“It’s not an old line, it’s the Truth and the Path!”
“The Truth and the Path have many wise and prudent teachings. That’s not one of them.”
“I’ve never heard you blaspheme the warrior’s code before.”
“It’s not blasphemy to think. Blind belief is a poor servant to Alsea, and I never taught you that bit of idiocy. Don’t tell me you’ve never questioned your instructors, because I know better.”
Tal smiled at the reference; certainly she had challenged Micah more than once. “Of course I’ve questioned my instructors. They’re Alseans, not Fahla herself. But that’s not the same thing as questioning the Truth and the Path.”
“Isn’t it?” He nodded when she remained silent. “You’re a faithful servant of Fahla and Alsea. You’re also a discerning and extremely gifted individual. Don’t confuse service to our Goddess and the warrior’s code with service to interpretation of their lessons and intent. A true warrior knows more than just love of Alsea. Feeling love from and for another makes one’s heart more whole, and a warrior with a whole heart is a better servant to Alsea than a warrior with only half a heart.”
Her first thought was that he was contradicting his own teachings, but when she paused to consider it, she could not remember Micah ever telling her to love Alsea first. By the time she had come into his unit, that part of the code had already been instilled in her.
“Then you’ve given your heart?” she asked.
“We’re not speaking of me; we’re speaking of you. And you just answered my question.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”
He ignored her. “I cannot imagine you bestowing your heart where it was not deserved. It must have been Captain Serrado.”
“There were others on the Caphenon equally deserving,” she said, knowing full well she had just confirmed his suspicions.
“For you? Only one that I can think of, and she wasn’t the captain. You would not choose one who did not understand power and responsibility.”
She gave up. “Lhyn is a treasure and a good friend. But you’re right, she’s not the one. Saying good-bye to Ekatya was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“But you’re still in contact, yes?”
“Yes, but it’s not the same. In some ways it was actually easier when she wasn’t able to call. They were in transit for half a moon and spent another half in debriefings and meetings, and I could almost convince myself it hadn’t been real. Then she called on the quantum com and—” She couldn’t finish, unwilling to describe what seeing Ekatya had done to her.
“So she called for the first time two moons ago. And that was when it all fell apart for you.”
Fahla, it was. She hadn’t even realized.
“No wonder you miss that time,” he said. “Not only did you have clarity of purpose, but you had a partner in accomplishing it. Captain Serrado was your equal. And she saved us twice.”
She put her face in her hands. “I didn’t have a partner,” she whispered. “I never did. That’s the problem.”
He rested his hand on her bent back, and for a moment she thought she might cry.
After a long silence, he said, “The greatest thing I could wish for you is that you might find someone worthy of your heart. I’m deeply sorry that when you did, she was not for you. There is no love more futile than the love for another’s tyree. This is a heavy burden you have borne.”
His sympathy made the lump in her throat harder to swallow.
“And you need a vacation,” he added.
She lifted her head. “That’s your solution to my problem?”
“No, that’s my solution to my problem.”
“Your concern is truly touching. I can’t imagine why I didn’t come to you earlier.”
“I’m serious, Tal. You do need a vacation. If the only time you feel right is when you can get away, then we need to get you away. You need to process this emotion and purge it from your system, because until you do, you’re not the leader Alsea needs. This is your first duty.”
“My first duty is to my emotions? Since when?”
“Since they came between you and Alsea. That is what the Truth and the Path means. Not that you should never give your heart, but that you should learn when to give it priority. Sometimes thinking of yourself first is not selfish or ill-advised, but the best thing you can do.”
“And why has no teacher shared this with me before?”
“Because they were all grainbirds.”
Her laugh was scratchy. “Well, they did manage to teach me a few useful things. But you always were my best teacher.”
“I was not,” he said, reaching out to place a large hand over her heart. “This is. You have only to listen to it.”
She laid her hand over his, absorbing the full strength of his emotions. The anger was gone and the fear was greatly diminished, but his worry ran deep, side by side with his love for her. Not for the first time, she wondered why a man with such a great heart called her his only family.
“Sometimes your heart makes more sense than mine,” she said. “I don’t believe you’ve never given it. Someday, you’re going to tell me.”
“If I ever gave my heart, it was too long ago for me to remember.”
“You are full of dokshin.” She knew she would get no more out of him. “Just remember that this conversation is not over.”
“Our conversations never are. It’s the best part of our friendship.”
They smiled at each other, and Tal felt lighter than she had in a long time. She had indeed chosen a poor path, but her worst mistake was shutting Micah out. Ekatya was still gone, and her heart still ached, but with Micah at her side that burden seemed easier to bear.
“Since my run is over, I suppose we should go.” She rose from the log. “Besides, I feel a sudden need to make Aldirk’s life miserable.”
“You’re taking my advice?”
“I am.” As they walked toward the trail, she added, “I do try to accept advice when it’s wise and well-thought. But I must ask you to do one thing for me.”
“Anything,” he said quickly, and she knew he meant it.
Without warning, she dropped and spun with a leg out, sweeping his legs from beneath him. He landed heavily on his back with a startled whuf.
“Next time,” she said as she stood over him, “find another way to make your point. That was too extreme.”
He looked up at her, unrepentant. “But there won’t be a next time, will there? Besides, nothing else would have gotten your attention. You weren’t ready to listen, and I could no longer wait until you were.”
As she narrowed her eyes, he held out a hand. Sighing, she grasped it and pulled him upright, smacking him in the abdomen for good measure. “You’re beyond redemption.”
“Which is exactly why I’m so good for you.”
She let out a snort and resumed her path. “And to think you’re my spiritual advisor. The people of Alsea should be very concerned.”
“Not the people. Just Aldirk.”
Tal laughed as they emerged onto the trail. “So tell me, oh spiritual advisor, where shall we go for your vacation?”
“My vacation!”
“I’m fully aware of your ulterior motives. You front like a child of six cycles. Where did you have in mind?”
He smiled wistfully. “It’s been too long since I felt the sand under my feet.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Then we go to the shore.”
CHAPTER 6
Waking up
This really was one of Micah’s better ideas, Tal decided.
It had taken a nineday to get her schedule cleared—Aldirk nearly had heart failure—and another nineday to get everything prepared. A Lancer did not simply trot off on vacation. No, she had to have an entire detail of Guards, and the inn chosen as
her base had to be inspected and fortified and the staff frightened half to death with the presence of so many armed warriors. At least she had managed to banish the Guard detail to a separate set of cabins. They were under strict instructions to make themselves relatively invisible to her, and Lead Guard Gehrain was keeping them in line.
It was all worth it. Being free of the Council and the endless meetings, negotiations, arguments, and machinations had done wonders for her. The last few moons had been hard, even without the loss of Ekatya.
Cleaning up after the Battle of Alsea was an unending task, with every village and city convinced that their needs were more important than any others. The argument over what to do with the insane Voloth had run hot since the day of the battle. What had initially been a few radical voices suggesting merciful euthanasia was now a broad coalition that continued to grow. Both sides argued passionately, and in a matter like this, compromise was impossible. The argument over where to settle the sane soldiers was nearly as hot, with every proposal immediately inciting a firestorm of protest from local residents.
They were almost ready to test their one-fifth-scale prototype fusion reactor, and while that was good news for most, the owners of the soon-to-be-outdated fission reactors were loudly unhappy and predicting disaster. Their voices were joined by those who feared any Protectorate technology simply because it was not Alsean.
Worst of all were the matter printers. Tal had expected that such miraculous technology would need to be handled carefully, but she hadn’t anticipated the heights to which the caste squabbling would rise. Some of the merchants were rubbing their hands with glee; others feared it would put them out of business. The producer caste was worried that its agricultural products would no longer be necessary. The warriors wanted to put it to use immediately, seeing unlimited potential in weaponry and defense, but thought it should be limited elsewhere. The scholar caste was triply divided, with some of the religious scholars protesting that it was not the will of Fahla, while an opposing group insisted that it was, and had very definite ideas about how it should be used. Meanwhile, the secular scholars applauded the scientific advance it represented and argued with some of the religious scholars about the potential applications. And the builder caste, or at least the engineers among them, couldn’t wait to get their hands on it to see how it worked and what they could do with it. The only caste that hadn’t been shouting its collective opinion was the crafters, but they always were a different sort.
Now those competing demands had been temporarily silenced. Tal was cocooned in a world far removed from her normal life, and at first she was dazed by the sudden calm. When had she last had no obligations and nowhere to be? She couldn’t remember. She gloried in her solitude and reveled in her agenda, which consisted of one thing: exploring new places to run and hike.
Her desire for solo runs caused Micah no end of indigestion at first. Before arriving, they had several arguments over what he termed her “brick-headed intransigence” and finally came to a compromise. He would limit her Guard detail to two, and they would keep their distance—on the condition that she would alter her appearance in order to be less easily recognized.
Tal thought she was already unrecognizable in her running tights and favorite shirt, which had a hole in it and had scandalized Aldirk the first time he saw it. She assumed that whatever Micah planned couldn’t be much different from what she already did.
It was an erroneous assumption, as she realized on the very first morning of her vacation. She had barely finished dressing for her run in the pre-dawn stillness when she felt Micah approaching. Opening her cabin door, she watched as he mounted the wooden steps to her front porch and wordlessly held up a small bottle.
“I have to change my eyes, too?” She took the bottle with a sigh.
“And your hair.” He pulled a second, larger bottle out of his pocket.
She favored him with a glare before shutting the door in his face and carrying the bottles into the bathroom. Grumbling, she tipped her head back and squeezed in the eyedrops, which teemed with colorizers that absorbed nearly all wavelengths of light, giving her normally blue eyes a dark brown appearance. A spritz of colorizers combed through her hair swiftly turned it from light blonde to nearly black, and she made a face at the final result. The woman in the mirror was someone she normally saw during certain nighttime training exercises and a few stealth missions, and she was not at all happy assuming this camouflage on her own Fahla-damned vacation.
But she forgave Micah less than a hantick later when she realized the benefits of anonymity. She was delighted to receive polite nods from the other dawn runners, who saw her as just one more of their number, and by the time she returned to her cabin, she had a whole new appreciation for what had previously been nothing more than a tactical tool.
Every morning she ran on the beach, filling her lungs with the tang of the sea and thoroughly enjoying her invisibility. On his end, Micah was so pleased by the outcome that he offered to reduce the number of Guards accompanying her on her trail and shore hikes if she agreed to continue using the colorizers. She happily clasped his forearm, sealing the bargain, and proceeded to spend her days in a state as close to complete solitude as a Lancer could hope to be. The only reminder of her responsibilities came in the form of nightly reports that Aldirk sent to her reader card, some of which required answers and instructions.
Micah had done a fine job picking out this location. The village was on the northwest coast of Pallea, a world away from Blacksun in terrain, vegetation, and weather. It was early winter back home, and the mountains encircling Blacksun Basin were already dusted by the first snow. Here, so close to the Great Belt, snow was a distant fantasy and she was wearing short sleeves even at night. Her cabin was surrounded by exotic trees she couldn’t name and brilliant flowers pouring their scents upon the breeze. Behind the village, steep canyons led up into the mountains, dripping with lush undergrowth that grew even on the sheer rock walls. Tal soon established an evening routine of sitting out on her front porch, enjoying the soft, scented air as she watched the waves sliding gently up the beach.
It was difficult to imagine these sedate waves rising up and crashing across the village, but the coastlines of both Argolis and Pallea were subject to severe storms and wave damage. Every cabin at her inn stood on stilts, and the high-water mark on hers was just below the top step.
Having spent most of her life in a landlocked valley, Tal didn’t often see the ocean and was fascinated by its wildness. The vast reaches of open water fueled shockingly strong storms, and an entire branch of warriors existed solely to watch over and rescue those whose luck ran out. The Mariners enjoyed a mystique that even the Guards could only dream of, but Tal thought they earned every bit of it. Sometimes she wondered why the producers who fished the dangerous areas weren’t warrior caste as well. They risked death with every trip, returned to safety, and went straight out to risk it again. A high number of warriors did crew those boats, but fishing was traditionally thought to be a producer caste job.
On these calm days, such dangers seemed far away. Tal loved running at the edge of the water, racing the waves up and down the sand and sometimes simply splashing straight ahead, grinning like a pre-Rite child at the sensation.
It was a magical time. She walked and hiked and climbed and sometimes just sat, watching the waves on the beach or listening to the wind in the canyons. Alone and undisturbed, she gave herself permission to remember Ekatya and work through her heartache. It was time to let this one go. And somehow, what had been impossible in Blacksun was happening naturally here. She didn’t know whether it was the beauty of her surroundings, the constant physical activity, the privacy, or the fact that she no longer had that desperate need to get away, but the clouds were lifting out of her head. She felt as if she were waking up.
After five days of blissful privacy, Tal decided she was ready for company again. Micah’s expression when he f
ound her on his cabin porch, sword grip in hand, was worth the walk over.
“You want to spar?” he asked in disbelief. “I thought you’d forgotten how by now.”
“You hoped I’d forgotten, you mean.” Her high spirits were manifesting themselves in a cockiness that she couldn’t rein in. “Are you coming out, or do I go to the Guard cabin to find someone younger?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’d be wise to remember that age has advantages. I know every trick in the teachings.”
“Not every trick. Don’t forget that you weren’t my only instructor.” She thumbed the control and smiled at the familiar shinng as the blade instantly expanded from the grip, the individual sections merging into a solid whole. Making a show of inspecting her blade, she angled it so that it reflected the bright morning sunlight into Micah’s eyes.
“Oh, my apologies,” she said sweetly when he winced and brought his hand up. “I assumed you’d know that old trick.”
He growled at her and vanished into his cabin while she laughed quietly to herself. A moment later he reappeared, grip in hand.
“Let’s see if you can back up that attitude with actual skill.”
She gave him a wide grin. “It will be my pleasure.”
They faced off in the sandy clearing just below his porch. It had been more than a moon since Tal had last sparred, but the feeling of excitement was always the same. As the child of both a scholar and a warrior, she had the choice to enter either caste, but in moments like these, balanced on the balls of her feet and facing the blade of an opponent, she knew she would never have survived as a scholar. She loved physical activity and the thrill of competition far too much to choose a caste where such activity was not a daily requirement. As it was, the demands of her title already took her too far from the level of action she preferred. Sometimes it was nice not to think or feel, and when she was fighting, she tapped into a part of her mind that was too narrowly focused for such distractions. When she was deep enough into it, even her empathic senses were dulled. In physical activity—and especially in fighting—she found a mental clarity that was unattainable in any other part of her life.