by Jane Baskin
Then a party: dancing, food of every variety. Even the serving maids, dressed to delight. (As most of them would be duty bound to do, after the festivities.)
Noar, dying with anticipation. Thought he would never make it to the time when he could be alone with Iskaya-te. But there. Finally, the ceremonial cup.
A jeweled goblet of exceptionally strong gell tea, shared by bride and groom. Noar, having been informed by Iskar of this custom also. “Yes, the bride and groom go to bed a little high. That’s for the best, especially in your situation, because my sister is a virgin. Unlike the North, we prize that here. Especially among our aristocratic Ladies. They’re prizes to be won, you see. You’ll want her unafraid, dying for your touch. As well as insensible to any discomfort that may attend her deflowering.”
Noar, fighting to hide the erection that nearly embarrassed him while listening to his soon-to-be brother in law. “I understand.” Cough.
Now, at last. Rising from the table with his beautiful bride. To the applause of all. Leading her, blushing and hiding her face, toward the door at the back of the hall. Followed by whoops from lords, giggles from ladies; young and old.
Leading Iskaya-te to his – their – chamber. Looking over at her as they entered. Would she be afraid? But no … Iskaya-te, mildly glassy eyed. The gell tea, beginning to take effect. Noar, glad. Gently swept her into an embrace, wrapping his strong arms completely around her. A long, deep kiss … at last. Feeling her settle in against him.
Barely able to detach from her delicious mouth to draw her into the bedroom. There, helping her to disrobe – ever so gently. Taking off his own clothes in a hurry. Smiling as Iskaya-te watched him, studied him. The look in her eyes: oh. Telling him she had never seen a naked man. Instantly so erect it hurt.
Then into the bed. What followed: an experience Noar had never believed possible. To finally possess that for which he had hungered for so long. To knowfor certain that no other man had possessed her before. To know that no one would ever possess her but he, himself. To know: this is mine.
Trying, with every bit of will he could muster, to restrain himself enough to minimize her discomfort. But once she was no longer virgin – once she belonged fully to him – his ardor could not be contained. If he worried that she would be overwhelmed … quickly realized no such worries were necessary. Iskaya-te, curious by nature and ravenous by gell tea, gave herself up to be devoured. Matched his every move, his every moan. Ready for him at every resurgence. This passion: enduring most of the night, until both finally surrendered to the heavy sleep of too much gell.
In the morning Noar, barely able to believe his good fortune. Seemed incredible to him, that just months before, had felt himself to be the outsider, the invisible one. Understood now. Turning his back on his home: the happiest event of his life. Memory, doubt: banished in the glow of the moment.
The wonderful things that had befallen him, once away from Nayan’s influence! Excellent new friends; rank and honor undreamed of. A new home, power and privilege. And oh, a beautiful bride. A partner finally worthy of him and he of her. A noble bride.
A catch, indeed.
Wanted to see the look on Nayan’s face in the spring, when he brought her to visit. When he rode up on a fine gantha, his bride resplendent behind him. When he revealed that he was now a sub lord of Selshay as well as a sub lord of Cha-ning.
Uh oh. There. A small dark thing fluttering through his head. The little bird of betrayal he carried in the back of his head. That he spent a great effort of will ignoring.
Batted the bird away. Told himself it was time the South had seeds. That they had held out way too long, in the North. How many of their friends lay dead in the fields, victims of raids? Raids that would no longer happen, if the South had seeds of their own.
Perhaps North and South would finally reconcile their differences. Imagine.
And he … would be the hero of it all.
31.A Demon Comes Calling
The Selshay winter: a fine, lazy time. Nowhere near as cold as at Cha-ning; afternoon strolls possible, occasionally taken. But for the most part Noar and Iskaya-te, drifting happily between the bedroom and the tea table in the great hall. Iskaya-te, oddly: not pregnant yet. Noar, mildly surprised. Not that he particularly cared about having a child so soon. But merely from the frequency of his attentions, found it curious that she had not conceived. Could she be using some method of contraception, like northern women? Wasn’t sure they even had such things here in the parochial South. The possibility that she might be a poor breeder … no. Dismissed it from his mind. The time would come when heirs would be necessary to his rank and position. The possibility that she could give him none: unthinkable.
While more housemaids bloomed with his seed. His original bedmate, the one first sent to him by Iskar: thick in the middle, a small bulge below the waistband of her skirt. Noar, regarding this with selfish interest. Glad that he: 1. had done his duty and 2. had proved his potency.
Surely the time would come, when necessary, with Iskaya-te.
At Cha-ning, Nayan and Zoren-te, also curling up in the quiet. Spending their time either in bed, in the library, or by the fire in the great hall with friends. This, still burning constantly despite the central heating – finally – introduced into the hall. Che and Luisa-te, ruddy with their enjoyment of each other. Colwen, having found a partner for the winter, a pretty girl with dark brown hair. Many pleasant evenings spent, with warm ale and idle conversation.
And some evenings, when the ale was plentiful … openly playing with what everyone now openly called, “the gift.” Speaking in thoughts. One evening, Che: trying to fill an ale mug with his mind. Spilled it. Thought to Nayan: Killing’s easier.
Gods alive, Che.
Then words, like the thoughts were poison: “Che, you spilled it. It’s only fair you should lap it up.”
Che, cleverly calling in one of the kitchen dogs, directing it to the spill. “See how the gift continues to give? That’s a happy dog.”
Luisa-te: Che, you shouldn’t tease the poor dog. He won’t understand. And I’m sure alcohol’s bad for him.
Che: All gods, Luisa. Did you just think that to him?
I don’t know. Did I?”
Nayan: I didn’t know you could transfer thoughts, Luisa.
I can’t, always. But sometimes. Che wants me to learn.
Can this thing be learned?
Zoren-te: By some people.
Which ones?
We don’t know. Yet. But … Aterya and Kyrugan say it can be developed. I’m pretty sure of that.
See, there. They’re beginning to understand!
Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s still too early.
But don’t you see – the seed has sprouted. It’s …
Yes. Well, maybe. She’s a southerner, yes? The gene may be more widely spread around the South than we thought. But it’s still too soon. Let the tender shoots grow a little stronger.
At other times, Nayan: mildly dreading the time in spring when he would be called to the Provincial Assembly at Sauran City. Where he would have to do his duty as Lord of Cha-ning; waste untold hours not really governing. Just giving his occasional opinion – for what it was worth – to the Peoples’ delegates trying to craft legislation.
Would prefer to stay home and patrol against raiders by day, partake of Zoren-te by night. The gell harvest: particularly fruitful this winter. Raiders would come, for certain. Would have left that job to Noar, as was the usual duty of the sub lord(s). But.
Still … tradition. He would do his duty, as his parents before him; theirs before them; on and on back. Hopefully, Zoren-te would accompany him for the many boring months in spring. But this: a perplexing situation.
Normally, Lord and Lady served in provincial assemblies together. But Zoren-te: not born in the North. And while the North respected the duty to serve of women as well as men … Zoren-te: regarded as the Lady of Cha-ning in title only. Still regarded as a southern aristocra
t. Her presence in the assembly: not really required.
Nayan, hoping she would still choose to accompany him. Despite her unpleasant experiences in Sauran City the last time they visited. Despite how just the city itself reminded her of the South, even though technically a northern city. The largest, most cosmopolitan city on the planet. Did she feel the ghost of her father, wandering the city’s netherworld in his grief? Did she feel the ghosts of southern aristocrats, some of whom had killed people she had loved in the North, and upon whom she personally had exacted revenge? Did she fear encountering her past (again)? Did the city simply bring up too many disturbing memories?
Nayan: hoping time had healed these wounds. For he truly believed: could not face three months there alone. Especially since their mad foray into the South.
Everyone knew. Everyone in the far North – which meant that the cities knew as well. If they corroborated Nayan’s absurd cover story … Nothing to say they believed it. Northern city dwellers: too damned smart. And these, present in force in all the Provincial Assemblies.
The Cha-ning Assembly, where Nayan would serve. The assemblies sof Aurast and Rhymney, where the lords who had accompanied him in battle, would also serve.
Would there be talk? Would some upstart representative bring up the subject of a northern raid on the South, with untold numbers dead, and the two most powerful keeps of the region reduced to ash? Because, of course, not everyone agreed. The gell masters got their way. Always got their way. But now, tensions between city and town might surface once again.
In the meantime … when not reading. When not making love. When not sipping warm ale with friends. When not practicing with the gift (despite Olgar’s warning, despite the concern of many elders). When not trying, against all sober advice, to bring the made dog under control. To be sure he controlled it, that it did not control him …
When not doing these things: thinking of … Noar.
Where was Noar? Only knew that he had been in Sauran City. Possibly had gone south with new acquaintances, the twins from Selshay. To fight, as Zoren-te had suggested? Unthinkable. Why? Nayan, drowning in disbelief.
Perhaps he had returned to Sauran City. Perhaps they would clear the train tracks again, enough to permit travel, and Nayan could go and see for himself.
But knowing: Noar was in the South.
Again: why? What could the South possibly offer a true son of the North? The insignificant little province of Selshay (so he thought): what could it possibly have that would interest his wild, impetuous younger brother?
Pretty women, yes of course. Noar would, no doubt, be roaring through the languid ladies of the South. But Nayan: had also heard that southern women were more chary with their favors. Zoren-te, having told him many times how most southern women – and all southern ladies – held onto their virginity with an iron grip. No truly reliable methods of birth control readily available in the South. Disapproved for ladies and illegal for peasants. And out of wedlock pregnancies: regarded as deeply shameful in the South (although for different reasons than in the North). Possibly Noar: encountering unaccustomed disappointment.
But still, no word from him.
Nayan: had left clear messages at the finest hotels in Sauran City: notify me if the sub lord of Cha-ning returns. Notify me at once. But: no word.
Couldn’t imagine what he might be doing. Zoren-te, telling him many times that the sub lady of Selshay was a rare beauty. Suggesting that Noar may have fallen under her spell.
But Nayan: unable believe it. Noar: the lover of many, not the partner of one. That he could have fallen in love, or fallen under the spell of a woman … Nayan, finding this unbelievable.
Truth: he missed his brother.
So passed Zoren-te’s second winter in the North. Time, Nayan’s gentle touch: healing her many wounds. Lazy evenings by the great hall fireplace, gently but clearly rebuilding her understanding of her place in Cha-ning. Of the reality of friendship. If not for Nayan’ wonderings, might have forgotten all about Noar, his insult. By the time the melt came, Vel – its glory days and its ruin – ever more distant in her mind’s eye.
Also knowing that once the drying winds came … Sauran City. Where she would meet lords and ladies from the South. Where she would visit her aunt, Magana-ye, now living in a pleasant hotel supported by her and Nayan. Sauran City – where she would meet her past. This time, who would win? And Magana-ye … oh. Had to visit her. Only right and proper. And – her secret – had loved her dearly as a child. Horrified at her punishment. Wept for days. Missed her.
While she debated, knowing what Nayan would surely ask her … look. See, there. The train, coming at last; plowing through water and slush. Its mighty wheels tossing spray and dirt for miles. Its black smoke heralding … change.
And after the train: a rider. Right there. A big gantha, with a proud rider in formal armor. Golden medals reflecting the sun. Behind him, holding onto him tightly: a fine lady with yellow hair. Her cloak blowing just enough in the light wind to reveal a beautiful velvet dress.
Zoren-te, watching from the courtyard balcony. Her stomach twisting. Then going to fetch Nayan. “Come, Nayan. Noar’s come home. With Iskaya-te, of Selshay.”
Nayan, rushing from the library, barely remembering to grab his cloak. Running into the courtyard just in time to greet the rider. Who gave an arm to his lady, helping her to dismount. Then swung his leg over the gantha’s head, dismounted with a jump, faced him.
Nayan, running a hand over his face. Could barely believe what he was seeing.
Noar: “Hello, brother. This is my wife, Lady Iskaya-te of Selshay.”
A few moments before Nayan could find his voice. Then: “Wife?”
A nod from Noar. “Yes, Nayan. We were married over the winter. I’m a sub lord of Selshay now, as well as Cha-ning.” No smile. No hint of any expression. No head bow from Iskaya-te, at meeting the Lord of Cha-ning. Both of them, simply standing there.
Quickly joined by Zoren-te, coming to stand next to Nayan. Who suddenly remembered his manners. “My Lady. I’m honored to meet you. Welcome to my home. This is my wife, Zoren-te … ”
A wry smile from Iskaya-te. “We’ve met. How are you, Zoren?”
“Well, Iskaya.” No nod.
Nayan, suddenly feeling like winter had changed its mind, returned. The frost between these two women.
But of course, festivities. As ever, a big party. Getting to be the season for parties anyway. Any excuse.
And the return of Noar, the best reason of all. The sub lord of Cha-ning. With a beautiful wife in tow, no less. Hard to believe. So dinner: tables loaded with rich food, warm ale, sweets. The piano, wailing away. Other instruments, trying to keep up.
Colwen, embracing his friend warmly. So excited to see him home that he barely noticed Noar’s stiffness at the embrace. Meeting the gorgeous bride. With her golden hair. And her enchanting smile. That stayed on her face constantly, as if it were painted there.
Che to Luisa-te: “Do you notice anything – uh – peculiar … about the Lady Iskaya? She smiles constantly. Even when no one’s talking to her.”
Luisa-te: a light laugh. Hard to tell if it were jolly or bitter. “All gods, Che, can’t you tell? Her Ladyship is high.”
Zoren-te, sharing a similar observation with the puzzled Nayan. “Gell use is different in the South. My mother used constantly. My father, rarely. He once told me he only took the strong cup when he had to sleep with my mother.” (giggle) “In any case, aristocrats make their tea … very strong.” Another laugh. Amused? Bitter? Furious?
Nayan, surprised. Confused. Not sure what to think. “It’s not funny, Zoren. If his wife is high … what about Noar?”
“I’m sure he is too, Nayan. Listen to me. In the South, bride and groom drink a wedding cup. Which is essentially very strong gell tea. It makes the conjugal experience – rather intense, you might say. A lot of couples get addicted to it.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“The conjugal experience – isn’t it intense enough? Who needs a drug?”
“People who marry without love. Which is common in the South.”
“But – Noar wouldn’t marry a woman he didn’t love. I’m amazed he got married at all. To anyone.”
“Yes, Noar may be in love. But Iskaya-te … that’s another matter.”
Noar, taking up residence in his old rooms; now with his bride. Not often seen by the fireside, with the other young couples, in the evening. But having unusually large stores of gell and ale sent to the little kitchen in his rooms. And a sturdy kettle, always at the boil on the small stove in the kitchen.
Colwen, finally wondering aloud at Noar’s distance. “I’ve hardly seen him since he got back. It’s a little odd, I think.”
Nayan: “Well we haven’t seen much of him, either; for what it’s worth. He’s newly married.”
Zoren: “And high on gell, I’ll bet.”
Nayan: “That’s unkind, Zoren. You’ve been bitter ever since he came back. I know you don’t like him, but … ”
“No, Nayan. This isn’t about my personal feelings. And it’s not just about Noar. It’s her too. As a matter of fact, it’s more about her. You’ve just let the devil in by the front door, Nayan. You’ll see. And as for Noar’s gell use … strong gell use is common in the south, I told you that. I don’t know if Noar’s built up a tolerance, like Iskaya-te, but you can bet he’s using with her.”
“I can’t believe it. We were always warned about too much gell use.”
“You’re familiar with the aristocracy of the South?”