Lady of the Star Wind (3 page)

As he swerved under a row of baskets to cut into the next aisle, Mark stopped Sandy before she could take another step. “Cop.”

Head tilted, talking into a com, the local policeman maintained an unblinking surveillance of the marketplace.

“Searching for us?” she asked, bending over to rub her bruised ankle.

“Probably—and now he’s seen us.” The man’s stance had shifted. He was talking fast into his com link and coming in their direction. Taking her elbow, Mark pulled her across the narrow space and into the next shop. Reaching out, he snagged a rack of leather purses and bags and toppled it across the entryway.

Dodging the proprietor and his wide-eyed customers, they bolted out the rear door. Their pursuer shouted at them to stop. People flowed into the aisle behind them, blocking the lawman’s progress with their arms full of merchandise.

“The locals don’t know who the seven hells we are, but being on the run is enough to get us help, like I hoped.” Mark dodged a refreshment cart and cut through an open-air dining area, a surprising number of the tables occupied at this hour. He stopped for a moment next to the food services, so Sandy could catch her breath while safely surrounded by a milling crowd of customers shouting orders for delicacies and drinks.

She straightened, adjusting the bag’s strap on her shoulder. “There’s another cop.”

Needing only a swift glance in the direction she indicated, Mark realized the situation was worsening. “And he’s got friends—Kliin’s mercenaries.” There were five uniformed men surrounding the local policeman.

He drew her behind the line of cooks at the nearest open-air grill, crouching among the bins and barrels of fish on ice and crustaceans crawling in barrels of salty water as the Kliin guards ran past, accompanied by three policemen. The men slicing and dicing vegetables and stirring vats of savory stew ignored the byplay, continuing their preparation without missing a beat. Mark breathed a silent prayer to the Lords of Space, thanking them for the indifference of the Freemarket citizenry.

“We’ll never get out of this predicament,” she said, breath catching on a sob. “There’s nowhere we can go. The police are all over the market.”

“The parking garage is probably locked down too.” He couldn’t believe he’d failed. This job meant more to him than anything he’d ever done for the Sectors. So how had he let it go so wrong so fast? Preoccupied, trying to think of other options for escape, he didn’t notice the small being approaching until it stopped in front of him.

Assessing the sentient’s pointed face and triangular, gray-furred ears, the wide yellow-flecked eyes, he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with. Nothing he’d encountered previously. Waving his blaster, Mark tried to shoo the being away for its own good. Not intimidated, the newcomer clutched his sleeve with four curved claws. “Come with me—I know what you need, but you must make haste.”
 

Instinctively trying to yank his arm away, Mark couldn’t free himself from the creature’s grip. “Who the hell are you?”

“Come, come, there is no time, traveler.” Tugging harder on him and reaching with its other hand for Alessandra’s skirt, the creature sidled a few steps. “You must hurry.”

He exchanged glances with Sandy. Eyebrows raised, she rolled her shoulders in resignation. “I don’t think we have any choices, do you?”

“Not now, no,” Mark agreed. “Out of options here. All right, what do you have in mind, friend?”

“Come, come, come!”

The being’s vocabulary seemed to be pretty limited. Still maintaining its hold on Mark, releasing Sandy’s skirt as if it didn’t care for the feel of the silky material, the sentient backed away. It escorted them along the line of stalls, keeping low and stealthy. Mark reached for Sandy’s free hand to make sure they didn’t get separated on this strange jaunt. A hue and cry erupted behind them.

Their odd guide led the way, weaving and dodging through the crowded aisles until the two humans were hard-pressed to match the pace.

Mark checked their six, stumbling over refuse on the path. Around a corner, through a narrow passageway, past a blur of staring citizens, doubling back occasionally, they ran. All at once their guide darted sideways, into a dark purple tent, and stopped. The sudden change in direction, followed by the unexpected halt, took Mark and Sandy by surprise. She tripped on his heel, bringing them both down in a heap, tangled with their guide. Mark lay on the carpeted floor, watching in astonishment as six cops sprinted past the tent’s open portal, never even glancing inside.

“What the seven hells?” Mark realized the strange being he’d fallen on top of was gone, vanished as if it had never been.
 

Rising, Mark reached to help Sandy regain her feet, relieving her of the heavy bag. She staggered as soon as she put her weight on the ankle she’d twisted escaping the wrecked groundcar.
 

“Welcome,” said someone from deep within the recesses of the tent.

Still supporting Sandy, trying to shield her from whoever approached from behind them, Mark turned.

A veiled woman, dressed head to toe in shimmering lavender, stood a few feet away, as if guarding the entrance to a second, larger room.

“I’m sorry we’re intruding,” Sandy said between panting breaths. “The little—the sentient thought you could help us.”

“The Nelafinari are never wrong in their assessment of Travelers,” their hostess answered, giving the last word a special emphasis.

Mark couldn’t decide if he and Sandy were in more danger from their pursuers outside or from this uncanny new player.
 

A second group of Kliin’s mercenaries and local police ran by, two men stopping to stare into the tent where Mark stood. Cursing under his breath, he shoved Sandy behind him and aimed his blaster at the nearest adversary.

“Do not.” A jarringly slender, seven-fingered hand reached out to grasp the barrel of the M27 and push it down. “The men you fear cannot see us. We’re outside their existence. For now.” In a heartbeat, the woman in lavender stood where she’d started, on the threshold of the other room. “I advise you to accept what is and move on. Our time is short.”

“Mark!” Sandy’s voice quavered on a note of pure terror as she grabbed his arm, pulling him to face the entrance.

Barent Kliin stood in the alley, glaring at the merchandise displays.

Mark took one step toward the exit. Barent would make a valuable hostage, exactly what he needed to buy their way out of the dead-end trap the marketplace had become.

“Leave and you can never return to this spot,” said their mysterious hostess. “This chance comes but once to a Traveler such as yourself.”

Sandy tugged at his arm, drawing him a step or two farther into the tent and interfering with his aim at Barent. “I think we need to listen to her. Maybe she can help. She’s protecting us right now. That’s worth something.”

Their unusual hostess laughed, and the sound trilled like birdsong, changing from second to second. “I’m Lajollae, Keeper of the Globes of Amarkana.”

“Which doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said, holstering his blaster as Barent strode out of his line of sight, going deeper into the marketplace.
 

Lajollae extended her arms, hands cupped in front of her at waist height. She held an iridescent bubble about a foot in diameter, which had materialized in the blink of an eye. A second bubble fought to come into existence, pulling itself out of the first. Tiny flecks of gold floated in the second bubble.

One golden mote separated from the rest and drifted through the skin of its own bubble and across empty space to sink inside the lower bubble. A moment later, another particle began the same journey.

“We have until the top bubble empties into the lower,” Lajollae said. “Then I’ll be gone from this place and time, your opportunity gone with me.”

“Opportunity?” Mark tried to focus on the vaguely sensible part of her declaration. “To do what exactly?”

“To Travel—come.” She beckoned for them to follow her into the tent’s second chamber.

Mark and Sandy exchanged another wary glance.
 

“What have we got to lose?” She bent to retrieve her bag.
 

“I’ve got it,” Mark told her, suiting action to the words. “All right, let’s go see what this Lajollae is peddling. Stay behind me.”

The princess trailing him, Mark followed the strange being into her other room, giving the floating bubbles a wide berth. He attempted to calculate how many of the golden motes might have already descended, but focusing on the glittering shards was hard, making measurement impossible.

Seeing the dimensions of the inner chamber, he was positive this tent couldn’t have been in the part of the market they’d been running through just moments ago.

Lajollae was intent on him, her lavender face unnaturally long. Even the diamond-shaped pupils of her eyes were lavender. “I’m the servant of Ones who came before, setting me to follow my appointed rounds through their domain, to provide the amusement of Travel. My mistresses are gone eons ago, to an existence you could never fathom, young race that you are. But I was left carelessly discarded, with no choice but to keep to my route. You aren’t what the globes were created for, true.” She shook her head, as if recalling a great tragedy. “But if the Nelafinari bring you to me, then I can serve—you’re marked as ones who can choose.”

“The-the Nelafinari? The little fellow who guided us here?” Sandy had apparently identified at least one tangible fact to anchor herself in all this unreal discussion.

Lajollae pointed, and Mark swung around to find two of the small beings now kneeling at either side of the tent’s entrance. “They know my need, know I must send Travelers on their way. So the pack hunts.”

Mark didn’t like the idea of being prey, but the Nelafinari had saved them from immediate capture and, no doubt, his painful and prolonged death at the hands of Barent Kliin.
 

“We waste time.” Lajollae sounded uneasy. “You must choose to Travel or to stay.”

“You keep talking about traveling. How do you propose to help us get away from the men pursuing us? Do you have a groundcar or some kind of ship here?” Mark wondered if the tent included a third chamber, a garage maybe.

One of the Nelafinari growled deep in its throat, baring impressive fangs.

“Behold the Globes of Amarkana.” She yanked at a corner of what Mark had assumed to be the tent’s rear wall. The shimmering panel fell away, revealing a tree taller than Mark fashioned entirely from crystal. Jagged, sharp branches of clear glass, patterned with leaves incised deep into the surface, jutted from a thick trunk at odd angles. At the tip of each branch hung a perfect golden ball, ethereal bubbles made of solid material. The globes were translucent, empty at first glance, but then Mark saw faint spirals of white smoke in some, flickering lightning in others, flames in a few. Several appeared to contain misty rain droplets suspended as if captured in midair…the branches stirred with a faint chiming sound.

“The time is nearly gone.” Lajollae’s voice broke into their fascination.

He checked the floating timer. Sure enough, the upper bubble was almost empty of the sparkling contents, sagging in upon itself. “What do we do?”

“Pick the globe meant for you,” Lajollae said. “You’ll know which one is your destiny.”
 

“What if we pick differently?” Sandy clutched at his sleeve. “I can’t lose you again!”

Lajollae shook her head. “You can each choose your own destination, or one may decide for both.”

Mark and Sandy exchanged glances. “We stick together,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“Agreed, this mad escapade we’re on is because I trusted you,” Sandy said, releasing his sleeve with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “So I trust you to decide for us.”

Mark took a step toward the globes, studying them, trying to decide which to pick, not sure what would happen next—there was no retreat, no other way to end this.

He kept going back to one particular globe, high on the tree, dangling precariously on its crystal branch. Nothing differentiated this bubble from all the rest, but it drew him nonetheless.

When he stretched to touch the globe, it fell into his hand.
 

“You’ve chosen, now breathe the air of the destination you’ve selected,” Lajollae said in a harsh whisper. “Make haste, for your time is over—I’m leaving this place for my next station.”

Mark stared at the surprisingly heavy globe in his hand, not sure what she wanted him to do. Breathe the air? Was that what the shimmering glass encapsulated—air from somewhere else? How could air win them freedom from Kliin’s pursuit?

Mark knelt, the gesture feeling somehow appropriate at this moment. He let the globe roll from his fingertips onto the carpet. Rising, he positioned his heavy boot on top of the orb and glanced at Lajollae. Features difficult to discern in the blinding aura now surrounding her, she nodded. Mark drew Sandy into his arms. Closing her eyes, leaning against him, she locked her hands behind his back, over his spine. Angry shouting grew closer, Kliin calling the princess’s name. Mark raised his foot and brought it down in one violent motion, shattering the globe.

Heat and a rush of spice-scented air swirled around them. Mark felt as if he’d been picked up by a whirlwind. He was afraid to open his eyes as the air filled with grit, scraping across every inch of exposed flesh. Tightening his arms around Sandy, he buried his face in her soft, fragrant hair. From the sensations, he’d have said they were flying through the air, yet a solid footing remained under his boots.