The Novels of the Jaran

by Kate Elliott

  “I don’t know her,” Petya confessed. “I’m sorry. But Arina Veselov might, or Irena Orzhekov. After Mikhailov died, those two etsanas oversaw what became of the women and children who were left behind.” He hesitated again, visibly, his open face betraying doubt. “Vasil. Are you certain you will be welcome? You followed Mikhailov, after all. You tried to kill Bakhtiian. He has no reason to forgive you.”

  “No reason except what lies in his heart,” said Vasil, so low that only Petya heard him.

  Petya’s face became a flood of emotions that he suppressed with difficulty. “Then it’s true, the things Vera said about you.” He spoke quietly and, because it was in his nature, deferentially.

  Vasil snorted. “Vera is a snake, Petya, which I think you ought to know by now, being married to her as long as you have been. She says only what she pleases, to strengthen her own position.”

  “She no longer has a position. The etsanas stripped her of all rank. Arina argued against it, but Orzhekov and the elders insisted. Vera does menial work for Varia Telyegin, who treats her kindly enough, though she’s nothing but a servant now.”

  Vasil laughed. “I am amazed. She endures such treatment?”

  “What choice does she have?” Petya asked bitterly.

  Vasil turned his head smoothly to stare at Petya. “And after everything, after the way she treated you, after she betrayed your trust, you still love her?”

  Petya pressed his lips together and turned his face away, refusing to answer.

  “Here is the main army,” said Yevgeni. A scout hailed them, and Petya led them around its mass to the northwest, where they came to a ring of horses and a knot of men standing talking together.

  “Ah, there you are, Petya,” called a middle-aged man, dark featured and with a pleasant, open face. “What did you catch?” His gaze skipped over Vasil, wrenched back, and he blanched, as though he had seen a ghost. “Vasilley,” he said hoarsely. “I thought I would never see you again.” Then, transformed as if by the rising sun, his face lit with joy. “You damned bastard, where have you been?”

  Vasil dismounted and strode forward. The two men embraced. “Anton.” Vasil’s tone was fervent. “How I’ve missed you, you more than anyone, for all the kindness you ever showed me. You look well. I’m glad to see it.” He disengaged himself from Anton and turned to regard the other five men, who watched this reunion with interest. His gaze quickly fastened on the man who stood with quiet command to the far right. “You are Yaroslav Sakhalin?”

  Sakhalin nodded, acknowledging the question. “You are Sergei Veselov’s son Vasil? It would take a greater man than I not to be astonished by your sudden appearance here, and so many years after you vanished and were presumed dead.” He examined Vasil with an intent, intelligent gaze. He carried himself easily, with the relaxed authority of a man who knows he is both important and competent. He was a man at the height of his maturity, older than Vasil and Anton, but not yet old—old enough to have a married daughter and a nephew just elevated to his own command, and yet young enough to be a dangerous fighter still. His gaze settled on Anton, reading the dyan’s face, and then returned to Vasil. “What brings you back to us, Veselov?”

  Vasil did not speak immediately. His own men stirred restlessly in their saddles. Petya looked worried, gnawing at his lower lip. In the end, in the silence, it was amazingly enough Anton Veselov who spoke.

  “But, of course, if you just heard of your father's death, then you must have returned to claim the jahar. You are dyan by right, if the etsana and the elders agree to the election.”

  “But you are dyan, Anton,” said Sakhalin without expression. “Bakhtiian himself approved your election. I am sure no one will protest if you petition to keep your position.”

  Anton looked surprised. “You know yourself, Yaroslav, that it isn’t proper for a brother and sister to act together in authority over a tribe. They’re too close. There was simply no one else to take the position. And now there is.” He nodded at Vasil.

  “I have led these arenabekh for three years,” said Vasil quietly, “and I have brought khaja prisoners that I feel sure Bakhtiian wants.”

  “Arina will wish it also,” added Anton, “that her cousin become dyan.” Vasil flashed him a smile.

  Sakhalin’s lips twitched up. “Then the question becomes, will Bakhtiian wish it? Very well, Veselov. It is no business of mine. You may take your case to Bakhtiian himself.” He looked beyond the two men, at Vasil’s jahar. “Who are these khaja you have with you?”

  “The general of the army you just defeated, Sakhalin. As well as his son. The third is an honorable soldier who fought courageously in defense of the boy.”

  “You do me a service, then, in bringing them to me.”

  “I meant them for Bakhtiian, begging your pardon.”

  Sakhalin chuckled. “Did you, indeed? You may take them to him, then, and save me the bother. Anton, you will have to go as well, but I can’t afford to lose your riders. Have your captains report to me, until you—” Here a glance spared for Vasil. “—or your cousin returns.”

  “As you wish, Yaroslav,” replied Anton. He gave Vasil a slap on the arm and a grin, and then mounted and rode away with Petya and his troop to give the orders.

  “You seem to inspire loyalty, Veselov,” said Sakhalin, whether with sarcasm or admiration it was impossible to tell. He was distracted by a scout riding in. “What news?”

  “We’ve rounded up every khaja we could find in the valley and on the nearby slopes. There’s few enough women and children—they’ve either fled or been slaughtered by their own army, I don’t know which. What shall we do with the men?”

  “Sort out those who have some skill, artisans and blacksmiths. Kill the rest.” Sakhalin turned back to Vasil. “You’d best be on your way at dawn, Veselov. Bakhtiian is assembling the army, and he won’t want any confusion about his commanders, not on this campaign. We’ll be driving on through the pass in the morning. The heart of the kingdom lies beyond these mountains.” Then he turned to the man at his right, dismissing Vasil, and began to discuss supplies and fodder for the horses on the mountain crossing.

  The finest blush crept onto Vasil’s cheeks, but he turned and walked with a careless stride back to his horse. “We’ll set up camp here,” he said to Yevgeni, “and go on in the morning.”

  They found a quiet spot, distant from the ruined city and the slaughter going on there. The men built a few fires, including one set aside from the rest for Vasil. He sat before the fire, brooding. Bringing out his komis cup, he poured the pungent drink out of a flask and into the cup, and drank. By the other fires, his men laughed and sang songs and gambled, relaxed now as they had not been for a long time. Still, there was no assurance that Bakhtiian would not punish them: they were arenabekh, after all, men who had left the tribes for their own reasons, or been cast out. Some had no families to return to, and others, no hope that their tribes would want them back. But with the jaran tribes united, they had no future anywhere else. Vasil licked a spot of the fermented milk off of his lips and smiled. He knew Bakhtiian’s weak spots, and he knew how to exploit them. It came down to one thing in the end. It always had. What he wanted, he intended to have.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “DIANA, YOU DON’T HAVE to go through with this.”

  Diana stared at her hands, refusing to look up. After nine days sequestered in the Company’s camp, rehearsing every day and then staying behind when the others went out to explore the jaran encampment, she had grown used to her colleagues coming back to harangue her, to get her to change her mind, and in some cases to ridicule her for going native. But the more they tried to budge her, the more her resolve hardened.

  Now it was early morning of the day she was to marry, and Yomi had appeared at her tent at dawn with Tess Soerensen in tow. And left the two women there together.

  Diana stared at her pewter bracelet and heard Tess sigh. “Diana, are you even sure why you’re doing this?”

&nb
sp; Diana looked up. “You did it. You married Bakhtiian.”

  Tess chuckled. “Not on my second day in camp, I didn’t. Although it’s true enough the tribe welcomed me in as soon as I arrived, and adopted me only days after that. You must think of Anatoly as well. Have you considered what it would be like to stay here, after your Company goes back to Earth?”

  Diana twined her fingers together and fastened her gaze on her knuckles.

  “Or what it will be like for him if you leave?”

  She pressed her lips together. She could feel the heat burning in her cheeks. “Isn’t it better that we—even if I go, isn’t it better that we have shared something together than nothing?”

  “If by something you mean you want to have sex with him, I must tell you that you don’t need to be married to him to do that.”

  “But—” Diana felt all at sea, confused and hurt at once. “But why did he mark me, then? I thought all barbarians were prudes, that you had to be married or else it was—taboo or something. Bakhtiian killed a man, back at the port—”

  “For rape.”

  “You approved of it? The execution, I mean.”

  “I wasn’t there. You can’t make assumptions about these people, Diana.” She hesitated. Diana braced herself. She knew what was coming, and she was determined to resist it. But instead, Tess took her off guard. “I’ve asked my sister Sonia Orzhekov and Anatoly’s grandmother Elizaveta Sakhalin to come to you this afternoon before the celebration. I hope you will listen closely to what they say.”

  Which would be yet another attempt to talk her out of the marriage. “I’ve learned a little khush,” said Diana defensively. “You think I’m a fool for doing this, don’t you?”

  Tess smiled ruefully. “That would be rather like the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think? It’s easy to act on impulse, and much harder to think about what the consequences might be. But the consequences will show up sooner or later, and then you must prepare yourself to deal with them.”

  “I love him,” said Diana stubbornly, as much to convince herself as to convince Soerensen. Then she recalled the intense blue of his eyes, the piercing sweetness of his gaze, and she flushed.

  “Love is a compelling reason,” said Tess quietly, “if indeed what you’re feeling is love. But you don’t even know him. You’ve never exchanged one word with him that wasn’t translated through someone else.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t love him!” But, Goddess, what if Tess was trying to tell her that it was Anatoly who wanted free?

  Tess sighed and rose. “Just remember, Diana, that love is never the only reason. I’ll go now. Yomi said to tell you that rehearsal will start early this morning.”

  Diana flung her head up and jumped to her feet. “Oh, Goddess! If I’m late, Owen will have my head on a platter.”

  “Yes. I heard that the company will be doing its first performance tonight. What have they chosen to perform?”

  Diana shook her head as she pulled a tunic on over her shirt. “We’ve been rehearsing some of Ginny’s reductions of Shakespeare. Keeping the content without the verbiage and—well, reducing the story to its most basic components and mixing in some of the dell’Arte conventions of telling a story without words, or at least that the words in and of themselves don’t have to be understood to understand the story. Owen has us working with gesture primarily, and tone and intonation. It will be fascinating to see how well it carries over.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” Tess replied tonelessly. The two women parted, and Diana ran over to the rehearsal area. Luckily she was not the last one to arrive. Hyacinth jogged up at her heels. His white-blond hair was in disarray and he held his belt in his right hand, fastening it as he halted beside her.

  “Why are you late?” Diana demanded as they walked together through the screens and arrived to find the others assembled around the raised platform on which they usually rehearsed.

  Hyacinth winked at her. He had delicate features and perfect lips, and eyelashes to die for.

  Diana snorted. “Male or female?”

  He grinned. “Both. Together.”

  Diana laughed, choked it off, and flushed suddenly. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said in a whisper, aware that half the company was watching them.

  “Oh, Mother’s Tits, Diana,” said Hyacinth with disgust. “I may be gorgeous, but I’m not stupid. I’ve had days to watch how things go in the jaran camp. They invited me, not the other way around. I’m discreet, as were they.” Then he leaned down and nibbled at her right earlobe. “And as you know,” he said softly, “I’m very good.”

  Diana shoved him away, fighting back a smile. “I hope you’re keeping track. At the rate you go, you’ll sleep your way through half the camp before we leave.”

  “Only half? I’m wounded by your lack of faith. Look, here come Owen and Ginny. Phillippe and I have a bet running—I say we’ll do Lear, and he says we’ll do Tempest. What do you think?”

  “Anything but Dream,” Diana muttered.

  Hyacinth giggled. “Two men in love with the same woman. Too close for comfort, eh?”

  “Shut up!” she hissed, furious that she was so transparent, and especially to Hyacinth, who was not only promiscuous but a notorious gossip.

  Owen mounted the platform and surveyed his troops. “We’ll do our final run-through this morning and then move the stage to the performance ground. You’ll have the afternoon off, but I want everyone back at—” He checked the back of his hand to read the transparency strip, but all such physical evidence of their off-world origin had been left behind on the ship that had brought them here. “Ah.” He glanced around, perplexed. Ginny sat hunched over her notebook. His gaze settled on Yomi.

  “Sunset is at 1900 Standard. Meet at 1800 hours.”

  “As Yomi says. Now.” He paced from one end of the platform to the other, as if measuring it, studied the scattering of clouds in the sky, and motioned to Hyacinth. “Puck. We’ll walk the awakening scene first and then go back to the beginning.”

  Hyacinth smiled charmingly. “But you haven’t told us what we’re doing yet.”

  Owen blinked. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, of course. Come, come. We haven’t much time. I’m a little concerned about the division between our world and the faery world. But one must assume that all human cultures have some understanding of a spirit world, of a world coterminous with our own. I believe that the mythic element must touch all human cultures, that it is there that we must seek our initial contact.”

  At first Diana felt weak all over. Then she was furious. What would they think? What would Anatoly think? It was like a slap in the face, like making fun of something that was serious, not a lark. “You can’t!” she blurted out. “Owen, you can’t do it.”

  Owen blinked at her, looking bewildered. “Can’t do what?” he asked. Anahita tittered.

  “You can’t make me play that part. It’s…it’s…” She clenched her hands into fists and found that she was too upset to go on.

  “But it’s perfect. Love’s misunderstandings. Weddings. A comedy. It will play to the audience, and we will find a bridge across which we can communicate.”

  Hyacinth coughed into his hand, hiding his smug grin. “Poor Owen. I’m having no problem in communicating.”

  Unexpectedly, Hal spoke up. “Di’s right, Dad. Considering what happened with Burckhardt, isn’t it a bit inappropriate? What if the natives take it as an insult?”

  Owen regarded first Diana, and then Hal, with a penetrating gaze. His usual vagueness sloughed off him like a duck shedding water from its back. “I hear your reservations. But. I am right in this. Now. Hyacinth, shall we begin?”

  “I refuse,” said Diana, before she realized she meant to say it. “I refuse to play Helena. You’re asking me to insult my…my…” The word was hard to say, but she forced herself to say it. “My husband.”

  “Ooooh,” said Anahita. “My, my. Aren’t we the little queen today?”

 
“Anahita,” said Gwyn in a soft voice. “Shut up.”

  Everyone else was watching Owen. Owen scratched at his black hair, frowning a little. Then he clambered down from the platform and walked over to stand in front of Diana. She wanted to take a step back, but she did not. He pulled at his lower lip, studying her with his dark eyes.

  “Are you a member of this Company?” he asked finally.

  She swallowed, but she met his gaze. “Yes.”

  His voice dropped. In an undertone that could not be heard five feet from them, but carried clearly to her, he said, “Then do as I say. It is your choice, Diana. You are free to go, if that is what you wish. Although I would hate to lose you, that goes without saying. Now, will you play the part?”

  Her hands were still tightly fisted. She lowered her gaze away from him. Of course she was out of line, disputing with him in this way. Of course she was free to go. She had always been free to go, as were any of them. “I’m not free to go, and you know it,” she said in a whisper, because it was true. She was an actor. Her whole life had led her to this. “Yes.” She could not look up at him. She felt their stares like a weight on her. “I’ll play.”

  “Good.” He said it curtly but not without sympathy, and then turned and hopped back up on the platform.

  “From Puck’s entrance,” said Yomi.

  “Sorry,” muttered Hal, with a lift of his chin motioning toward his father.

  “Thanks,” she said, and took her place. And forced everything else out of her mind, to concentrate on her part: Helena, scorned by Demetrius—Demetrius, who together with Lysander loves Hermia—until out in the enchanted wood, by the mistaken conjurings of Puck, both Demetrius and Lysander forget their love for Hermia and compete for Helena’s affections.

  They broke at noon, and Diana went and sat in the big Company tent while the others trooped off to assemble the stage and screens over in the jaran camp. Joseph was assembling food for the company. He had a fire going outside, with a huge kettle full of soup set on a tripod over it. Inside, he frowned at the solar-powered oven that sat disguised as a chest in one corner of the tent. “We’ll need more flour soon,” he said. “And I don’t know how to requisition it. Otherwise we’ll have to give up bread.”