Between Darkness and Light (Sholan Alliance)

by Lisanne Norman

  The music changed, becoming more complex as the drummers gained confidence. He found he could relax into it, let it flow over and through him till he began to find a measure of peace.

  A hand touched his, making him jump in surprise, pulling him back to the real world.

  “I think Dzaou’s planning something,” said Banner, leaning close to him so he couldn’t be overheard.

  “What?” he asked, lifting the drinking vessel to his lips.

  “I don’t know, but he’s been trying too hard to be pleasant for my liking.”

  He looked at his Second, raising a quizzical eye ridge. “What could he do?”

  Banner’s hand suddenly tightened on his. “He’s made a mask!” he hissed.

  He looked through the crowd of Primes wandering round or standing chatting in small knots over to where Dzaou was emerging from the temple office, face covered by a mask decorated in paint, feathers, and bits of fur from the herd animals. It looked familiar, and frowning, Kusac tried to place the design.

  “We can’t do anything about it unless we want to cause an incident,” snarled the frustrated Banner, watching as Dzaou strode through the fascinated crowd to the drummers and took a small drum from Jayza.

  Aware of Kezule walking toward him, he continued to watch as Dzaou began to beat out one of the traditional charged dance rhythms, swaying his body arrogantly in time to the new beat. Then he remembered.

  “He’s invoking L’Shoh, the Liege of Hell,” he said quietly. “The mask is an ancient design, it hasn’t been used for decades.”

  “Invoking L’Shoh?” echoed Banner as the Sholan drummers faltered and stopped, looking over to Kusac for guidance.

  “As God of Justice,” he replied through numbed lips. “It’s a warning that none can escape the God.”

  “You have to stop him!” hissed Banner, keeping his voice as low as possible before the General rejoined them.

  “Very entertaining,” said Kezule, sitting back down on his seat to watch Dzaou. “I hadn’t expected a masked dancer. You should have told me and I could have made more resources available to you.”

  “We don’t normally dance, or drum, if away from home as we are now,” said Banner, filling the silence.

  One of the Prime drummers picked up Dzaou’s beat and joined him, quickly followed by the others. Khadui and Jayza were still looking at him when Dzaou increased the tempo until he was swirling and stamping in the area in front of the drummers.

  He unfroze, and managed, by slight finger and ear movements as he reached for his ale again, to signal to Khadui and Jayza that they were to play this one piece only.

  “It has a very primitive appeal,” said Kezule, watching as several Primes began to sway to the music, too. “Like a heartbeat, only faster.”

  “It’s a fertility dance,” said Banner, never taking his eyes off Dzaou. “At home we have a traditional hunt in the morning and only the successful hunters are permitted to dance.”

  “And the dance . . . ?”

  “Is done to attract mates,” Kusac said stiffly. “Or to honor existing ones. The Masks are worn to frighten off Winter’s Dzinaes—the spirits that cause the ice and snowstorms.”

  “Intriguing,” said Kezule, glancing from the group of mainly Prime females who were swaying in time to the music to Kusac. “It seems to have an hypnotic effect on both dancers and watchers.”

  “That’s why it’s only done on our own estates,” said Banner, his tone roughened by the growl of anger he couldn’t release.

  “I’d like to see the mask when he’s finished.”

  The drumming had reached its height and was now beginning to slow and gradually fade.

  “He’s only doing the one dance,” said Banner, getting to his feet. “I’ll fetch it from him now.”

  As Banner strode over to Dzaou and took him off to one side, Kezule concentrated on lighting one of his thin smokes then glanced up at Kusac. “Do I detect a slight difference of opinion between you two and the others in your crew over the dancing and the mask? Has it, perhaps, some other significance?”

  “Not at all,” he replied, turning back to the table while straining all his senses to make out what Banner was saying to Dzaou. “It was an impromptu gesture by Dzaou, nothing more.”

  “The General wants to see your mask,” Banner was saying, his tone low and furious, the growl no longer concealed. “You’ve made your point, just remember judgment cuts both ways. I’ll have words with you later about this.”

  Dzaou laughed humorlessly and, taking the mask off, handed it to Banner. “Give it to him. He can keep it.”

  “And the drum. We don’t need to heighten any sexual tensions between us and the Prime females.”

  Dzaou shrugged and handed him the drum.

  “Be thankful I did stop you! Had you worked out how you were going to tactfully reject any interest you’d generated from one of them?”

  “You worry too much,” Dzaou said, pushing Banner aside and heading for the farthest table.

  There was more to the mask than representing justice, Kusac was sure of it. He began to search through the memories he’d inherited from Kaid, trying to figure it out. There was no connection he knew of with either the worship of Ghyakulla or Vartra, or even with Kuushoi, Winter’s Queen and L’Shoh’s consort, and he’d never been interested in following the Lord of Hell. Every instinct was telling him that Dzaou had done it only to cause mischief, but how?

  It wasn’t until Banner had returned and handed the mask to Kezule that it came to him—and then it was too late. The mask did stand for the aspects of the God he’d mentioned—truth, judgment, and justice—but it also stood for more. Up until a hundred years or so ago, sending a mask of this design meant the recipient was being told in no uncertain terms that his crimes would be brought to light and judged by the God Himself if necessary.

  “It’s very well made,” said Kezule, turning it round to inspect it from both sides. “Thank Dzaou for the gift of it. Which Dzinae does it represent?”

  “It’s the face of the God L’Shoh who sits in judgment over the dead and living,” said Shaidan, drawing the attention of all three adults to him.

  Was his son a powerful enough Telepath to pick up that much detail from his mind, he thought, and dismissed the idea instantly when he saw the gleam of the metal collar round the cub’s neck. His next was how else could Shaidan possibly know this?

  “Ah,” said Kezule, laying the mask on the table in front of him. “Then Dzaou must see me as like this L’Shoh, the leader and judge of our community here.”

  “Doubtless,” agreed Banner, resuming his seat. “I’m sure that was his meaning.”

  The drummers began playing again, but their music was as before, devoid of any overt sexual overtones.

  “Shaidan, I thought you were playing a board game with M’kou,” said Kezule. “I think you should return to it. You are being allowed to stay up for longer than my daughter as a privilege.”

  “M’kou gave me leave to go to the rest room.”

  “Then go and come back.”

  “Yes, General,” the cub murmured and began to hurry toward the door at the far end.

  “It’s important for him to see our people mixing amicably, don’t you think, Kusac?” said Kezule.

  “Yes,” he said automatically, wondering if L’Shoh could possibly hold any sway out here so far from Shola, and wondering if perhaps Dzaou had intended the mask for him, not Kezule.

  “In the past, when our females still lived among us, they had dances,” continued Kezule, his tone a reminiscent one as he watched the way his people were responding to the music. “It was something our people enjoyed. Seems that some of them still do.”

  “Then bring it back,” said Banner, reaching for the nearest jug of ale on the table and refilling his drinking vessel. “Teach them the old dances.”

  Kezule looked faintly offended as he leaned forward to put out his smoke in an ashtray. “Not me, I’m a warrior, not a dan
cer.”

  “So are we, yet we dance, too,” said Banner.

  “We can take a scan of your memories if you prefer,” said Zayshul, breaking her silence.

  The TeLaxaudin began to hum gently. “Is good. Give to your sons and daughters I will,” he said. “Memories not lost.”

  Kezule nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Giyarishis, bringing out a small bottle and uncapping it. “You taste. New drink we brew.” He reached for the General’s vessel and emptied a generous measure into it, then pushed it back toward Kezule.

  Kezule eyed the amber liquid before picking the bowl up to sniff it. “Spirits?

  Giyarishis bobbed his head, the dual lenses in his large eyes swirling as he adjusted his focus. “Distilled drinking alcohol made from fruits in lab. Drink. You like, more I make.”

  The smell of the new drink had drawn his attention and he watched as Kezule’s forked tongue flicked into the liquid. A surprised look crossed the General’s face. “This is good,” he said before taking a drink. He held his bowl out to Kusac. “You try it.”

  Giyarishis blocked the gesture with his hand. “No, for you. I pour more for Sholan Captain. Another bottle have I.”

  Curious, he drained the last of the ale in his glass and pushed it over to the TeLaxaudin.

  The fragrant liquid was slightly viscous, resembling the after dinner liqueurs back home, but the taste was light and fruity. He passed it to Banner.

  “Very nice.”

  Banner hesitated then offered it to Zayshul first. She smiled her thanks and tried a mouthful.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, taking a second sip before handing it back to Banner. “Please make some more of that for us. What do you call it?”

  Giyarishis’ mandibles vibrated gently and he hummed before the translator spoke. “Fruit drink.”

  “We can’t call it that,” said Zayshul. “Something that good needs a name.”

  “You name, I only create,” said the TeLaxaudin.

  “Did you only distill a small sample?” asked Kezule, putting his empty bowl down.

  “More in lab. Enough for tonight I make. You send for it.”

  “I’ll go,” said Ghidd’ah, getting up.

  “Take helper of mine. Knows location in lab,” said Giyarishis.

  Ghidd’ah nodded and began to look around for one of Giyarishis’ helpers.

  “We have folk dances,” said Banner. “Why don’t we show your people how to do one or two of the simpler ones?”

  “By all means,” said Kezule. “You don’t mind if I just watch, I assume?”

  Banner grinned, mouth widening and showing his teeth as the Primes did. “Not at all,” he said, getting up. “Kusac?”

  “Take Zayshul, I’m sure she’ll enjoy it,” said Kezule.

  Hiding his surprise, he glanced across at Zayshul as he got to his feet. “Doctor?”

  Flustered, she looked at Kezule before pushing back her chair and rising.

  “I take it you don’t dance,” said Banner, breaking the awkward silence between them as they walked over to the drummers.

  “No, we have music at state occasions, but not dancing like Dzaou did,” she replied. “I don’t know that I could do . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” Kusac said. “His dance was a special festival one, not a folk one.”

  They’d reached the drummers now and as they waited for them to finish, Banner spotted Dzaou and gestured him over.

  “We’re going to teach them a couple of folk dances,” Banner said. “And since you started this all off, you can help.”

  Dzaou frowned. “I don’t think . . .”

  “I do. You’re helping,” said Banner firmly.

  Kusac stood awkwardly beside Zayshul during this exchange, each of them too aware of the other’s presence for comfort.

  “Why’s he throwing us together like this?” he asked her in a low voice as he watched Banner organize the rest of his crew. “What does he hope to achieve?”

  “I don’t know,” she said equally quietly. “Kusac, there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t think the marker’s been turned off.”

  He felt sick to the pit of his stomach and the room seemed briefly to dim around him. With an effort, he forced himself to relax.

  “He’s playing with us, watching to see what will happen because of the marker,” he said, his voice taking on a hard edge though it remained quiet.

  She glanced at him. “I don’t think so. I think he’s genuinely relaxing the restrictions he placed on you because you saved his life.”

  His laugh sounded hollow even to him. He kept his eyes fixed on Banner and the others as they quickly taught the simple beat of the first dance to the Prime drummers, then began to organize those who were interested into partners. After a couple of false starts, it was decided Jayza had better remain to keep the beat.

  “This is as embarrassing for me as for you,” she said, anger creeping into her voice. “There’s no reason for what I did to have failed!”

  “Leave it, Zayshul,” he said, suddenly exhausted by it all as Banner gestured them over to join their respective lines of males and females. With the scent marker still in place, any thought of him leaving Kij’ik was academic now.

  From his now deserted table, Kezule watched them walk through the moves of the dance while sipping the liqueur. “For all our differences, Giyarishis, the Sholans and Primes are very similar.”

  “Very. Working together good for all.”

  “Maybe. I want that scent marker on them removed now.”

  “Not possible unless female who put there removes it.”

  “Not acceptable, I’ve told you. It was put there by someone else so it can be removed the same way. Unless you’re trying to tell me Zayshul’s been lying to me all along?” He stared at the small TeLaxaudin unblinkingly.

  “Not lie. I not there, not know what happen. I test his blood. Marker different on him. Not normal.”

  “In what way?”

  “Maybe impossible even her undo.”

  “Then test him—and her—again! Your priority is that, not developing new drinks!” Kezule’s tone was incandescent with repressed rage. “It’s affecting them both and I won’t have it happening any longer!”

  Giyarishis’ mandibles clicked together audibly and his humming grew higher, passing out of Kezule’s audible range. “Forget not I am TeLaxaudin! Much your people owe us already. We ask little in return!”

  The small alien’s anger was visible as he rose up on the pile of cushions balanced on his seat.

  “I won’t be threatened either,” hissed Kezule, leaning forward. “You’ve as much as admitted your people caused this problem, so I am within my rights to demand you correct it!”

  Giyarishis began to settle down slowly again, the humming growing less until it ceased. “Not do, but I try. Four weeks, maybe five till I know. No guarantee will work. Need female to administer. No other way to do it or Sholan Captain will know and demand explanation.”

  Kezule leaned even closer. “And just how do I persuade one of the females to mate with the Sholan?” he demanded. “And what of Zayshul? How do we remove his scent from hers?”

  “Your problem, not mine,” was the terse reply. “When gone from male, she likely lose too.”

  He sat back in his seat wondering how in the names of all the Emperors he was going to not only persuade one of the females to seduce the Sholan Captain, but have him accept her! Having said that, from what he and M’kou had observed of the females’ reactions to Kusac, they wouldn’t be the problem; he would. After all he’d suffered on the Kz’adul, would he want to be that intimate with a Prime again?

  A burst of laughter drew his gaze back to the dancers. He leaned back in his seat, watching as his people, led by four Sholans, attempted to master the simple dance steps. After tonight, how could any of the Sholans—apart from the one called Dzaou—fail to see his people as individuals with hopes and dreams, jus
t as they had? In this, he was pleased. He remembered the need for warfare and expanding the Empire had been bred into the males, it had never been theirs by nature. It had been the females who’d tampered with their nature, bred those families with aggressive tendencies until . . . He stopped, wondering where the memory had come from, feeling his pulse rate fall and a sheen of cold sweat begin to cover his face. What was stirring these long dormant memories in him? He glanced, half-afraid, at the TeLaxaudin.

  “Is hot here,” Giyarishis agreed, and reaching for his belt, drew a scented square of spiderweb thin cloth from a pouch there, holding it out to him. “Keep, I have more.”

  Kezule reached out for it, noticing his hand was shaking. The scent on it was fresh and pleasant, with a faint hint of sharpness that was instantly refreshing even before he used it to press against his face. He wondered if there was anything the TeLaxaudin couldn’t treat with scents.

  Giyarishis rose once more, his body folding at unexpected angles as he prepared himself to hop down onto the floor. “I go now. Too hot. Tomorrow work I start for you.”

  Shaidan had taken his time going to the toilets in the gymnasium opposite the temple. He rarely had the opportunity to be alone, except when he was in bed at night. He wasn’t actually disobeying the General by taking just a little longer than was necessary . . .

  A low laugh made him spin round.

  “You’re learning,” said the Sholan, crouching down beside him.

  “Learning what?” he asked politely.

  “Learning to think for yourself, and to search your memories like I told you to do.”

  “I don’t understand you,” said Shaidan.

  “You’re not hurrying back,” the male grinned, smiling at him with his brown eyes as well as his mouth. “You’re taking just a little bit of time for yourself, aren’t you? That’s good.”

  “I better go,” he mumbled suddenly. “They’ll miss me.” But he made no move to leave.

  “No they won’t, they’re busy talking right now. You have a few minutes yet.”