Lyte explained it all, from the arrival of the assassin to the last thing he remembered, collapsing at the feet of his hazelle. Jaac sat still a long time after his story ended, watching Kee rise higher in the sky. Then she stirred, rearranging her robes and reaching for a tool to kindle the banked fire.
“He lives,” she said definitely.
“Mendülay spares him for some other end?”
She turned fiercely at this, but there was no trace of mockery in Lyte’s voice. “This thing with Genuar is dangerous. If you left on Ascension Day, then word must be spreading through the campsites. And their captors will attempt to remove all traces of the deed.”
“Have you narrowed down the possible places they could be?”
“Pecaio tribe, Stigati,” Moran answered shortly. “Or so all signs indicate. We have been in fifty tribal areas in the last twentyday, all in the 200 Kilon. We have had no time for details.”
“That is no longer important.” The men turned to her. “If Genuar is actively seeking those who flout his orders, then the rebels will attempt to rid themselves of the twins without leaving evidence. But that is not as simple and obvious as it sounds. Even in the wastes, land is strictly divided, and borders are not crossed without incident. To dump them with no water and have the deed unwitnessed would be nearly impossible. There is only one place to take them.”
“Which is?”
“Bloodsand. We are at least a full day and night’s journey from it. We should leave at dusk. That means arriving at vespers the following day, but—”
“I can travel.” Moran choked back a laugh at Lyte’s statement.
“A day’s rest, then we ride hard,” Jaac threw back at him. “If not too worn out, they could survive a day in the heat without permanent injury; it is not yet summer. We must be there by stardown tomorrow.” As the fire blazed up, she poured a gourd of water into a pan.
Lyte turned his attention to the bleak rocks heaped behind him. “Dismal place.”
“Quite the opposite. This is the rock of Evermind,” Jaac answered. “There is a stream that always flows from the inner dell. Legend says it sprang from the stone at the unvoiced command of the prophet Naitun—from the mind of Naitun, hence the name. We will fill our gourds before we leave.”
“What is bloodsand?” Lyte glanced to Moran, who was facing toward the sea. Not talkative today, on edge. He probably missed Roe. Or was alarmed by finding his friend half dead in a deep desert.
Jaacav grimaced. “A place of final punishment. The Cied are long sundered from us and have their own laws and judgments. One of the nastiest is to stake a human out until he dies of dehydration. Bloodsand is used by all the tribes for this purpose. They do not kill the accused. Kee does.
“Convenient scapegoat.”
“Deadly. Between the winds and the krwb, little is left by morning.”
“Jaac, what are the Cied? Renegade Toli? Outcasts?” Lyte began hesitantly, hoarsely. He still felt dry and a bit light-headed.
Jaac chuckled maliciously. “We are the outcasts. Almost four millennia ago many Nualans decided that we were all being punished for using technology to change our planet. Given the proper time, Mendülay would heal both us and Nuala. That was what the followers of Lien believed. So they went off into the ciedär, following their prophet. He did not agree with the way of life that was being conducted on a large scale and felt that if the rest of the people could not see his point, then let them choose damnation. So the Ciedärlien live forever apart.”
“Were they right?” Moran asked in a low voice.
“Their prophets have a high accuracy rate. Naitun, the fellow who created this spring, was one of them. They live harshly yet, from many viewpoints, quite well. They do not have more 20s, though. That was their goal.”
“I would think a combination of their simplicity and coastal ingenuity would be best,” Lyte proposed.
“Agreed. Convince the Cied. Saffra? We must seek shade in the rocks until vespers.” And that ended conversation, until shortly before they left for Bloodsand.
MOORSHEAD BASIN
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYSIXDAY, PRIME
The last star was fading from the sky when Braan spotted the Stone Ring. Finally, a place with shade to spend the next twelve hours. Without turning he spoke to Teloa. “The Stone Ring. We shall spend the heat of the day here and continue at vespers.” Tay did not answer, so Braan assumed she had nodded. He had taken great pains to point out their destination to her; the great slash in the Dragoche Mountains. If something happened to him, she could reach other humans. But she did not comment on day-to-day landmarks.
On other subjects she was quite talkative, even outspoken. The fortyday in the ciedär had been lonely. The akemmi could not answer her, even if it listened. She was full of questions about every imaginable topic, from new births and deaths to interstellar eavesdropping. In the course of the three days and four nights they had been company for one another, they had exhausted the matter of Nuamura, at least to Braan’s taste. He had too much on his mind and no way to begin speaking.
Teloa had been shocked and disturbed over the assassin’s attack; quiet when he explained Genuar’s visit and the subsequent trip east. Was it the office she was concerned about? What kind of thought was that, Atare? Again, for the hundredth time, his body responded to his straying thoughts, and he was grateful that his caftan hid the evidence. Damn, he would have to keep the fire between them at all times.
One hazelle. She had lost the other earlier; it had not been strong enough to survive the desert. Braan now led the remaining beast inside the standing circle of stones. They were tall, at least four meters, and some had lintels across them. In the center was a round, flat stone, the symbol for fresh water carved into its face. Teloa looked pleased. “Shall we check?”
“If you wish. Even if it is dry, we have enough.” Untying the hazelle’s rope from around his waist, he hobbled the animal, staked it on a long line within reach of some stubby brush, and pulled the pack off its back. Tay undid the rope that connected her to the beast and immediately dug through the pack for fire crystals. While she built the fire, Braan began to prepare their food. Tay set out eating utensils and then pushed the rock over a little bit and lowered a weight and tube. She drew some water back up and examined it in the growing light. Clear of debris ... She dropped in a tablet; the color would determine if they could drink it. Pale yellow. Not a single problem. Pouring the tube into a cooking pot, she settled down to wait. The last few days had shown her that Braan preferred to do the cooking. And he did know more ways to prepare the ciedär rations.
Tikki finally stuck her head out of the hood, complaining peevishly until Tay offered her a snip of dried fruit. The akemmi took it graciously and scurried to the packs, where she proceeded to burrow, and then nibble the delicacy. When Teloa lifted up the saddlebags to be sure the creature was under them and not tearing through them, her hand touched fur. She carefully removed the topmost katt skin, which was properly rolled.
“What are you going to do with these?”
Braan glanced up. “They may have several uses. The young male’s is yours; you set the trap for him. One I will probably offer to Baakche as a gift; only trinium would be more impressive, and I have that as well. The other I will make a cape or robe out of ... maybe a wedding gift.”
Teloa had already wrapped the big forepaws around her, looping them in front. “How do I look?”
“Like a child playing dress-up, using a rug for a stole.”
Her brilliant smile flashed out, and she took several graceful dance steps. “What shall I do with mine? It’s too little for a poncho and too pretty to walk on! I’d hate to hang it over a hole in the wall.”
Braan tried to hide his laughter and failed. “How do you and Moran do it? I have never met anyone before who could simplify Nualan and have it sound correct. Usually that mix sounds like strangled Axis. I think you two have invented a new tongue.” He studied her a moment, stroking his beard, trying
to remain objective. “A skirt,” he said at last. “Or if you are nice to me, maybe I will give you my skin.”
She danced off again in excitement. “Up to my chin in fur! I love it! I never thought I’d live somewhere cool enough to wear them!” She dropped down next to the fire and slowly, correctly rerolled the skin. “It grows quiet. A strange place, this desert. The nights are lively and full of sound, the days dead and silent.”
“Very quiet. This is the most ‘alone’ I have ever been. Starting with that sandstorm when I lost Lyte. This is the first time I have ever felt totally free.”
“Ever? I am here.”
“Ever. Even with you. This is the first time a guaard or commando has not been with me. I am always a twosome, at the minimum.”
“Always? I mean ... there must be times ...”
“No. Always. Every waking and sleeping moment.”
“No privacy?”
“I ignore them and they ignore me. The mountain is refreshing to live in. They stay outside in the corridor or, at the worst, in the meeting room. In the palace and my home they were in the sanitation, in my sleeping room—one gets used to them, like a glow or a chair.”
Teloa seemed genuinely surprised. “Everywhere. Just one? Or more than that? Do they follow your whole family wherever they go?”
Braan smiled. “Not just my family. My immediate circle. At various times Gid has been guarded, or Prime Minister Lennard, even Arrez.”
Tay looked thoughtful. “The day I was attacked, were the men who saved me guaard?”
“One. The other was a citizen. Yes, a guaard was watching you. But thirdmeal was the time for a change of guaard, and as fate would have it, that was when your problems began. I had ordered them to shadow you, and they did.”
“Can’t even scratch in private,” she replied coarsely, barely concealing her irritation.
“Oh, they do not watch you every second. They know normal sounds and abnormal ones. They listen, smell; they do not have to see us all the time. Do not misunderstand me, I am grateful for their vigil. But sometimes ...”
Teloa reached for the tongs and began fishing for the dinner pouches. Braan pushed the plates in front of her and settled back to open a sack of nuts. Finally, without looking at him, Tay spoke. “That’s hard to understand. I’m used to being alone. Even when I left home and was working. I knew what they meant by the saying ‘being alone in a crowd.’ In a way it was nice. The ciedär, the endless desert, and no one out here except Tikki and Telen and me.”
“Telen?”
Tay blushed. “My little brother’s name. The hazelle has the same wise, gentle look, and yet he is very patient with me. Like Telen. For someone so mechanically oriented, my brother was very concerned about people.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. At the displacement camp, I gave him everything I had left, my last cubiz, and told him to find a guild that would take him. I was already a planter. As the war stretches on and on, fewer planets take in skilled refugees; they’d rather train their own workers.” She passed him a plate of the tasty red tubers and black beans and accepted a handful of nuts in return.
There was a long stretch of silence but not an uncomfortable one. The fire burned low; Braan finally banked it. They moved their packs as far away from it as possible. Wincing at the pain the movement cost him, Braan slowly lowered himself down behind a cool rock.
“Are you all right, Atare?”
He shot her a glance. “It is nothing. Some people get ulcers; my tension goes to my muscles, especially my back and neck.”
“Muscle tension can become serious. I am a trained therapist. May I assist?”
He answered honestly. “I am not sure that would be a good idea.”
“Why?”
Braan hesitated. Then, “I have learned to control my emotions in your presence, lady. I doubt I could keep such reserve under your touch.”
Teloa looked puzzled. “There are two basic types of massage, Atare: therapeutic-sensual and erotic. One relaxes and heals, the other arouses. To the one giving the massage, and the receiver, it is easy to differentiate technique. My people had need of such a skill. I offer it to you.” She held up her head with dignity as she spoke, but the flush in her cheeks was not starlight.
“I would rather have plain speech. It would ease the tension,” he replied. “I apologize for delaying so long. But I had to be sure that I was not merely lured by your physical charms, which are considerable. I value our friendship too much to make that mistake now. I have learned to appreciate all the other special qualities you have; I have missed your wit, your compassion, even your barbed questions.” He knew what he wanted to say, but the words were wrong now. So he did not say “I love you.”
“Do you understand?” He was startled to realize Teloa was shaking. He started to reach out to steady her and stopped himself.
She did not notice. “Do you know what it is like, Atare, to want something badly and yet to fear it just as strongly?” It was a tight, barely controlled whisper.
“The name is Braan.”
“This cannot be.” She hid her face in her hands to hide her tears.
“Teloa, this is not an absolute monarchy. If you cannot stand to look at me, tell me to go away! You will not lose your head!” Braan was terribly puzzled. Someone else? She had made a crazy vow while praying to be saved? “My lady, I am simply asking to pay court to you upon return to Nuamura. I believe we shall survive this.”
“No! No, I am wrong for you. I hoped it could be different, but I’ve thought—” She folded over to muffle her sobs. Braan knew the comfort of a touch, even an unfavored one. He stiffly moved before her and set his hands on her shoulders. In a little while the woman began to gain control. Soon she became aware of him; her whole body went rigid.
Braan pulled back, slipping his hands into his robe pockets but not moving away. “Please. Explain. What do you want me to say? If it is truth, I will say it.”
“I thought your people were bolder,” she said, straightening and looking him in the eye.
“They are,” he replied without a pause. “If I was merely interested in your body, I would have made it plain. I feel I was quite straightforward concerning your work, which improved daily. Were you almost anyone else, I would have begun with the words I love you.” Tay’s face became even whiter. “But I feared you would react just as you have. Why are those words so frightening?”
“Because. Do you know what I did before I came here?”
“You were a planter somewhere—”
“Between home and Nuala.”
“No.”
Teloa looked away. “I was a hustler.”
“So?”
Tay faced him, her face a tratore mask. “Are you mad? I thought you knew.”
“I knew you worked on a sumptuary planet. There are countless professions practiced there.”
“I was a hustler! How long do you think your kingship would last if you associated with a hustler? Admitted you loved one?”
Braan swallowed quickly to stifle a laugh. “With the exception of Nuala, almost every royal house in the known universe keeps male and female courtesans within its walls—”
“Not a courtesan! Not someone trained to be a walking pleasure palace, pampered and protected! A hustler! Alone, a mark for every sadist, psycho and molester in the galaxy! To be beaten and treated as a doll with no emotions and no response! Where not reacting is what keeps you alive!” Her voice edged on hysteria. She fought to control it. “No guild would take a trained planter, they wanted raw talent to mold their own rules. And I was crazy enough to think nothing was worse than death.”
“My great uncle married a hustler. I almost did, too, but she vanished one night, just before I asked her. She left for much the same reasons, I suppose, though she never said them aloud. A severe inferiority complex—”
“You don’t understand!” The tears came again, in frustration.
“I do not.” The reply
was gentle.
“You need the acceptance and neutrality of the non-aligned planets. If they found out you were consorting with a hustler—”
“Who would connect the planter Teloa with the hustler of another name?” There was silence. “You did use another name, did you not? Tay, I love you. How do you feel about me?”
“There is something else.” She clutched the material at her side. “There is a scar along my rib cage. It is from the one time I forgot myself.” As she spoke, her voice diminished to barely a whisper. “To be a hustler is a delicate thing. To be successful one must perform on command—to be passive or active as the patron dictates. He looked so much like my long-dead Caprican love I forgot myself. One does not forget one’s place when a patron desires a passive partner. Were it not for the affection a cantinamaster held for me, I would be long dead. I learn very well. I have not made the same mistake since. Can you imagine a body so well trained that it goes rigid when a child touches its arm?”
“I have never lifted a hand in violence to a woman in my life. I swear by my Lord Mendülay.”
Teloa looked up at his soft answer and could not meet the pain—her pain—in his face. “You need a lover, my lord, not a hustler. I have relaxed a bit these many long days. But enough to pretend that I am a real person? Even if I could overcome this affliction I prolonged my life with, I would be flinching every step of the way. It has been so long. Unless I am passive, or have a passive partner, I am lost.”
“Teloa. You say you learn well. You can unlearn just as easily! Lord, we are not talking about gymnastics! Sex is not a spectator sport, but it is not all games, either! Are you trying to tell me that kiss back in the cave was nothing?”
“I am trying to spare you great pain,” she replied, her words slow and spaced to keep control of them. “You cannot imagine the pain my fears and memories will cost you.”
“They can only bind us closer.” He suddenly pulled her into his embrace. She was startled but not exhausted, as she had been the time before. And she did freeze. Braan did not break off their kiss until he felt the slightest relaxation, the touch of her fingers to his shoulder. He faced her as he arranged his robes to guard against the heat. “There was response. You are not lost to us yet. I am willing to take the chance. If you are.”
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