle toward her, wind tearing at his khaki uniform. The weapon was not one of the Minneran's old long rifles either. It made her next decision easier. Mikial bared her teeth and swung her nose into them.

  Dalen's horrified scream cut short as the flying machine swerved hard to avoid them. Mikial had the satisfaction of seeing the Minneran soldier thrown back inside the cabin before she straightened and cleared the pass. She aimed for the valley floor below the canyon mouth. It did little good. The thing was on them in an instant, this time trying to drive her into the ground from above.

  Seeing that she would lose her lead within moments, Mikial put all her trust in the enemy pilot's instincts. She jerked back on her stick. The gathered speed shot the airship straight up. Mikial grunted from forces that pushed her back and drove a strangled cry from Dalen. The sun made a brilliant streak across their canopy as the ground dropped from sight. The enemy veered wildly from their path. Thanking airsail training she had regarded as useless at the time, Mikial kicked the rudder over and sent them into another dive.

  The Minneran machine was high and to her right now. It slid across the sky in an effort to regain pursuit.

  “Wings aren't designed for this,” Dalen gasped as the ground rushed toward them.

  “You said they had tensa in them, didn't you?” She pulled back on the stick. The wings bent skyward as they recovered. “I hate flying,” she seethed, dashing across the rugged valley for Gap Watch.

  “Coming in from your right!"

  Hissing, she slid her craft beneath the wingless carriage. There was a belated staccato burst of gunfire from its cabin as it crossed above them. “I'm out of airspeed and ideas, Dalen. What else can this machine of yours do?"

  “I didn't know it could do this much,” came the weak reply.

  The machine came at her from the left. The hills rose before them like a rolling green wave. A flash of brilliance lanced past them from the Holding, their airship shuddering from the near proximity of the cannon shot.

  “Now the Datha are shooting at us!” Dalen shouted as she banked hard.

  “Not us,” she said through gritting teeth. The maneuver pasted them once more against the side of the canopy. “Look back at the Minnerans, when you can."

  They straightened. Mikial twisted around to see another blast from a Datha gunner hit the enemy ship. A brief shower of sparks flared off its rounded hull.

  “It's leaving!” Dalen cried.

  “So are we.” Mikial glanced out at their punctured wing. “Get a message bottle out and put your map in it. Just in case."

  The trip back to the sky port was memorable. The damaged wing vibrated like a wind chime. Mikial expected the batteries to give out at any moment. Dalen got sick and had to use the bottles for other than communications. It was all he could do to crank down and lock the gear when she finally had the mooring towers in sight. Mikial cut the engines, executed a few turns to lose airspeed, and brought them down to a bouncing landing. Dalen was carted away in an Immediate Wagon. Mikial was arrested.

  * * * *

  The meeting in the Datha wing of the High Keep was unlike any debriefing she had ever experienced. The broad-shouldered visage of Force Commander Keel presided over the questioning, his eyebrows gray with time and experience. The calico Datha kept his black-and-white hair closely cropped against his skull, giving him an unforgiving countenance.

  The Cothra were represented by five engineers who interrogated her on the Minneran craft's characteristics. What Mikial had not expected was the Shandi Healer who made her relive the aerial combat all over again. It was like dreaming the event, except that she still answered questions.

  When they had finished with her, she was escorted to her father's third floor chambers. The large ironwood door closed behind her with an air of finality. Orange rays of a late sun angled through the latticework of three oval windows. Sensing the familiarity of another's presence, Mikial looked down the massive wooden conference table. “Mother?"

  Yeneen rose from one of the chairs, her oval face as creased as the yellow surgeon's gown she wore. “Your father's with the Tasur and Tasuria.” She gestured toward a plate on the table. “I brought you something to eat. It's still hot; I borrowed a glowstone from your father's office."

  “Are you all right?” Mikial asked, unnerved by the fragility in her voice.

  Yeneen's answer came out almost as a desperate laugh. “Me? Of course—"

  Mikial knelt to receive her embrace, feeling her mother's arms tighten in spasms as Yeneen could no longer keep back her sobs. “It's not as bad as it seems, mother."

  Yeneen jerked away, a hand raised as if to strike. “That airship you flew was forbidden! You knew that! You knew that,

  Mikial!"

  “I knew that I needed it."

  “For what? You're supposed to uphold the law, Mikial, not break it. You're Dathia, not some over zealous Cothra! My sect can't allow this to go unanswered.” She twisted away in anguish, her voice straining. “They won't."

  Confused, Mikial gently touched her mother's shoulder. How badly had she underestimated the Shandi's reaction? “Is Principal Kyian asking for my life?” She felt her mother stiffen.

  “Isn't that what you want?” Yeneen turned to face her with an expression as cold as betrayal. “You're still lying there in Bramble Ravine, aren't you? Waiting to join that corpse beside you. Debt paid!"

  “I'm trying to help my Holding!” Mikial snapped. She backed away with a stung look. “I risk my life as I see fit, mother. That's what they've trained me for."

  “Well they didn't train me to see you hand it over so cheaply! I can't give your father other children to replace you. My sect saw to that.” She clutched at her belly. “They took my babies away because of a chance they wouldn't have enough Qurl blood in them. As if I was some Servant! You think I didn't fight them? You expect me to let them take you as well?"

  Ears flicking, Mikial took a trembling breath and sat down to eat. “Everyone's scared, and I'm the nearest throat they can grab."

  Yeneen sat down beside her. “What happened out there? The Ipper say nothing, but I found out that your Cothra had more than just airsickness. You don't treat an upset stomach by bringing a Healer specialized in mental trauma."

  “Forgive me, Counselor, but she can not answer that,” another voice broke in smoothly.

  Both she and her mother turned to face an elder Shandi with a grandmotherly look about her. Her hair was a faded calico mix of orange, white, and black. Age had thinned her skin to a fine parchment, but had not dulled the sharp look from those green eyes.

  Mikial stood and clasped her hands in greetings. “Principal Kyian"

  “Dathia,” the Principal quietly returned in neutral tones as she closed the door behind her. Kyian Sell's loose skirt and blouse was a casual rendering of the yellow Shandi uniform. Her demeanor suggested long meetings and short tempers.

  Yeneen rose
from her seat and stood before her Principal with a frown. “This Holding gave Mikial to me. Have you come to take her back now?"

  “Please, Yeneen,” Kyian replied. She took the chair the other had just vacated. “I have just had an earful from our Tasuria. I do not need more from you."

  “Do you want my daughter's life, Principal?"

  Kyian regarded Mikial with weary disappointment before turning back to Yeneen. “We will see, Counselor. Be happy that your daughter will have some choice in her fate. Now I must ask that you leave us to our discussion."

  “My trust is in your hands,” Yeneen said with a bitter look as she left.

  Kyian turned to Mikial once they were alone. “I have nothing but respect for your mother, Mikial.” Her eyes narrowed. “I do not want to hurt her again."

  “That was never my intention, Principal."

  “Nor was upholding the obligations of your sect,” she said. Her hand rose in warning to squelch Mikial's protest. “Having a reckless Cothra playing with Taqurl science is one thing. For one of your sect to openly flaunt that science in defiance of our edicts is nothing short of terrifying. You are supposed to protect us from such disorder."

  “I believed I was protecting the Holding,” Mikial carefully answered as Kyian folded her arms with displeasure.

  “We shall see. Mikial, I have two choices before me. One of them is to drag this Holding through your Judgment proceedings. I could rightly demand your death. The Cothra, in turn, will defend you on behalf of their own desire for Taqurl science. Especially in light of this new menace you uncovered. Quite an embarrassing mess to bring before our Tasuria."

  She turned to regard the dagger-and-wheel emblem of the Datha Qurl above the doorway. “Finally, there is your sect. You being the daughter of its Principal, I am sure you can appreciate the inherent complications.” Kyian looked back at Mikial. “Instead of unifying ourselves against this new threat you discovered, we will tear at each other over your irresponsible actions."

  “I did what I thought best for all of us.” Further words died quickly as anger built in Kyian's eyes.

  “I think you have done enough deciding for this Holding, Dathia,” she iced. Her finger pointed like a knife. “You can either inflict a deeper wound upon this Holding with your Judgment, or waive that right and take what punishment I see fit to give you. That is the only decision I leave you."

  “Doors,” Mikial muttered, remembering her last meeting with the Tasuria. “You could order me to take my own life, while I might be vindicated at my Judgment."

  Kyian nodded. “True. What I have in store for you is richly deserved."

  Mikial took a slow breath. “My mother put her trust in you."

  “Not willingly, I assure you."

  “At least she had a choice,” she said. “You already know my answer, Principal. Your sect conditioned me."

  “Not enough, apparently,” Kyian replied with a disparaging look. “You waive Judgment?"

  “I do.” She swallowed her anger at how useless a death she had earned herself, and inflicted on her mother.

  “I can tell from your expression that you have a narrow vision concerning your punishment, Mikial. Lack of insight is what brought all of this upon you in the first place.” Kyian went over to a window and looked out at where the Curtain spread itself across the night. “We may soon need defenders we can trust. That shall not be you, Mikial. Dwell upon that. You are familiar with ranger duty?"

  Mikial nodded with growing dread. “Solo patrols along the frontier."

  “Yes, and living off the land for the most part.” Kyian's lips thinned. “A convenient rug to sweep you under. You are detached from your Strike, Dathia. You are assigned ranger duty along the Kiorannan border, as far from Minnera as I can get you.” Her eyes hardened. “Unlike the rest, you will not be rotated back home. You are to stay out there until I decide otherwise. Acknowledge my orders, Dathia."

  “Acknowledged, Principal.” Mikial clenched her hands as her life began to fall apart around her. “When?"

  “Now."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Six

  Cross-legged upon a shelf of rock, Mikial watched the sun ripple and swell as it sank into the Kiorannan plains. From the hillcrest she commanded a view over land that stretched lengths westward until it was lost in haze. Evening winds ran in waves across a sea of grass, meeting the forest below her with a rushing sigh. Her nostrils drew in scents rich with spring growth.

  Glancing behind her, Mikial's amber eyes scanned the worn familiarity of sloping hillsides and shadowed narrows. Teck's Strike was late, not surprising after the storms early yesterday. The Cothra would have to replace the bridge up at Grayfish Creek. She had done her best when she was up there last week, lashing the posts with vines. Teck would be fortunate if there was any bridge left by now.

  Adjusting her position on the warm granite slab, Mikial wondered if Teck would be bring her some more fruit. In the last few months the passing Strikes had brought her gifts to show where their sympathies lay in regards to her exile. She had been given everything from sweet cheese to a bottle of wine. No doubt the Shandi would not have approved, which seemed to suit everyone just fine.

  Mikial let out a slow hiss. To think of the Shandi was to remember what Principal Kyian had done to her before banishing her to the frontier. Reconditioning scenarios. What a disarming name. She never recalled any screams from the induced nightmares, but knew that something had made her throat raw. The restraints the Shandi used on her had cut into her wrists despite the padding. Even now she did not know what kind of conditioning had been done to her. Mikial looked back up the ridge to where Kikia lay. In the saddle pack was the Book of Gile Tassomon, along with a blank journal into which she had been ordered to copy the entire work. Principal Kyian did not lack in vindictive humor. Turning an entire culture around from their corruption was a brutal task, but his lessons still held. Mikial sighed. In her case, Gile's teachings were still being applied. A few pages each day.

  Mikial turned to catch the last light of day before darkness took the plains. An errant auburn strand of hair blew across her eyes. Soon she would have to take a knife to her hair again. Her mother always sang when cutting...

  Growling, Mikial grabbed her helmet and stood up. Where was that Strike? She had already used the clicker the Ipper had given her to signal the listening post. Peering over the lip of the rock, she watched as the Servants prepared another campfire just out of earshot some fifty spans away. They had been there these past two days. This was not a bunch of Servant girls in Passion, but something much closer to her own childhood. As badly as Mikial wanted to satisfy her own curiosity, she could not bring herself to descend the slope alone. Procedure demanded that she wait for the Strike. This would be her first time in five months of roaming the western borders that she would witness a baby exchange.

  Teck's Strike arrived well after sunset, the squat officer's mahogany brow wrinkling as he frowned up at the clouded sky.

  “Overcast moved in about a chime ago,” Mikial said as the Strike Leader motioned the Datha to dismount from their yhas. She inclined her head to the glow of the campfire through the trees below. “Nothing has changed."

  “Something has,” Teck replied, motioning for a skirmish line. “One of my scouts caught someone's scent less than a length north of here.

  “Passion exchange?"

  He shook his head. “We'd know the difference, Dathia. Trust me. I have one Line conducting a sweep toward this position. You see anything?"

  “Nothing, Strike Leader. I've been working the area around here for two days. The last report I gave was about that Kiorannan ranch to the south that burned a day ago."

  Teck rested a weathered right hand upon his knee while his eyes inspected the slope. “Maybe the Kiorannans are having themselves a war. Fine enough, as long as we don't get dragged into it.” He gestured toward the fire. “Mikial, I want you on the left, just outside the fireligh
t. Anything happens, you have two things to keep in mind. Protect the child, and protect the Chadraks. The Chadrak family's all have blond hair, they shouldn't be too hard to spot."

  “How long has that family been helping with exchanges?"

  “Longer than I've been patrolling these ridges. They're a valuable resource, so keep them alive no matter the cost.” His dark eyes fixed on her. “Understand, Dathia?"

  “Acknowledged. Never thought I'd risk my life for a Servant,” she said with a scowl. “You're really expecting trouble, then."

  He gave a reluctant nod. “I know my Line Officer. He's rarely wrong, so be careful.” Teck gave a grin. “I have sweet melons for you after this is over. Some letters too."

  “I look forward to it, Strike Leader,” she said with a return smile, unslinging her rifle.

  The Shandi Healer arrived, standing out from the camouflaged Datha in her cream-colored dress and yellow belt. Teck helped the Healer from her saddle, then signaled his Line to advance. Gripping her rifle, Mikial picked her way down the slope, moving silently from bush to tree.

  The signal to hold positions came as Mikial crept close enough to feel the heat of the Kiorannan's campfire. She crouched down behind the round canvas tent the Kiorannans had brought with them. Four Servants sat around the fire. One was a female in a patched coat that protectively rocked a small bundle in her lap. Mikial shuddered upon seeing the Servant's drawn face. Was that how her own natural mother had looked? She easily spotted the Chadraks, their golden blond hair shining in the firelight. One was a large bearded male, and the other a boy, both dressed in brown riding leathers and high boots.

  A new fire blazed to life closer to the hillside, illuminating the Shandi Healer. It was beginning.

  The Kiorannans rose. Mikial guessed the other male with a cloak was the father. He supported the mother while the elder Chadrak gave them terse instructions. The group slowly walked toward the waiting Shandi. Mikial could hear the baby crying.

  Then shots tore the night.

  Mikial flattened herself beside the tent, memories of Bramble Ravine returning with a vengeance. Once again the rate of fire was beyond belief. Projectiles raked both campsites, shredding the canvas a few hands above Mikial's head. She saw the Shandi fall, her screams joined by the Kiorannans as invisible claws ripped the dirt around them.