by Pippa Jay
“No. Only once a year at this time. Those who feel they are ready for adulthood volunteer, and it is their one and only hunt, unless they’re the captain,” S’rano grinned, revealing fine white teeth somewhat sharper than a human’s. “An experienced guide is needed.”
“And the initiation?”
“There is a celebration and then they are given their tattoos by the village elders.”
Keir shot a fierce look at S’rano, chilled. “They volunteer for that too?”
“Gladly. It is the sign they are ready to take their place as adults, leaving childhood behind.” S’rano placed a hand on his own markings, the twining figure of a sea wraith emblazoned across his chest. “Your people have the same custom?”
The Salusian looked back to his landmark as the ship bucked beneath him, the wind picking up. He was glad of the distraction from a subject he still found distasteful. “No. Mine were done by others when I was a child,” he replied grimly.
S’rano seemed puzzled by the level of his resentment. “They are impressive. I’ve never seen so many on one man.” He hesitated. “When we come to shore, would you show me the others?”
Keir paused, not wishing to insult the young captain who had saved their lives, but still uncomfortable. What would Quin have advised? He had always kept his tattoos hidden out of shame, yet Quin thought them beautiful and now the captain had also admired them. “If you wish,” he said at last.
The captain looked thoughtful. “I’ve offended you,” he apologized. “You have some taboo…?”
“I am not offended.”
In a flash, Keir realized that he should be flattered, no matter what pain they had cost him in the past. To the Metraxian islanders, they were clearly a badge of honor, a testament to courage and maturity. That he had survived having them done should be accepted as the same, a trial passed, something to take pride in.
As the land began to take on clearer definition, Keir handed the ship back to her captain and went below to see Quin. She was awake and looking brighter, having finished the fruit he left for her. She smiled at him, and he watched her stifle a laugh.
“What?”
She rose and tried to brush her fingers through his hair. The sudden pain yanked a squawk of protest from his throat before he could stop it and he swatted her hands away. “What was that for?”
“Your hair!” she scolded.
Bemused, he reached up. The black curls had been dampened by sea spray and windblown, and his fingers revealed that they had dried into salty spikes like some bizarre tribal headdress.
“What have you been doing?” she giggled, relentlessly pulling at his hair even as he tried to fend her off.
“Sailing,” he said and grabbed her. He pulled her forward and kissed her with passion, tasting salt and fruit on her lips. “S’rano says we shall make landfall in the next half hour, and they will send a message to the palace straight away. It is unlikely they shall receive it until tonight so we will be honored guests at the islanders’ celebration.”
“So we have one more day,” she whispered.
Keir frowned, his hands resting on her shoulders. “You say that as if we shall never see each other again,” he said. “Are you tired of me already?”
“Never,” she told him, opening her mind to him as she kissed him fiercely.
He saw again the terrible fear she had of something coming and tried to reassure her.
Still overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, she broke away. “Let’s go up on deck,” she suggested. “I want to see where we’re going.”
“All right.”
He followed her up, noting her ease with the movement of the ship as it coursed through the waves. In three hundred years, she must have done things he could not even imagine. She had already referred to secrets. How much more was there for him to learn?
As they stood on deck and watched, the bay and wooden docks S’rano and his crew called home took shape. Even from a distance they could see spectators on the pink sand of the beach, and clusters of huts like their own abandoned home perched on stilts above the shoreline, set against a background of trees and the mountainous landmark. The crew dropped sail and the ship glided in alongside the wooden quay. A sudden flurry of activity exploded on deck as various crew members jumped ship and swiftly moored her.
People had lined the gangway to welcome them home and S’rano was the first to step ashore and be greeted by an older saurian male, dressed in a robe. A rapid discussion ensued and set a look of wonder on the robed elder’s green-scaled face. The chattering crowd fell silent in a wave as the news swept through them. The queen’s friend and her companion had been found and were now guests in their village. A ragged cheer went up and S’rano, his face triumphant, came to take Quin’s hand and escort her ashore. Keir followed, his steps less certain, hoping Quin’s actions would guide him on local custom. The saurian elder stood with his hands clasped together, yellow eyes wide with amazement. She bowed to him and he took her hands with gentle respect.
“My lady,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “All the world has been searching for you. I am L’enko, the chief here, and you are most welcome to our village. We are honored.”
She smiled. “Thank you. If it wasn’t for your brave captain and his crew, we wouldn’t have made it here alive.”
“Then there is double the honor to S’rano and his men,” the elder said, somberly. His eyes flickered to Keir. “And you are Keirlan?” He waited for Keir’s nod of confirmation before continuing. “You must be exhausted. Please.” He gestured aside the curious crowd, making a path through for them. “Come to my house and rest yourselves. You are our guests.”
Enthusiastic applause sent them on their way as they left the docks. S’rano accompanied them to L’enko’s house, and the chief’s wife and daughter whisked Quin away. Keir had misgivings at being separated but L’enko insisted on him being seated and provided for in the spacious living room of his palatial village home. Keir felt a surge of gratitude for S’rano’s steadfast presence as the captain kept the flustered chief from fussing over his important guest by recounting the hunt and the events of their rescue. Keir sat and listened as he surveyed the chief’s home, sipping from the cup of chilled fruit juice thrust upon him by L’enko.
The room, its floor space equivalent to the entire area of their abandoned hut, opened completely at one end to overlook the docks and the sea with a scattering of smaller homes set at a lower level. Rugs in the same shades of blue as those onboard S’rano’s ship covered the pale golden floor and lay draped over much of the furniture, which was large and ornately carved. Keir sighed and imagined having such a home himself. Was that too much to wish for?
The details of the sea wraith hunt appeared to horrify L’enko, who blessed the captain for his timely rescue. The tale all told, S’rano offered to take Keir on a tour of the village, despite the chief’s protests that he should rest. Keir accepted the offer gladly, curious to see how the islanders lived compared to his brief experience at the palace, though he wondered at Quin’s continued absence. Walking in the sun with the captain made for a pleasant distraction though they soon attracted a crowd. It was mostly children, wide-eyed at the sight of the mysterious visitor who knew the queen, although Keir recognized one or two faces from the ship tagging along at the back. Several demanded his name, his origin and an explanation for his hair and lack of scales. One small child, perhaps six or seven years old, his skin sky-blue, tugged at his hand amidst the clamor of questions and Keir stopped.
“What is it?” he asked, and the rest of the group fell silent.
“Can I see your tattoos, please?” the child asked.
Before Keir had done more than open his mouth to speak, S’rano intervened, already familiar with his reluctance.
“T’leko, you shouldn’t trouble our guest,” he reproached, and the boy looked as though he would burst into tears.
Keir knelt down, unable to refuse such an earnest and innocent request from one s
o young. With only a fleeting moment of hesitation, he pulled off the top S’rano had given him, and a small chorus of awe rose from the children. T’leko’s eyes grew large with amazement and Keir noticed even the two older crew members wearing envious expressions.
A little girl in pale-pink, even younger than T’leko, stood in front of him, one finger in her mouth. “Did they hurt?” she lisped.
“Yes,” he told her.
A floodgate of questions followed and S’rano sternly hushed some of the more demanding as Keir struggled to keep up.
“Do you have them all over?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “My father decided it should be done.”
“How many sea wraiths did you kill?”
“None.”
“Don’t pester him,” S’rano scolded them. “His customs are not ours.”
“It is all right,” Keir said. “I do not mind.” And felt surprised that it was true.
When one inquisitive child touched his back, he did not flinch, though it resulted in some of them poking him when he was not quick enough to give them his attention. One of the crew asked permission to copy the designs and a sketch pad appeared as if by magic when he assented. After an hour, S’rano told them to scatter and even the artist copying Keir’s back regretfully wandered away.
The soft fabric shushed as it slid back over Keir’s torso.
“The children will not forget that,” the captain told him. “I think there will be many requests for M’linka’s sketches when they come of age for their initiation.”
“Do they choose their own? There are no traditional ones?”
“Oh, there are many designs used by custom but all may make their own choices and the elders permit it. To come from another world and escape a sea wraith, your designs earn their own place of honor.” There was a hint of respect in the captain’s voice and Keir wondered what he had done to deserve it. “We should go back to L’enko’s now. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Then come.”
S’rano escorted him back to L’enko’s and then departed, explaining that he intended to prepare for the evening. L’enko, too, was busy, and left Keir to eat in peace after apologizing for such bad manners in abandoning his guest but Keir was thankful to be alone at last. When they had gone, he sat on the veranda at the front of the house, watching the villagers at work. Some called a greeting to him as they passed and T’leko came to sit at his feet and steal pieces of fruit from the table when he thought no one was looking.
T’leko leaped up suddenly, a large piece of fruit crammed in his mouth. Keir rose as Quin joined them, his heart racing a little faster at the sight of her.
The women had braided her hair into dozens of tiny plaits along her head and down the back, ending in bright turquoise beads. She wore a turquoise and black sarong wrapped around her hips, another tied in a complicated fashion around her chest, leaving her white arms and midriff bare. Her face had been made up in metallic blues and greens, with a pattern of tiny dots across her cheeks to mimic the scales of the Metraxians. A necklace of little shells lay around her neck, with a single elongated shell hung from the center. T’leko stared, mesmerized, until Keir gave him a nudge and he scampered away. Bewitched, Keir took Quin’s hand and drew her toward him.
She smiled as she placed a warm hand on his chest and traced a pattern. “S’rano says you had quite an audience today,” she murmured.
“They wanted to see my tattoos. They are a status symbol here.”
Quin followed the runic letters along his collarbone with gentle fingers. “I thought you hated them.”
“I did. I suppose I am learning to accept that they are as much a part of me as anything else.” He spread his fingers. “If you can accept me as I am, how can I not?”
“Not acceptance, Keir. I love you as you are.”
Keir’s chest tightened at her words. “When we get back to Lyagnius…” He closed his mouth but the unsaid words hung between them. The possibility they might not make it back. The chance that, even if they did, their relationship would be forced to change.
Quin sighed. “We don’t have to stay there. I told you that. But even if we did, the worst we’ll have to deal with is Surei’s disapproval.”
“Then, would you marry me?”
She pulled away but he held her, determined this time.
“I thought we’d already had this discussion on the boat.”
“And you refused me,” Keir acknowledged. “So I ask again. Marry me, Quin. Tonight.”
She stared at him for a moment, searching his face. A sudden fear struck him that she would say no. “Is that really what you want, Keir?”
Disappointment left a bitter taste on his tongue. “It is. But clearly you do not.”
“I’m not saying that–”
“Then what?” He released her. “Are you so concerned what your friends will think?”
“No.” She caught his fingers in her own. “But I’m three hundred years old–”
Keir pulled himself free and turned away. “So you see me as too young for you? A child?”
“No. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t know if you will be like me, whether you will age or not. Darion and I were together for more than two hundred years. I can’t promise you that.”
“But you said Darion became human. Did he age? If not, then perhaps neither will I.” Keir faced her, hopeful, only to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She had wrapped her arms tight around herself, a sign he knew meant she had been hurt. “What is it?”
“He only had human form for a short time, a few years. And then he was killed.” Her head fell forward. “I can’t promise you anything.”
He stepped close to her, placed his hands on her shoulders. With one hand he lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye. “Do you love me, Quin?”
A sad smile touched her face. “I do.”
“Then I do not care if we have two years or two hundred. No one can know that for sure.” He brushed the tear that had slid down her cheek as he spoke. “Marry me, Quin.”
“You’re set on that?”
“I am.”
The familiar crooked smile lit her face, and his tension eased. “Then, yes. I will marry you.”
“Wonderful!” cried someone behind them, making them start. L’enko stood in the doorway, yellow eyes tear-filled. “Congratulations!”
Quin blushed deeply enough for both of them, her eyes downcast. “Do you have the authority to marry us, L’enko?”
“I do, Tarquin Secker, and it would be a great privilege.” L’enko clasped his hands together, and seemed almost to dance on tiptoe, quivering. “This is so exciting!”
* * * *
Keir waited in M’linka’s hut and tried to still the quiver in his hands. The saurian artist sat hunched over his sketch pad, once more tracing the patterns on Keir’s back. Metraxian tradition required a groom to come bare-chested to his bride, to show the tattoo that marked his initiation into adulthood. When S’rano had given him the vows to learn and told him of the ritual, Keir had barely hesitated. He would honor his hosts and the woman he loved by going against his own inhibition and obeying islander tradition. And it gave M’linka, itching for a second look at the plethora of designs carved into Keir’s skin, another chance to sketch. He had professed himself flattered by the Salusian’s request to be his guide through the ceremony.
Keir watched the villagers pass by, to gather on the beach in brightly colored clothing and woven headdresses, bearing food for the banquet or burning torches to light the feast. The sun sank in crimson splendor, turning the sea to fiery gold. Talk and laughter rose above the voice of the sea, the sounds of excitement and anticipation. Listening to them only heightened his nerves. He dried sweating palms on the fabric of his trousers, ran the words through his mind over and over again. He prayed he would not stumble over them.
A sudden hush fell. M’linka laid his drawing a
side and rose to join Keir, whose mouth went dry as L’enko’s voice carried to him.
“My friends!” he cried. “Tonight we celebrate three great events. We welcome our wraith hunters back as men, ready to take on the responsibilities of adulthood. We welcome two honored guests, rescued by our brave hunters. And we celebrate their marriage, here in our village on this night!”
A rousing cheer and applause greeted his announcement.
“Let the ceremony begin!”
The Metraxians started clapping rhythmically, beating out a marching time. M’linka led the way out, down to the gathering, and brought Keir before the chief who sat on a throne of bamboo. Keir waited as S’rano came likewise, Quin walking behind him. She had her eyes downcast, a beautiful rose blush to her cheeks, still dressed in the flowing sarongs and with her hair braided. His body pulsed with heat as she raised her eyes to meet his, and then lowered her gaze to his bare chest. He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw her smile brighten as she understood his tribute to her.
“For you, my love.” He offered it as a gift.
Tears glimmered in her eyes and he loved her all the more for it. She knew what it signified and the fact that it mattered to her meant the world to him. She meant the world to him.
“You are my everything.” Her thoughts twined within his, and her love washed over him.
L’enko joined Quin’s left hand to Keir’s right, holding them together in both hands. The fact that Quin’s hand trembled as much as his own settled his nerves and he squeezed a reassurance.
L’enko called for silence and turned to Keir. “What do you seek here?”
The words he had feared to forget came easily now, because they came from his true desire. “I seek to bind my life to Tarquin Secker, the woman I love with all my heart and soul,” he replied, his voice as steady as the love he felt for her.
L’enko turned to Quin with the same question, and she answered calm and clear, as if she had waited all her life with those words on her lips. “I seek to bind my life to Keirlan de Corizi, the man I love with all my heart and soul.”