by J. D. Moyer
“No, you understood correctly. I’m going to ask Saga if she’s pregnant. And if so, if I’m the father.”
“I haven’t heard that she’s showing. Do I need to explain that to you as well, how a baby grows inside of a woman?”
“She could still be pregnant. And by now she would know.”
“Of course. But even if she is, you’re vain to think the child is definitely yours. Saga is not only a jarl but a fine-looking woman. She has her pick among men. Do you think you’re her only lover?”
Tem gritted his teeth. “I’m not vain. I just want to know.”
“What makes you think she knows? Maybe she lies with a different man each night.”
Tem increased his pace, trying to put some distance between himself and his cousin, but Sigurd had the longer legs and kept up easily, tongue continuing to flap. Had Farbror Trond not taught his sons mercy? Of course he hadn’t – Tem had witnessed his father and Trond go at each other ruthlessly, with other family members egging them on. That was the family communication style.
Descending the switchback trail that led into Kaldbrek’s valley, they heard sounds of celebration: singing and laughing.
“Is there a festival today?” Tem asked.
Sigurd shrugged. “Not that I know of. Perhaps a baby was born, or a couple married.”
Tem kept his hand on the hilt of his dagger as they passed through the farms on the outskirts of the village. The few people working the fields ignored them.
“Why is it that Svein wants to fight you?” Sigurd asked. “Baldr told me you tripped on his spear during the hunt. But why would Svein demand hólmganga?”
“He tripped me on purpose, and I got a bit angry. I may have scratched him with my knife.”
“You drew your blade? The godsteel one Father made for you?”
“Yes.” Tem gripped Squid Cutter’s hilt more tightly. They were in Kaldbrek proper now. The road was newly paved with cobble, and several buildings had grown taller with additional stories. The streets were empty, but the singing and laughing sounded much closer.
Tem had a healthy fear of Svein, and admitting that to himself didn’t make him feel diminished or any less of a man. He remembered clearly how easily Svein had dispatched Fyrirgef, sliding his spear into the great sow’s brain. Svein was a natural killer, efficient and dispassionate, and more proficient than Tem with both spear and sword.
But Tem was no longer the helpless boy that Svein had kidnapped twenty years ago. If Svein insisted on hólmganga, then duel they would. He’d brought Sigurd only to ensure fairness; he would not permit Svein and his goons to gang up on him alone. If Svein was willing to face him one-on-one, then so was Tem. If that’s what it took to talk to Saga, so be it. He would not let his fear control him.
And if he was being truthful with himself, it would feel good to sink Squid Cutter into Svein’s flesh. He wasn’t proud of that desire, but it lingered in his heart like a cold black fire.
A tall old man emerged from behind a storage shed at a full sprint, nearly colliding with them.
“What’s the hurry, whiskers?” Sigurd said. The man’s long white beard was braided into two forks.
The old man whirled on his heel and swung a heavy oaken cudgel, just missing Sigurd’s face. “Whiskers? You shall address me by my name.”
Tem released Squid Cutter’s hilt and opened his arms. “Egil! It’s been a long time. Sigurd, do you remember the poet Egil? Surely you’ve heard his name.”
Egil squinted. “Tem Espersson? And you –” he pointed his cudgel at Sigurd, who stepped back, “– you are a son of Trond, aren’t you? With those arms, you must be.”
“Yes, I am Sigurd Trondsson. I meant no offense.”
Egil laughed. “None taken! I wasn’t truly angry. I just wanted to see if you would piss yourself if an old man yelled at you. Did you?”
Sigurd frowned. “No.”
“Come, walk with me back to the party. I only stepped away to have a piss myself, but there is much öl left to be drunk.”
The three men walked astride. “What’s the cause for celebration?” Tem asked Egil.
“Völund’s birthday. Jarl Saga hosts a celebration every year, even though her uncle is long dead and gone.”
“Völund,” Sigurd said. “Wasn’t he the smith that held you captive?”
“And my father killed him for that.” Murdered him, he thought.
“Yet another reason it’s dangerous for you to set foot in Kaldbrek today,” Sigurd observed.
“What’s the other reason?” Egil asked.
“Svein, of course,” Sigurd said. “Svein demanded hólmganga, and Saga decreed that if Tem were to set foot in Kaldbrek then Svein would get his wish. And here we are.”
Egil twirled his beard. “I see that news of Svein’s death has not yet reached Happdal. He was killed by a trio of horse-riding sky people.”
Tem’s jaw dropped. “Svein is dead? Killed by people from the ringstations? How did you know they were sky people?”
“They told me so themselves. And after they passed, I followed the hoof prints and saw their craft with my own eyes.”
“Who were they?” Tem asked.
Sigurd scratched his head. “What’s a horse?”
“They said they were from a ship called the Michelangelo,” Egil said in his rough, melodious voice. “They offered gold and other gifts, so I didn’t trust them. But I warned them to turn back, as I had just seen Svein and his men on the same road. I knew that meeting would not go well, and I was correct. Though not in the way that I expected.”
“What happened?” Tem and Sigurd asked in unison.
“The sky people fought Svein and killed both him and Geir. Keld was injured in the fight but survived. He said one of them shot lightning from her weapon, like the Red Bearded Brother.”
“So Svein is truly dead.” Tem felt frozen, absorbing the news.
“I don’t imagine you’ll shed a tear for him. Nor will I. But it’s better that an outsider killed him than one of us.”
“Egil!” someone cried out. “You have brought guests. Introduce them!” And then a sheep’s horn of öl was in Tem’s hand, and the next hour passed in a blur. Several times he saw Saga from a distance, but always surrounded by a crowd, and when he tried to catch the jarl’s eye she looked away.
“I guess you can go if you want, Sigurd,” Tem said. “Thank you for accompanying me.”
“Of course, cousin. I love you like a brother. But I’m not going anywhere as long as they keep filling my horn.”
Sigurd slapped Tem’s shoulder and pushed his away through the crowd, in search of more öl. Someone grabbed Tem’s ass. He turned to see Saga regarding him skeptically.
“So you dared set foot in Kaldbrek again. Did you know Svein was dead?”
“Egil told me just now.”
“So you were feeling brave. Did you come to celebrate Völund’s birthday? Or are you here to pay your respects to Kaldbrek’s jarl?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Then talk.”
“Could we speak alone for a few minutes?”
Saga raised an eyebrow, and Tem feared he would be forced to say his piece in front of the whole village (and he was sure every ear was turned toward them). But Saga nodded and walked away. Relieved, Tem followed, watching her closely. Was there a slight bulge to her abdomen beneath her baggy clothing? They walked in silence to a large flat rock on the edge of town. Saga sat and gestured for Tem to join her.
“You have your privacy. Now speak.”
“Are you pregnant with my child?”
“It’s possible. I am with child.”
“You really have no idea who the father is?”
“There’s a good chance it’s you. And if it is, I would not be unhappy. I like your face and the color of your sk
in, and as a man you are both brave and kind. But even if you are the father, it will be my child. You need not concern yourself.”
“Of course I’m going to concern myself, if it’s mine.”
“You live in the sky. You have another woman.”
“I would find a way.”
Saga laughed. “You sky people think you can do anything. But even you can’t be in two places at once.”
“I could live in Happdal.”
“What about your woman?”
“Maggie gets along better with Elke than I thought possible.”
“That’s because Elke wants you back home. She’s playing nice.”
“Perhaps, but it’s not out of the question that Maggie would live in Happdal with me. If I’m to be a father, I want to be close to my child.”
“What if your woman refuses?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
Saga snorted appreciatively. “Fine, then. Come back in a couple years. If the child resembles you, we’ll talk again.”
Short of somehow convincing Saga to submit to a medical test, this was the best Tem could hope for. No certainty and no promises, but at least Saga wasn’t entirely shutting him out.
“So tell me, Tem Espersson, what has happened in the sky since I last saw you? Can you explain to me why Svein and Geir are dead?”
Tem told Saga all that he knew of Maro and the Michelangelo, though there were many gaps in his own knowledge. Saga listened carefully and asked many questions, and Tem was reminded that she was a good jarl and would do whatever she could to protect Kaldbrek.
Saga sighed. “There are those who want me to seek revenge for the murder of Svein and Geir, but how do you fight the gods?”
“They’re just men and women.”
“But they might as well be gods, for all I can do against them.”
Tem thought of his struggle against Manning, who had nearly killed both him and his mother. “When your enemy is more powerful, all you can do is be patient and clever. But I don’t think you have enemies on the Michelangelo anymore. Maro has been defeated.”
Saga rose from her seat. “It’s good to see you, Tem, but a jarl’s absence will be noticed.”
Tem nodded. “I think I’ve had enough öl – will you tell Sigurd I’ve returned to Happdal?”
Saga clasped his forearm and bid him goodbye. Tem watched her until she was out of sight. Not once did she look back.
He did not look forward to his next conversation with Maggie.
Chapter Forty-One
Jana felt nervous as the shuttle approached the Stanford’s inner hub. How would Katja react to her appearance?
“Are you feeling well?” Ekon asked. The pilot was absurdly handsome, even better looking than Maro, with a chiseled jawline and exquisite musculature. His olive skin glowed with a healthy sheen that belied his true nature.
“I feel okay. I prefer walking to spaceflight.”
“Humans are not well-adapted to weightlessness,” Ekon replied, stating the obvious. “But cybrids such as myself are well-suited to a wide range of environmental conditions. Now that we are citizens, a group of us have petitioned the Senate to include us in the next phase of interstellar exploration.”
“I thought the Iarudi was returned to the Liu Hui.”
“It was. But not before our Engineers had a very close look at it. Though you didn’t hear it from me.”
Ekon spoke in Italian for Jana’s benefit. She still understood English – an echo of knowledge from her time as a Crucible host – but was less fluent. That skill had only partially integrated into her own brain.
“I won’t mention it. It’s none of my business.”
“What are your plans? Will you return to Sardinia? My friend Aina is there. I believe she intends to stay.”
“I will visit – my father is there. But no, I don’t think I’ll return for good.”
“Why not, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Because I don’t think my partner wants to live there. And right now, she’s the most important person in my life.”
Jana thanked Ekon for the ride and wished him luck on his Senate petition. Maybe cybrids would be the ones to colonize other worlds, not humans. She asked him to send her greetings to Aina as well, as Ekon had explained how some cybrids could communicate via their thoughts, and he spoke with Aina frequently that way. Jana was familiar with that ability herself, but felt it now only as a void. The voices of Sperancia, Itria, Agatha, and Giuseppina were gone from her mind forever.
She cleared the Stanford bioscans relatively quickly, not having returned to Earth since her last visit. She wondered if Katja would be there to greet her once she descended the hub spoke. Ekon’s shuttle had received permission to approach and dock; her arrival was no secret. But she had no idea how far that information had been disseminated. Was Katja even aware of her arrival?
Jana felt the weight of her own body with some relief as the spoke elevator arrived and opened into the lobby, a spacious room decorated in oranges and reds, with many cushioned couches and chairs, and an entire wall dedicated to a viewing screen showing magnificent scenes of Earth vistas. A group was there to meet her: Katja, Regis Foster, a middle-aged couple who Jana guessed were Tem’s parents, and a slight, older man with close-cropped white hair.
“Look at you!” Katja said. “What have they done to you?”
“What do you think?” Jana asked. “Do I still seem like the same person?”
Katja pursed her lips, giving Jana a thorough up-and-down. “Of course you’re the same person. And I think I like the changes. Let me touch you.” She moved in for an embrace, which Jana gladly accepted. “Oh! You’re stronger now. Much stronger.”
Jana had taken Cassia up on her offer of physical modifications. She’d worked with a Michelangelo biodesigner for hours, experimenting in simulations with possible permutations of her new appearance. Eventually she’d settled on changes that were not dramatically different than her original appearance – she still wanted her friends and family to recognize her – but that more closely matched the way she’d always felt she should look.
The surgeries and genetic reprogramming treatments had each taken many hours, but Jana had been unconscious for all of it. Whatever drugs they’d given her had controlled the pain effectively, and her recovery had been quick. Learning how to walk and otherwise navigate the world in her new form had taken weeks. But she had the hang of it now. Her new body felt more natural than the old one.
Mostly, she was heavier and stronger, with thicker bones and stronger muscles. Facially she still looked like a woman, but more masculine, with a heavier jawline. Her features were more in proportion and geometrically pleasing.
Post-modifications, her feelings of bodily dysmorphia were not entirely gone, but much lessened. This body was Jana more than ever. Not perfect, but close enough to feel comfortable in her own skin.
“Welcome back, Jana,” said Regis. “From what I hear we have you to thank for avoiding a war.”
“Thank you,” Jana said, realizing she no longer felt any suspicion or animosity toward Regis. What she’d felt had been misplaced resentment for his obvious ease in his own body. More than anyone she’d met, Regis seemed physically comfortable, always relaxed but also strong and capable. She’d envied him, plain and simple. But that feeling had entirely dissipated.
A short woman with a pleasing face stepped forward. “My name is Car-En – I’m Tem’s mother. This is Esper, his father,” she said, gesturing to a tall, handsome man with long hair. Jana guessed that Tem’s parents were about the age of her own father, but looked much younger. “And this is my father, Shol.”
The old man nodded. “Nice to finally meet you. I was disappointed we didn’t get a chance during your first visit. I want to hear all about the Michelangelo, when you feel up to telling stories.�
�
“It’s the strangest place I’ve ever visited.” But even as she said the words she second-guessed herself, thinking of Itria’s version of Bosa with its bizarre mythical creatures. “Where is Tem?”
“Back in the Five Valleys,” Katja said. “And then to Ilium, to reunite with Maggie.”
“And is there any news from Bosa?”
“Yes. Pietro and his father are home again. After treatment in Ilium, the boy is walking. Filumena and Cristo have returned as well.”
Jana began to cry, a combination of happiness and relief. Katja embraced her again, not questioning her tears, and everyone else appeared to understand as well.
“Let’s get you home,” Shol said. “I’ll cook you a meal, and when you’re ready you can tell me about the new Roman Empire. I’m insanely curious.”
“Take it easy, Dad,” said Car-En. “She just got here.”
“It’s okay – it will feel good to tell you about it.” Jana felt lighter than she had in a long time. War had been averted. Filumena and Cristo were home safe. And Bosa was doing just fine without her, without the Crucible, without a maghiarja. Finally, she could live her own life without the burdens of an entire community depending on her.
***
Over a long family meal at Car-En and Esper’s apartment, Jana entertained Shol and the others with tales of awe-inspiring museums, reconstructions of Roman architecture, and the strange people she had met on the Michelangelo. Jana enjoyed the rapt attention but eventually tired of their endless questions. Katja, sensing this, suggested they take an evening walk in a Starside park she had discovered, just the two of them.
The park was situated on Slope-4, the narrowest shelf high above the main habitation level of the vast torus. Katja led Jana over a series of foot bridges crossing shallow ponds and creeks, passing by huge oval portholes showing the star-filled sky.
“So what’s next?” Katja asked. “Where do you want to go?”
“I want to go wherever you want to go,” Jana replied. After all she’d been through, she had no desire to be anything but direct.