Kai looked at the weathered, handsome face of Bie OldFather, at the creased, folded lines ke had caressed and licked in the heat of lovemaking, and ke saw that Bie’s love had hardened and grown brittle.
“I’m only a servant of VeiSaTi,” Kai answered softly and hopelessly. “BieTe, please, you don’t want to anger a god. I love you. My time here has been wonderful and for that I wish I could stay, but I have my duty.” Kai indicated ker own shangaa, dyed bright yellow from the juices of pagla root: VeiSaTi’s favored plant, that the god had spewed upon the earth so that all could eat. “Mas has her child. HajXa and CerXa will deliver soon. I have given your people all that a Sa can.”
A cloud, driven fast by the high wind, cloaked the sun for a moment before passing. The brais, the Sun’s Eye high on their foreheads, registered the quick shift in light and both of them crouched instinctively as if ready to flee from a diving wingclaw. Kai watched the scudding clouds pass overhead for a few seconds, then glanced back at Bie. His face was as hard as the Telling Stone, as unyielding as the bronze drill he’d used to carve it. “You should not leave yet,” he said. “Tonight, we will give thanks to VeiSaTi for the new child. You must be here for the ceremony.”
“And then I may go?”
BieTe didn’t answer. He was staring at the Telling Stone, and whatever he was thinking was hidden. He picked up the hammerstone from the ground and hefted it in his hand. “You’ll walk back with me now,” he said.
There didn’t seem to be an answer to that.
BieTe left Kai almost as soon as they reached the village, going off to examine the pagla fields. His mood had not improved during their walk, and Kai was glad to be left alone. Ke went into the TeTa dwelling. “MasTa?” ke called softly.
“In here, Kai.”
Kai slid behind the curtain that screened the sleeping quarters. “I’m so happy for you,” ke said. “May…may I see?”
MasTa smiled at Kai. Almost shyly, she unfastened the closures of her shangaa, exposing her body. Sliding a hand down her abdomen, she opened the muscular lip of her youngpouch and let Kai peer inside. The infant, eyes still closed and entirely hairless, not much longer than Kai’s hand, was curled at the bottom of the snug pocket of Mas’s flesh. Her mouth was fastened on one of Mas’s nipples, and her sides heaved in the rapid breath of the newborn as she suckled. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Mas whispered.
Kai reached into the warm youngpouch and stroked the child gently, enjoying the shiver ker daughter gave as ke touched her. “Yes,” ke sighed. “She’s beautiful, yes.” Reluctantly, ke took ker hand from the pouch and stroked Mas’s cheek with fingers still fragrant and moist from the infant. Ke fondled the tight, red-gold curls down her neck. “After all, she’s yours.”
Mas laughed at that. She let the youngpouch close, fastened her shangaa again, and reclined on the pillows supporting her back.
“Tired?” Kai asked.
“A little.”
“Then rest. I’ll leave you alone to sleep.”
“No, Kai,” Mas said. “Please.”
“All right.” Kai settled back into the nest of pillows piled in the sleeping room. For what seemed a long time, ke simply watched Mas, enjoying the way the sunlight burned in her hair and burnished the pattern of her skin as it came through the open window of the residence. As ke gazed at her, ke could feel that part of ker did indeed want to stay, to watch this child of kers and Mas and Bie grow, to see her weaned from the pouch when the weather turned warm again, to listen to her first words and watch the reflection of kerself in the new child’s eyes. Mas must have guessed what ke was thinking, for she spoke from her repose, her eyes closed against the sun.
“I know that you must leave. I understand.”
“I’m glad someone does.” Kai said it as unharshly as ke could.
Her large eyes opened, that surprising flecked blue-green that was so rare and so striking. A knitted covering tied around her head shielded her brais from the afternoon glare. “Bei loves you as much as I do. Maybe more. He told me once that you have made him feel whole. He’s afraid, Kai. That’s all. He’s afraid that when you leave, you’ll take part of him with you.”
“I’m leaving behind far more of myself than I’m taking,” Kai answered. Ke stroked ker own belly for emphasis. “I’m leaving behind your child, and Haj and Cer’s. I’ve given you VeiSaTi’s gift. Now I must give it to others.”
“Why?” Mas asked. Her bright, colorful eyes searched ker face.
“Now you sound like BieTe,” Kai said, and softened ker words with a laugh. “I’m a Sa. I’ve been taught the ways of the Sa. After I leave, other Sa will come here.”
“And if they don’t?”
“You’ll still have children,” Kai said, answering the question ke knew was hidden behind her words. “With BieTe alone.”
“I had three other children before you came,” Mas said. “Only one lived, a male. Bie sent him away.” Mas averted her eyes, not looking at Kai, and her skin went pale with sadness. Kai’s own brown arms whitened in sympathy. “The others…well, my first one lived only a season. The other, a female, was wild and strange. She never learned to talk, and she was fey. She would attack me when I was sleeping, or kill the little meatfurs just to watch them die. A wingclaw took her finally, or that’s what BieTe told me. I…I found it hard to mourn.”
“Mas—” Kai leaned forward to hold Mas, but she bared her gums.
“Don’t,” Mas said. “Don’t, because you’ll only make me miss you more. You’ll only make it harder.” Mas brought her legs up. Arms around knees, she hugged herself, as if she was cold. “The sun’s almost down. Bie will be starting the ceremony soon. I need to sleep, so I’ll be ready.”
“I understand,” Kai said.…the smell of the rotten paglanut, breaking in ker hand…“I understand. I…I’ll see you then.”
Reaching forward, ke patted the youngpouch through her shangaa. “Sleep for a bit. Rest.” Ke rose and went to the door of the chamber. Stopping there, ke looked back at her, at the way she watched ker.
“I love you, MasTa,” ke said.
She didn’t smile. “I love you also,” she said. “But I wish I didn’t.”
VOICE: Anaïs Koda-Levin the Younger
“Clean Euzhan up and get her into a bed,” I told our assistants. “She should be waking up in about ten minutes or so—let Hui or me know if she isn’t responding. Hayat, we’re going to need more whole blood, so after you get Euzhan comfortable, round up three or four of her mi, da, or sibs and get some. Ama, if you’d take charge of the cleanup.…”
As they rolled Euzhan away to one of the clinic rooms, I went to the sink and scrubbed the blood and thorn-vine sap from my hands. Hui shuffled alongside me, using the other spigot. When I’d finished drying, I leaned back against the cool wall, frowning through the weariness. Hui shook water from his hands, toweled dry, and tossed the towel in the hamper as I watched his slow, deliberate motions.
I knew what he was going to say before he said it. We’d been working together for that long.
“You did what you could, Anaïs. Now we wait and see.” Hui stretched out one ancient forefinger and tapped me gently under the chin. “We can’t do anything else for her right now.”
“Hui, you saw how close that was.” I shivered at the memory. “The descending oblique was nearly severed. If those claws had dug in a few millimeters deeper…”
“But they didn’t, and Euzhan will fight off infections or she won’t, and we’ll do what we need to do, whatever happens. Ana, what did I tell you when you first started studying with me?”
That finally coaxed a wan, grudging smile through the fog of exhaustion. “Let’s see…‘Is that expression normal for you, child, or does catatonia run in your family?’ Or how about: ‘I’m afraid to let you handle a broom, much less a scalpel.’ Oh, and I couldn’t forget: I’m sure you have some qualities, or they wouldn’t have sent you to me. Let’s hope we manage to stumble across them before you kill someone
.’” I shrugged. “Those were some of the milder quotes that I can recall. I was sure you were going to send me home and tell my family that I was hopeless.”
Hui snorted. The wrinkles around his almond eyes pressed deeper as he grinned. “I very nearly did. You have a good memory, Anaïs, but a selective one. You’ve forgotten the one important thing.”
“And what was that?”
I could see myself in his dark eyes. I could also see the filmy white of the cataracts that were slowly and irrevocably destroying his vision. Not that Hui would ever complain or even admit it, though I’d noticed—silently—that he’d passed nearly all the surgery to me in the past year. “I once told you that no matter how good you were, you are only a tool in the hands of whatever kami inhabits this place. You’re a very good tool, Anaïs, and you have done all the work that you’re capable of doing for the moment. Be satisfied. Besides, it’s no longer you that I’m hounding; it’s Hayat and Ama.” His forefinger tapped me under my chin once more. “Come on, child.”
“I’m not a child, Hui.”
“No, you’re not. But I still get to call you that. Come on. Dominic will be going apoplectic by now, and we can’t afford that at his age.”
Hui was right about that. As we came through the doors into the clinic’s waiting room, half of the Allen-Shimmura family surged forward toward us, with patriarch Dominic at the fore. I avoided him and tried to give a reassuring smile to Andrea and Hizo, Ochiba’s other two children, both of them standing close behind the bulwark of Dominic.
“Well?” the old man snapped. He was as thin as a thorn-vine stalk, and as prickly. His narrow lips were surrounded by furrows, his black, almost pupilless eyes were overhung by folds. His voice had gone to wavering with his great age, but was no less edged for that. The grandson of Rebecca Allen, he was one of the few people left of the third generation. My Geema Anaïs once described Dominic as being like a strip of preserved meat: too salty and dry to decay, and too tough to be worth chewing. “How is she?”
I noticed immediately that Dominic was looking at Hui rather than me, even though the patriarch was aware that I had been in charge of the surgery.
Hui noticed it as well. He was wearing what I thought of as his “go ahead and make your mistake” face, the expressionless and noncommittal mask he wore when one of his students would look up quizzically while making an incision. Hui leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Anaïs did the surgery. All I did was assist.” He said nothing more. The silence stretched for several seconds before Dominic finally sniffed, glared at Hui angrily, and turned his sour gaze on me.
“Well?” he snapped once more.
“Euzhan’s fine for the moment.” I found it easier, after the first few words, to put my regard elsewhere. I let my gaze wander, making eye contact with Euzhan’s mi and da, and favoring Elio with a transient smile. ‘’We cleaned up the wound—nothing vital was injured, but we had to repair more muscle damage than I like. She’s going to need therapy afterward, but we’ll work out some schedule for that later. Actually, she should be waking up in a few minutes. She’s going to be groggy and in some pain—Hui’s already prepared painkillers for her. Dominic, I’ll leave it to you. It would be good if there were some familiar faces around her when she comes out of the anesthetic. But no more than two of you, please.”
Dominic’s grim expression relaxed slightly. He allowed me a fleeting, brief half-smile. “Stefani, come with me. KaWai, take the rest of the Family home and get them fed. Tell Bui that he’s been damned lucky. Damned lucky.” With those abrupt commands, he left the room with his shuffling, slow walk that still somehow managed to appear regal. The rest of the family murmured for a few minutes, thanking me and Hui, and then drifted from the clinic into the cold night. Eventually, only Hui and myself were left.
“He really doesn’t like you, does he?”
That garnered a laugh that might have come from the eastern desert. “You noticed.”
“So what’s the problem between the two of you?”
“What do you think is the problem?” I answered shortly, hating the bitterness in my voice but unable to keep the emotion out. “He knows about me, just like you do. ‘Poor Anaïs—from what I’ve heard, there’s no chance she’s going to have children. And what about her and Ochiba? Don’t you think they were just a little too close…’”
I stopped. Blinked. I was staring at the wall behind Hui, at the pencil and charcoal sketch of Ochiba I’d done years before, while she was pregnant with Euz. Hui had taken the piece without my knowledge from the desk drawer into which I’d stuffed it. He’d matted and framed the drawing, then placed it on the clinic wall as a Naming Day gift. Don’t ever be timid about your talents, he’d said. Gifts like yours are too rare on this world to be hidden. And don’t hide your feelings, either, girl—those are also far too rare.
Well, Hui, that’s a wonderfully idealistic statement, but it doesn’t fit into this world we’ve made for ourselves. There are some things that are better left stuffed in the drawer.
“You can’t let him intimidate you,” Hui said. “I don’t care how old and venerated he is…”
“That’s khudda, Hui, and we both know it. What Dominic says, goes—and that’s true even for the other Families, too. With the exception of Vladimir Allen-Levin and Tozo Koda-Shimmura, Dominic’s the Eldest, and poor Vlad’s so senile—” I cut off my own words with a motion of my hands. “Hui, we don’t need to talk about this. Not now. It’s really not important. Euzhan should be coming around about now. Why don’t you go back and check on her? Dominic would be more comfortable if you were there.”
He didn’t protest, which surprised me. Hui touched my shoulder gently, pressing once, then turned. I sat in one of the ornate clinic chairs (carved by my da Derek when Hui had declared me “graduated” from his tutelage) and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. I stayed there for several minutes until I heard Dominic and Hui’s voices, sounding as if they were heading back into the lobby. I didn’t feel like another round of frigid exchanges with Dominic, so I rose and walked into the coldroom lab.
It was warmer there than in his presence.
I set the pot of thorn-vine sap over the bunsen to heat, put on a clean gown and mask, then scrubbed my hands. I plunged still-wet hands into the warm, syrupy goo, then raised them so that the brown-gold, viscous liquid coated my fingers and hands, turning my hands until the sap covered the skin evenly. After it dried, I pulled out the gurney holding the Miccail body. I stared at it (him? her?) for a time, not really wanting to work but feeling a need to do something. I straightened the legs, examining again the odd, inexplicable genitalia.
“Ana?”
The voice sent quick shivers through me. I felt my cheeks flush, almost guiltily, and I turned. “El. Komban wa. I thought you’d left.”
“Went out to get some air.” Elio stepped into the room. “I, ummm, just wanted to thank you. For Euzhan. Dominic, he…he should have told you himself, but I know that he’s grateful, too.”
“He didn’t need to thank me. Besides, Euzhan’s rather special to me, too.”
“I know. But Dominic still shouldn’t have been so rude.” Not many in his Family dared to criticize Dominic to anyone else; the fact that Elio did dampened some of my irritation with him. Elio tugged at the jacket he wore, pulling down the cloth sleeves. “So that’s your bogman, huh? Elena told me about how she found it. Pretty ugly.”
“Give the poor Miccail a break. You’d be ugly too if you sat in a peat bog for a couple thousand years. It’s hell on the complexion.”
Elio grinned at that. “Yeah, I guess so. Might give me some color, though. Couldn’t hurt.” He leaned forward for a closer look, and I felt myself interposing between Elio and the Miccail, as I had earlier. Elio didn’t seem to notice. After another glance at the body, he moved away.
“You planning to become the next Gabriela?” he asked, then blushed, as he realized that he’d given the words an undercurrent he h
adn’t intended. “I mean, you work too much, Ana,” he said quickly. “You’re always here. When’s the last time you did a drawing or went to a Gather?”
Ages. The answer surfaced in my mind. Far too long.
But I couldn’t say any of the words. I only shrugged. “Elio, if I’m going to get anything done…”
“Sorry,” he said reflexively. “I understand.”
He didn’t leave. He watched as I worked patiently on the hand I’d uncovered earlier, straightening the fingers and the ragged webbing between them. When, sometime later, he cleared his throat, I looked up.
“Listen,” Elio said. “When you’re done here, do you have plans? I thought, well, we haven’t been together in a long time…”
Two years. I haven’t been with anyone in almost two years. “El…” The unexpected proposition sent guilty thoughts skittering through my mind. You’re the last of the Koda-Levin line, unless Mam Shawna gets pregnant again—and she’s already showing signs of menopause. If they heard that you turned someone down, after all this time—
And then: Ochiba would tell you to do it. You know she would.
“El, I just don’t know.”
“Think about it,” he said. Muscles relaxed in his pale face; he gave a faint smile. “It’s not because of today,” he told me. “Just in case that’s what you’re thinking.”
It had been, of course. Anaïs: the charity fuck. “No. Of course not.”
“That’s good. It’s just that I haven’t seen you much recently with all your work, and being with you today, even under the circumstances, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed talking with you.”
I wondered whether he’d also forgotten the miserable failure the last time we tried to make love.
Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2: May 2013 Page 24