"You should consider returning to the old way exclusively," Lanrhel urged.
"I will consider it," Kislan said.
Of course he had not.
The news he was expecting arrived one rainy morning that made it feel as if summer were still very far away. After having finished tallying a shipment of leather goods from the tannery outside of town bound for Sithray, Kislan was helping get the cargo into the hold of the ship as quickly as possible. He wore a leather poncho and hood, but the rain still streamed down his face as he carried bundles on his shoulders between storehouse and gangplank and deck and hold.
He was coming down the gangplank, wiping rain out of his face, when Dibrel, one of his favorite boys in the house of Ishel, came barreling down the slick, wet streets, almost slipping as he turned the corner to the docks. "Kislan!" ten-year-old Dibrel called out, heading straight for him.
Kislan knelt down and caught the boy in his arms. "Dibrel! What are you doing away from the men's house? Don't you have lessons?"
"Sabair told me to come to you. You can't come this afternoon to teach the drawing-writing, or you will be sent back to the sea." The boy swallowed back a sob. "You won't be sent back to the sea, will you, Kislan?"
Despite the rain, despite the need to get the rest of the cargo protected in the hold of the ship, the men near enough to hear Dibrel had stopped what they were doing and stared at Kislan and the boy.
What was he supposed to say? Naturally he wouldn't go teach the boys today --he didn't want to endanger them --but he could hardly promise Dibrel that he wouldn't be sent back to the sea if he didn't even know yet if he would be able to abide by the new law.
"I don't know, Dibrel."
The little boy burst into tears.
Neyas, the captain of the ship, turned to the dock workers and others standing around, and clapped his hands. "Be about your work now!"
Kislan knelt there on the docks, Dibrel gathered to his chest under the poncho, and let the rain roll off them until the boy's sobs ebbed.
#
When Irving Moshofski brought Toni the news about the new law, she closed her eyes and put her forehead in her fists. She had been expecting it, of course, but on some irrationally optimistic level, she had hoped it wouldn't happen. The Mejan were ruled by women, after all
--and while she had never actually seen a society ruled by women before being assigned by the Allied Interstellar Research Association to Christmas-Kailazh, as a teenager and young adult, she had found comfort in the theories of a better, kinder matriarchy whenever she was confronted by social obstacles that felt as if they should have been dead centuries ago. And now here was the better, kinder matriarchy being just as defensive about maintaining its hold on power as patriarchy ever had.
What was particularly disheartening was that the Council of Edaru was obviously aware that what they were doing was wrong: they had framed the prohibition on writing as an attempt to keep Mejan culture pure, keep the influence of the visitors from the stars from growing too strong until the Mejan inter-city council could decide on whether to join the Allied Interstellar Community and allow a larger presence of star-travelers on Kailazh. Only select scholars (all women, of course) were to be allowed to study the language and writing of the first contact team.
"You have discontinued all teaching of our writing to any Mejan men, as I requested?" Moshofski asked.
Toni nodded. "I stopped weeks ago."
"Good. It's hard to know what actions might disrupt an alien society, and we all make mistakes. But we will have to lay low for a while, I think." She could only hope that Kislan would lay low too. Somehow she doubted it. After Moshofski left contact house one, Toni packed her things in a leather satchel she had bought in the market of Edaru for a ring of iron.
It was time to visit the council of Edaru again.
The building which housed the government and administrative offices of the city was situated on a large square near the wharves, a long, low building of orangish-yellow stone decorated with wave-like patterns in shades of red and blue and purple. While the council itself was not meeting today, Toni was sure to find some of the members discussing improvements needed to the streets, or trading agreements with the other cities of the Mejan, or measures to be taken against the pirates --or even the treaty being offered by AIC to join the alliance. She pushed open the door into the wide central hallway, where lace hangings covered the walls --what Toni had once misinterpreted as decorations. She now knew that they were records and histories, the equivalent of plaques in her native culture. The receptionist on duty in the Edaru common house raised the back of his hand to his forehead. Toni returned the gesture. "Sha bo sham. Is Anash or Thuyene here today?"
"Sha bo sham, tajan." The young man shook his head. "They are both in the green receiving room."
"Do you think they would have time to see me?"
"I will check."
In short order, he returned and led Toni to a comfortable room at the back of the house with a view of the gardens behind the building.
Thuyene and Anash rose, tall, dark-haired women both, striking and self-possessed, but while Anash's hair was well-streaked with gray, Thuyene looked as young as Toni --which probably meant she was much younger.
"Sha bo sham, Toni," Anash said. "To what do we owe the honor of this visit?"
"Kislan."
Neither woman responded for a moment.
Finally Thuyene spoke. "Ah, about the drawing-writing?" Toni thought she heard a hint of resentment in the other woman's voice, but it was still hard for her to read gestures and signals on this very foreign world.
Toni shook her head. "Yes. It is my mistake that he is using our way of writing, but there was no law against it when I arrived in Edaru."
"There is no blame," Anash said, and once again Toni thought she heard something very different in her tone of voice. "But with this knowledge you bring, things have changed, and we must change the laws accordingly."
"You must know that given the present developments, we are considering no longer teaching you Alanaru aka Shemaledam, ambassador," Thuyene added. This time Toni was sure her voice held a gloating note.
"But if you acknowledge my role in this, you cannot punish another," Toni said. Anash nodded, disagreeing. "You are and remain a visiting dignitary. If the Thirteen Cities decide to send you from our world, to no longer deal with your Ayaissee, we still must deal with the changes your presence has brought about here." Thuyene narrowed her eyes and the smile had disappeared from her face. "Fear not, you will take responsibility for your actions."
Anash continued. "If Kislan does not conform to the new law, we will see to it that you send him to the sea yourself."
#
The young male council member Sabair, one of the representatives of the house of Ishel, brought Kislan his first official warning.
Kislan was returning to the Ishel house of men from the factors' offices, when Sabair caught up with him on a steep, cobbled street leading away from the docks.
"Kislan, I need to speak with you."
Kislan looked at the younger man and shook his head in accord. "What is it, brother?" To his credit, Sabair looked slightly embarrassed. Since the women of the House of Ishel had stopped sending for Kislan to warm their beds at night, Sabair had become the most popular man in the Ishel men's house. It didn't bother Kislan; he had long grown tired of being the most in demand. But it would be a while before Sabair reached that point, and right now he wouldn't believe Kislan anyway, thinking his denial injured pride.
"It has come to the attention of the council that you are still using the writing of the Ayaissee, although it has been forbidden," Sabair said. The late spring sun glinted on the unusual golden strands in his hair between his colorful braids, and his step was graceful and sure. Kislan had no problem understanding what the women of his house saw in the younger man. "I have been asked to officially inform you that you are under observation," his house brother continued. "If you do not com
ply with the new law, measures will have to be taken." Kislan barely resisted the temptation to smile at the euphemism for returning him to the sea.
"Thank you for carrying the message."
The street leveled out, and they neared the large complex of buildings belonging to the house of Ishel. The elaborately carved stones of the lintel and entranceway to the common house were painted predominantly in the colors of the house, purple and green. Theirs was a rich family, and the two of them had been lucky to be asked to join it. Right now, Kislan could no longer care. And he didn't understand what had happened to him. He caught sight of Dibrel playing with the other boys in the courtyard between the houses of men and women just as the boy caught sight of them and ran to greet him. Kislan, not Sabair.
He blinked away tears, realizing that it wasn't true that he could no longer care. But somehow, even the love of a child wasn't enough for him to change his course. The new law was wrong, and Kislan would continue to take his tablet and parchment and pensil with him to the docks. He knew that just as he knew that the smell of a child clinging to his hips was one of the great joys of this life.
#
Kislan's sentence was pronounced less than a ten-day later: he would be returned to the sea when all three moons were visible in the sky.
To his surprise, instead of being ostracized, Kislan found that the men of Edaru began to seek him out in a nearly constant stream. Surreptitiously, for the most part, a chance meeting on the sea wall or in the outskirts of Edaru, the places he spent the three days left to him walking now that he could no longer work as a factor for the house of Ishel. And the men who spoke to him all had rumors and advice and words of encouragement, claiming to know that the pirates of the eastern coast would take him in, claiming to have received messages from others who had been returned to the sea, long after they were gone. Men who sympathized with his plight and feared for him, but on some level even seemed to envy him a little.
Kislan had never known the potential for rebellion in his society --he had thought the men of the Thirteen Cities almost universally content with their lot. Perhaps they were, but it appeared that many found the punishments meted out by the council too harsh by far.
Zhoran too sought him out, away from the building complex of the house of Ishel, away even from the house of men, and he had more than rumors and support to offer. He had a plan.
"Meet me in the woods west of the Ayaissee landing base before dusk," Zhoran murmured when they "chanced" to run into each other at the sea wall on a day heavy with rain, the second day after Kislan's sentence.
Among the tharush and yenzi trees, their thick fronds of red and orange growing wider by the day, Zhoran told him that his ship was scheduled to leave for Larhas with a shipment of the finely tooled leather garments --the same day Kislan would be returned to the sea.
"I cannot leave immediately, they will be watching the ships too closely," Zhoran said. "But if you swim south and east, there is an atoll within sight of the coast about half a day away. You must try to find it and I will pick you up there, hopefully before nightfall." They both knew that Kislan would first have to survive that long.
"And then what?" Kislan asked.
"I have already sent word to a captain of the Tusalis. I hope it will reach him and that he will meet us and take you to the cities of the east."
Kislan resisted the temptation to object to going with pirates. What choice did he have?
"You are a true brother, Zhoran."
"And you, Kislan. But now I must return to overseeing the packing of the goods. There is little time if I want to leave the day after tomorrow."
"Will it not look suspicious that you moved up your departure?" Zhoran shrugged, grinning. "I have already moved it back, claiming my ship needed repairs. I had to be ready."
Kislan's throat tightened, and he embraced the older man.
But Zhoran was not the only one who sought him out on the sea wall with a plan, as it turned out. The next day, the last day before he was to be returned to the sea, he ran into the ambassador from the stars herself.
Near the same spot where they had once embraced.
"I cannot be seen speaking with you long," Toni said hurriedly, her face turned away, pretending to ignore him. "I am to be one of the three women who will be returning you to the sea tomorrow. I will contrive to speak with you, and you must do as I say. I do not yet know if all will go as I hope."
Kislan shook his head assent. "You wish to help me?" He saw her start, but she didn't turn to face him. "I will do what I can."
"It would have been better if you had done something earlier." She looked down at the stones beneath their feet. "I tried, I'm sorry. But now I must go. If they suspect me of wanting to help you, the council may change its plans in having me take part."
With that, she hurried away towards the city, leaving him with more questions than answers.
#
Toni was fighting unwelcome emotions as she left Kislan behind on the sea wall. What was happening to her? When Toni had realized that Kislan was little more than a present to her from the leading house of Edaru, she had thought her initial attraction to him over - the exotic foreigner, desirable member of a reigning house, had suddenly become little better than a slave. She had not been proud of her reaction, of her change of mind, but there it was. And now, with his rebellion, he was gaining in fascination again. Her confused feelings aside, she had to save him if she could. Unfortunately, she didn't know if he would take the tracer even if she did contrive to give it to him; he no longer trusted her.
Since part of the ceremony was the ritual stripping and head-shaving of the person to be returned to the sea, Toni could not give him the device until just before he was to dive into the ocean from which all life came. And it would have to be something no one would notice. She had decided on one of the flesh-toned ear inserts first contact teams often used for covert recording and communication operations.
With a tracer, she could find him when she had a chance to get away from Edaru. She could help him.
His sentence was her fault.
But when she returned to Contact House One, Jackson Gates was removing the tracking sensor from the insert she had prepared and replacing it with a recorder. He looked up when she entered. "Irving and I will be wearing these tomorrow to make a recording of the ceremony. I don't think you'll need one." That was more than a hint. Which meant she would have to come up with another plan.
#
Toni followed Kislan and his guards to the end of the pier, the tracer embedded in a tiny piece of macramé she had created of thread and thin wires and resting in a pocket of the finely tooled leather cape she wore. Next to her were Anash and Thuyene of the house of Ishel, Anash carrying the length of lace recording the events of Kislan's life, his fashar. Toni had to get her hands on it.
The morning air was cool, but at least the sun was shining. Toni only hoped that Kislan would survive the ceremony, that the extreme lung capacity of the natives of Kailazh would take him past banishment and past danger.
When she had first seen a vid of the ceremony of "returning to the sea" on the way from Admetos to her new assignment on Kailazh, it had reminded her of nothing so much as an execution. Now that she had been on this planet for half a Kailazh year --in pure hours of time, what amounted to about nine standard months --she knew that many if not most of those made to "walk the plank" survived the experience. The punishment was in essence banishment.
It still didn't make her feel any better following Kislan to the end of the pier. A man she had once imagined she loved.
And was beginning to imagine she loved once more.
Anash had the fashar draped over her extended arms as they marched slowly behind Kislan and Lanrhel and the two other men flanking them. Toni brushed her hand next to the lace to see if Anash would notice. She didn't. With one hand, Toni pinched the trailing length of fashar while she pulled the tracer out of her pocket with the other. Their pace was stately and slow
, and Toni quickly wound the wire and thread of the tracer through the gaps in the lace she held.
Hopefully it would hold. And hopefully Kislan would retrieve it from the sea. Now all she had to do was get the message to him to go after his fashar once it was tossed after him --tell him here in the middle of this public ritual of humiliation and exile. Perhaps if she provided a distraction? A distraction should be easy enough. She was nearly blinded by tears anyway, tears that many watching the ceremony had probably noticed. Toni pretended to stumble on the hem of her long, formal leather cape, going to hands and knees on the pier with a grunt of pain.
Automatically, Kislan whirled around and knelt down to come to her aid. To Toni's relief, no one pulled him away from her, perhaps held back by some instinctive respect for emotionally charged moments --despite the differences in their respective cultures.
"You must retrieve the lace flung after you into the ocean," Toni murmured urgently, her head still bowed. "There is a tracer hidden in it that will help me find you." But of course there was no word for "tracer" in his language, Alnar ag Ledar. Toni had made up a term for it, kay ag rosalek or "tool of following." She wasn't surprised when he looked at her blankly. But now the hands she had expected were at her elbows, lifting her up, just as Kislan was being drawn up and away, and there was no more time to explain. She tried to meet his eyes, see if he had understood her message, but he was already being yanked around to face his fate at the end of the pier.
Toni's tears began flowing in earnest.
#
Kislan allowed himself to be turned back towards the sea, wondering what Toni had meant. And what he should do. Her tears had been real, of that he was sure, and her stumble had been staged. Toni did not stumble, she strode. She had contrived to speak with him as she had promised yesterday.
But what did it mean? Should he really retrieve the record of his life from the sea? He was leaving that life, it was over. He hoped he would make it beyond the boundaries of Edaru, but even if he did, his fashar was of no interest to anyone anymore, least of all him. He no longer had a birth house or a chosen house that would care to hang the written memory of his achievements on their walls.
Beyond the Waters of the World Page 2