LIFE SHELTER
TWOHUNDRED EIGHTYDAY, VESPERS
The healers made Odelle as comfortable as possible, gave her a tranquilizer, and then left her in peace. There was nothing else to be done. Shinar told her she was going to the common ward, beyond the beads, and would be back in a moment. Did she want a priestess? No? Soon, then. Shinar promised to return.
Odelle did not pay attention; the painkillers and relaxant were soothing her harassed and convoluted mind. Now to sleep. It was over. A healthy child but a mock sini ... What had Elana said? “Her jaw is like Tinyan’s. She will be a strong leader, Odelle. Know it.” Sweet Mendülay, what next? The drugs lulled her. Her husband had taken it stoically, with words of concern and comfort. “The next you will nurse yourself.” Yes, Corymb would be so angry.
“Bitch!” It was a hiss, an intake of breath. Odelle’s eyes shot open. She recoiled more from the tone than the word. “Do you understand? Do you know what you have done?”
She stared blankly at him. How had the Dielaan entered the life shelter? Was he waiting for Shinar to leave? He was so furious he was white, his lips compressed, his teeth clenched. “It is life. Mendülay has de—”
“Mendülay be damned!” Odelle blanched at the blasphemy. “You destroyed it! The greatest action of your life and you have shattered everything!” Corymb raged on, heedless of discretion. “All my plans, ruined, and—”
“We do not stand on one child. Elana said so. The tribe will vote to keep you, I am sure, and there are ways to increase the chance of a boy, though they usually do not try them until—”
“Foolish twit of a child! To rule Nuala, the line must be clean! How can you bear the next to reign if you bear sinis? You chose that insipid idiot—we will find you a better! We have been clean for generations; it is his fault! A distant Dielaan relative would be better. I will check the genealogy. Do you realize that I must remove the Atare myself? I cannot give him time to entrench himself.“ This was no longer to her. He was pacing, muttering.
“Our line has no healers—” Her voice shook.
“Do not speak to me of healers! The planet is balanced at the point of civil war, and you speak of healers! I have plans for the healers. They are too close to sinis—”
“You are the one who divides us. If Justinian and High Priest Arrez did not keep the peace—”
The look on his face stopped her in mid-gasp. “I shall file the order immediately. If anyone asks, the family synod agreed on removing his house status. Keep him at your peril, but he shall not father any more Dielaans!”
“It was a temple marriage—”
“What is done can be undone! If you fight this—” He stepped toward her, his face set. “You remember the last time you crossed my wishes, do you not?” The last was so soft, so gentle, she barely heard it. They faced one another, Odelle terrified and shocked out of her trance, Corymb blazing in his determination, the pulse at his throat visibly throbbing.
“Seri Corymb, the serae is tired.” Saved. The interruption was so welcome Odelle felt faint. The guaard’s mild speech did not disguise his warrior’s posture. It was Shinar’s newly-acquired guardian—she must have heard Corymb and gone for help. “No visitors except her husband are permitted, and that includes all family.” Corymb locked gazes with the man, and then whirled and stamped out of the ward.
Shinar immediately rushed from behind the guaard to Odelle. “That ... horrible man!” she burst out. “Whatever he said, Odelle, do not pay any attention to him, he is—he is a mad one!”
“He is ...” Odelle whispered, her gaze darting toward Shinar like a frightened bird’s.
Puzzled, Shinar continued hurriedly. “I have brought 3AVs, Odelle, about the Serae Lyn of Seedar, who bore a mock sini as her firstborn son and a healer next, the healer Arunn. And of—Odelle, will you listen? The delivery was normal, the baby is fine! And the odds are in the millions—billions—against non-sini parents having more than one sini child. You and your husband will have children you can raise in your own home—”
“Who in Tolis will raise the heir of Dielaan?” Odelle’s voice still shook, her lips now thin with mockery.
“You are the friend of the Ragäree, who is the best-loved of the house of Atare and the personal friend of the ministers. I have already asked Kalith to speak via 3AV to them, to insure privacy. They will make sure she is received as the daughter of Odelle, not the heir of Dielaan. Feel better?” Shinar’s words were as soothing as she could make them. What else could be said? Her son was with her—Odelle’s daughter would be sent north with the next ship. “I grieve with you, friend,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “But Mendülay has a plan, and we are not consulted. Have faith.”
“She is my firstborn,” Odelle replied brokenly. “The line rightfully goes through her. The old tyrant will dominate her life, too, unless she has no brother, and it ends....” Her mind seemed to drift, and Shinar reached for her, gripping her chin, turning her head.
“Odelle?”
Odelle moved quickly, for all the drugs were affecting her, seizing Shinar’s hand. “Do something for me. Remember, her name is Valleri. Will you remember? Valleri.”
Shinar stroked back her dark curls. “You can tell your eldest when she comes, Odelle. They usually take the mother’s preference.”
“Please, it is my wish, upon the child’s life I wish it!”
Her oath visibly startled Shinar. “The word freedom as a name?” Odelle had turned away. “A good idea. A name charms its owner, protects her. If you like I will go tell your eldest now. I can leave the shelter; you are the only one here.” The girl nodded. “Do you want me to hook up the viewer?”
“No! No, I want rest ... peace.”
“Of course.” Shinar tucked the light blanket around her. “Sleep.” She started for the private exit.
“Shinar?”
“Yes, Odelle?”
“Thank you. For all things.” The young healer smiled, feeling an ease to the tension in the room. Odelle smiled back. Shinar left the room.
Odelle carefully raised herself, swinging her legs over the bed’s edge. She sat there, oblivious to pain, looking through the dividing beads into the common ward. A surgical table stood near the sealer drawers, where Shinar had left it, unlocked. The steel and laser scalpel tips were in labeled containers; Shinar had been putting them away.
She stood and stepped toward the shimmering wooden curtain.
MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED EIGHTYTWODAY, PRIME
Over the swirling sands to the east, a pale salmon dawn was brightening. It was steady light, without any specific source. The priest pulled his white wool poncho tighter around his body.
Since lauds he had been sitting there, looking out on the scrub slopes and barren rock of the Sonoma Mountain’s ciedär face. The guaard had come to him in the deadness of the dark, saying the words he had waited too many days to hear: “Travelers from the desert—they will be here by dawn.” Arrez rose from his bed, seized his robe and poncho, and followed her. The questions that needed answering had no answers yet.
Word had spread like a thunderhead, just as swift and devastating. Arrez had spoken briefly to Kalith, and the guaard now watched the pass behind them, Jaacav and her seconds below at road’s end. At the grotto the crowd gathered, hoping for any word that could be interpreted as favorable. Beside him stood a pale Kavan, his family’s emissary. In the grotto two hours distant Kalith fretted, Arrez knew, waiting to hear whether friends or enemies approached—praying to be able to give up the chain of office.
Kee burst over the broken peaks in the distance, and Kavan turned his head to avoid the glare. He could see Arrez sitting below him, eyes squinting, poncho wavering in the thin breeze, looking like a giant bird of prey. Kavan’s gaze traveled back to the foothills below, and in the dazzling light he could see the leaders, barely a kilometer distant, a huge pack train behind them. As the star rose higher, the illusion of black figures against white sand vanished, and he began to pick out tribal patterns.
“Eleven, twelve ... Do you think every tribe sent an ambassador?”
“Possibly.”
“Then he made it? She made it?”
“Possibly.”
Kavan sat down behind the priest, his irritation apparent. “What do you mean?” he scowled. “Surely if they intended to fight us—”
“The banner they carry is white—a truce flag. They may come to parley or to challenge. And since they carry the mark of passage, even if they throw your brother’s body down before us, we cannot retaliate. Be patient.”
After another period of silence, Kavan exclaimed, “The nix! Roe’s nix is returning.” Arrez did not answer, refusing to hope, wanting only an end to waiting and prayer. He watched several of Jaac’s subordinates ride out to the leading group, to be met by a messenger in Cied robes. The approaching convoy did not slow its pace. Then the guaard bolted back to where Jaacav was, motionless on her black hazelle. The ensuing conversation was brief and widely heard, for a warrior started up the hill on foot toward them.
“My seri! He comes, the Atare comes! Ragäree, Ragarr, and heirs are with him, as is the Serae Liel. And he found the planter! The Dragoche himself approaches!”
“Will they help us?” Kavan interrupted.
“They bring planters and seed from all the tribes!”
oOo
Now he could relax. Arrez stood slowly and turned to leave. “Thank you. Come, Kavan. It is not proper that we should be sitting like oads on a stone when Atare and Dragoche come to call. Did you tell them we are in mourning?” Arrez added, glancing back at the guaard.
“I do not think it was mentioned,” the guaard replied.
“It should be done—see that your commander hears my words.” Arrez topped the rise and stepped onto the road. “They must come up by pairs, Kavan; it will take them until tierce. We have some time to ourselves.”
oOo
When the travelers finally reached the grotto, escorted by several dozen warriors, a multitude greeted them. Lyte had decided to remain close to the Atares, planting himself within arm’s reach of Kalith and Kavan. The crowd filled the half-circle before the arch, packed the bowl of the garedoc, overflowed down the western road, and hung from the cliffs, all to catch a glimpse of the Cied. Arrez and Kavan had agreed while riding back that they would announce the house of Atare had returned intact and that the planter Teloa was found. Of their guests, only general mention would be made—”Cied are with them.” Arrez wanted no disgruntled Amurans trying for Genuar’s—or Braan’s—life.
The spectacle waiting at the city’s entrance was as colorful as the one riding through the pass. Arrez had donned the summer robes of state, white syluan with embroidered green on stole, cuffs and hem. The twins were both brilliant in syluan joqurs and long-sleeved tunics, Kal’s emerald with a yellow cape, Kavan’s deep violet with white, embroidery rich on both outfits. The representatives of the houses, synod and guilds were no less splendid in their finery. Only the black arm bands marred the occasion.
Lyte looked out of the corner of his eye at Shinar. She was very pale, dark smudges hollowing her eyes, but otherwise she was bearing up well. It was she who had found Odelle’s still warm body, blood splashed over bed and floor. The girl had been ignorant of technique but thorough, to the shock and horror of the city. Suicide was considered a dignified end for the terminally ill but not for one with so much life ahead. Family pressure and shame was the suspected reason, though the Dielaan council issued an epistle stating that Odelle had had mental problems for some time. Shinar’s answer to that had been brief, bitter, and unrepeatable.
Corymb himself stood among them, but not the same Corymb. He was shrunken, closed, and almost unaware of the gathering near him. For the first time Lyte saw him using a cane, though he had been told that Corymb had walked with a slight limp for decades. Corymb’s presence made the twins visibly nervous. What if he had a pact with these Cied to harm Braan? Noah stood beside Kavan, seal in hand, ready to step to his ruler’s side the moment he reined up. Shinar pointedly ignored the Dielaan; Lyte suspected that only her new visibility kept her from spitting at him when he passed.
Braan Atare and Teloa were the first up the rise, followed by Ronüviel’s huge, shaggy nix. Guaard came forward to take their hazelles, Braan helping the woman off the animal. The nix stood silent, its wedge-shaped head turned to survey the gathering, its polished, curved horns glittering in the growing light. Ronüviel’s guaard took the children from her and pulled down a small ladder to aid her descent from the litter on the nix’s back. The beast was herded through the scattering crowd to make room for Liel and Moran, who were next in line. Warriors of the watch kept a chain of bodies between the new arrivals and the Nuamurans, and few objected to this precaution.
Beside Lyte, Kalith stirred. The young man walked toward his older brother, a guaard on either side of him. He had removed the chain of office and held it in his hands. The guaard Noah knelt first, presenting Braan’s seal to him, which he immediately slipped on his finger. Then Kal dropped to one knee and offered him the chain.
“In a hurry to get rid of it, are you?” Lyte heard Braan say. Kal answered softly, and his elder laughed. Braan took the chain from him and put it on over the desert robe, looking as regal through dust as any monarch could. He nodded across the bowl to Arrez, then raked the group of house leaders behind Kal with his glance.
Baakche and Genuar had walked through the departing hazelles to Braan. They placed themselves carefully, to be able to greet all the elders and be part of Braan’s words to the gathering, yet to avoid offending any who had questions about their presence. Stepping to Teloa, Kal managed a broad smile, which she gently, shyly returned. The High Atare now faced the delegations of elders, led by Corymb and his Seedar counterpart.
What happened next was swift and unexpected. Braan caught one good look at Corymb’s face and saw that something was terribly wrong. Odelle’s death? Then he saw the knife flash.
A blow from the side knocked Braan to the ground, and Moran continued right through the small group, his foot slashing out to catch Corymb in the knee. Noah had seized the Dielaan’s right wrist even as he buckled. But the man had carried two blades, hoping to be doubly lucky.
Genuar was not fast enough to cut off Baakche’s action.
Baakche leapt between Corymb and Braan, desert reflexes responding one more time, and he took the short, delicate stitto blade in the chest as Corymb was dragged flailing to the ground.
The Cied leapt around their leaders, expertly pinning Corymb to the rocks. One whipped out a cat knife, but Genuar spoke swiftly in Ciedärlien Nualan, and the warrior froze. The Dragoche clan leader was not looking at his fallen ruler or the would-be assassin but at the warriors and a healer, on the fringe of the crowd, working their way to the exit where the hazelles had walked on through. The warriors carried a sealed container between them, its lid glass with a two-way breath hatch. And Genuar knew what a sini box looked like.
“Hold!” The Cied walked quickly to their side.
The healer paled—he nodded to Braan, who was now standing again, and with a nervous glance to the desert monarch, said, “Pardon, Atare, but the Emon is leaving with the tide, and we were not to place her on board until the last moment. We ride to the harbor.” Braan was watching Genuar, who was scowling darkly, his deep eyes riveting Ronüviel to the mountain as if doubting her existence.
“Whose child is this little one?” the chieftain demanded.
The healer looked for help, saw none forthcoming and whispered, “This is Valleri reb^Odelle, the last heir of Corymb, bound for Tolis.”
A soft rising wind carried his words to the now silent crowd. There was little else, not even the cry of birds. Baakche’s breathing was labored and heartrending above the whisper of the stunted mountain trees. Genuar nodded, turned, and went back to Baakche. Ronüviel was with the old man and shook her head fractionally at the new Dragoche.
“He ... is necessary. My time is past,” Baakche said to the tall chieftain, a whistle in his throat. “So it was written.” The warrior’s grip tightened on Genuar’s shoulder as his breathing became light, shallower; and then the tortured lungs ceased.
“Release him,” Genuar told his warriors. “Mendülay has punished him enough. Death would be too merciful for his deeds.” He looked at Baakche and, to no one in particular, added, “He was my father.”
All eyes were on Ronüviel, who had moved to Corymb, her glowing fingertips spanning his forehead. “Something has snapped,” she murmured, her eyes closed. “He is a broken man.” She released him, and several guaard helped her up from her kneeling position. “Come,” she requested of those around her. “We have many candles to light.”
oOo
Genuar’s marshalls attended to his followers, and a tent site was established at the western foot of Mt. Amura. A prodigious amount of food was prepared and taken to both returning guaard and guests. Genuar chose to eat with his people and to wait with them until Braan and Ronuviel took care of immediate Nuamuran problems.
What to do with Genuar and his chieftains had been the first problem—Braan and Roe were then free to take Liel, Moran, Teloa and Jaacav to the assembly where Kalith, Kavan and Arrez tried to explain all the dealing, double-crossing and general turmoil that had occurred in his absence. Ronüviel had told Braan, Moran and Teloa little during the ride back. They had been careful not to give the Cied reason to suspect treachery.
Gid came in during the end of the discussion and added his thoughts on the situation. When the men finished, Braan sat with the air of a shock victim. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. Roe simply shook her head. Well, I suppose it could be worse. A civil war could have started in our absence, Roe thought but did not say aloud.
“I was angry and prideful, Braan. Things may be difficult because of my behavior,” Kalith said tightly, as if afraid of his brother’s reaction.
Braan opened his eyes. “No, I do not see that as a problem. I only wonder how much further to push events. They have had a lot to digest in the last twentyday. I suppose it will depend on how well they accept the news that I concur with you. Let us leave off storytelling until we have dealt with The Synod. The worst problem you have left me is the need for an immediate coronation.” He smiled at his younger brother.
“They are getting restless,” Arrez remarked. He was standing at the opening to the garedoc.
Braan loosened his outer robe, smoothed his desert beard, and flicked the dust off his worn boots. “Let us reward their patience.” He stood. Noah started down the assembly steps, and Braan followed, another guaard directly behind him.
“You can go rest, if you prefer,” Roe whispered to Teloa.
“When you need it more than I? I think not,” Tay replied, and stared, mystified, at the Ragäree, who laughed in delight at the woman’s totally Nualan speech. Roe encircled Teloa’s arm with her own, and they walked together to the floor of the garedoc.
“Brethren, cease thy speech!” Justinian’s voice rang out above the conversation. “Out of our blackest dreams, hope fulfilled—our Atare has returned, and he has triumphed!”
Braan stepped up next to the man and waited for the roar of approval to subside. “I hope you all feel that way when I have finished speaking. To say we have ‘triumphed’ is perhaps premature. We have a long road ahead and, most likely, a hungry winter. We shall not starve, barring catastrophe; that is truly a great victory. Jaacav even now shows the Dragoche the material preparations we have made to reimburse the Ciedärlien for their extra grain. I have offered shield protection in exchange for their knowledge. Planters and seed have come to us, as well as the secrets of their fertilizer. I intend this to be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship for both Cied and the coast.” He paused.
“The matter of my brothers’ capture and the deaths of the elders Tig and Piral, along with their escort, has been settled. The Dragoche and tribal council were unaware of treachery in their midst, and Cied justice has been dealt out. That aspect of this sordid mess is over. There is another part—what to do with Corymb Dielaan. What shall we do with him, Brethren?”
Braan began to pace the length of the platform, Justinian melting away into the background. “Many of you in the past have been dissatisfied with the evidence against him—dealing with monopolies, selling out his planet, even blackmail and murder. Though you were loath to trust a dead Durite, you saw his latest attempt, made with his own hand. Whether it was against my royal person, or directed toward Baakche, the result is unchangeable. Baakche, the Dragoche, is dead.
“The Cied are appeased—they feel Mendülay has punished the Dielaan sufficiently. The code of this planet is justice tempered with mercy. Has he been punished enough? His line has ended; his career and community standing are destroyed. As one who has willfully terminated a life he must be barred from any position of authority or responsibility for the rest of his days. Do we entrust him to his family? I feel I must have assistance with this, as his intended victim not once but three times. The temptation to be too harsh—or too lenient—is great.” Braan sat on the throne after his pronouncement, his glance taking in the assembly.
Ronüviel watched him and knew his fear; of being too gentle and fighting the tendency with a heavy hand.
One elder was recognized by Justinian and slowly stood. She cleared her throat and looked to Braan. “I think, Atare, that it is necessary to be sure Corymb Dielaan can never pursue his personal vendetta against the house of Atare ever again.”
“Suggestions?”
“Can we not place a special guard upon him, to watch his every move and be certain he spends his time in research and composition, no threat to our people?”
Another individual demanded recognition. “An important question must be answered. Is he sane?”
Justinian turned to the foot of the podium and indicated Elana should step up. The woman faced the synod. “All physical tests have been conducted. I would prefer to allow more time for observation, but at this moment I can say that hate and uncontrollable rage provoked Corymb into this murder. He is aware of what he has done and is unrepentant.” This brought forth a murmur from the crowd.
Braan smiled briefly. “Shall we then return him to his ancestral home and bar him from all tribal and governmental activities? Being what he is, we must expect him to attempt to infiltrate the synod. Is it better to have him in Nuamura where we can watch him? Send him to Dielaan and monitor all visitors and correspondence? Imprison him?”
The discussion continued, but an end was finally reached. The guaard brought Corymb Dielaan in. Braan said nothing at first, studying the man. Corymb glared back, much of his vigor restored.
“Corymb Dielaan. Due to my personal involvement in this case, I have asked the synod of Nuala to declare your fate. It shall be this: you are stripped of all authority and responsibility within the Nualan synod, and within the tribe and house of Dielaan. Your staff and all fringe assistants will be removed, though the new Dielaan will arrange a scripter, if you desire one. Your name shall not be stricken from the Dielaan line or the synod records. That is the mercy of the elected elders.
“As penalty for the death of the Dragoche Baakche and other nefarious deeds, the following is added: You shall never attempt to leave the planet Nuala, or even the city Dielaan, without the express permission of the ruling Atare. You shall remain permanently in the upper east wing of the Dielaan palace. Your assets have been frozen. They will be examined for illegal origin and confiscated if found actionable. And, most importantly, any attempt to communicate with or influence a person of authority in temple, synod or ruling house shall be considered treason and dealt with as such. The same applies to your heir, Valleri. Her mother’s last wish was that she be removed from your sphere. To the best of our ability it shall be done. Your skills as writer and historian are unrivaled—it is hoped that you shall attempt to atone for past deeds by using these researching and recording talents for the betterment of our people. That is all.”
“Atare?” Justinian nodded to him.
“One more thing. I would appreciate the synod attending to the matter of my brother’s marriage as soon as possible. I realize it is merely formality but there is clearly no longer need to have the law within our code.” He broke off then and scanned the crowd for emphasis, his gaze piercing. “Our own planters shall meet with the Cied late this afternoon. I intend to have definite news for you by morning; about potential crop yields, future projections—a new day dawns, Brethren. Please forgive me, but it has been a long thirtysixday.” Standing, Braan nodded to the gathering and walked up the assembly steps, Noah in tow.
Ronuviel smiled and followed him. Other dignitaries to see ... Out of the corner of her eye Roe saw Justinian raise an eyebrow and turn back to conduct the meeting.
TIERCE
The ride up the lift was smooth and silent, an actual glow light in the back wall of the lift causing a luminescence to appear in her skin. Tay examined her hands, the whiteness of them. She suspected where her personal things were—she was not certain she wanted to go looking for them. Tikki occupied herself by climbing Tay’s hair and swatting her paw at the glow in the wall. Teloa quailed inwardly as she opened the bronze doors to the transport. There was only one apartment on this floor, and she would die of embarrassment if the guaard questioned her reasons for being on the level.
Standing within the lift a few moments, Tay swallowed her fear and then walked resolutely to the dark beaded door. The guaard was oblivious to her. She summoned her voice. “Has he returned from synod?” she asked in her best Nualan.
“No, Serae. He had dignitaries needing attention,” one woman replied tonelessly. Nodding her thanks, Teloa pushed aside the beads and walked in. No one attempted to stop her.
Inside, letting the beads settle, Tay calmed herself and surveyed the room. The akemmi leapt down and vanished under a chair. How his quarters had changed—how everything had grown since the hole at Chardonnay Mountain. She went to the tempra-controlled window and looked out over the Sonoma Valley. The cool, new green of the grapevines flickered before her eyes, now visible, now unseen. Soon dotted with grapes ...
She stood on a plush rug made of some natural fiber—her fingers touched it. A wool? Tay removed her dusty boots and shook the rug for caution’s sake. Then she took in the immediate room. A new woven mural on the wall—Braan’s seal. The katt pelts were lying on the couch. She reached to touch one. Peering into the smaller sleeping room and sanitation, she recognized Dylan’s heavy boots. Ah, Dylan. He had clung to her in the assembly, moving Tay to tears. He promised he had taken good care of Zair, and his own p—She jumped as something cold touched her. The big dog bumped her hip with his nose. She bent over and hugged him.
“I did not hear you come in!” she whispered. He wagged his tail and thrust his face against hers. “Or have you been here all along?” Straightening, she walked to the larger sanitation. It had two entrances, one from the inner hall and the other from the main sleeping room. There were two large stone basins, pools compared to tubs off-world; a carved rock grill rose between them, from floor to ceiling, polished to a glossy black. Shallow stairs curved from one basin to the other. Several mirrors and a dressing table, face basins and a portable commode ... She went into the sleeping room.
Larger than she expected. He does not intend his woman to live separately, as some cultures do, she thought. Two immense wardrobes, hidden by heavy curtains of deep blood-red velvet. There was another window to the outside, newly inserted, and a light shaft above. The bed would have been monstrous in any other room. Large enough to think you are alone or know that you are not ...
Attendants? They had had them in the palace, she was sure. Now? She could tell Braan’s wardrobe—a boot peeked out from under one corner, casually sprawling against its mate. She opened the other curtains. Her missing sandals and clothing ... And something else. She pulled out the long red garment. Syluan, translucent syluan ... The syluan lace, as fine as a babe’s hair, was black. Sleeveless, no back, a low front ... A red robe of opaque syluan was with it. Who had caused it to be made? Elana. Tay sat down on the bed’s edge, holding the gown. So she knew, knew long ago, to have had this made. How many knew... ?
My tratore face is gone. A shriek from Tikki drew her to her feet. Now the animal was scolding. Tay rushed into the sanitation. Then she began laughing. The creature had apparently climbed to the dresser and taken Tay’s rake, which had been left in the logical place. The akemmi was making off with the prize when Zair burst in and wanted to play. Tikki’s reaction was to defend her new toy fiercely. Zair looked very confused. Tay reached to the floor and picked up her rake. “That is mine.”
Zair in turn clamped his mouth around the little creature and gingerly carried her down the hall into the main room, where he set her on the center rug. Spitting, hissing, making outlandish faces, Tikki batted him on the nose and ran to hide under a table. Laughing again, unfettered, as she had not laughed in days, Teloa dug in the dresser for a dry cloth and tested the constantly swirling water.
She sanded her hair and body twice, unable to get enough of the hot water. Drying off, she raked out her hair to help it dry. Then she found a softly scented lotion and rubbed it into her dry skin. A glance in the mirror startled her. Too thin. Too much muscle. And her hair was now so long, past her waist! She had not noticed. Shaking her head, she turned away. Too slender for a hustler, but she did not have to worry about that anymore. Tay put on the red gown but hung up the matching robe in favor of the vatos wool poncho. She felt cold inside the cave after so long in the ciedär. Her timing was perfect; she heard the beads rippling in the outer room as she finished drying her hair.
Lifting one strand of beads to the side, Tay saw he was alone. Braan moved to the window slowly, finally relaxing his stance. Every movement indicated exhaustion. He leaned against the windowsill, the picture of dejection. As she considered whether or not to enter the main room, she heard him whisper, “What price, Holy One?”
Parting the beads, the woman chose. Now she could see Zair lying at his master’s feet, Tikki curled up in a tight ball under the beast’s chin. Braan opened his eyes and saw her; a smile lit his gaze, but it did not reach his lips. Discarding her usual caution, Tay walked over and slipped her arms around him. He embraced her, gently stroking her hair; his arms had no strength.
“You need a hot whirlpool and a massage. Shall I offer?”
Now Braan smiled. “It would not help. The pain is within, lady, and I know no cure. I have seen my soul, and it is black.” She did not interrupt him. “Do you understand the price I paid for this fragile truce, beauty? So fragile we must wait until vespers for the planters to meet, to make sure their words are rested and unlikely to flare?”
When the silence became strained, she knew he expected an answer. “I know how many lives you saved by sealing this agreement.”
“I bought it in blood, Teloa. The blood of a Cied warrior. I did not have to kill him—the rules were Cied law, not Nualan law, not my moral code. But I allowed it to happen, by my very passiveness. And a life has been taken.”
“Better for you to have died?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“Perhaps. Who knows? It might have been a test of will—to see who would prevail. If I had refused, they might have merely tossed him out and—”
“You speak like Moran. ‘What if.’ I will tell you ‘what if.’” She pulled away, angry in her fear for his mood. “There is evil in this universe, Braan Atare. Evil sentience, evil laws, senseless violence. A single warrior cannot do a thing about it, so Moran needs his abundant trust in the basic goodness of mankind. But you know better, for you are more than merely a man. If good beings fail the vigil, evil ones shall triumph. Simple words but full of meaning. You cannot change the universe, but you may change Nuala. Instead of an infant heir and an unprepared ruler to make sense of starvation and civil war, you have a chance to lead your people to something better. A chance—a gift from Mendülay.”
“Tell me, woman. Why should I be so certain that I am the only one who can do this?”
“Say not only—say best,” Tay answered. “How do you know? The entire reason for that man’s existence may have been to die at your hand! A catalyst to push you ever forward to a bright future for your people.”
“How do I not know that I should have—”
“Or a warning,” she went on, overriding him. “Of the dark—the rottenness so close to us, Braan, where one slip can send us into the pit. Life is so good, Atare, yet so evil—a balance. You must strike a blow for the good and leave judgment for later.”
“Does God or man judge man?”
“Neither, and both. Let history judge,” she said, whispering finally, reaching for him once again.
“I cannot forget. I could block it then, but I cannot forget.”
The intensity, the pain in his voice frightened her. “You should not. And you would not have won those chieftains unless you had showed them you meant business. One man for the future. So it will be, until the Cied themselves change. With your help, maybe he will be the last.”
“Maybe.” He sighed softly and, releasing one arm, walked her down the passageway to the sanitation. He reached over to test the water and was half out of his over-robe before he knew it. He stiffly stood straight. “You are good at that.”
“Practice.” She did not blush or flinch or even smile.
Braan faced her. “Will you stay ... here?”
“Yes.”
“Will you marry me?”
“I don’t know. I think so. I need time to consider, and to orient myself to Nuamura once again.”
“How can you do one and not the other?” he started, but she stopped him with a touch.
“I have to,” she said. He looked irritated, hurt. Tay hurried on. “No law or authority can bind, belaiss. Not as securely as the human heart ...”
Trembling, she dropped his robe as he sought her embrace.
MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED EIGHTYTWODAY, TIERCE
Lyte had managed to avoid Moran several times since the group had arrived back in Nuamura. When they finally had a chance to talk (or fight ...) Lyte wanted no witnesses. Eventually Lyte allowed himself to be found on the boulders outside the grotto.
Lyte heard footsteps and stood, facing into the darkness of the cavern. Moran walked up and paused before him, studying his friend.
A smile crept over Lyte’s face. “Is this all the greeting I get for sparing your demented hide?” Moran laughed aloud and hugged him tightly. Shoulder to shoulder they moved back to the rocks. “I’m serious. If you hadn’t left so early, I would have followed you and beat your ass to mush.”
Moran snorted. “You might have lost a few teeth.”
“True,” Lyte agreed amiably. “Jaac prevented our finding out. But if you ever—ever take off again without inviting me first—”
“Never.”
“—The reason had better be good,” Lyte finished.
“What are you doing out here?” Moran asked.
“Enjoying the view.”
“Try again.”
“Seriously. This is a ... beautiful planet, Moran. Turquoise and white and black, three moons, a long hot summer coming ...”
“What’s with you?” Moran stared at him. “You look ... happy.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because ... I’ve been thinking a lot about a gatuhlpa Ronüviel told right after you left.” Lyte stared back out at the valley. “These people have roots, Moran. They belong here, in this strange world. Just as surely as my parents belong in CSSI. And they’ve offered it to me—freely. No strings attached. You can ignore it, you know. But I don’t want to. What is in the outer galaxy that I can’t find here? We’ve got everything.“
“Even brewing civil war,” Moran said dryly.
“No—interlopers, maybe, who will keep us busy; but the Nualans put peace higher on the scale than profit. Maybe it’s the trine gold.” He turned to Moran, letting surprise cross his face. “I never thought of that! Every Nualan has trinium—it’s not worth as much here, did you know that? Maybe it isn’t as important when it’s always there! And I’d like to watch Ried and the others grow up. And your kids—you’re a lousy authoritarian, so this should be fun.”
“Kids are different.”
“We’ll see. But my first priority is ...“
“Yes?”
“To climb this mountain.” He looked up, up, craning his neck to see the rising Sonoma range, the peak of Mt. Amura lost in rolling clouds. “We’ve barely touched it.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Today.”
“I’m beat ... and this partnership is a two-way path.”
“Tomorrow.” Lyte extended his hand for the oath grip.
NONE
Moran found Ronüviel right inside the grotto. Only her guaard was present, standing next to her. Moran did not recognize the warrior—undoubtedly the regulars were already resting. Roe was sitting on the ground, leaning against the cavern walls; she appeared asleep.
Moran squatted down beside her. “You should lie down. Come.”
She held up her hand, a languid gesture. “Not yet. Listen.” He sat down. The arguments of the synod filtered out to them.
“What are you waiting for?”
“The official decision on Kal and Shinar.”
“It will pass, won’t it?”
Roe smiled, and reached for his cheek. “How you murder our language, you and Teloa. Just speak Axis when you are not sure. It will pass. I hope they will strike all laws concerning it. Humans should not pass judgment on individuals when it comes to their private lives.”
“Aahmn. But you do look thoughtful.”
“I am. I am thinking about what kind of future we are creating for our children. About what Kal told them, about the things Braan and I discussed. Do you realize the challenge, Moran? The possibilities? In our lifetimes we may be able to improve the situation of not only Nuala but other planets as well. For millennia we have been a sanctuary. We must spread it, love; spread the word that justice shall prevail. I hope for peace among Fewhas, Axis, Malvevenians and Nualans.”
“We are not Axis?”
“No. It was a mistake—well, not a mistake—to go back. But it has outlived its usefulness. Self-sufficiency is the key. Harmony with the universe. We must throw out the old, racist prohibitions, must impress upon people the need for system rule and mutual survival by helping friends, not dominating them.”
“Shall we be the new masters of the galaxy?” Moran asked.
She opened one eye, thinking he was mocking her, but he knew his expression was serious, and he hoped tinged with his love. “I pray not. I hope we are willing to help the oppressed no matter where they be. If asked, we shall aid them. When any group exploits another, it threatens the balance, Moran. I believe, as you do, in the ultimate triumph of right. But there will be so many mountains to climb.”
He reached for her hand. “We will show our children the balance. What they do with it is up to them. We cannot anticipate their universe. We must prepare them for all possibilities.”
Roe nodded wearily, and he saw the narrow line within her—the optimism and the fear.
A shadow fell upon them, between the glow and the guaard. Glancing up they saw the ghost that was Arrez. “Seri?” Moran said, using the title of respect for the man.
“I have left inside many confused elders, Ronüviel, fearful and belligerent,” the priest started carefully, and Moran sensed relief in him. “They are hesitant about the future, yet no longer distrusting of their Atare, it seems. He may lead us to destruction, but they are willing to follow. Many laws fell this morning, under a simple catch-all statement that will undoubtedly cause many arguments in the next few years. ‘We are Human.’ And Url has pronounced the declaration of our freedom to be the wedding of Kalith reb^Ila Atare and Shinar^reb Elana—whenever they blessed well please!”
Roe leapt to her feet, half-strangling the older man in her delight. “Come, we must tell Kal, he is waiting!”
NUALA, MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED EIGHTYTWODAY, NONE
“Kal! Kalith!!” Ronüviel rushed past the guaard in front of his door, nearly tripping over the step up. “It is done, it is done!”
“What is done?” he asked steadily, looking away from the window to meet her gaze.
She seized his hands. “Where is Shinar?”
He knew, then. He opened his hand a moment to reveal the hard object within, and then swiftly left the room, racing for the departing lift, his guaard running to keep up.
Roe turned to Moran and hugged him tightly, refusing to let go. “Did you see his face?” she started, laughing.
“The most incredible mixture of joy, relief, and arrogant assurance I have ever seen,” Moran agreed.
“Come! I must see her reaction!”
oOo
The lift was hours too slow. Kal flew down the corridor to the life shelter, nearly knocking over a medtech at the bronze door and not apologizing for it.
Fortunately the door, itself, was open. She was in the main room with her fellow students, watching a ward healer prescribe medication. Kal’s sudden arrival stopped all conversation and turned every head. Embarrassed but undeterred, he abruptly extended his fist to her. She stared at him, not understanding, and then, at his repeated gesture, offered him her palm. Kalith slowly, forcefully unfolded his fingers, pressing the serae stone into her outstretched hand and covering it with his own.
“For better or worse, serae, we have won.”
She folded into his arms, her answer in the fierceness of her grip.
* END *