LIFE SHELTER
FIFTEENDAY, COMPLINE
Lyte heard footsteps on the ledge. It’s taken them longer to find me this time, he thought. I’m getting better at hiding. As he had slowly healed, the restlessness took hold of him. He wandered, often sleeping on the life shelter walkway under the pulsing stars. This night he was hiding motionless in a deep, wide niche, accessible only by a ledge leading off the life shelter walkway. Shinar nearly swept by him in her haste to avoid the rising wind.
He was found. She half dragged a heavy quilt around the corner and dumped it next to him. Lyte, arrayed comfortably on his back and studying the stars, pretended to ignore her. Finally: “Can’t a man find a little peace around here?”
“Not this way,” she replied quickly. “I was sent to be sure your body had not fallen off a cliff and to wrap what was left of it in this.” She plopped down beside him. “Are you sleeping here?”
“Have to. Those caves give me the crawlies. Too close, too stuffy. I like to see the night.”
“The stars? You cannot see the night.”
“I can.” There was a pause, and he chuckled. Her presence was gentle, lulling, and something began to relax within him that had been tight too long. They shared the moonrise, the trine brethren of Eros, Philios and Agape rising above the dark, glittering expanse of the Sonoma range. A good healer, this woman-child. No one had to tell Lyte how ill he had been; he still tired suddenly, needing long periods of sleep. But his humor was rising once again, in the face of a strange phenomenon—a growing friendship with Shinar. They rarely played word games anymore. She had sat through too many painful nights with him for that barrier to remain. And the knowledge of that friendship disturbed Lyte. He had never had a woman as a friend; not without other considerations. And Shinar was Kalith of Atare’s woman, whether they denied each other or no.
“Did you come to give me a work release?” Lyte asked without looking at her.
“No. I told you why I came.”
“Then good night. I’m in a mean mood.”
“I have been warned?”
“You have been warned,” he continued soberly, shoving the new quilt under his back and shoulders. He was wearing the light, loose pants and long-sleeved shirt of a native, covered carelessly by a wool blanket. Fortunately the rocks slowed the wind. It was amazingly warm in his little shelter, and he had no intention of leaving it for a dark, cramped cave.
“How are the bones?” Shinar started.
Bones? The ones they had fused ... the ribs and shoulder? “No pain. I haven’t tried any work yet, so I don’t know what they can withstand. But if you’d arrange a work release ...”
“Ha,” Shinar answered, leaning over to rap professionally on his ribs for laser misses. “Soon.”
As she leaned toward him a tiny shred of wind brought her fragrance to him—an odor of lemon, and of honey. Brisk, like a slap in the face, with the elusive, naturally feminine scent beneath it all. He reacted without thinking, whipping a strong arm across her back and lightly, teasingly, kissing her. She stiffened, and Lyte sensed her surprise and worry. Damn, I am not an invalid! But her response was too swift, not guarded, unexpected by Shinar herself? It had never occurred to him to tease a friend, and yet, now he could force thought, and the only coherent one was that she was warmer than he’d expected, softer. Even as thought came he was gathering her in his arms, seeking her lips.
Lyte had always attempted to be a master in every skill he possessed, though he had long ago outgrown his purely mechanical interest in sex. There was no pleasure for him unless the woman was pleased, and so he had learned to please his women. And Shinar was no passive observer, despite her worried detachment. Her natural response was so achingly sweet that by the time Lyte could drag himself to cold-sober awareness, he was on his side and covering her throat with kisses.
He paused, and then icily, cautiously, drew away from her, shaken. “I’m sorry.”
“I am not.”
“I’ve never done that before, seriously. I don’t know what—” He faded off as her words sunk in.
In the growing moonlight he saw her roll over on her right side, touching his shoulder carefully. “Are you nodding off?”
He felt himself ruffle. “No. It’s not that again,” he replied sharply, using the same emphasis he always did for his recurring exhaustion.
“Then ... what?”
He stared at her, torn between rage and desire. “I do not molest children,” he said stiffly, and flopped on his back.
“Come now, you are not still making that mistake?” she asked softly.
Lyte regarded her without comment. He had seen others’ appreciative looks and had been inexplicably irritated by them. They weren’t good enough for her. But he wasn’t sure he was, either. Damn these Nualans and their crazy lives! But they were happy—only outside interference, such as between Kal and Shinar, caused trouble. “I do not resort to ... rape ... to satisfy my needs. I’ve never had to, and I refuse to believe I’m desperate enough to accost a friend.”
“Rape is an act of violence, not of passion. Ask any human who has been attacked. How about mutual comfort instead?” There was a smile in her voice, but it was sad and a bit cynical, as if hiding the tears he had seen so many times in the last few days. He rolled back onto his side, propping up his head with his elbow, but he refused to lift his face to her.
“Look at me,” she said seriously.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you so badly, I’m shaking.”
Shinar said nothing. She appeared to pause, as if weighing the alternatives, and then she carefully reached over with her free hand and loosened the tie holding his wrap shirt closed, skillfully brushing the stomach muscles.
Lyte kept his voice very controlled. “Shinar, I’ve never allowed myself to get this tight around a woman unless I’ve been involved with her awhile. My—I can be very—We should wai—”
“I have also been called a demon.” She pushed the shirt back, running her fingers through the hairs on his chest.
Lyte moved away from her, shaking out the huge down quilt and spreading it on the ground over his sleeping area. Shinar watched him go through his nightly routine, right down to stripping off the rest of his shirt. Then he dropped back to the blanket and met her gaze, actually more relaxed than before.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
“Do you want me to?” she countered gently, her gaze not leaving his face.
Don’t ask me that. Holy gods, his blood was starting to boil. Tempted by a child—no, not a child. Never make that mistake. Younger than you’ve fallen for but not a child. But what about Kal? Damn that Atare! Why didn’t he tend to his own woman, so she would not—Lyte remembered his conversation with Roe. Was he being used? He studied the young woman’s eyes. No.... He did not understand what was happening, but he was not being used. Maybe she needed someone as much as he did. Lyte did not answer at first; he merely quietly surveyed the lovely way her soft native shirt and pants clung to her body, and then reached over to absently release the tie holding her top secure. It was hard to remain nonchalant at that sight, but somehow Lyte did. Shinar was impassive, waiting. Lyte felt the expectancy, the question in her mind as well.
Something was crawling around in the back of his mind, and he was ashamed to acknowledge it. “I’ve never shared love with a woman whom I knew was thinking about someone else,” he suddenly blurted out. He kept his tone conversational, but he turned his face away from the light of the rising trine, aware that she could see as well as he.
“I doubt you ever will,” Shinar answered.
Something in Lyte unwound, a wary tenseness he had not recognized. The Nualans were truthful; they did not lie. Is that how Arrez did it? Could he turn his mind on and off among four women? Lyte stopped thinking, stopped worrying, shaking his head ever so slightly. Then he slipped an arm around her ribs and drew her soft flesh to his.
So long ... not really, but it seemed as if— Gods. He was lost in the moment, the pleasure, wasting no thought on the morrow. Whatever hesitation Shinar had over his physical strength quickly dissolved in his own attempts to increase their pleasure. They were so absorbed in one another that her soft laughter startled him.
She grabbed for her shirt and flicked it across his back. “How did we get out of these?” she gasped, the laughter shuddering through her.
Lyte chuckled and redoubled the flow of kisses and caresses across her full breasts. “Woman, some men are leg men, some neck men. I prefer breasts and had to reach them. Now please, continue whatever you were doing to my back.” Still laughing, Shinar complied, her nails once again tracing an intricate pattern down his spine.
And they continued, until the heat was so overpowering they could only tighten their grip upon one another and seek each other’s mouths. Lyte had not expected them to come so close to reaching a peak together—not the first time. Nor had he expected the exhaustion to come afterward in such a rush. His whole body went limp so suddenly, his limbs so heavy, he thought he was blacking out. But no, it passed, and he slowly rolled over on one side to keep from crushing her, his arms reaching out in a warm and protective circle she snuggled into without hesitation.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, and he could feel her guilt. He stirred slightly, his grip tightening, making no attempt to break their contact.
“I hope you’re joking,” he answered sleepily. “I may never let you go.”
oOo
Lyte awoke in a daze, not sure if it was still night or morning. The added warmth so close to him was not startling; the thick, honey hair was. He looked down at the young woman sprawled across his chest and gently raised a hand to smooth her hair. He was having trouble controlling and directing his thoughts, especially about Shinar, and hoped that his restlessness would not wake her.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said aloud, and quickly glanced to see if she was disturbed. What was he going to do about this? He was not a one-woman man—never had been. But there was something special about her, something he couldn’t quite place.
She loved Kalith. Yet she had been with him last night, no other. How could you love two people at once? Lyte had never believed it possible. Was it because they both needed someone who cared, and this was just the way it had worked out? Kal had seemed so preoccupied lately.
“Blasted Atare, if I were him, I’d kill me,” he muttered. Good luck if you try, fool. You drove her to me ... keeping her at arm’s length, never allowing her to share your hopes and fears. “I’m no good for you, but I’m not sure he is, either.” Why did Kal have to take the Atare duties, the traditions, so seriously?
Lyte gently drew away from her, pulling the blanket around her in a comfortable manner. Wait until morning, let it ride, see how she behaves. A stranger or lover? How could hands of healing and loving blend so perfectly; no pity on her part, no gratitude on his. Lords, she was beautiful!
Flopping on his stomach, the man set his head down on his hands, his gaze straying over the stone edge to the last sinking moon. “Mendülay, if you are a g— If you are God, straighten this out to the good of everyone involved, will you? I can’t see my way through it.” It was his last thought before his eyes closed.
MONTINCOL
SIXTEENDAY, PRIME
Kee was pale as she rose above the mountain path, crowded by clouds dark and heavy with the snow yet to come. Corymb Dielaan rose to his feet and paced slowly before the mouth of the cave, staring down into the valley separating Montincol from Mt. Amura. A neutral place, the Dragoche had requested. The chanting had gone on for hours, the silver tenor of Baakche Dragoche rising above the rest. Suddenly, silence. A young Cied, completely veiled in the beige, sand-threaded robes so common to the desert people, appeared out of the darkness. They spoke no words; Corymb followed the Cied back into the meeting area.
Cloaked warriors of the Ciedärlien stood beside every seated member. It was impossible to tell by sight which were male and which female; since a vow of celibacy was a prerequisite to serving as a Cied warrior, it did not matter.
Corymb joined the circle, seating himself directly across from Baakche, the Dragoche. The top portions of their veils, usually covering their upper faces, were down. None of the chieftains present dropped their lower scarves, however—that was a privilege reserved only for intimate family. Genuar’s deepset brown eyes were among the group. Baakche’s heir studied the Dielaan intently. Baakche was a mad one but would be the high priest of his people until his death. Genuar, as the Dragoche tribe war leader, was the actual leader of the Ciedärlien warriors. All the tribes, from high to low, deferred to the Dragoche tribe. It was purely coincidence—was it?—that the spiritual heir was also the war leader. The game began.
“It has been decided,” Baakche intoned, not looking at the Dielaan. “The brethren have gathered and have discussed the proposal of Corymb Dielaan. It is agreed that for this time we shall unite and aid Corymb Dielaan in his lawful quest to regain the throne of his fathers.” Baakche glanced at Genuar as he spoke. The heir’s eyes tightened, but he remained impassive. There was dispute over the best way to realize the Cied’s ends—many chieftains were absent, refusing to recognize Corymb as the solution but unwilling to vocally contend with their Dragoche. “In return,” Baakche continued, “we expect a reasonable share of the trine mines, the privilege of living among the cities if we choose, and supplies to aid the tribes destroyed by the alien rain—”
“Your pardon, Dragoche,” Genuar interrupted. “There is some misunderstanding, Dielaan, about what it is you require of us. Do you wish us to sabotage their granaries? You have not spoken plainly to us. We would not wish to destroy their seed grain and so put all peoples on short rations.”
“No, no—for right now, you need only wait.” Corymb seemed to consider the simplest way to explain his hopes. Baakche often could not remember much more than that from one day to the next. “The Fewha bombs destroyed most of the chemical and mechanical means the city dwellers used to produce their food. They have enough grain to survive this winter. During it they shall rebuild their cities, and hard work it shall be too. Long hours toward an undefined end. I am trusting they shall tire of this and want answers.”
“You expect rebellion?” Genuar went on. “A thousand years ago the city-dwellers might have overthrown a kingdom with less provocation than the attack. It would seem that something has ... matured? ... in the character of your people. Their endurance under travail is astonishing.”
“Not rebellion. The Atare family is old and rooted. It shall probably be necessary to remove, or detain, the members of the throne line long enough for me to gain a strong foothold among the synod members. It will not take much to convince the masses we do not need the sinis, and I shall suggest to them that without a surplus of grain, even the 80s may endanger our survival. I shall sow just enough distrust to make them desire a strong leader with direction.” Corymb looked distant as he spoke. “The Atares have had three thousand years to lead this planet to ruin. I shall bring our people to a new day.”
“Our spies tell us that this Atare is loved. That emotion is stronger than deceit, Dielaan.”
“You underestimate my skills as a politician, Genuar. First we watch and see what the Atares shall do. Perhaps they shall even appeal to you for the old knowledge. But I am the one who can bring it to Amura. I am the one who shall ultimately rule, I and my line. I am young yet, as Nualans live; I can wait.”
Baakche seemed to awaken out of dreams. He touched his forehead and looked at Corymb. “Come, friend, let us break our morning bread.” He stood slowly, tightly gripping the arm of Genuar and his chief of security, the assassin. The unknown Cied remained at Baakche’s left as they walked out, the position of honor. Genuar excused himself, however, indicating that Corymb was invited and should follow. Corymb made a bow of equality to the seated council and then followed Baakche, looking unsure of how to broach his questions without Genuar’s help.
Genuar remained standing until the sound of the passing could no longer be heard. Then he sat down again. “Hot saffra for all,” he ordered.
A warrior vanished. The group of men and women sat in silence until several warriors returned with the liquids. Then the young Cied withdrew, leaving the tribal leaders and their advisors. Now the real council began.
“What make you of this, Genuar?” a woman asked, the pattern of the hem of her beige robe marking her a warrior leader of the Tazelle clan.
“I smell treachery. The question is, can it aid us?” Genuar answered, sipping the steaming drink cautiously.
“Then you suspect he will betray us as the off-worlders betrayed us?” another warrior said.
No one spoke. Finally Genuar stirred. “I think,” he started, “Corymb does not yet know what he will do. He is angry—a great hatred consumes him for the Atares. When Tazelle scouts found him wandering and raving in the ciedär, revenge was on his mind. Now I think it is in his heart.”
“Shall we do as he asks?”
“Wait?” Genuar smiled. “Oh, yes, brethren, we shall wait ... longer than he thinks. I would send out spies of our own; I do not trust his runners to give us full reports. Riam?” A young Cied stepped back into the chamber. “Tell the brethren what we have discovered about the Atares.”
“There have been years of unrest within their walls, but the aliens silenced all dissension. The son who now rules is greatly loved, almost worshiped. The Ragäree is the first Atare-born healer in generations.” A murmur broke out at this.
“A born healer,” Genuar mused. “Think you the people will back them?”
“As long as logic dictates, and beyond. If this Dielaan removed them, however; caused an ‘accident ...’” The warrior hesitated.
“Chaos?” came a voice.
“Fear of it,” Riam continued. “The younger siblings are honest but untried. I do not think they would have the strength to withstand a concerted attack by the Dielaan. He is old and crafty in the ways of persuasion.” Genuar looked as if he was going to speak, but the young woman rushed on. “One other thing. She who is called Ragäree shall become one by spring’s full flowering.”
“An heir to Nuala ...” There was an undercurrent of words whispered in the back, and it was as if a brisk wind had struck Genuar. No matter how often the tribes reiterated their independence, the age-old belief in the eternal power of the Ragäree remained. Perhaps the old prophecies were true. Had the time come to follow the house of Atare?
“What of his politics, this new Atare?” a tribesman said sharply.
Riam’s eyes seemed to veil. “No one really knows. It has been five years since he addressed the synod. His wife was dying, his life in ruins. Before that time he was an avid supporter of both 80s and sinis, and as late as the day before the aliens rained upon us, he was dealing with the sinis of Tolis.”
“Indirectly, then, a supporter of us.” Genuar’s vision seemed to drift momentarily. “Not without reason have we always dealt with Atare.” He turned again to the Cied. “Did we send greetings to the Ragäree at her temple wedding?”
“It has not taken place yet.”
“Yet? The Ragarr survives?”
“Yes, but recovers slowly. The poisonous rain left him open to the planet.”
Genuar paused and seemed to consider Riam’s words. “A scroll should be left at their eternal flame,” he said, thinking aloud, “giving greetings and honor to the Ragäree. Such has it always been. But not this Atare—we shall wait and see if they come to us, and how they shall bargain.” He scowled fiercely around the room. “I trust you will all keep your people in order. We must regulate the tribes who refused to treat with Dielaan ... or those who pretend not to. Let the word be spread; the power of Genuar is upon it. All who bear the name and seal of Atare are under my protection until I have said differently. And any Cied responsible for the death of an Atare will answer directly to me.”
“So we shall see what use Atare has for us?”
“What use he thinks he has,” Genuar corrected. “We shall see.”
MT. AMURA, NUALA
TWENTYDAY, VESPERS
Lyte watched the star set into embers, the sea turning gray and chill. The water twinkled fitfully at him in the light of the firstmoon, a strip of silver on the horizon and then nothing but twilight. Calmed by the peaceful sight, he moved to re-enter the caverns. As he walked up the path to the mountain’s mouth a rolling pebble startled him. Tensing, the commando whirled.
“I am no predator, Lyte.”
Kalith. Damn. He did not need this, not now. The knot began to tighten within him, as predictable as that starset. “Are you sure?” Lyte returned lightly.
“Why would you fear me? I have no claws, and I am a terrible in-fighter.”
“You’re an Atare,” the off-worlder replied bluntly. “And I have your woman.”
“If I could acknowledge her as my woman, you would not ‘have’ her,” Kal answered.
His voice was so gentle Lyte relaxed without realizing it. “Why?”
“I do not—“
“Why not acknowledge her?”
“You know our marriage laws for roya—“
“Damn the laws. She’s as healthy as I am, and you may be an old man by the time the Axis ‘liberates’ this planet.” Lyte was not sure which angered him most—Kal’s reaction or his reasoning.
“Tradition changes slowly, Lyte. And royalty is not like any other job. It is the only position a human is born into—and one of the hardest to escape.”
“Then why mope around in a dream, hardly talking to anyone?”
“What would you suggest I do?” It was so cool Lyte almost hit him. He started to shout a reply and caught himself. And then coldly began to think. A minute passed ... two. Lyte still had not thought of anything Kal could do that would not draw criticism from at least one major political or cultural faction. He was a diplomat with no place to serve.
“You see? It is not easy. And it affects me keenly, more so than Kavan, because what I decide affects Shinar as well as myself. Soon, everyone will know how I feel about her. I cannot disguise it. But it cannot go any further until I determine my own course of action. Does that make sense?” Lyte did not answer. “So I thank you, warrior, for giving her what she needs, the love and security. What I cannot give her, not yet.”
“You people have crazy laws,” Lyte said flatly.
“Perhaps. But they have worked well for almost five thousandyear. If I toss them away, I must time it and justify it perfectly—or I will fail.” The Atare youth’s voice dropped noticeably in volume.
“So, married or not, we have one thing in common.”
“More than one thing—how do you like being utterly useless?” Kal stressed his words skillfully and, without looking back, continued up the path. Lyte stared after him, his thoughts curling back to face uncomfortable truths.