Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  Ear fans twitching, Mikial stepped back from his embrace to better show herself off. It was good to pretend nothing had come between them, even if only for a moment. She expected to start crying, but tears did not come.

  “Let me help,” Dalen whispered, as if sensing her thoughts. “I accept your withdrawn Promise, my love.” He smoothed her hair. “There, you don't have to say it."

  “Is it really that easy to say?” she asked.

  “No.” Dalen's smile did not completely hide the regret. He pulled a glittering necklace from his pocket.

  She found her tears as he draped the silver links around her neck. Mikial held up the firestones Dalen had taken from her while they stood in the ashes of her home. She looked down, wishing she had something to give in return. “Is anyone helping you through this, Dalen?"

  He tipped her chin back up. “Paleen let me cry on her shoulder a few times. We've been trading off, actually. She was very afraid she has lost your friendship.” Dalen stroked her cheek. “I don't want to risk that either, love. I suspect you'll need a shoulder yourself once in awhile."

  Mikial stepped back by the table, wiping at her cheeks. “When all of this finally catches up to me, I'll bawl on both your shoulders."

  “And you'll have them.” Dalen looked over at the table and lifted the cover from a silver platter. “Looks like wren cakes. Someone went to a lot of trouble here."

  “Well let's not disappoint,” She filled glasses from an adjacent wine bottle.

  What Mikial had expected to be a painfully awkward dinner, ended up as the most fun she had since being cloistered in the Surian suite. Dalen burst with news that ranged from reconstruction to the wild celebrations held on her behalf. Dathia danced in the streets, and the Ipper were throwing almost non-stop parties in each neighborhood. Never mind that the official celebrations would not start until her Presentation Dance. Dalen asked about her belt colors. Mikial deflected that bit of awkwardness by hiding behind the tradition of silence prior to her dance. After Yora's initial reaction, she had no desire to put that kind of distance between herself and Dalen tonight. Only after she watched the door close quietly behind him late that evening did Mikial let tears course freely down her cheeks. “I withdraw my Promise,” she whispered with a sob. “Please forgive me."

  * * * *

  Yora nudged her awake well before dawn, Mikial having decided to use the bed instead of the balcony. “Please tell me you're sober."

  “I'm trying to sleep.” Mikial buried her head in the pillow. “This mattress is too soft."

  “Next time, take your clothes off, and sleep beneath the sheets,” Yora chuckled. “A few folks would like to see you dance for them this morning. Feel like a light breakfast?"

  Mikial opened an eye. Yora was in full dress uniform, as were the two Dathia behind her. “Why couldn't they wait until evening for this?"

  “Rough time with Dalen?” Yora inquired as Mikial inspected the wrinkled condition of her dress with a scowl.

  “Only after he left. So now what? I parade myself in front of all the eligible Surs like some prize piece of meat? That is the basic reason for the dance, isn't it?"

  “They don't have legs for the kind of race you're about to lead them on,” Yora snickered. “Wait until you see your chira, what there is of it."

  After a shower and a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and fruit juice, Mikial stood half-naked in the studio as Yora and her Surian Guard prepared her. Outside, the Great Hall was bathed in a wash of red light. Lines of people had been filing into the stadium for almost two chimes, and morning was still a brief glow on the horizon.

  Her first indication of the reaction she could expect from the Holding came when Yora drew the four-banded Suria's belt from its case to tie around her. All preparation momentarily stopped, with even the battle-hardened Mureak giving a shriek of disbelief. It took a few minutes before Mikial got her Surian Guard calmed down enough to continue. Even then, they kept staring at her belt with a mixture of awe and astonishment.

  Mikial tried not to flinch as wet body paint was applied under Yora's supervision. Red battle patterns lined her cheeks, plunged between her breasts, and then circled behind to skirt her hips in bright flames. They would be all she wore from the waist up. Split at mid-thigh, the ivory bottom half of her chira did little to obscure more body paint that made it look as if she stood in an inferno. Mikial dared to move a sandaled foot, watching in fascination as the motion transformed her diaphanous skirts into sparkling waves. Winter crystals had been woven into the fabric, the cloth transformed into powdered starlight.

  Her fingers brushed against the belt that held the chira tight against her waist. Red, blue, yellow, and brown. Bordered by the white of a Suria. Would the Holding accept this any easier than she or Yora had? Mikial sucked in an apprehensive breath, earning a glare from one her painters. They, at least, were getting over their initial shock.

  “All right, it's time,” Yora said. “Get the draken."

  They handed Mikial a black wooden pole as tall as she was. Both ends were wrapped in red cloth, protecting her from the sharp spear points. Outside the doors of her suite, Mikial's hunting eyes saw the strong patterns of gathered Datha.

  Yora stepped back, her face beaming. “Mikial, you look lovely! Fifty favors says our stodgy Principal Kyian passes out before you get to mid-floor."

  “One hundred more that Jia joins her before I'm through,” Mikial added with a chuckle.

  “By the way, Principal Jia wanted me to tell you that they're still singing, whatever that means."

  “Are they,” Mikial muttered. “Well, she'll be singing a bit differently herself this morning."

  Nodding, Yora's expression lost its amusement. “Surian Guard! Station at flank!” The two Dathia fell in to either side of Mikial, their eyes sharpening as if for combat. Yora gave Mikial a smart nod and pivoted to step three paces in front of her. “Datha Qurl!"

  The double doors in front of them shook from the responding roar.

  Yora threw the doors wide open, admitting two lines of Datha in their black uniforms and side-skirts. Parva led his Strike in. The floor shook from the stomping cadence of their boots. “Strike!” he shouted in a loud baritone, “Halt!” Parva's pale gray eyes went directly to Mikial's belt, and glued there for a moment. Throwing his head back, Parva screamed as if in challenge, his teeth bared. The rest followed, even Yora and Mikial's Surian Guard adding their high tenor roars to the din. “It could only be four!” he shouted, giving Mikial a fierce look. “Great Suria, your sect is here to Present you!"

  Yora faced her Strike Commander with a grin. “Great Suria, do you accept Presentation?"

  “I accept Presentation,” Mikial responded. The last tradition I won't be breaking, she thought, anticipating Jia Yeffer's whimsical smile wiped from her lips. No pretty petal pattern for her dance. Yora had exploded the four-spoked Qurl wheel outward in a Grand Pattern few would forget.

  Parva's Strike re-formed around her, one Line to either side. The sky-blue walls in the outer hall quaked beneath the pound of Datha heels, one small portrait even dropping from its hooks along the wide stairs as they marched down.

  The first floor had been evacuated as was customary, none allowed to see Mikial except members of her escorting sect. The formation turned between two sets of marble columns in the grand foyer of the inn, then came to a halt. Swallowing, Mikial faced the two ironwood doors that were aptly named The Suria's Gate, the dark timber entwined with silver filigree. Other Surias had faced this door, no doubt with their own hearts trying to escape from their chests as hers threatened to do. Too bad the Surs didn't have to endure a Presentation Dance of their own, Mikial thought But who would they dance for? There was never more than one Suria per Holding. A Suria who would one day be the next Tasuria. Mikial tried to keep her claws retracted, but to no avail.

  Yora turned and pulled the cloth off of the draken blades. Steel edges glinted. “I'd kiss you, but it might smear the paint. Make me proud,
Mikial. I want my family to remember this forever.” She walked to the doors and opened them to the bright expanse of the Great Hall dance floor. A flood of conversation poured out like a distant storm.

  Just inside the entrance, a single iron tube hung from a brass chain extending up to the ceiling. Yora walked to the left side of the doorjamb and pulled a hammer from its brace. She struck the chime four times, its sonorous clang bringing the Great Hall to silence. Yora stepped back beneath the chime and gave Mikial one final wink. “Mikial Haran! Present yourself!"

  Mikial walked forward with a determined step. The Hall's oval cavern spread out before her, the dance floor a sea of smooth sheld planking. She could smell the tang of fresh polish. Above her, the four great chandeliers cascaded a dazzle of light down their crystalline droplets, as if the Curtain itself had been hung in the room. Thousands of eyes watched her. This time, Mikial assured herself, those eyes were real.

  The deep roar of Datha spectators broke the silence, telling Mikial that the first banner had been draped down over the orchestra balcony behind her. She kept walking. Across a dance floor over a hundred spans wide, four broad marble steps led up to an observation tier. It should have only contained the Tasur and Tasuria. The tier was far more crowded, though she could not make out who was seated there. The surrounding stands erupted in a chorus of delighted cries. The second banner had been dropped. Ipper were on their feet, and dancing with pleasure. Mikial's attention centered on the first of the steps ahead of her. She snarled. There were almost two dozen unmarried Surs seated on those steps in their fancy cream-colored outfits. Where were they when I was just a Dathia? Mikial afforded herself an inward smile as a few displayed good eyesight, their backs stiffening in shock as they saw her belt.

  It was the Shandi's turn to cheer, the third banner having dropped behind her. There were more surprised gasps at her having attained the high stature of three colors. Mikial heard a few shrieks too, from those among the lower stands who also had good eyesight.

  The drop of the final banner happened as she was midway across the floor. It hit the Great Hall like a cannon shell. People rose on their feet with shouts of confusion that neared panic. Mikial paused in her approach. Lifting her foot, she gave a scream of her own, and stamped down her heel with impatience at the interruption.

  Within moments there was nothing but silence. Mikial watched as even the Ipper told their neighbors to sit down. She resumed her approach. The next surprise was hers.

  The reason the top tier looked crowded was that eight couples sat there instead of one. Sixteen multicolored belts secured formal white side-skirts flowing with embroidered patterns. Only Yora's relentless practice session kept Mikial from stumbling before the gathered rulers of all eight Holdings. On the step below them, Mikial found her Holding's Principals and their families waiting.

  She glided into a ready stance, her mind back to the business of the rogue Grand Pattern she and Yora had devised. Mikial watched Jia's incredulous expression upon seeing the draken she held. No doubt, the Ipper Principal could also see the body paint well enough to tell what kind of style was about to be performed. Much to Mikial's delight, Jia buried her face in her hands; however, through the Principal's fingers Mikial thought she saw a smirk. Principal Kyian Sell of the Shandi Qurl stood next to Jia in outright shock, as if her worst expectations had unfolded.

  Satisfied, Mikial waited for the music to begin. For history to start. It didn't. On the steps beneath the Tamerid, she saw Paleen hold on to Dalen's arm as the Ipper gawked at her in disbelief. Everyone looked like they expected one of the colors on her belt to suddenly disappear, as if it were some trick. Did that include the musicians in the balcony behind her too? Arms dropping, she looked at the Tasuria for some kind of guidance. What am I supposed to do? Hum as I dance?

  It was her father's voice she heard first. Jakar stood up in his ebony dress uniform. Brown eyes steady, his tenor voice rang out over the absolute quiet. From her father's mustached lips came the opening refrain of First Greetings.

  Within moments, thousands of tongues picked up the morning song, tentatively at first, and then full-heartedly. Even the Tasurs and Tasurias. Trembling, Mikial listened as the Holding sang to her. Mikial felt her soul fill with a new sense of trust and purpose. She gave a series of deep breaths to contain her own spiral of emotion.

  As the final strains of First Greetings faded, Mikial raised her arms again, right foot forward and back arced. Compressing her gratitude into bunched muscles, she hurled the draken toward the ceiling.

  Drums thundered in response, the strings of shries rising in accompaniment to the opening moves of the music Mikial had selected. Kama's Vortex.

  Horns took cry as Mikial executed a series of lithe leaps with a blurring speed only possible from her sect. Catching the draken behind her back in mid-leap, Mikial transformed her soul into a whirlwind that would sweep away everything these people had known. The audience leapt to their feet with a single cry as she hit the floor with the draken hissing in deadly arcs around her.

  Mikial did not approach the gaping Surs as much as attack them. She covered the intervening distance with a fluid viciousness that brought her prospective suitors to their feet with alarm. This brought hoots and cheers from the audience around her, especially from the Ipper and Datha sections.

  She let the draken take up the Second Beat of Kama's Vortex, daring any of them to move as she brought the weapon to a droning blur dangerously close to their heads. Her Suria's belt flashed like a taunting banner as Mikial danced along the row, letting them feel the wind of her blades. They were scared of her. Every Dathia sense Mikial possessed routed out that unique tang of scent and expression. These were hardly worthy suitors when they acted more like prey! Mikial signified her contempt in a derisive look toward her father as she spun away from them. Would he want any of these as his son?

  Jakar laughed, looking over the Surs with a glint in his eyes that told each that they would need a Datha's resolve to claim her.

  Kama's Vortex slowed on the sigh of shries. Mikial reduced the speed of her draken to a serpentine series of gentle arcs around her twisting body. This was the quiet heart of the storm. Mikial approached the steps once more, ignoring the Surs. Her movements swayed into a soft and loving pattern in adoration of two parents who had struggled through this with her. Picking up the subtle Third Beat of the music, Mikial looked up at Yeneen, who stood next to Jakar in her white-and-yellow Shandi dress. Let them be proud of me now, Mikial thought. Let them look upon the daughter they raised.

  Mikial danced for Dalen and Paleen who sat below her parents, taking low bow before Paleen as the draken twirled idly behind her back. Their eyes met. Mikial let her friend know that there would be no more swimming against currents for her sake. Ever. Mikial favored Dalen with a grin and inclined her head toward Paleen in some matchmaking of her own. If she had to lose Dalen, who better to lose him to?

  Rising horns began to tear at Mikial, sending her whirling back toward the center of the Great Hall. Drums boomed, Karma's Vortex returning with a fury that flashed the draken into tight spirals about her painted breasts. Shrieking, Mikial danced in jagged patterns, following Yora's Grand Pattern with a vengeance. The music drove her before its storm, higher and higher in leaps and reversals that quickly devoured distances across the wide floor. Each action brought gasps and cries from the audience as Mikial performed movements no Ipper, Shandi, or Cothra could ever match. She captured the thunder of the drums in the first Four Beat performance she had ever tried. Mikial bared the Dathia spirit inside her, the blades a blur of motion around her.

  She leapt, sending the draken high between the chandeliers. Landing, Mikial fixed her eyes on her race's rulers, her teeth bared in an unrepentant snarl. She understood Jia's cryptic words, even if Yora had not. They were still singing. Ryan had lied to her about destroying the beacons pointing back to Dessa as he left. Ryan's gift to her made sense now, and served as a warning that she was not about to ignore. I
f the humans returned ... when they returned, she would have the Eight Holdings ready for them. All of Dessa's Servants too. Corias had asked her to unite them again. Now they had reason enough in a common enemy. Looking far beyond the ceiling and skies beyond, Mikial shrilled out her challenge as the draken plunged downward.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  About Kerry

  Born in Marysville, MI, Kerry grew up reading both fantasy and science fiction. Kerry's life was shaped by serving ten years in the USAF, which included a combat tour in Vietnam. He now resides in Texas with his wife, two children, and a cat.

  Visit our website for our growing catalogue of quality books.

  www.champagnebooks.com

  * * * *

  * * * *

  * * *

  Visit www.champagnebooks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.