House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “I do, Grandfather.”

  “Hah!” It was parody of a laugh. “When have you ever taken my advice?”

  “Now for example.”

  “About Denrau....”

  “No, about Hrel.”

  “Who?”

  “Our newest disjunct.”

  “What’s he got to do with Denrau?”

  “Not with Denrau, with Naztehr Hugh.”

  “Naztehr...?”

  “The Arensti Designer, our newest candidate.”

  “The Arensti Designer is a Gen?”

  “You authorized it yourself, Grandfather.”

  “I did?”

  “Besides,” said Denrau, “you liked the design he’s submitted.” Surreptitiously, the Companion motioned Valleroy to hold the board up again.

  One wizened hand came up, ventral tentacles waving at the design. “That one? But wasn’t that last year’s winner?”

  “No, Grandfather. It’s the one you authorized for this year’s entry.”

  “Oh, yes, definitely a winner. Day after tomorrow. I haven’t forgotten. But what has that to do with Hrel?”

  “We have reason to believe he’s been spying for Andle.”

  “Ridiculous. Disjuncts don’t spy. They have to be loyal or they’d never make it.”

  “So I have believed. But Naztehr Hugh is the one who discovered Feleho this morning....”

  “Dead?” said Grandfather as if he still couldn’t believe. “Our little Feleho, slaughtered!”

  “He wasn’t dead when Hugh found him. He had a message.”

  “He told who killed him?”

  “Perhaps. He said, ‘Tell Klyd, Hrel spies for Andle....’ It must have been that discovery that earned him martyrdom.”

  “Andle!” breathed the old man, suddenly sharp-eyed. “So, Andle killed our little boy! But are you sure? This new Gen, he might have mixed up the tenses, spies for spied?”

  “I know it seems impossible, Grandfather, but it can be no other way. It was something Hugh said at Hrel’s disjunction party that made me send Feleho into Andle’s organization. The only way he could have been caught is if Hrel overheard and reported to Andle...after disjunction.”

  “It was a genuine disjunction?”

  “I served him myself. It was genuine.”

  “Then Hrel killed Feleho.”

  “Apparently.”

  “But we can’t turn him out.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  The old man lay back with a sigh. “Times are changing. People are changing.”

  “How many times have you told me people don’t change?”

  “That’s true. They haven’t.”

  “I don’t know what to do with Hrel. I seek guidance, Sectuib.”

  “For once, perhaps, you’ll take some advice?”

  “You have a solution?”

  “Appoint Hrel to officiate at Feleho’s funeral.”

  “But that honor belongs....”

  “Usually. But this is a special case. You can handle the details, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, Sectuib. And it might work...no”—he warmed to the idea—“it will work! I can see that!”

  “Good. Now, while you are busy respecting my genius, perhaps you’ll consider my advice about Denrau.”

  “If Charnye can serve you, he can serve me.”

  “Charnye is getting old.”

  “My point, precisely. You require Denrau’s flexibility.”

  “So do you!”

  The two glared at each other for several seconds, anger fairly sparkling in the air between them. Then, simultaneously, they burst out laughing. There was no mirth in that exchange, but it said only that they weren’t on opposite sides, merely in disagreement about method.

  Grandfather caught his breath. “What Zeor needs is a new top-ranking Companion. No, make that two new Companions and a good channel.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Klyd. “Which is why I must qualify Naztehr Hugh. Zeor is growing. We are far too dependent on key individuals.”

  “Hugh? Isn’t that the name of the Arensti Designer?”

  “Yes, Grandfather. It is the same man, the one for whom we must purchase a wife so that he will stay with us.”

  “A good plan. I’m glad I thought of it. Decently talented Companions are hard to find. Tell me, how do you know this one will work out?”

  “His perceptivity tested in-range, and we are attuned. We have already achieved an unusual selur nager....”

  “When was this?”

  “When I was treating Rual in the school garden the other day. I have the greatest confidence in Hugh.”

  “Confidence isn’t enough. Is he well trained?”

  “He is totally untrained. He is from out-Territory....”

  “Out-Territory!”

  “But he is the Arensti Designer. Grandfather.”

  “Impossible!”

  “So I had thought.”

  “People are changing.”

  “No, I think they are still the same as ever...surprisingly different from each other.”

  “A traitorous disjunct and a Companion from out-Territory...all in one month!”

  “He is not a Companion yet, Grandfather.”

  The old man frowned, deeply worried. “Promise me Klyd, promise me in the name of Zeor...don’t attempt to qualify this Hugh unless Denrau is standing by—close by—monitoring everything and ready to step in if necessary. We can’t afford to lose you.”

  Klyd was silent.

  “I may not live long enough to see that you do it, so promise me, Unto Zeor.”

  “I can’t promise Unto Zeor, Grandfather. But I will promise you.”

  “Stubborn child.”

  “Apparently. It runs in the family.”

  “Humph! Well, am I allowed to meet this candidate, Hugh?”

  “He is somewhat more than a candidate. He has vowed Unto Zeor, yet he has not pledged or donated yet.”

  “I’d still like to meet him.”

  Klyd beckoned hastily to Valleroy to step up beside him. “I thought you would, so I brought him along.”

  As if perceiving another presence in the room for the first time, Grandfather measured Valleroy with a sudden penetrating gaze. “So you’re all three of these remarkable young Gens from out-Territory I’ve been hearing so much about. Give me your hand.”

  Valleroy drew back, a thundering fear pumping his heart faster and faster. The old man’s hand flashed out to grab Valleroy’s arm, pulling him forward at an awkward angle.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Valleroy saw Klyd motion to Denrau, who reached across the bed to intercede. But Grandfather impatiently shook off the Companion’s grip. “I won’t hurt him! What do you think I am, a junct?”

  Heart pounding irregularly. Valleroy saw two protectors trade glances and back off.

  “Tell me, youngster, what makes you want to be a Companion?”

  Fighting down his fear, Valleroy could think of nothing but the truth. “I’m not at all sure I do want to.”

  “Aha! Such wisdom is rare in the young. But my grandson has some damn fool notion of running off to Iburan. You go with him, take care of him, and I won’t worry so much.”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “But, for the honor of Zeor, don’t let anyone see you’re not our best Companion. We’d be disgraced for letting Klyd run around unprotected.”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “You have a dependable feel to you, son. I’ve always preferred a Companion with a solid nager. When you’ve qualified, be sure they leave a place in your schedule for me.”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “Now get out of here, and let an old man get some well-earned sleep. Had a hard night.”

  “Yes, Sectuib.”

  The wrinkled hands loosened and fell away, asleep almost before they touched the quilts. Dazed, Valleroy followed Klyd and Denrau out of the chamber.

  Outside, the channel, exchanging relieved glances with Denrau, leaned heavily
against the closed door. The Companion glanced at Valleroy, and then he said to Klyd, “Solid nager! I could have felt the oscillations all the way across the room! Klyd, he’s senile.”

  “I know. I thought he’d never make me promise!”

  “You handled him just right.”

  “Nobody handles Grandfather. He’s still got the best mind in Zeor. Hrel conducting Feleho’s funeral!”

  “I admit that’s pure genius, and it might even work, but by tomorrow he’ll have forgotten who Hrel is.”

  “That’s why he requires you, not Charnye.”

  “Are you sure you want to risk traveling like this?”

  “I don’t see any other way. We’ll be back in plenty of time to take all precautions with Yenava.”

  Denrau shrugged. Then he turned to Valleroy and said in nearly flawless English, “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, but Zeor doesn’t practice much formality.”

  “So I noticed. I’m very honored to meet you.”

  “And I, you.” He indicated the Arensti folio he’d picked up inside. “I’ll take this to the mill office. It really is one of the greatest pieces I’ve ever seen. A sure winner.”

  “Thank you. I hope so...for Zeor’s sake.”

  Denrau headed for the colonnade, but just at the hangings he turned and smiled. “I’ll be looking forward to your pledge party. It should be quite an affair.” Then he left.

  “I get the impression,” said Valleroy slowly, “he doesn’t have much faith in me.”

  “Neither do I at the moment. Listen, Hugh if you want to complete your assignment here, you’ll have to master that fear reaction. Here....” He took Valleroy’s hands, twining tentacles around the Gen wrist. “You see what I mean?”

  Valleroy flinched away from the Sime’s hot touch, his heart again racing painfully. The muscular, handling tentacles were covered with an incredibly soft, dry, smooth skin like a velvet sheath over steel. They left a lingering sensation on Valleroy’s skin that made his hair stand on end.

  “Hugh, I’m only reading the gradient...without even token lateral contact! What could you possibly be frightened of?”

  Valleroy tried to force his heart to slow down.

  “If you’re going to travel as my Companion, you’re going to have to get used to touching me.”

  “The Householding rule is to avoid contact....”

  “That’s for untrained Gens. A Companion is supposed to know when it is permitted and when not...without being told.”

  “Well, I’m not trained.”

  “So, I’m telling you. Because of your...accident...you and I are in-phase. As my Companion, you’ll be entitled to the same liberties as Denrau would.”

  “I don’t know how to behave like a Companion.”

  “For performance in front of the juncts, there isn’t much to it. Just stay close. You’ll learn.”

  As he followed Klyd down into the court, Valleroy wasn’t at all sure he wanted to learn...but he wasn’t sure he didn’t want to, either.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  COUNT THE DAYS OF MY DEATH AS I COUNTED THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

  Dawn found the central courtyard of the house of Zeor filled with the largest gathering Valleroy had yet seen there. He thought all four hundred-odd members, all their children, and most of the candidates were there. But the mood was somber, infused with a smoldering indignation held in check only by the overwhelming grief...Feleho had been a greatly loved son of Zeor.

  Very conscious of the Zeor crest ring now weighing down his right hand, Valleroy shared their feelings. Strictly speaking, he wouldn’t be entitled to that ring until he’d donated to Zeor through Klyd. Privately Valleroy still doubted if he’d be able to do it. But because of the ring, those around him assumed that he’d returned a formal pledge, joining his life to Zeor forever. That awakened in him the same thrill of daring excitement that Feleho’s greeting as Naztehr had.

  It felt good. But at the same time it made him feel guilty. One ought not to feel good on such an occasion.

  Resolutely, he fixed his eyes on the casket that lay on a hastily constructed bier in the center of the court. It was draped with a cloth of plain blue...Zeor’s blue. The sun was already rising into the clear sky.

  Hrel stood beside the bier. He was draped in an ankle-length cloak of Zeor blue richly embroidered with the Zeor symbols. He read from a prepared text. “This is the dawning of the First Day in the Death Count of Feleho Ambrov Zeor. Let it be recorded that he gave himself in an effort to save a donor from the pens. Let it further be recorded that he died because his laterals were severed above the....”

  Hrel choked on the words, and a gasp rippled through the audience. Valleroy saw mothers clutching their children as if to protect them from a like fate.

  Klyd stepped forward. He laid a hand on Hrel’s shoulder. Hrel coughed once, cleared his throat, and continued. “Since the time of Rimon Farris, atrocities have been committed upon us to keep us from attaining our goals. To the roll of martyrs, the name of Feleho, who of his own free will became Ambrov to Zeor, is added. Let not his death break our spirit. Let us lift his burden and carry it on so that his death will be imperceptible to his enemies.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then, in various places around the court, soft chanting began. It was a melody filled with all the grief humanity had ever known.

  Valleroy couldn’t make out the words until those near him took up the song. It was a simple refrain repeated over and over to variations on the basic melody. “Today is the First Day in the Death Count of Feleho Ambrov Zeor.”

  As the sun cleared the roof, sending its first rays probing into the courtyard, the bearers lifted the casket. In orderly rows, the crowd followed the draped coffin through the buildings, along the same route Valleroy had followed the previous morning just before meeting Feleho for the first and last time, and then out into the freshly harvested fields.

  It was a long walk, farther into the Householding grounds than Valleroy had yet been. He hadn’t realized how extensive the lands were. They passed the factory complex and emerged onto a dirt road that led through cultivated fields, mostly barren now after the harvest. Topping a gentle rise, the procession entered the cemetery of Householding Zeor...a much larger area than a group of four hundred ought to need. It was a well-kept spot, shaded by tall trees and guarded by a neat white fence with an arched gateway.

  The grave had been freshly dug the night before and a marker had been prepared. Surveying the neat rows of graves, Valleroy saw that about half the markers were of the three-lobed symbol like Feleho’s, but the others had only one lobe.

  Each of the mourners deposited a shovel of dirt over the coffin. Then Hrel and Klyd finished the job together, heedless of the flying dirt that speckled their clean blue cloaks.

  Valleroy stood aside while Feleho’s widow, a homely but well-scrubbed, hard working Sime, thanked Hrel for officiating and took her three-year-old son back to the Householding.

  She was allowed to walk alone before anyone else left the cemetery. Valleroy thought it must be the loneliest walk of a lifetime, and he resolved to kill the man who made it necessary if it took the rest of his life.

  The widow’s distant form was swallowed up by the hulking shadows of the factory complex. The others began to stir toward the cemetery gate after visiting the graves of others who had been dear to them. One by one they offered a few words to Klyd, pledged undying loyalty to him, thanked Hrel, and left, walking that dusty trail alone or with small children.

  At last, Hrel turned toward Klyd to speak the words of the pledge, but Klyd held up a hand, tentacles gesturing toward Valleroy. Having listened to several hundred repetitions, Valleroy managed to get through the formula without stumbling, but while his words to Klyd were spoken with real sincerity, they became meaningless noise when spoken to Hrel.

  The Sime didn’t seem to notice. His whole attention seemed to be turned inward even as he pledged his loyalty to Klyd and took the trail homeward.<
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  “I see what you mean about Hrel,” said Valleroy when they were alone at last. “It just might work. But does he know that he may have been the cause of Feleho’s murder?”

  “We had a long talk. If he was the cause, he knows it.”

  “I’m glad I’m not him!”

  “And he’s glad he’s not you.”

  Valleroy fingered the grave marker. “Tell me, why the two kinds of markers?”

  “The trefoil is used to mark the graves of martyrs.”

  Valleroy whistled. “So many!”

  “All gave themselves for our principles. It is a high price to pay in any currency. They will not be forgotten.”

  Uncomfortably, Valleroy changed the subject. “How much of this land is part of Zeor?”

  “In that direction,” said Klyd, indicating the south where Gen Territory lay, “all the way to the river. Over there, the hills mark our border. On the other side of the court buildings lies the city of Valzor. From Valzor to the river, only our fence line marks Zeor’s border.”

  “But only this small portion is cultivated.”

  “We expand every year, but it is slow because of the law. We can take in only those we can feed. And there is a head tax on every Gen we keep. That money goes to support the pens. The number of Simes who join us is very small. But in spite of it all, we grow. One day, all the Territory will be disjunct. There will be no fences, no borders and no perverts.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering himself back from the fringes of a distant dream. “But that day is a long way off, and we have a job to do today, this First Day in the Death Count of Feleho Ambrov Zeor.”

  As they took the path back toward the court, Valleroy said, “I went by the stables this morning. Our horses will be ready about now. You run a tight organization.”

  “That’s what it takes, Naztehr,” answered Klyd, striding ahead to walk alone as had the others. It was a strange custom to Valleroy, but he honored it as he had all the others. No doubt the meanings would become clear to him one day. He followed, glancing up at Grandfather’s sparkling windows, certain the old man was watching him despite being nearly blind.

  Dressed in Zeor’s traveling livery, with sturdy mounts from the Zeor stables, they took the road across the fields of Zeor northwest toward what Klyd called a main highway. When they reached it, about noon, and turned due north toward Iburan, Valleroy was a little startled to find that the highway was a graveled road laid along what must have been a way of the Ancients. It was either straight or very gently curved, and it went exactly where it wanted to, even biting deep into hills to stay level. The surface was a strange, powdery substance apparently designed to dry quickly and to provide good footing for horses without trapping wagon wheels. Only in the center of the wheel ruts was the gravel base exposed. The Gens, thought Valleroy, could certainly learn a thing or two from the Simes about road building.