Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  “And him?” Parva asked, finally noticing Ryan's ears. “What exactly is this?” Frowning, he gave Ryan a sniff. Parva's confused expression deepened by the moment. “This is no Servant!"

  “Not exactly,” Ryan added as two Shandi Healers rushed up.

  “He's from beyond the Curtain,” Mikial ventured, taking a calming breath as Parva gaped at them both.

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  * * *

  Twelve

  Mikial gave her Strike Leader a field report from the deck of an airship headed back toward the Keep. A Healer sat beside her litter, bringing blessed relief to her back. Ryan sat nearby, the subject of fascination from two more Shandi. Mikial could hear their muttering of disbelief as they set out to validate his claim of being from another world.

  Parva seemed no less incredulous as she related her experiences to him after meeting Dahin Chadrak. An Ipper scout stood beside them, sending her story on to other ears at the Keep. Most likely those of the Tasur and Tasuria. Mikial learned that the Blue Belt refugees were largely being ignored by the Datha until the Tasur decided what to do with them. The only definite decision involved Ryan. The Shandi had ordered him taken to the hospital on Healer's Ridge for further examination. Drifting into sleep, Mikial wondered if that was her destination as well.

  * * * *

  “Watch her claws!"

  “Caden, tend to Shanth before she bleeds to death!"

  “Mikial!” It was Ryan's hoarse voice.

  Mikial let out a shuddering cry, unable to move beneath Parva's weight as he pinned her to the deck. Ryan held down her right arm, his pale face red with effort.

  Another lay on the deck nearby. It was the Healer that had blocked her back pain. Two other Shandi bent over her. Mikial saw blood. “What happened...?"

  “You'll be alright, Mikial,” Parva grunted, easing up on her. “We're going directly to the hospital."

  Mikial groaned, remembering only scraps of what she'd dreamt. Hands tearing at her. Fingers like knives. “What happened?"

  “You clawed her,” Ryan said. He carefully released the pressure on her arm. “Your commander got to you before you went to work with your knife."

  Her eyes followed Parva's glance to where her blade lay beneath a far bench. “What's happening to me?” she gasped.

  Parva glared at Ryan with suspicion. “We'll find out

  “It's not him. Please, it's not him."

  One of the Shandi came up and carefully held Mikial's head. “Dathia, I'm going to put you to sleep again. This time we'll be more careful."

  “No!” Mikial protested, earning Parva's tightening grip.

  “You won't dream. I promise."

  “I didn't mean to hurt her!"

  “The wounds aren't that deep. She'll be fine. So will you. Sleep now."

  “No..."

  * * * *

  A far more calming sight greeted Mikial when she woke next. It was a small chandelier hanging from a circular ceiling. Crystals hung like teardrops frozen in light, sending cozy reflections across wood paneled walls. She lay on a raised swivel bed. Her back no longer hurt. Nothing did. Mikial recognized herself to be in one of the operating rooms on Healer's Ridge. Leather gloves had been slipped over her hands, restricting her claws.

  Two Shandi sat beside her bed, dressed in pale yellow work smocks. One bent over her with concern. Mikial's heart and hopes rose as she reached up to touch the fine brown hair that swept back from a rounded brow. “Mother."

  “It's all right,” Yeneen soothed, bending forward to kiss her. “You're doing just fine."

  Mikial felt her mother's tears against her cheek. Yeneen's gray eyes glistened as they held each other. As much as she wanted to cry, Mikial could find few emotional reserves to draw upon. She glanced down at the simple green shift she wore, one of her favorite casual dresses. The wound on her arm was all but gone. Time had passed. “I've forgotten something else again, haven't I?"

  “You have lost most of a day, though this time by our hand,” the other Shandi spoke up next to her mother. “Some of my examinations required you to relive certain things you otherwise might not care to. I saw no need to burden you with more bad memories."

  Mikial reluctantly left her mother's embrace to look at another familiar face, whose dark brown eyes seemed to draw her into them. “My Tasuria,” Mikial spoke with dread.

  “Not at the moment,” Sencia Ellis returned, plucking at the yellow belt she wore. “Tonight I tend to the duties of my sect, so stop your fretting."

  “Sencia has been kind enough to put her Tasuria's belt aside and help you, Mikial,” her mother explained beside her. “She's a Teacher in Mental Studies. A graduate of White Canyon in Tessana, no less."

  “And a classmate called in an old favor,” Sencia added, nodding to Yeneen. “Your mother has done an excellent job of quieting your motor functions while I performed my examinations. Otherwise, we would both need Healers. You have a vivid mind, and sharp claws, Mikial."

  “Sorry,” Mikial mumbled, looking down at the pale blue quilts bunched around her.

  “You need not be embarrassed for my sake,” Sencia said, her expression warming with reassurance. “We can worry about my being a Tasuria when you are well enough."

  “Well enough for Judgment?"

  “If it has to come to that, yes.” Her mellow voice softened, holding no hint of animosity. “We will need to clear what blocks your memory, Mikial. That is what I am here to help you with."

  She gave a shudder. “I'd rather not remember."

  Yeneen stroked Mikial's forehead. “Sencia says that you have dammed up some rather horrible things in an effort to hide them from yourself. I can also tell that you were in Passion. Your body shows signs of traumatic withdrawal."

  Mikial's throat closed in on her words. “I think I was raped."

  “Assaulted,” Sencia cut in with a brisk correction. “I have had a look at those memories you do not want to see. There was no chance for consummation, Mikial. Not surprisingly, your attacker became a victim in rather short order."

  “The damage was still done,” Mikial bitterly replied. “I didn't need a Shandi to tell me that."

  Sencia deflected her despair with a smile. “Your personal honor is more a matter of perception than ruptured tissue, my young Dathia. Anger. Shame. These are simply abstractions of thought. So are the memories that created them.” Sencia folded her arms. “That places your problems firmly in my realm of expertise.” Her eyes shone with the glittering reflections of the overhead chandelier. “People keep telling me that I am very good. Modesty aside, I tend to agree with them. Ready?"

  “For what?"

  Sencia scooted her chair closer to the bed. “Even the indomitable mental fortitude of a Dathia succumbs to Passion. In your case, it removed the defenses of a mind already dealing with too much change. You threw up a wall, Mikial, and promptly collapsed behind it. Trouble is, that barrier leaks rather badly. Your emotions are coming through in typical Dathia fashion.” She tapped at Mikial's gloves. “Violently.” Sencia turned to her mother. “This should be the last time, Yeneen."

  “Please,” her mother whispered. “I'm not sure how many more times I can see her go through this."

  “Tend to your function, Counselor,” Sencia instructed gently. “Mikial, look at the lights above you."

  “Will I remember this time?"

  “Yes, Dathia. This time you'll remember clearly. Look at the lights."

  Reluctantly, she obeyed, only to find herself staring up at the grinning leer of a Minneran soldier. Penetrating fingers tore her innocence away. Mikial was spared the ultimate degradation as Ryan intervened. Somehow detached from herself, Mikial saw the things she did next. A lifetime of training, twisted into savageness no less obscene than the act that unleashed it.

  “Your Passion made you vulnerable,” Sencia's observation echoed in her mind as Mikial watched herself become little more than an animal. Only when she collapsed in the middle of the
disemboweled Minnerans did Mikial drift down from her dream's vantage point to merge with her prostrate body.

  Mikial stood up as if in a daze. She staggered through the corpses, aware of pain and blood between her thighs. Some refugee girl was screaming. Where? Mikial bit back her own cries and ran across the battlefield. The hemorrhaging between her legs increased into hot streams that splashed over her feet. Agony stabbed repeatedly upwards. Mikial stumbled drunkenly through the trees beside the road. Back toward the river. Toward the screams.

  It was no refugee. “Paleen!” she shouted in horror as the Ipper was dragged down by a green and ocher whirlpool. “NO!” Mikial plunged into the thick swirls, her body convulsing from the sickening smell.

  Mikial fought to keep her own head above the filth as she reached out to grip her friend's slime-covered arm. Every muscle straining, she pulled the drowning girl into her embrace. Mikial's legs strove against the thick surge in order to reach the shore. She freed them both with one final effort. “Paleen,” she gasped, desperately shaking the Ipper as they lay on the shore.

  Paleen made a strangled noise, as if unable to breath through the putrid reek that caked them. Mikial looked around for something to rid themselves of the poisonous coating. There, beyond that copse of trees. A waterfall.

  She carried the unconscious Ipper over to the small glen. A clear stream splashed down mossy tiers of rock into a crystalline pond. Mikial tore off Paleen's soiled clothes with grimy fingers, then shed her own befouled armor and battle dress. A horrid mixture of blood and fetid matter oozed down her legs.

  Mikial picked Paleen back up and splashed waist deep across the pond toward the waterfall. Sitting on a granite shelf at the waterline, she let the cascade stream over them both. Its biting cold washed away the corruption to expose fresh clean skin. Mikial's tears joined the thousand falling droplets as Paleen stirred. The Ipper gave Mikial a look of profound gratitude as the weight sloughed from their bodies. There was neither pain, nor bleeding. Everything had been quenched in the wonderfully crisp torrent. All that was left were memories. Nothing more. Paleen was gone. Mikial stared at the rippled reflection of herself in the swirling waters.

  * * * *

  She woke the following morning to the sleepy realization that her night had been without further nightmares. Mikial's stomach growled for nourishment. The sensation she received from the feel of sheets sliding over her skin suggested a resumption of other appetites as well. Apparently her Passion was back in full measure, no doubt with the Shandi's prodding. She put on her green shift and waited for breakfast. There was little else to do. Except worry about both her future and Ryan's.

  Within the chime the Shandi supplied her with both food and a visitor. It was her father, wearing his black dress uniform with its many crimson battle patterns. Dwarfed by his presence, the Shandi nurses quickly cleared the room of her dishes and left them alone.

  Unsure of the thoughts behind his deep-set eyes, Mikial was relieved when Jakar's first action was to wrap her in a wordless hug. He sat down beside her, as sober-faced as she had ever seen him.

  “I've given Principal Kyian permission to perform a complete interrogation, Mikial. Cooperate as much as you can. Let them find out what went wrong, so that others may benefit from what you went through. You're also to discuss your travels with no one. The rumors about this stranger you brought are bad enough."

  Mikial stared at him. This was sounding too much like a salvage operation. “Fine for the others, but what about me? Am I to be executed, is that it?"

  Her father maintained his stoic expression. “Formal actions won't take place until after your interrogation, Dathia."

  “Dathia?” She raised herself up, hardly believing this.

  “Dathia? Have I suddenly stopped being your daughter? What is this? Nothing more than an official visit?"

  “To inform you that you will face Judgment two days after your Passion has ended."

  Crying out, Mikial lashed out at the wall with her hand, only to have it seized in his powerful grip. “Get out!” She wrenched herself free with a sob. “Take your cursed pride with you and choke on it!"

  Jakar stood up, his face a wall of authority. “If it's felt that you can be safely returned to society, Paleen will be coming by to take you to Shadow Canyon Inn for the duration of your Passion."

  “I won't be coming home afterward!” Crying out, Mikial could find nothing to hurl at the door as it closed. “I won't!” Turning, Mikial collapsed on the bed, curling the blankets up into knots as she let her wails fill the room. What does he think I am? The answer was bitterly obvious. Nothing less then what I'm expected to be, she forced herself to admit. A traitor to be spat upon.

  She'd expected a flurry of Shandi rushing in to calm her. Instead, there was a simple knock on the door. “Go away!” she spat. As if they would.

  Again came the knock.

  “Why do you bother when you're just going to walk in anyway?” Mikial growled, wiping her eyes with a sheet.

  “Because it is polite to do so,” came the female's muffled voice. It was not anyone Mikial recognized, though she felt she should. Her eyes supplied the answer in the glowing outlines of the person's body. Yes, she had met her before. The night she was sentenced into exile. Mikial swallowed back her emotions. “You may enter, Principal Kyian."

  The door opened, admitting the elder Shandi. Her naturally white hair was pulled back by a crystal comb. This time she wore her dress of office, a pale gold outer robe over the yellow blouse and pants. Her side-skirts were a heavy brocade of embroidered patterns on both sides, documenting decades of service. Mikial eyed the clasp she wore, a jeweled rendition of the gold lantern insignia of another White Canyon graduate. This Shandi was all Judgment.

  The Principal regarded her closely before she spoke. “Your father had thought you a gift he could present to the Holding. Now he feels that you have become a dagger in its heart instead."

  Mikial's hurt rekindled. “I don't care what either of you think!"

  “Of course you do,” Kyian said, waving off Mikial's outburst. She pulled up a chair. “It is time to see what else is on your mind, Mikial. About your father, yourself and your Holding. This will be much like a conditioning check, but a bit longer. Please lay back."

  “Will the Tasuria will be attending too?"

  “She's on her way. Preparing you for questioning takes some time, and care."

  “And what of the human? He came to us willingly, Principal. He saved my life. I don't want him treated like a prisoner."

  Her voice sharpened. “Please lay back, Mikial."

  She never knew what they had asked her. All she knew was that it was dark when she next opened her eyes, and her throat was dry. Mikial felt as emptied as she was alone. There were dreams. So many many dreams, more than she could possibly count. None that she could remember. No doubt that she had told them plenty, however. The Shandi serving her dinner that night looked completely unnerved.

  * * * *

  Her final visit by the sect came the next morning after she had taken a cold shower to once more douse her body's distractions. A young Healer put a hand across her abdomen and, in the Shandi's words, “quieted” her ovaries. It was a good indication that they were going to let her out soon. Mikial pasted an appropriate smile across her lips in response to the usual jokes about Dathia in Passion. Hopefully she could find a comfortable room to lock herself into until it passed.

  Picking from a selection of clothes her mother had provided, Mikial chose a tan sleeveless top with darker brown side-skirts and pants. Yellow lacing bordered the outfit. Hopefully it made her look more feminine despite her stature. Her heart lifted upon catching a familiar scent and body pattern approaching the door to her room. “Paleen!"

  “Well at least your senses still work,” her friend said with a laugh. Paleen entered, wearing an oversized bright blue smock with side-skirts swirling around orange pants. Somehow the unlikely combination appeared to match. Her hazel eyes were w
ide with delight. “Welcome, oh so much welcome home!” Tossing aside a bag, Paleen wrapped Mikial in an enthusiastic hug. She stepped back with a frown. “Why so somber?"

  “My father and I ... it wasn't as nice a greeting as you just gave me."

  Paleen's playful expression sobered. “Fine, so you're not exactly the role model he'd hoped for."

  Mikial nodded. “I don't feel like what I did was wrong, Paleen. I thought I was helping us."

  “So do a lot of other people."

  “They do?"

  “Bet they didn't tell you that all seventeen Dathia in this Holding are wearing a red bracelet in your honor.” Paleen shook her left wrist, rattling a crimson ring of beads. “They're not the only ones. My mother is passing bracelets out by the boxful in the marketplace. By the way, a copy of your field report somehow got signaled across all eight Holdings."

  “It what?” Mikial replied, flabbergasted at such audacity. How far were the Ipper taking this? And why? “Paleen, one Judgment around here is enough without you volunteering for another."

  “It wasn't me. By the way, Principal Jia sends her best wishes. She would have come herself to see you, but Principal Kyian is understandably a bit upset with her right now.” Paleen chuckled. “Jia didn't want any of that argument rubbing off on you, I guess."

  “As if Kyian could get any more angry with me,” Mikial sighed. “Why is your sect supporting me like this?"

  Paleen shrugged. “I'm sure Jia will explain when she decides it's time for you to listen.” She patted Mikial's hands. “I don't think you're ready yet."

  Mikial gave a resigned laugh. “Ready? I don't think the Holding is ready for what I see coming. I've even been ordered by my own father to say nothing to anyone.” Frowning, she tapped at Paleen's snub nose. “Especially you!"

  “That's because everyone's scared, and the Shandi aren't finding any cures. Nor have they found a fit explanation for this roundy-eared fellow you brought in.” Paleen wagged a finger. “You don't know what it's been like since you fought with that air machine. Everyone wants something done, but nobody knows what to do. Dalen tried repeatedly to get permission to fly along the Kiorannan border in order to look for you. He was refused each time. Even Force Commanders in your sect were heard complaining that we can't just sit and wait for the next attack. It's like we'll all turn into Taqurls the moment we step outside the Holding.” Paleen rummaged in her bag. “And what happens to the only one who actually tries to do something?"