I regarded him. “It’s not myths to you, is it? This is real.”
It was a moment before he answered. Finally he said, “The Jagernaut in me knows it is mythology. Deep down, though, despite my logic—a part of me believes it is more.”
“But you were willing to marry me in a Catholic ceremony.”
His voice gentled. “Your spirituality is part of you. That we express our faith in different ways—to me, this adds to rather than detracts from what we have together.” He slid his hand into my hair and trailed his fingers through to the ends. “I married you by your ceremony. I ask now that you marry me by mine.”
“Here?”
“Yes.” He indicated the temple. “My ancestors couldn’t heal the sickness in their genes. At first they didn’t even understand why they were dying. So they developed this ceremony as an offering to Ixa Quelia, goddess of fertility, and Izam Na Quetza, god of healing. The newly married couple came here to petition them for fertility.”
I took his hands. “Then we should too.”
Althor spoke in Iotic, a chant that rumbled, piling up against the walls and rolling back to us. Even after he stopped speaking, my skin tingled like a drum ready to tap. He released my hands and touched the neckline of my dress. It opened, separating down the front as he ran his finger along the seam.
As he took off the dress, I averted my gaze, still self-conscious in front of him. When I finally looked up, he touched my hair.
Then he got up and went to an arched niche in the far wall. A flint scraped, and the recess began to glow, warmed by the flame in a bronze lamp. After that he walked across the temple, to the stairs. He doused the torches, and then the only light came from the niche, giving the chamber a shadowed honey color, dim and mellow.
Finally he returned to the bench, where I sat with my legs dangling over its edge. He held objects he must have taken from the niche: a necklace strung with emeralds and rubies, two bracelets, and a vial. He set the vial and bracelets on the bench, then slid the necklace over my head. As he laid the largest ruby between my breasts, his fingers trailed over my nipples and they hardened. He knelt on a ledge in front of the bench, bringing his head even with mine, and pulled me into an embrace. I hugged him back, wrapping my legs around his waist.
After a moment he picked up one of the bracelets, a ring inset with blue and green gems. He clicked it open on a hinge, then took hold of my wrist and snapped the ring around it under the bracelet I already wore.
I pushed back his sleeve, revealing his wrist guard. “Now we both have them.”
He gave me a guilty look. “Actually, the woman puts wrist guards on the man. But last night I asked the Abaj to bring up more delicate rings. For you.” He took the second bracelet and snapped it around my other wrist. He reached behind his waist for my leg and set my foot on the bench, bending my leg so that my knee was by my shoulder. Then he leaned down and kissed the inside of my thigh.
“Hey,” I said.
Althor lifted his head, smiling, his eyes half open. “My addition to the ceremony.”
I pulled at his sweater. “You too.”
He undressed standing in front of the bench, more relaxed than in days. After he sat down, he pulled me into his lap so that I was sitting sideways with my right shoulder against his chest. He picked up the vial, a delicate bottle glazed in swirls of gold, red, and deep blue, with a top shaped like a bird’s feather. When he opened it, a fragrance curled around us, sweet and tangy, like spices or night-blooming flowers.
He poured oil into his palm and massaged my torso, holding me with one arm around my waist. I laid my head on his shoulder. Scents tickled the air, jasmine and honey. When he moved his hand lower and his fingers slid inside, like silk, my mind created a gold radiance. I saw it both within my mind and the temple, mellow and smooth, as if he were anointing both of us, banishing the lingering remnants of Iquar’s soul that had tried— and failed—to envelop us in shadow.
After a while, he said, “You’re supposed to say the Oath of Quelia.”
I raised my head. “How does it go?”
He spoke in Iotic, and my mind swirled the words into ruby dark streamers, blending them with scents of oil and incense. I heard the lament of a pipe, its song drifting like the distant voice of a spirit roused from a millennia-long sleep. Slowly, stumbling over the words, I repeated the chant. He continued in Iotic, and I repeated it as best I could.
Then he said, “Come to me, husband.”
“Is that the translation?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “Come to me, husband.”
“May Quelia give us embers that grow in warmth.”
“May Quelia give us embers that grow in warmth.”
“Bless the new—” He hesitated, his face blanking. “The new slate.”
“Slate?”
“This is closest translation I find in English. Delete the slate? Start with a clean file?”
“Wipe the slate clean?”
“Yes. That is the soul of the new child. A clean slate.” He touched my necklace. “Ixa Quelia takes a soul freed from the spirit of an ancestor. She cleans, burnishes, and blesses it and puts it in the child.”
“That’s lovely.”
His voice softened. “Bless the new slate.”
“Bless the new slate.”
“Let the night sky come down.”
“Let the night sky come down.”
“Let the night sky wrap us in her ruby-dark cloak.”
“Let the night sky wrap us in her ruby-dark cloak.”
“Let the night sky grace us with her spirit.”
“Let the night sky grace us with her spirit.”
He stood up, holding me, and walked toward the face on the wall. I smiled. “Is this how Ruby warriors carted around their husbands?”
Althor laughed. “No. The husbands were too big. They just walked.” He watched my face. “Does it bother you?”
It was like asking if I minded my husband treating me to a candlelit dinner on a romantic island. “Why would it bother me?”
He spoke carefully. “Imperial culture encompasses a huge range of courtship rituals. And of course legally, women and men are equals.” He paused. “Despite claims to the contrary, though, the overriding culture retains remnants of a time when men were property. Some women would be uncomfortable with this reversal of roles.”
I touched his cheek. “It’s fine.”
He set me down on Izam Na’s chin, my back against the wall, my arms resting on the incisors. The stone felt cool under my thighs, with a dusting of sand. Althor climbed the steps and swung his leg over the bench so we faced each other. Incense curled out of the niche in wisps, bringing a scent of lost kingdoms. It felt as if we were caught in an instant stolen out of time, when ancient spirits still visited the city of Izu Yaxlan.
Althor had a gentle expression, the one that crinkled the lines around his eyes. With the two of us facing each other, he lifted me onto his lap. I laid my head on his shoulder and stretched my legs behind him. He rocked us back and forth, as if he too heard the distant pipe music. Perhaps he did; we were so close, it felt as if our minds nestled inside of each other.
He brought my hands between us and turned them so the palms faced outward. When he pressed the bracelets against each other, they locked together. Lifting my wrists, he framed my face with my hands, palms facing outward, “Izam Na’s wings.”
Then he bent his head and put his mouth around one of my index fingers. It surprised me how good it felt. I buried my face in his curls, inhaling his scent while he sucked my finger. After a moment, I heard him press several points on the bracelets. When they clicked apart again, I put my arms around his neck and hugged him close.
We made love slowly, taking our time. Althor held back this time, using our mental link to match his rise to mine. The music and fragrances my mind created blended together, mixing in a river of golden light. When we reached our peaks, they atomized that river into a mist of water-spray rainbows.
/> Gradually the music slowed, and the mist faded to an inner gold light. I lifted my head from Althor’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep. I took a curl of his hair between my teeth and shook my head like a cat. “I liked that.”
He opened his eyes. “So did I.”
“But why this?” I touched the ledge under us. It seemed an odd place for lovemaking, ceremonial or otherwise.
“It’s supposed to symbolize fertility.” He yawned. “Probably it came about because most positions you end up on this thing increase the chance of conceiving a girl.”
I almost asked if he wanted a son to carry his name. Then I remembered he had his mother’s name. “It’s hard to get used to, all the differences between us.”
He smiled. “It makes life more interesting.” Rubbing his eyes, he added, “If we stay here any longer, though, I’m going to fall sleep and topple onto the floor.”
I laughed. “Don’t do that.”
He walked down the steps, his contentment filling the air with a mellow bronzed haze. When I started down, he picked me up and carried me to the bench.
I’ve sometimes wondered how it would have felt to live during the Ruby Empire, when women won the choicest mates through combat with other women. I wouldn’t have had a chance against a towering Abaj warrior. It was just as hard to imagine Althor forced into marriage with an Abaj queen. And I would have had competitors, despite his aggressive nature. His sheer physical beauty and sexuality would have more than compensated for any “flaws” the Abaj saw in his personality. He would have been a challenge, a prize to conquer, or some such sexist business. I would never have stood a chance.
“I’m glad this is now,” I said as we dressed. “Not five thousand years ago.”
“I too.” Althor pulled on his boot, watching me fumble with the seam on my dress. He showed me a loop on my neckline. “It’s a sensor. When you press it, molecules on the seam change state, becoming little hooks.”
It would never have occurred to me to look for such a thing.
That has been the most difficult part of adapting to his universe; not the big changes, like interstellar travel or star-spanning computer webs, but rather the details, like learning how to dress.
We found the Abaj waiting at the cave entrance. As Althor smiled amiably at them, I wondered what they thought of him coming here for a ceremony no one had performed in centuries. They revealed nothing; living among a race of empaths, they had learned to shield their emotions.
But as they bowed, one glanced at my bracelets and an odd look passed over his face. I did pick up a wash of his mood then, a mix of wonder and something less definable. Althor later told me he had felt it too, a sense of puzzled loneliness from both Abaj, as if they felt the lack of something they couldn’t define.
One of the warriors spoke with him, and Althor’s unease rippled like colorless heat waves. When they paused, he turned to me. “The Uzan has allowed an ISC ship to land. But there is much tension, and the Abaj are refusing to let anyone disembark. Apparendy Imperial Space Command believes we may be here against our will.”
“Against our will? Why?”
He exhaled. “There’s never been a situation like this. I disappear, reappear, am kidnapped, then sold. News of our marriage breaks, a Rhon contract, which means you’re a Rhon psion. Then we destroy a Cylinder, assassinating a major Eubian political figure.” He grimaced. “Right now the Traders must be screaming for extradition and demanding the Assembly honor the Paris Treaty. Of course the Assembly is refusing. They will threaten war if the Traders try to recover us, the Traders will threaten war if we aren’t returned, and the Allieds won’t know what to do because no details are worked out yet in our treaty.” He spread his hands. “It’s a mess. Basically, whoever gets us first, wins.”
I swallowed. “What about Admiral Bloodmark? He knows we’re the only ones who can reveal his betrayal.”
“I don’t know. The Abaj can’t get messages offworld. Communication has been blocked.” He exhaled. “Apparently three military envoys are requesting entry into the system: ours, the Traders’, and the Allieds’. The Abaj let the one ship in because it came alone, is ISC issue, and gave proper security codes.” He looked out at the city. “We better see what is happening.”
Going down the cliff was easier than coming up, mainly because the wind had died down, but also psychologically, for me, because each step took us closer to the ground. At the bottom, as we were walking through the city, we saw a red cloud of dust on the horizon. We climbed a pyramid to see better, and the cloud resolved into a horde of warriors riding across the desert.
“They must be from Saint Parval,” Althor said. “The port city.”
The riders came on, several hundred, all in black, with flashes of silver beneath their cloaks. They slowed at the city limits, letting the ruziks pick their way through the ruins.
“What?” Althor said.
I looked up at him. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No. I mean, I know.” He whirled around and strode to the edge of the platform. As he disappeared down the steps, I heard our bodyguards protest; when I reached the stairs, I saw them trying to hold him back. He gave a command and they reluctandy dropped his arms. He sped down the stairs, jumping the last three to the ground, and ran toward the riders.
I stepped down between the Abaj and we watched Althor run through the city. Other Abaj tried to stop him, with no more success than the ones with me. He passed the first of the approaching riders without even a nod. As they wheeled around their mounts, staring after him, a rider in the middle of the horde halted. He wasn’t Abaj; although well built, he was nowhere near as tall as the warriors, and he wore plainer clothes, dark pants and a white pullover. For a mind-warping moment, as the man dismounted, I thought I was seeing double: Althor was both running toward the ruzik and getting down from it, the same person in two different places.
The man ran toward Althor. They met and embraced with so much force they almost knocked each other over. Together, their differences were obvious; the man was a few inches shorter, with longer hair that brushed his shoulders. As he and Althor separated, one of the Abaj next to me spoke. I looked at him, and he motioned toward the stairs. A question. I nodded.
We descended to the ground and walked through Izu Yaxlan. When we drew near to Althor and the other man, I saw tears on the man’s face. He was laughing and crying at the same time. He pulled Althor into another embrace and they hung there for a moment before releasing each other.
When we came up behind Althor, one of my bodyguards spoke. Althor spun around, then grinned and grabbed me by the waist. He pulled me so hard against his side that I went “oomf” as my nose hit his chest.
“Hey,” I said.
Althor laughed. “You all right?”
“Fine.” I rubbed my nose.
The unfamiliar man watched me with a gentle look, his violet eyes and sun-streaked purple hair so familiar that my breath caught. He didn’t have metal-tinted skin, though. Althor spoke to him in another language, one that took beautiful advantage of his musical voice. The man answered in the same, his voice even more musical, a work of art itself. Althor spoke a phrase that finished with “ ’Akushtina Santis Pulivok kya Skolia.”
To me, he said, “Tina, this is my father. Eldrin Jarac Valdoria kya Skolia.”
The man took my hands, pressing them between his as he spoke. I feared he would find me lacking, given what Althor had told me about Abaj women. At the time I had no idea how much I resembled Althor’s mother. Not all the Kyle genes code for tallness, but among pure Raylicans they do all code for dark hair and skin.
Althor said, “My father asks that you call him Eldrin. It is his personal name, as I am called Althor and you are Tina.” He smiled. “He says he is pleased to meet his new daughter.”
I smiled tentatively. “Tell him I’m honored to meet him.” It felt strange to say the words. And wonderful.
Finally I had a father.
; 20
Machines of the Ruby Dynasty
We rode to Saint Parval accompanied by both Eldrin and Althor’s escorts. Althor offered to ride with me, but by then I had realized his love of racing the ruzik. If he took me, I knew he would worry about my falling off. So in the end, I rode with his father. I think we both hoped it would offer a chance to become acquainted. Given that we had no common language, though, and were sitting in tandem, we had little chance. Eldrin was also as tense as a board; he shares none of his son’s enthusiasm for tearing across the desert on an iridescent dinosaur.
Sitting so close to Eldrin, though, I picked up a lot from his mind, especially his relief at Althor’s escape and his contentment at seeing his son happily married. Beneath that, his mood was complex, layered with concerns of political intrigue, as well as anger over the Allieds’ apparent role in our kidnapping. His mind felt disconcertingly similar to Althor’s, yet different, too, more refined.
I didn’t realize then the honor he did me. Trained as a Kyle operator since childhood, he guards his emotions with firm control, more so even than Althor, who by nature tends to be moody and volatile. Yet that day Eldrin relaxed his barriers, letting me absorb a great deal about himself and his family.
His appearance is classic for a native of the minor but well-protected planet known as Lyshriol. It was founded as an agricultural colony during the Ruby Empire. To help the colonists adapt to low levels of ultraviolet light, the Ruby geneticists engineered a lower melanin content in their skin, making them white, a color as unusual to them as Althor’s metallic skin is to me. Their eye and hair color was an unexpected but harmless side effect.
The Ruby Empire relied on barely understood technology, so it’s not surprising many of its fledgling colonies lost that technology during their millennia of isolation. The Lyshriol settlement regressed to a pre-steam-power stage. It almost disappeared, its people leached of fertility like their Raylican ancestors. Over the millennia, as the number of women dropped, the laws that made men property gradually fell by the wayside. The population rebounded when its gene pool lost the Kyle traits and settled into a more balanced state.
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