Arda: The Captain's Fancy

by Annie Windsor

  Every telepath within range—and then some—must have sensed Krysta’s psi-cry of distress, dampeners or no.

  Overload. Overwhelmed. The formidable mental powers of The People flowing unchecked through an uninitiated mind. How Krysta withstood the shock, he couldn’t imagine.

  Damn me eternally for my stupidity. Darkyn gazed at his mate, who lay limp and seemingly lifeless before him on a mat made of greenwild vine and grass. He longed to scoop her up and hold her to him, to pour out his regret and beg her forgiveness.

  Akad had administered medicines that might help, but advised against touching her. The emotional response to her sha’s touch might worsen her condition or kill her outright.

  We just don’t know, Brother. I’m so terribly sorry. I didn’t think.

  “We didn’t think,” Darkyn said aloud, studying Krysta’s sleeping form. She was naked, covered by the softest sheet he could find. It was golden in honor of harvests and light and Uhr’s native Chimera strain, which tended to be yellow or golden. Gold was the new color of Darkyn’s stone, and of Ta’Tonna Kon’pa.

  The room around them was of modest size, but carpeted with hand-woven rugs. The walls were covered by tapestries showing the tending of herds, the culling of the greenwild, harvesting the orchards, navigating the Steaming River, and claw-farming the sand of the drylands. Darkyn’s attention was captured by the bull dragyn in the drylands scene, rising from behind a dune like judgment itself as some of the farmers raised claw-hoes to drive it back.

  “Attack and defeat always come from situations unseen or unexpected.” He shook his head and inched his fingers toward Krysta’s exposed shoulder. Leaving a space no broader than a falcon’s feather between them, Darkyn forced his eyes to the window of the sick room.

  Low sunslight glinted off the clean glass as Guardian sat quietly on the sill. She stared at him with what seemed like empathy and caring as Chimera song drifted through the open space around her.

  “I’ve made a mess of things,” he told the raptor. “I’ve harmed the woman of my heart. I’ve involved my brother and worsened his lot. The pao will begin in a day, and what use will I be?”

  A debilitating blackness crept into his heart as he gazed first at Krysta, then at the falcon. It came first as a natural feeling, but doubled and trebled until it filled his senses. His keen vision dulled, and his hearing. Even his sense of smell.

  You are worthless.

  You have no power.

  “Worthless,” he echoed. His muscles became leaden, as if turned to stone and cemented to the floor.

  From a great distance, and too slowly, a falcon shrilled.

  “Guardian?” he tried to say, but the words came out slurred.

  Was the falcon still in the window?

  Was the window still in the house?

  The house still on Uhr?

  He was…drifting…

  Sitting cross-legged in space, it seemed.

  A presence surrounded him, at first suffocating and then less so.

  “Die,” said a voice so bleak and harsh Darkyn recoiled—and yet he felt gripped by a power unlike any he had battled in the past.

  The warrior in him rose like the cry of a raptor, shrieking through the bonds of his unnatural stupor. “Release me,” he demanded. His tone matched the harsh coldness of his captor’s icy command. With every scrap of strength in his mental arsenal, he pushed back against the force possessing him.

  His stone hummed and burned in his chest, and for a moment, his attacker seemed surprised. Perhaps stunned. The hold on Darkyn’s mind eased just enough for him to blast free, rushing back toward sunslight and familiar sensations.

  “Die here or die there,” the voice said, feigning dispassion. “Makes no difference to me.”

  At that, Weil forced himself back to consciousness.

  His eyelids felt like rock slabs, but he lifted them. A reddish glare seared his vision instantly—a glare he had seen before, but where?

  Ruby, like blood captured in stone…

  Ruby, like the twin swords wielded by the Sailkeeper’s bride, on Arda, the day Georgia Tul’Mar almost killed him.

  Darkyn felt the bite of sharpened blades against his throat, and didn’t dare even to swallow, to breathe. He knew without seeing that Krysta’s female kin had come without guise or preparation, slipping through Uhr’s defenses as if they didn’t exist. They had come without political motive or the slightest care over the workings of men and the intrigues of the universe. They had come like she-cats in fierce answer to Krysta’s cry of pain, and they might slay him before he had a chance to explain.

  Guardian yet perched on the windowsill, but the falcon made no move to intervene. Her raptor’s eyes bored into him as if to accuse, as if to tell him he deserved whatever tortures these women might offer.

  The old Earth poet Kipling was correct. Darkyn stared straight ahead at his turncoat falcon, making himself a mimic of marble and stone. The Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male. Why is it that men of every star system persist in deluding ourselves about this fact?

  “Tell us what you did to Krysta and why,” came a warrior-woman’s icy command. “Then tell us why an OrTan skull ship is orbiting your moon without being intercepted.”

  “Along with twenty more vessels,” another female voice added. “Our companel didn’t even recognize six of the ship designs. Arda’s sensors haven’t picked them up at all. How is that possible?”

  “Don’t fuck around,” the first voice instructed. This was the holder of swords, the Sailkeeper’s bride, no doubt. Darkyn felt a small trickle of warmth on his neck, proof of Georgia Tul’Mar’s serious intent. “The only reason I haven’t killed you is I owe you for saving Elise and Katryn Ilya. Kidnapping my sister-in-law, hiding her away from us, hurting her, and letting our enemies orbit without detection—I’d say we’re even now.”

  “I deserve whatever judgment you pass,” Darkyn said quietly, careful to move as little as possible. “Krysta, my heart and my shanna, might die because of my foolish error.”

  “Do not take this all on yourself,” said Akad, entering the room with his usual quiet, yet confident stride. “It was our mistake, together. The three of us.”

  Georgia’s swords grazed Darkyn’s throat again. He knew she was surprised.

  Elise Tul’Mar confirmed this with a gasp, followed by a shocked, “We thought you were dead!”

  “Not dead.” Akad’s even tone betrayed no concern or surprise, but Darkyn felt his a’mun twin’s concern over whether he could persuade Georgia to put down her blades. “I had to come home. It was time.”

  The sound of a thudding kick, followed by a wheezing groan from Akad filled the room.

  “You traitorous bastard!” Elise’s voice pealed like a summoning bell. Guardian shrieked at the sound of it and took to the wing, quickly flying out of Darkyn’s sight. “My sha trusted you with his family’s life—with his own, and our daughter’s safety!”

  A scuffle followed. Darkyn wished he could see what was happening, but the next he knew, the ruby swords left his neck and someone kicked him sideways. He landed heavily beside Krysta, using all of his strength to avoid touching her flesh and possibly worsening her condition. When he righted himself and turned, his brother was standing against the far wall.

  Pinned against the far wall might have been a more apt descriptor. The Sailkeeper’s bride had thrust her blades beneath both of his arms, turning the priest into a wall hanging with a tense and still pained expression. She had her back to Darkyn, but there was no mistaking the fire of her hair or the virtual sizzle of air around her presence. He remembered the odd pattern of her pa, like a creeping vine in bloom.

  “We will not fight you.” Darkyn felt a surge of weariness so deep he didn’t know if he could keep standing. “Your anger for the betrayal is just, but I am Ta, and I bear responsibility for the actions of my people. Slay me and take my shanna back to her home—whatever you believe is proper repayment for my wrongs—but plea
se, do not harm my brother. He did but report on the Tul’Mar clan. Otherwise, he served you honestly, as he always would and will, as your High Priest. The office and the man were true to you in all other ways.”

  Georgia remained motionless, facing her captive. Elise stood to the side, a fearsome-looking emerald sword raised and drawn back to skewer Akad.

  Once more, Darkyn was near to overwhelmed by his brother’s exhaustion, by the pain and fragility in Akad’s dark, unblinking eyes.

  “Please do not harm him,” Darkyn repeated. His voice cracked, and he fought a tremble in his hands. He would not fight these women any more than Akad would, but his brother’s helplessness felt like a dagger in his own gut.

  Elise gave Darkyn a drylands-withering glare, but she stood down. With a grace befitting the Sailmaster’s woman, she slipped her curved sword into a sheath hanging from her silken belt and folded her arms. She wore only a knee-length tunic with that belt at center. No shoes, no breeches, no other weapons. Her golden hair hung loose about her shoulders, highlighting the smoothed ridges of her cheeks and the curve of her chin. Flames of pa marked her neck and cheeks, and Darkyn remembered them on her belly and hips as well, from when he delivered her daughter Katryn Ilya Tul’Mar.

  Her build and those crystalline blue eyes. The way the pa chose to mark her. The fact she survived accidental over-contact with pa at all… Darkyn’s mind worked feverishly, aligning pieces of a puzzle as yet beyond his reach. Now that he had joined with Krysta, he felt newly aware of these two women she loved. Elise is part Ardani, yes. A mixed-blood—but mixed with what?

  When the pao attendees gathered, he might gain more clues about the truth of Elise Tul’Mar’s lineage. It suddenly felt right for her to be on Uhr, for her to attend the gathering. New discomfort suffused Darkyn. Too many unknowns. Akad worn so thin, my hallas drifting in the shadow worlds…ill omens, all.

  The Sailkeeper’s bride at last extracted her ruby blades from the wall, releasing Darkyn’s a’mun twin. The priest sagged against the dirt and thatch, his expression pale and distant.

  Darkyn let out a sigh of relief.

  Georgia Tul’Mar wheeled on him. Her redder-than-red hair matched the raging flush in her cheeks. Her vine-and-blossom pa markings wound down her face, popping and snapping with the force of her emotion.

  Gods. This one too! The power, it goes so much deeper than they know. A mix of Ardani and…what? What does it mean?

  The first possible meaning absorbed him, blotting out all other emotion or responsibilities.

  “I believe you might help us revive Krysta.” His pulse quickened as he turned back to the pallet where his shanna lay. “If you joined with Akad and with me, the four of us might reach her in the dark places—”

  “No.” Akad’s refusal came forcefully, despite the man’s pallor. “It’s too dangerous. We could lose all three of them.”

  “These two have power I didn’t realize,” Darkyn countered. “Perhaps you’ve underestimated them as well?”

  “They aren’t initiated!” Akad pushed away from the wall and strode to Darkyn, standing only a hand’s reach away. “We have risks enough ahead, brother. We cannot chance such a linking, for their sakes and our own.”

  “Excuse me?” It was Elise who spoke. “Do we get a say in this?”

  “Forgive me, Grace, but no.” Akad gave her a swift, shallow bow. “You do not understand the force of The People’s ancient psi talents. They have been preserved in the pure form, and can break an unprepared mind.”

  Georgia Tul’Mar moved to Krysta’s side, then knelt. Darkyn noted her instinctive avoidance of touch, and the way Krysta’s pa lightened in her presence.

  “So prepare us,” Georgia said, more a command than a request.

  “There isn’t time.” Akad sounded like a man speaking to eager toddlers. “To train a mind to join with one of The People would take stellar months. Perhaps years.”

  The Sailkeeper’s bride stood and turned so quickly that Darkyn stepped back. Tears shone in her green eyes. “Why are men so infinitely stupid?”

  Before anyone could react, Georgia lunged forward and grabbed Akad by the shoulders.

  The priest shouted, tried to detach—but then jerked and flinched, as if he had taken a blade between the ribs. Darkyn actually looked at Elise’s hands to be certain she hadn’t pulled her dagger.

  She was standing beside Akad and Georgia, her mouth open and her expression growing more slack by the second. Darkyn realized with dread and elation that Georgia had used her formidable will and hidden strengths to force psi-contact with Akad. Elise’s mental ties to Georgia were pulling her into the joining as well.

  Darkyn had no time for second thoughts, doubts, or recriminations. The process had begun. If the two women died, the shock would likely kill Krysta, and possibly Darkyn and his brother as well.

  He could do nothing but offer a quick prayer to the gods and goddesses of all worlds, then add his strength and skill to the link.

  Krysta strode down the corridors of the flagship in Arda’s Royal Fleet. Her heartbeat kept jerky time with her footsteps because Akad had impressed upon her the graveness of the situation.

  The psi-joining overwhelmed her mind. I’ve done what I can, but the rest is up to her…

  Poor Ki. Krysta worked to keep her expression even, to find words to ease her eldest brother’s suffering. Fari, the brother closest to her in age, had already passed her on deck, wordless and inconsolable.

  “Well, well,” Krysta said as she walked into the infirmary where Ki sat watch over his new and unconscious mate. “It is about time a woman humbled you.”

  Through his fog of fear and concern, Ki’s relief shimmered like silver sunslight. “Krysta.”

  He stood and turned, greeting her with a fierce embrace. Krysta felt dwarfed by him even though she was as tall as Fari, and almost as strong. Still, she knew her presence steadied and comforted Ki.

  “Take heart, Brother.” Krysta pushed back from him and gazed at Elise. “Akad says your feral mate has strength beyond our understanding.”

  “From his lips to the stars.” Ki let out a rattling breath. “I curse myself for this misjudgment.”

  Krysta continued to study Elise, taking in the lighter-haired woman’s lanky yet petite frame. “Is it true that she is with child?”

  Ki’s cheeks colored. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Krysta grinned. “Cheers to both of you! To the dreg pools with Lord Gith and his foolish pursuits.”

  A smile tugged at Ki’s mouth. “Thank you, Sister.”

  Krysta met his eyes, then hugged him again. “I need to bear her home now. Can you let her go?”

  “I-I-” Ki’s words failed him. He had never seemed so clumsy and helpless in all of his stellar years. “Yes. I will carry her.”

  “Let me take her.” Krysta’s heart ached for her brother as she squeezed his shoulders. “Wait until you hear the departure horn. It will be easier than watching me spirit her away.”

  “As you wish,” he muttered, clearly struggling.

  “I will care for her like my own firstborn.” Krysta did her best to reassure him with every smile, every touch. “In a stellar week, she will be hale again. Trust me.”

  “Without question or doubt.” Ki’s positive words were forced, but Krysta knew he believed in her caretaking and healing abilities. “May the stars speed you home.”

  Krysta stooped and swept Elise into her arms as if Elise were indeed a child. She felt so small and fragile in her arms, a wisp of a woman, yet with incredible inner strength. Krysta could sense that even though the woman’s mind slept so deeply.

  Before Ki could object or change his mind, she turned and carried her new sister-in-law away from the chamber.

  Krysta felt no labor from the weight of her sister-in-law. And yet, something plagued her mind. The ship around her felt less than real, and Elise—almost a phantom instead of a woman.

  A woman she had known, in every sense of the word.


  But I only just met her…

  Slowing her step, Krysta examined her surroundings.

  Where ship’s walls had been, shadow now played. Elise vanished from her arms like so much smoke, and Krysta’s consciousness gradually cleared until she found herself standing on an odd tropical beach draped in moonless darkness, yet oddly luminescent. A soft yellow glow seemed to arise from the sand itself.

  Krysta’s head spun. Where was up? Down? Then and now? She wrapped her arms around herself and shook, feeling past crest over present, sensing present retreat off the sands of the future, emptying into a great black nothingness that seemed to be laughing…at her.

  Just then, a man-shape appeared on the beach, just out of her ability to make out his features. As he approached, the darkness seemed to follow him, to flow into him and through him.

  “Why do you play here?” he asked in a sweet-poison voice that turned Krysta near to ice. “Perth was destroyed long ago. A woman of your strength would have no use for such weaklings. Come to me. I’ll teach you strength, give you wisdom you could scarcely imagine.”

  The horrible magnetism of his offer pulled at Krysta despite her instinct to resist. Something niggled in the back of Krysta’s mind.

  A warrior with the eyes of a lion and the heart of a dragon…

  A picture of this warrior worked its way into her being, giving her the strength to hold her place on the eerie yellow sand.

  “Come to me,” ordered the shadow-man again.

  Krysta blinked. He was so much closer now. She could see the depth of darkness comprising his limbs, his chest—and lights and swirls within that blackness. What were those?

  “Do not move,” the hypnotic, awful voice instructed. She felt it crawl across her skin like predatory insects, stinging her, draining her of will and memory.