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Scene One
Exploring Inner Landscapes
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TORAGIN WAS NOT FLUSTERED. Say rather that she was anxious. Or perhaps it was beyond that, to something more personal and more powerful. She was, in fact, bordering on that strange cliff between awe and frustration that breeds a righteous – well, she wasn’t supposed to feel the stress that bordered on anger. Not. Supposed. To.
She’d felt Chelada’s contractions, and was familiar enough with the process; getting the dog out of the way and the blanket down made things easier, but still, here she was having what must stand for an adventure, on a world she’d never heard of before Korval’s Tree had gone away. She was not an adventurer. She did not believe in adventures.
But she did believe in promises.
Promises? Oh, she’d had promises from her grandmother, who knew that Toragin’s barely socially acceptable "not of the usual-type" was something the Healers would not Heal and the matchmakers never bothered to challenge. The promise to "let the child do worthy work and have her cats" ... oh, that promise had covered pregnant cats and feral, that promise had covered mystery organizations sending cat food and cat-vets around Liad and even to Lowport – but now? Here was the result of that promise to let the child be who she was ... and Chelada’s labor was within moments of producing her first kitten in the midst of dangerous weather on a dangerous world, when she had been promised the comfort and safety of birthing those kittens beneath the Tree's very branches.
Chelada had earned that promise. Toragin had earned the right to be taken seriously. Or so she had thought. Now it appeared that, yet again, she had no rights in the face of another's necessity. That – was such a constant in her life, she had scarcely noticed the slight.
But Chelada.
Chelada had been promised, and Toragin had stood witness to that promise.
So, when it came apparent that Chelada would have kittens, Toragin had done research – she was good at research – found the new location of the Tree, transit time, cost, and only then told her delm of the necessity of taking Chelada to the place where she might redeem her promise.
Her delm had asked a few perfunctory questions about the potential of a secret lover having gone to ground on Surebleak, and had authorized purchase of the tickets, one way, with the understanding that a return fare would come from Toragin’s quartershare. She had also acquiesced to the demands of the nadelm, who had "grave misgivings" about Toragin's ability to travel alone, and called in the Healer who was most familiar with Toragin's case.
To him, Toragin had said, "Yes, Chelada is pregnant and bears a promise from the great Tree of Korval. Her kittens are to be born under – they must be born under – the Tree’s protection."
The Healer had bowed. It was, he said, apparent that Toragin believed this to be true to the very base of her being. The cat’s claim on the Tree was not as accessible as the cat’s claim on Toragin, and Toragin’s on the cat, but he allowed such claims, also, to be true, and strong. The Tree’s claim on Toragin was a matter for some consideration. Was it a child’s fascination grown into a obsession? Was it a child’s fancy grown into compulsion? If it was either, ought it to be Healed?
The Healer thought not. The Healer, and the Hall, found the Tree disquieting. If Toragin were "Tree-mazed," said the Healer, best she was left to sort it out on her own. And if the method of sorting out was a trip to Surebleak and a confrontation, that was surely for the best.
And now, here she was – not under the branches of the Tree, and Chelada giving birth, not safe, but in appalling danger.
Though, they must be nearby. She could – well, hear was scarcely accurate. Not like she could hear the cats. But she felt attention on her, caught nuance, and she spoke to it, careful to keep her voice low, so as not to disturb the driver's concentration.
"I hear you hiding in the wind. Is this your storm? Is this to deny us? I am here. Chelada is here. We come to claim the boon you have promised since first I saw your glow! Show yourself!"
Chelada made a small sound, just then, a small sound. In the blanket, a form expanded into the strange world.
"Listen," said Toragin sharp and low, "your cats are coming. Show yourself!"
Yes. The fluster was gone, anxiety was gone, and now there was no boundary or border about it. Anger it was, and it flared.
"Think of something besides yourself. Think about those whose lives depend on your whim!"
In the dimness she felt the presence, felt a confused contrition. The presence receded slightly, returned, offering a sense of warmth, perhaps of hope, reminiscent of the first time she’d stared out her window into the silhouetted shadow of the Tree and demanded that it see her.
Patience, she felt she heard from the night. You will be safe. You will be satisfied.
And then, so understated that she suspected she had not heard it at all.
Please forgive me.