“I think I’ve been afraid,” she said, feeling her way through. “My mother was the most important person in my life. I never imagined I’d lose her, but I did. Now you’re the most important person in my life. Intellectually, I know you’ll never leave, but emotionally…there’s your first tyree.”
“But you know—”
She shook her head. “Knowing isn’t the issue. I’m not speaking of rational thought. I’m speaking of irrational fear.”
A fierce, fiery sense of protection swept through their link, tied to the expression on Andira’s face. “Now I’m the one who wants to crawl through this reader card. I wish I were there, holding you.”
She managed a smile. “I wish you were, too.”
“Maybe I can rearrange—”
“Don’t you dare. That’s not why I’m telling you this. What I’m trying to say is that I judged your heart by my own limitations. But you’re bigger than that. I was thinking in what Lhyn would call a subtractive sense, as if any love you gave Ekatya would be taken from what you give to me. Like running out of fertilizer.”
“What?” Despite the serious topic, Andira began to laugh. “Love is like fertilizer?”
“No, I thought it was like fertilizer.” Salomen was chuckling as well. “A finite resource. I pour it into the spreader and distribute it over a field, but once it’s gone, it’s gone. I have no more to spread, even if the next field still needs it.”
Andira’s amusement died a quick death. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Neither did I.” But somewhere along the trail today, she had understood. Consciously contemplating a relationship with Lhyn hadn’t made her feel any less for Andira. Quite the opposite, in fact: she had rushed through her shower upon getting home, hardly able to wait for this call.
“I don’t feel that way now,” she added. “It’s more like Silverrun Spring, isn’t it? Something that never stops flowing, no matter how many drink from it. You can love both Ekatya and me, at the same time and in different ways. I expected you to close the door on her and never gave a thought to what that must have cost you. A tyree, Andira. Fahla never gives that gift without reason.”
“That bond was never meant for me,” Andira argued. “It was an accident.”
“I’m not so certain. On either count. And I don’t want to keep making the same mistake. I don’t want to be the reason you deny a piece of your heart.”
She snapped her mouth closed, startled at the words that had come so naturally.
Pella-na-corsa. Piece of my heart.
“Tyrina, what’s going on? Did something happen today?”
“Yes, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Will you think about what I said?”
“As if I could think of anything else now.” Andira pursed her lips, then spoke in a hesitant tone. “While you were marching through Blacksun, I had an interesting conversation with Lhyn about foursome Sharings and the changes they’re making in us. Everything has been so rushed since then that I forgot to tell you. I haven’t told Ekatya, either.” Resolve solidified their link. “I think we need to talk about this. All four of us.”
“I agree. Before our Sharing, so anything the discussion might stir up can be immediately put to rest.”
“Agreed.” Decision made and action plan established, her expression softened. “May I assume that whatever happened today was a good thing?”
“It was a joyous thing,” Salomen assured her. “I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.”
She waited through a long moment of silence and knew Andira was testing their link, looking for any cause for concern.
“All right,” Andira said at last. “Despite this mysterious conversation, you feel good. In fact, now you feel sensational.”
“I had a wonderful trail walk in excellent company, I have you in front of me now, and every time I think I cannot love you more, I do. That does feel rather sensational.”
A brilliant smile blossomed. “These things sound related.”
“They are. I learned a great deal about my heart today.” She was dropping too many clues, but did not want to stop. “Lhyn helps me see you in a different light. Even when we’re not talking about you. For that matter, she helps me see myself in a different light. Does Ekatya do that for you?”
Startled, Andira nodded. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“I know, tyrina. It’s an advantage, is it not? We bring more to our bond when we see through different eyes.”
“What kind of hike was this?”
She could not help laughing. “A remarkable one. But I think that’s enough about my day. How was yours? Not nearly as pleasing as mine, I’ll wager.”
“Ha. That’s a sure bet. You wouldn’t believe what I had to wade through.”
Salomen scrunched further down, settling in to listen and absorb the complex bouquet of emotions that filled their link. Andira’s voice wrapped around her like a favorite shawl on a cool night, a much-missed part of the whole she loved. The quick, bright smiles that warmed just for her, the light eyes filled with laughter or exasperation as the stories warranted, the intellect that sparkled through every word—these were the pieces she could not carry with her, the pieces she had breathlessly awaited and would miss as soon as the call ended.
She would take in all she could, until she had Andira in her arms once more.
5
Crossing the waterfall
It was on their fifth hike that Lhyn realized she hadn’t really known Salomen. Not this Salomen. She knew the producer who ran an extensive business and supported over fifty families in the region, all while representing her holding at the caste house and her caste in government affairs. She knew the loving and ferociously protective head of her family. She knew Andira’s tyree, and Bondlancer Opah.
But she had never met the Salomen who shed every burden and responsibility the moment she stepped onto a trail.
“Andira doesn’t know what you’re like out here, does she?” Lhyn asked as they trotted along a trail spongy with decomposed leaf litter. Today Salomen had brought her to the western foothills of Blacksun Basin, promising that the rainy hike beneath gigantic, dripping trees would lead to a worthy reward.
“She does now.” Salomen was in front, her expression out of sight, but the regret was audible. “She asked the same thing you’re about to. Why didn’t I tell her?”
“And?”
“There’s no single reason. In the beginning, I was adapting to my title and living in Blacksun. I had to learn the history, the politics and rules of the State House, all about the warrior caste…” She trailed off, her head craning back to watch a small bird with black and yellow markings flit from one tree to another. When it vanished into the branches, she faced forward and picked up speed. “Then there was Pollonius and everything that came from that. Not to mention speaking engagements, running the holding…”
Lhyn waited. Their footsteps were silent on the cushioned trail, the only sound that of rain and the fat, collected drops that fell from the trees to splatter on the ground. When they hit her rain hat instead, the spat! sounded as if something much larger had impacted.
“Right, you have the equivalent of two jobs,” she said at last. “I understand the time constraints. But you also have days off, so I don’t think it’s about that.”
“Physical days off,” Salomen answered. The implication was clear.
“But if Andira had known what this meant to you, she would have shifted stars and soil to make it happen.”
“She would have closed trails so we could be on them. I told you on our Tumalo Peak hike that I didn’t want that. Not then.”
Something about this did not add up. Andira was a master strategist; she would have found a way to fulfill Salomen’s need without making her feel guilty.
“You didn’t give her the chance,” Lhyn said, thinking aloud. “You adapted to her life, but didn’t show her this part of yours.”
“Ah, here we go!” Salomen abruptly
veered off the trail onto a narrow path that Lhyn wouldn’t have seen. “Watch your step; it’s steep here.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Lhyn needed every bit of her concentration to negotiate the slippery track diving straight down the slope. An increasing roar of water indicated a river somewhere at the bottom, invisible in dense undergrowth.
With its primeval feel and familiar scents of wet leaf litter, this forest reminded her of the rugged reaches of Allendohan where the terraforming hadn’t taken effect. When they were fifteen and old enough to be allowed “into the wilds” on their own, she and her friends had often hiked and camped, enjoying their temporary freedom from school and family expectations. They had played hard, ever aware of their limited time. Nearly all of them would be married within two or three years, and wives and mothers did not go into the wilds.
Lhyn had made her freedom permanent. She sometimes wondered if the immediate ostracizing by those same friends had at least some roots in envy.
The trail turned sharply right, now running above and parallel to the river that pounded through the ravine below. Though she still couldn’t see it, the sound was loud enough to make her stay away from the left edge of the trail.
Level ground was a relief after the descent. Salomen picked up speed, calling an “Almost there!” over her shoulder.
Lhyn followed her around an outcrop and was hit by a wall of noise.
A magnificent waterfall tumbled down the slope, carving its way through multiple channels that divided, came together, and divided again. The effect was that of fifty smaller waterfalls moving in glorious chaos before seamlessly joining at the bottom and barreling down the ravine.
They stood in a tiny viewing area midway up the falls, with at least a hundred strides of water falling above them and an equal distance below. The edge of the river came nearly to their feet, and their faces—kept dry until now by the rain hats—were instantly wet with blowing spray.
“My stars,” was the best her brain could manage.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Salomen gazed joyfully upward. “It was one of Mother’s favorites. She and I came here at least once every cycle.”
She had spoken more of her mother over the last five days than in the previous five moons. Hiking was something Nashta and Salomen had done together, and it seemed that renewing this pastime had stirred up a good number of memories.
The two Guards who had preceded them stood on the far side of the viewpoint, allowing as much room as they could. Ronlin and a fourth Guard soon arrived, making the little space rather crowded with six bodies.
Salomen’s posture tensed, though she gave no verbal indication as she gestured downslope. “The main trail goes to a viewing platform at the bottom. Every image I’ve ever seen of this waterfall is taken from there. Most people don’t even know this trail exists.”
“Did Nashta show it to you?”
She nodded. “Her mothers showed it to her. Opahs have been coming here for generations. Someday, I’ll bring my own children.”
They watched the tumbling water in silence, each lost in her own thoughts, until Salomen dipped one shoulder, slid out of her pack, and dropped it to the ground. “I need a few ticks.”
Before anyone could say a word, she had hopped onto a boulder surrounded by churning white water.
“Bondlancer!” Lead Guard Ronlin rushed to the edge. “You can’t—”
“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do,” Salomen snapped. Pointing slightly upward and toward the center of the rushing streams, she added, “I’m only going there. It’s a tradition.”
“The river is in autumn flood! This isn’t safe.”
“It’s safer for me than walking down a public street these days, isn’t it?” She turned away, balanced herself, and jumped to the other side of the flow. Two steps took her to the edge of the next channel, which was narrower than the first but looked twice as dangerous, its water blasting through with more force than Lhyn wanted to think about.
“Shek!” Ronlin began wriggling out of his own pack.
“Don’t follow me, Ronlin,” Salomen called back. “That’s an order.” Ignoring his horrified expression, she jumped fearlessly to the next bare patch of rock.
His partner moved up beside him. “With respect, Lead Guard, she didn’t order any of the rest of us not to follow.”
He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed in thought.
“If you do that,” Lhyn warned, “you’ll lose her trust forever.”
“If I don’t, I might lose her.”
“What do you plan to do? Tie a rope around her waist and hold her?” She glanced at Salomen, who was now past the third stream and climbing upward.
“I don’t think you understand, Dr. Rivers. This river is in flood! It’s carrying branches, logs—something could come over the top and hit her and that would be the end of it.”
Lhyn thought she understood more than he did. “I think she’s headed for that little alcove.” She indicated a spot halfway across, where a large outcrop divided the streams and an overhang kept the space beneath it relatively dry. “If anything comes over the top while she’s there, she’ll be protected.”
“Excellent,” he growled. “Then I only have to watch her risk her life on the way out and back.”
“I’m going after her.” Lhyn dropped her pack.
“Dr. Rivers!”
“You’re not responsible for me,” she pointed out. “I’m just a private citizen. And she needs the company.”
“Shekking Mother!” He spun toward the two Guards who had preceded them. “Get down to the bottom in case she falls. If she survives, at least we’ll be able to pull her out.” With a tap to his earcuff, he barked out the name of their pilot and put her on alert for a possible emergency flight.
Lhyn tuned him out as she faced the waterfall. Viewing it as a whole was intimidating, but if she focused on the individual streams, she could see a path across. It wasn’t even a difficult path, really. The issue was mainly psychological, knowing that one slip could have devastating consequences.
With her long legs, making the hop to that first boulder was not a stretch. As she found her balance and looked down at the ferocious stream of water pouring past, an unexpected thrill shot through her.
Ever since her torture, she had chafed at the extra care Ekatya, Andira, and even Salomen took with her. Yes, she was claustrophobic now, but that didn’t change who she was. It didn’t make her weak.
And this waterfall was the opposite of an enclosed space.
She hopped to the other side, landed easily, and laughed in sheer delight. Moving quickly across to the next stream, she calculated her best landing spot and leaped.
Section by section, she made her way across and upward, unable to erase the grin that accompanied every successful landing. This was the most fun she’d had in a long time: the physical, bone-deep elation that came from turning off her brain and simply letting her body move.
“Not there! Up a bit more.”
She looked up at the shout and saw Salomen standing beneath the overhang, pointing at a spot slightly upstream. There was a dip in the rock on the other side, making for an easier landing. She walked up to it, jumped, and waved in thanks.
Two more streams separated them. She crossed over and landed her second jump right next to Salomen, who had stepped back to give her room. With a gleeful whoop, she turned around to look down the falls. “Fucking stars, this is gorgeous! No wonder you love it!”
If anything, it was even louder under here. In addition to the water boiling past on both sides, thin curtains fell from the edges of the overhang, effectively screening them in.
Salomen was alight, her eyes sparkling and a proud tilt to her smile. “I cannot believe you followed me out here.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve followed you everywhere for the past five days. Wow, look at this, it’s like it was designed for sitting.” The bare rock at the back of the alcove was scooped out, making a natural bench. She promptly sat
down, stretching out her legs and marveling at the view.
Salomen settled next to her. “You’re buzzing,” she said with a laugh. “Your emotional signature feels like an open power conduit.”
“It does to me, too.” Lhyn grinned at her. “Poor Ronlin is about to have a coronary.”
“I know. I’ll have to apologize, but for now I’m simply enjoying being here.” Her expression shifted. “And I’m enjoying you being here.”
Lhyn nodded, accepting the statement for what it was. She had been careful not to assume anything, even as it grew increasingly difficult.
“Did Nashta show you this, too?” she asked, tapping her hand against the rock.
“Yes. Not at first, though. She waited until I was twenty.”
“An adult, then. It was a rite of passage,” Lhyn guessed.
“I didn’t think of it that way at the time, but it probably was.” Salomen crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned back. “I remember feeling as if a whole new world had opened up. A world where we could be friends.”
“You weren’t friends before?”
“We were, but it was different. She was always my mother first and foremost. Then she became more of a friend. The mother part never went away, but it was less prominent.” She shook her head. “I’m not describing it well, but you know what I mean, yes?”
“No. I was never friends with my mother.”
“Oh, Lhyn, I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t—”
“It’s all right. I like that you forget. You had such a beautiful relationship with your mother that you can’t imagine growing up any other way. That’s a joy to be around. You’re like Ekatya in that.”
“I suppose,” Salomen said doubtfully. “You’re very gracious to say so. I hate that you had such a different childhood. You deserve all the love in the world.”
Do I? Lhyn wanted to ask. Instead, she said, “Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad. I never felt neglected and I certainly wasn’t abused. My friends were all in the same growing environment. It was natural for us. We found support in each other and never expected it from our parents. At least, not the kind you had.”
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