by K. M. Tolan
“You deserve a happier life than what this Holding can give you, Mikial.” He touched his high forehead gently against hers. “Are you going to drink that wine or dilute it in tears?” Again, he stepped back.
Hands trembling, Mikial raised the chalice to her lips. “I give you my First Promise, Dalen Goss.” The wine was deep bodied and rich in sweetness as it washed over her tongue. Mikial emptied the glass slowly.
“It's all right,” Dalen said with a chuckle, holding her tight afterwards as she cried. “I never thought Dathia could be so emotional!"
“And I never thought it would take this long!” Paleen's voice shrieked in jubilation from across the road. “About time, you two!” Paleen ran over and gave them both enthusiastic hugs, her own hazel eyes tearing over. Paleen gave Dalen an apologetic look. “I know this isn't the best time, but I just received a Signal for Mikial. A couple of them, actually. First one's from Yora. Seems your Strike has a Sewing tonight at nineteenth chime."
“Already?” Mikial frowned at the consternation in Paleen's face. “And the second one?"
“Um ... it came from the Tasuria. She wants to see you at Healer's Ridge. Fourteenth chime."
Mikial groaned. “I've been expecting it. In any case, our business takes us to Healers Ridge. We have a necklace to find and deliver."
Paleen gave a nod. “I would appreciate you coming with me to see mother, Mikial. It's not easy."
“Of course it's not easy,” Mikial replied, hugging her. “Not for either of us."
“Just let me know what happens,” Dalen said as they headed back across the road. “I'll be at the forge, boasting of the Dathia I just caught!"
“You're always at the forge,” Paleen retorted as he swung up on his yhas. She glanced at Mikial. “Forgetting something with all that First Promise distraction?"
Mikial stared at her for a moment, and then turned to Dalen. “No work tonight for you!” She held up the Promise Cup. “You expect me to go to my Sewing alone?"
He laughed. “Of course not! Another chance to trade barbs with that Strike Leader of yours. Nineteenth chime, then."
“You wave, I'll hold the cup,” Paleen said, plucking the chalice from Mikial's hands as Dalen rode off. “You realize, if you give him Second Promise four months from now, you're headed for a winter wedding."
Mikial laughed. “I don't care if it's in Tessana!” Her face fell. “You will come, won't you?"
Paleen gave her a kiss. “Me, your entire family, and probably half your sect. Tessana's going to think it's an invasion!"
After cleaning the kitchen, they rode over Lani's Bridge toward the market. Mikial made a mental note to request a new yhas from Parva. Dalen's First Promise didn't mean taking too much advantage of him.
Paleen blanched as they came up to the blackened swath of grass where the market shops and stalls had once stood. Giving Paleen a prod forward, Mikial headed to where brightly colored tents clustered in the middle of the cleared field. Wind chimes sang their metallic notes from lines strung between tents.
“Any silver favors I had are melted,” Mikial sighed as her friend inspected the tray of jewelry offered by a gray-haired Cothra merchant in a blue jacket. “My sect's allowance for the month has yet to be paid, thanks to the war. I'll have to write a promise instead."
“A promise from you would be an honor, Mikial,” the Cothra said. He pulled a sparkling string of crystal fish from the inside pocket of his coat. “I think this might be worthy of your exploits, Dathia."
“I think we found your mother's necklace,” Mikial whispered, eyes wide as she held the jewelry up in the morning sun. She regarded the elder Cothra. “How large a promise am I making here?"
“I have fifty favors,” Paleen offered. “You're not buying this by yourself, Mikial."
The merchant's eyes squinted. “Very well. Equal sharing, then. One-hundred favors."
Mikial exchanged surprised looks with Paleen. The tag on the necklace identified it as being from Kinset Holding. It was worth twice that amount, and he knew it. “Are you certain of this price?"
“I am certain of the buyer, Dathia. Where would this Holding have been if you hadn't opened some eyes to the outside world, eh?"
Paleen's silver favors clinked down beside Mikial's written promise. The necklace was theirs. “Better to open the throats of some humans,” Paleen muttered as they left.
Mikial glanced at her. “You're beginning to unnerve me. What if more of Ryan's kind come?"
“We kill them, too."
“And if we can't?” Mikial gave a low growl of exasperation. “Paleen, these people cross the stars as easily as we would cross a stream. What the Minnerans squeezed out of them were mere trinkets."
“That wasn't any toy you used to take down their machine, Mikial. Everyone's talking about what you did."
Mikial went over to their yhas near the tents and hopped up on the saddle. “I practically became Taqurl. Is that what you want for us?"
Paleen's eyes flashed. “I want my mother back home! I want my Keep back, the market—all of it!"
“Well we won't get it by picking a fight we would lose.” Mikial looked across the market ruins. “Not that the humans shouldn't pay for this.” Mikial pushed out a long breath, wondering what had become of Ryan. He wouldn't be safe if most people held Paleen's attitude.
* * * *
The hospital on Healer's Ridge was busy with the aftermath of battle. The wide halls were filled with knots of Shandi, either discussing patients or taking a needed rest. Mikial inquired after her mother, and was told that she was halfway through a sleep period. As much as she wanted to see her, Mikial focused on Paleen's needs.
Two Counselors and a Healer were in Pella's room when Mikial and Paleen entered. They looked as though they had worn their yellow surgeon's gowns for days. Pella lay on a swivel bed at the center of the circular chamber, the walls painted in calming gold tones. Mikial put a cautioning hand on her friend's shoulder, not wanting to interrupt the Shandi in their work. All three were bent over the bed, their eyes half closed as if they had fallen asleep next to their patient.
As if sensing their presence, the brunette Healer nearest Mikial looked up and motioned them forward.
“I can't,” Paleen whispered, backing against Mikial. “She's not wearing bandages ... I don't want to see."
“You need to,” Mikial encouraged. She gently pushed the Ipper forward.
Paleen's mother lay motionless in her bed, naked from the waist up. Her body was covered with large red patches of skin that glistened with medicines.
Paleen's small cry reverberated in Mikial's heart. Pella's hair was gone. Heavily gelled bandages covered her eyes, nose, and lips. Still, in the midst of a ravaged face, there were patches of newly regenerated skin.
“She will have most of her tissue restored in a few days,” the Healer said to Paleen. “Your mother is quite strong, and responds well to regeneration. We expect her sight restored in a few weeks.” The Healer turned momentarily to one of the Counselors, and then nodded to Paleen. “Your mother would like to see you now."
“What?” Paleen gulped, staring at the silent face.
Smiling, the Healer motioned her closer. “Sit down beside Counselor Yansal, and take her hand."
Giving Mikial a petrified look, the Ipper did what she was told, grasping the older Shandi's hand.
Mikial saw the lantern embroidery of Mental Studies on the Counselor's belt. She watched as Paleen slowly closed her eyes, slumping forward on the pillow next to her mother's head.
“They share a dream,” the Healer explained. “They are in a woods talking with each other right now.” She looked at Paleen with a smile. “She is showing her mother the necklace."
“I'm not unfamiliar with the Shandi skill of making dreams,” Mikial said, with less than fond recollections. She watched the slight smile on Paleen's face. Her friend had been the cheerful laugh in her life, the mischievous wide-eyed Ipper afraid of nothing. Paleen was at the he
art of what she swore to protect. Now there was an ugliness burning in Paleen's eyes at the mere mention of humans. Eyes stinging, Mikial turned for the hallway, unable to stop what her friend was becoming any more than she could have stopped the shellfire that had taken Pella's eyes.
Mikial pushed aside glass doors and sought the solace of a sunlit balcony overlooking gardens behind the hospital. Fingers tight against the wood railing, she drew in the varied fragrances from the grounds below. It was as easy to hate the humans as it was to fear them. Still, Mikial could not bring herself to despise Ryan himself. Resting on the balustrade, she buried her head in her arms in miserable confusion.
“Mikial."
Sighing, Mikial straightened at the soft-spoken greetings. “My Tasuria,” she said dutifully, turning to face Sencia.
Wearing a rumpled ivory blouse and pants, Sencia's ebony eyes regarded the gardens beneath them, as if searching out the bleak shadows left by Mikial's thoughts. The Tasuria's orange-and-mahogany hair was tied back by a haphazard knot of brown thread. A slight smile crossed Sencia's face. “A bit early for Fourteenth chime, are you not?"
“I'm with my friend, Paleen.” Mikial gestured toward the hallway door. “She's across the way with her mother, who was burned in the market fire."
“Pella Chimmer,” the Tasuria said with a nod. “I talked with her husband this morning. He mentioned that you and his daughter were living in a cottage by the river."
“The Holding has been more than generous, my Tasuria.” Mikial could not help the bitterness that crept into her reply. They both knew what was coming.
“What you did on the Holding's behalf at Murcanna continues to be worth conversation,” the Tasuria said, glancing one final time toward the garden. Her dark eyes centered on Mikial. “It's time we had a talk about that."
Leaving word for Paleen, Mikial followed the Tasuria to the third level of the hospital in the west wing where the Shandi schools were. Mikial's unease was not helped any as they entered an area of deep gold carpets and hushed halls. Mental Studies. Greetings were exchanged with whispers or nods as they passed other Shandi.
“This is where the sect maintains a study for me,” Sencia said, opening a door into a living room-sized office. Bookshelves ran along the walls, ending at a far wall where sliding glass doors led to an outside balcony. The gold carpet was accentuated by the deep orange grains of sheld trim around the ceiling. Before the glass doors sat an ironwood desk with a high backboard full of little drawers and niches.
“Were you able to save anything from the Keep?” Mikial asked as they entered.
“No,” Sencia said. Her fingers ran along the top of a bookcase nearest the door. Her eyes were distant.
In a quick need for another topic, Mikial walked over to the left of the desk. Books had been cleared from one of the shelves, leaving room for two faded belts draped through brass rings inside a small display case. The top belt was similar in fashion to the one Sencia currently wore, except for the white lines along the edges. “Your Suria's belt, Mikial acknowledged.
“And the one below it is the Shandi belt I wore as a Healer just before Change.” Sencia settled back into a chair behind her desk. “A simpler time for me. One I sometimes would be happy to return to.” The Tasuria turned in her chair to regard the hazy vista of the wooded canyon below the ridge. “This Holding wants the same thing, Dathia. I saw it in your eyes when you were on the balcony. My husband feels it as he walks through ruined homes, and sees it on the faces around him.” Sencia looked up at Mikial. “As Tasur, my husband must rebuild. As Tasuria, I have an equal responsibility to mend as well. I have decided that a good place to begin is with you. I am still sending you to White Canyon in Tessana, Dathia. The difference is that you will go there only as a patient."
“I can come back?” she asked, her voice trembling with hope.
Sencia nodded. “Yes. When Tasuria Amari feels you are ready. I also will make sure that your personal life is safeguarded from further anguish.” Opening a bottom drawer to her right, Sencia withdrew a thick brown envelope. “As you may notice, I have not unsealed this letter you brought me from Kioranna's new Steward. It will be returned to her unopened at the next baby exchange; a reminder not to pry further into your affairs, or ours."
Eyes wide, Mikial stared at her. “With all respect, my Tasuria, if you do that, then Maltenna may stop those exchanges altogether."
“I doubt she would be so foolish.” Sencia pushed the package aside. “I can just as easily stop the Passion camps Kioranna depends on.” Her eyes centered on Mikial's. “We are going to return this Holding to normalcy, and that doesn't mean striking up relationships with our enemies. You must forget a great deal of what has been poured into that head of yours as of late."
“Can we really turn our backs now?” Mikial ventured, trying not to sound as forceful as the emotions telling her how wrong this was. “If we don't start making allies among the Servants, the humans surely will. There's been so much progress; even your own sect was out there healing Servants as well as Qurls."
The Tasuria gave Mikial a patient smile that bordered on pity. “Shattered lives, burned homes. Progress, Dathia? Look what it has done to you, and to those you love. We even turned our backs on the Great Tasur for a time. That's not a path I intend taking this Holding down any longer."
Seeing that the discussion was at an end, Mikial clasped her hands in polite acceptance. She left the study on shaky legs. What was worse? Exile, or having one's eyes and ears taped shut against the world beyond this Holding? What would happen if I simply refused to go to White Canyon? Mikial glanced back as Sencia quietly shut the study door behind her. Perhaps demanding a Judgment would be the only way to keep the Holding from being blinded like Pella.
* * * *
That evening, Mikial held her tankard high before a laughing memory statue that sat upon the sheld bar. The sturdy wood miraculously survived destruction of the Sewing Hall. Little else had. The flicker of burning logs played across the inside of the large tent, bringing the illusion of life to the figurine. “I will remember both you, and your miserable corul roots, Cort.” Stepping back, Mikial let the spicy beer burn down her throat to the cheers of her Strike.
She danced several times that night. For Cort, and fifteen other fallen Datha from her Strike. Parva drew out five separate battle patterns for her on the glow board, starting with her rescue of the Tasuria, and ending with the fight inside Fort Asul. Patterns that would not let any of what she did be forgotten. Dalen kept admirable account of himself, trading good-natured taunts with Parva until Mikial ended her commander's tests with bared teeth.
Heated as she was from her own beer, Mikial bent herself to the task of keeping Dalen upright in his chair. She found that stealing his beer for her own consumption was not the best of tactics.
* * * *
The sharp end of an extended claw woke Mikial as she lay next to the bar. Bleary-eyed, she stared over Dalen's entwined arms, her head a sponge for every discomfort imaginable. Yora Horian bent over her, the officer's black uniform a crisp counter to the disheveled chira Mikial wore.
“That last dance must've been quite remarkable,” Yora dryly observed, exacting a groan from Dalen with an insistent prod. “If you can get out from under your Cothra, I'll put some breakfast in you."
“Breakfast?” Mikial muttered. The light around her was not coming from the lamps anymore.
“It does feel like I laid here all night,” Dalen spoke up, wincing as Yora helped him to his feet. He rubbed his face and looked around at other spent participants among the tankards and food scraps.
“Black Bear ale seems to have accomplished what the Minnerans couldn't,” Yora remarked, looking over at Parva who was slumped across a table. “Dalen, forgive me for taking your cushion, but I need her sober and in uniform."
Mikial gave her mentor a long look and pushed herself to a somewhat upright position. She leaned back against the bar, her head wanting to drop off. “Why?"
<
br /> “This concerns your pet human. Come on, I have a carriage waiting. We're heading to Sky Camp to see your father."
“Pet, indeed,” Mikial snorted. She gave Dalen a parting kiss.
After a side trip to pick up her uniform and take a quick shower, Mikial took advantage of being a passenger to sleep most of the way down.
* * * *
Yora woke her as they drove into the Sky Camp central gardens. Mikial stared up at the smooth curving walls of the Great Hall. The blue marble exterior rose from the surrounding plaza like a huge half-buried egg. Fortunately, the second largest dance hall in the Eight Holdings had emerged unscathed from the recent conflict. “I assume I'm not here to dance,” she said as Yora parked the carriage beside other vehicles lining the east plaza.
“Welcome to our temporary High Keep,” Yora replied with a sigh. The officer looked across the plaza at the eight-story Presentation Inn marked by marbled columns that curved around the north side of the hall. “Let's get you some murr and stew before we meet with your father."
“I am not shooting anymore Taqurl cannons, if that's what's on his mind,” Mikial growled, getting out of the vehicle.
“If the Tasuria has her way, you most certainly won't be.” Yora shook her head. “Both the Cothra and our sect are trying to convince Sencia that we need to be prepared if these humans cause more trouble. It's not like we're going to re-create Min Saja with just those cannons."
Which means I'd best keep quiet about the one Dalen gave me, Mikial surmised.
After a quick breakfast at one of the inn cafeterias, Mikial followed Yora into the Great Hall. The sky-blue ceiling echoed back a constant murmur of voices. Four “clouds” of frosted crystal quartered the curved roof five stories above her. Each chandelier rained down a glowing shower of suspended glass droplets. Canvas sheets both protected the solid sheld floorboards and segregated offices that filled the stadium.
Yora led Mikial back into one of the dancer's warm-up rooms attached to the main arena. Minneran maps covered the mirrored walls. Yora hailed a cluster of Datha in black dress uniforms. They looked up from a large terrain model that took up most of the center floor. “Principal, your daughter is here."