Courier Run

by Sharon Lee

  "Aunt Chane," he whispered."I've missed you so much."

  #

  It was some few moments before she composed herself sufficiently to allow the child of her heart to seat her, and accepted a handkerchief from his lifemate's hand.

  "Shall I call for tea, ma'am?" that lady asked gently, and Chane half-choked a laugh.

  "You will terrify the kitchen, if you dare," she said. Ren Zel knelt beside her chair, her hand held between his palms. She blinked the last of the tears away and looked up at Anthora yos'Galan.

  "In a moment, I will call for refreshments, and the thodelm, but first, if you will, what it is that Korval wants of us?"

  "For of course Korval must want something," the lady said ruefully and sank to her knees at Chane's other side. She folded her hands on the arm of the chair and rested her pointed chin on them.

  "And yet, as it happens, Korval does want something," Ren Zel murmured.

  "True enough," the lady agreed, and slanted her eyes whimsically at Chane's face.

  Ren Zel, thought his aunt, must find life interesting with such a charming scoundrel at his side. Anthora yos'Galan laughed, merrily, but with no cause that Chane detected. There were rumors, she thought, recalling them now, that the youngest yos'Galan was not quite right in her head...

  "You must forgive my lady," Ren Zel murmured."She is from time to time flutter-headed." He glanced at the lady in question."Are you not, beloved?"

  "Indeed I am," she answered."I will also allow 'quicker to school than to be schooled.'" She smiled, sweetly.

  "You were," Ren Zel prodded softly,"charged by the delm to speak."

  "So I was." Anthora yos'Galan sat back on her heels, folded her hands onto her knees like a good, obedient child, and inclined her head gravely.

  "I am to say, on behalf of Korval, that Obrelt's loss is three times Korval's gain. Korval therefore seeks Balance between our two clans. That custom does not allow us to sign contract and compensate Obrelt rightly for its treasure, we are aware. However, Balance may be achieved in other ways, if Obrelt is willing." The lady paused, her head tipped, as if she regarded a written page before her.

  "There is," she said, looking to Ren Zel,"a list of arrangements and accomodations that might be made and met, but truly, beloved, I think those best left for Obrelt or for dea'Judan's thodelm."

  "I think so, too," he said gently."Aunt Chane? We had heard that the delm was away..."

  "So she is." She felt him start, and extended her free hand to stroke his hair."The years bring change," she said softly."Farin is delm now; and Wil Bar stands thodelm."

  "And Uncle Arn Eld?" he asked softly.

  "Arn Eld embraced peace," she answered, and saw the sweet mouth tighten.

  "I had wished," he said, glancing down,"many times I had wished to thank him, for having contrived so well on my behalf. To have managed it so that I kept my license...I would have died in truth, had he not been so bold."

  "So I told him, again and again," she said."Perhaps he would have believed you." She took a breath and looked back to Anthora yos'Galan.

  "The delm will return by Prime. Will you wait?"

  "Gladly," the lady said."And Ren Zel may renew the acquaintance of his kin."

  ***

  She charted a rambling course through the port until the horn sounded for Night Port. The racket of day-side security screens going down, while night-side screens rattled up had roused her from thoughts that had only gotten more tangled the longer she walked.

  Night Port. She should go home. Sal would be worried. No, she reminded herself, Sal was not there. Likely, he was engaged more pleasantly, a thought that did nothing to lighten her mood or ease her thoughts. And who was she, she thought angrily, to begrudge Sal joy? If she truly valued him as a comrade, she would rejoice in his good fortune.

  The crew-room was empty when she pushed the door open. Night Port though it was, it was not so late as that. Her crew had worked hard and on long-shift -- they might well have gone upstairs to the dorm. Or they had gone out to celebrate the bonus by drinking it, though surely Dorlit would have --

  "Stop that!"

  She turned, seeing the door to the back office standing ajar, which it surely should not be, now that Day Port had turned.

  There was a confused sound from the dimness beyond the door, as if of boots scuffed on the 'crete floor, a sharp cry and a low grunt.

  "Stop it!" the voice came again --"I don't want to!"

  She threw herself across the room, slamming the door open with one hand, and hitting the light switch with the other.

  It was Rijmont she saw first; Rijmont with his back to the door, his weight pinning Lorin against the wall.

  "Don't want to, is it?" he snarled."You wanted hard enough just a minute gone!"

  "Stop!" Lorin twisted. Rijmont grabbed her chin in his free hand and forcibly tilted her face up, bringing his lips down on hers.

  Cyrbet moved, grabbed the man by his shoulder, spun him 'round and slapped his face so hard he staggered back, away from Lorin. She put herself in front of the girl, and stared at Rijmont, who stared back, the mark of her hand livid on his pale cheek.

  "Lorin said no," she said, hearing her voice steady and hard."Leave."

  "She said yes, too," he spat, his hands curling into fists."Which one should I believe?"

  "You should believe no," Lorin shouted, and Cyrbet inclined her head.

  "You should believe no," she repeated."Leave, Rijmont," she said again, and added something she had heard Sal say, when tensions ran high,"Take a walk."

  "Well, I don't wanna take a walk, Bethy. I wanna finish what I came in here for, and it ain't no bidness of yours. Who named you crew boss?"

  "Sal did," Dorlit's shadow moved in the door. She stepped into the office, Jon, Marsel, and Kei filing in behind her.

  "Bethy," she said, with a respectful nod."Need us to do some clean-up?"

  ***

  The thodelm, his cousin Wil Bar, had cannily handled the matter of introductions to the larger House by presenting Anthora yos'Galan Clan Korval and her lifemate. It was, strictly, proper, and gave those who could not meet his eyes leave to look elsewhere.

  Among those was his sister Eba, her distress overflowing into tears and a wordless, hasty retreat into the depths of the house.

  His eldest sister, Farin, now Obrelt Herself, had no such difficulty. She embraced him, cheek to cheek, as she had sometimes done when he had been more regular, and gave Anthora full honor as Korval's representative. Nor was she behind in the news.

  "One hears that the Council banishes Korval from the homeworld," she said, having heard Korval's greeting from Anthora's lips."Forgive me if I seem pert, but this does seem an odd time to be pursuing new alliances. Surely Korval must look first to themselves."

  "Korval has always counted allies above cantra," Anthora responded -- an answer that had become rote for them both over the course of their journey."And before you protest that we are not allies, ma'am, only consider that Korval and Obrelt are bound together by two events -- a death, and a lifemating. We have the opportunity, now, to decide which of those events will inform the future."

  He had scarcely to speak at all, it being very quickly settled in principle that Obrelt and Korval would turn their faces together toward the future.

  Anthora then presented the delm's list, which Farin received, prudently requesting time to consider the various items in light of the best good of Obrelt. This, his lady readily agreed to, and so they went down to Prime,

  Any awkwardness at table was handled simply enough by seating him, with Anthora, at the top, bracketed by delm, thodelm, and Aunt Chane. This left those lower down-table free to talk among themselves, which they did, so the ether told him, with considerable relief.

  As Anthora was speaking with Farin and Wil Bar, he applied himself to Aunt Chane. She asked what his life had been like, after he had left Casia, and he truthfully told her that it had been well enough in terms of work and health and friendship
.

  "How strange, all that came of us wishing to see you properly wed, and the clan enriched by your child," she said pensively."And how much better for all, had we never gone down that road."

  "No," Ren Zel said softly, casting a glance into the ether and the orderly waltz of the threads."No, that I cannot allow. Had you not done as you did, I might never have met, and been joined with, my lady." He smiled at her frown and dared to place his hand over hers, where it lay near her plate.

  "Indeed, Aunt Chane, you have contrived to make me happy beyond anything I could have known to hope for. I thank you, with all my heart."

  ***

  Marsel and Jon stayed with Lorin, while she, with Dorlit and Kei, took a rather bruised Rijmont to the port proctors. There he would be held until Sal came to arrange his release, or eighteen local hours had elapsed, whichever came first. She had Rijmont's Kunkle ID and pass-keys in her pocket; they would be turned over to Sal when she saw him.

  But Sal was still absent when they returned. Nan said, worriedly, that she hadn't thought it would take so long...

  "It?" she asked, but Nan only pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  "Boss bidness," Dorlit said, around a sudden, wide yawn."I'm beat."

  There was a mutter of agreement from those present, and a movement toward the stairs to the dorm. Dorlit stopped with her foot on the bottom step and turned.

  "Coming, Bethy?"

  She shook her head."I'll wait for Sal."

  "See you in the morning, then."

  The footsteps faded. She heard the dorm's door cycle, and sighed. It was not conceivable that she would be able to sleep until she had told Sal what had transpired, given over the things from Rijmont's pockets, and heard what he thought of her actions.

  That she had done well in the main -- she did think so. Though taking one of the crew to the proctors, she thought, carrying a cup of strong tea to the table -- bringing the port into a dispute between comrades -- perhaps that had not been best done. Had there been any room, closet or cubby inside Kunkle's where they might have confined him without the possibility of mischief...but not even Kei could think of such a place.

  The more she thought on it, the more it sat ill with her. Kunkle's crew held itself close, meted reward and punishment within the terms agreed upon by the crew. It was as if she had called the proctors into their rooms to restrain Grandfather during one of his tempers. Such a thing would have been improper. Disloyal.

  Sighing, she nodded over her cup, half-dreaming and half-remembering...

  She remembered Grandfather drilling her with the weapon, striking her when her aim was less than true. Once, the blow had landed more heavily than he had intended; she had fallen and struck her head -- and awakened, moments or hours later, in Grandfather's arms, his tears falling hot on her face as he called her over, and over,"Elsu..."

  She shook her head, rousing to drink some tea. Out on the port, a horn sounded the half-night.

  Sal had still not returned.

  It was familiar, this sitting in the dark alone. For a moment, she wondered why -- and then she remembered. Before Grandfather had died, when all the rooms except the kitchen, the informal parlor, and the study had been sealed...she had often sat late alone, nodding over a cup of tea, listening to the night-sounds, thinking of death and duty.

  That Ren Zel dea'Judan was the author of all the misfortune that had befallen Clan Jabun in the years following her mother's death...by then, she no longer believed. The clan had shrunk to herself and to Grandfather; her elder kin escaping as they could into apprenticeships, alliances, partnerships off-world, where Jabun was not a curse, nor Meriandra a threat.

  After, when Grandfather, too, had gone, leaving his debt and his anger for her to resolve, she took her license, her ring, what coins were hers by right, and walked out of the great, empty house; down to the port, intending to buy passage or find work.

  Her coins had not been enough to buy her way off-world in emulation of her cousins; and her second class license did not trump the peril of her name. It was then that she sought the Terran side of the port, and put her name on every available employment list.

  So at last she had come to Kunkle's, accepting the comradeship of Terrans; the doubtful camouflage of Bethy.

  But she was not Bethy -- a Terran with neither a past nor melant'i. She was Cyrbet Meriandra Clan Jabun, the last of her clan, and by that fact, the delm. The last possession of the clan, saving herself, its instrument, was a debt. A debt she had never thought she might see Balanced. Until now.

  Ren Zel dea'Judan had returned to Casia.

  She could redeem everything. No more dishonor. No more nightmares.

  She needed only to rise, and to act.

  ***

  In their cabin aboard Dragon Song, Ren Zel waked of a sudden, certain that someone had called his name. Anthora lay with her head on his shoulder, her breath deep and regular. He looked into the ether, thinking that she might have inadvertently engaged him into one of her dreams, as had happened once or twice -- but it seemed not. Her pattern on the ether was consistent with one who was profoundly asleep, glowing yet with the aftermath of energetically enjoyed lust.

  And, yet, it had been so clear. A woman's voice; his name; a sense of --

  He laughed, softly. Perhaps, he said to himself, it was you who dreamed yourself awake? Have you become so accustomed to the strange that you fail to consider the commonplace?

  Amused, he closed his eyes, settling his cheek against Anthora's hair...

  Ren Zel dea'Judan.

  This time he opened his eyes to a cabin shimmering with gold.

  He blinked, trying to return himself to everyday sight, for surely he needn't see this now -- when the business with Obrelt was done in all but detail, and Korval, in their wisdom, had begun a healing long delayed.

  His daily sight did not return, however, and the threads began to beguile his sense, so that he found himself following this one and that one -- and that one, which was oddly kinked, hot -- feverish.

  Ren Zel frowned, reached -- and snatched his awareness back to himself. It was not lightly done, to interfere with the threads. Indeed, it were best to have nothing to do with them at all, which he would not, excepting that it was his gift, to be Sighted in this way -- and a blessing it was, for it allowed him to share fully with Anthora.

  Again, he considered that odd thread, bringing his awareness close, subjecting it to minute study.

  The thread pulsed, shedding flakes of gold, showing a core of molten red, like a raw wound.

  Ren Zel bit his lip. That was...unnatural. That, he needed to deal with.

  Tenderly, he slid Anthora's head from his shoulder to the pillow, and slipped out of bed, rapidly dressing in the glow of golden threads.

  "Love?" Anthora muttered sleepily from the bed."What --" Her voice sharpened, no longer sleep-drenched."Ren Zel! Where are you going?"

  "I am going out on the port for a moment," he said softly."Sleep, beloved; I'll be back soon."

  "Stay!" she cried -- a Command, spoken with all the power of an extremely powerful dramliza. He felt the disruption it made in the ether, extended his will and batted it aside as he exited the cabin.

  Behind him, Anthora scrambled out of bed and snatched up her clothes. It was a matter of moments only, but he had already descended the gantry by the time she reached the hatch.

  Swearing, she ran after, following his signature in the ether.

  ***

  The gun was heavy -- heavier even than it was in the dream -- but she had no care for that. Was she not Cyrbet Meriandra Clan Jabun? She could bear any burden, save dishonor.

  No, that was wrong -- no, it was right! Grandfather had used to say so, and Grandfather was right. He had been delm, had he not? The delm was always right.

  Now, she was delm. And she would also be right.

  How noisy it was on the port this evening. She could scarcely hear herself think.

  "Bethy!" The voice was familiar
-- beloved, she admitted it. On this night, she would finally and entirely be truthful with herself. She slowed briefly; he caught up and put his hand on her arm.

  "Bethy, hey, I've got something to tell you. Said you'd be the first, didn't I? I'm sorry it took so long to get the papers signed, but --"

  "Sal..."

  "Are you OK?" He extended a blunt hand and brushed her hair from her brow -- tenderly, as if she were a child."Bethy, listen, I've got news. Good news."

  "Good news?" She stared, seeing the smile, the happiness in him, then turned and resumed walking.

  "Hey, aren't you interested?" Sal cried, running after her.

  "I am interested -- after," she said."Sal, I have a duty. Please, when I return, you will tell me everything -- this good news."

  He cocked an eyebrow and kept pace with her, his eyes shrewd now.

  "Something heavy in that pocket," he noted."You ain't after beaning Rijmont with one of my good wrenches, are you?"

  It was a joke. She was expected to laugh. She shook her head."The proctors have Rijmont," she said.

  "'bout time. Bethy, you're scaring me," Sal said, and grabbed her arm. Her hand slid out of the pocket, showing the gun.

  Sal's fingers tightened. He stopped and pulled her to a stop beside him in a pool of light.

  "Sal, let me go."

  "Hell I will! Bethy, where're you going? This like that dream you told me about? The one about your grandfather and that burden he put on you? Give me the gun."

  "No." She tightened her grip and looked into his face. It would be easy, to give Sal the gun, to let him turn her from this. Bethy might do so. Delm Jabun...could not.

  No. She straightened. Delm Jabun would not. She would have Balance. For the best good of the clan.

  "Release me," she said, as gently as she might."Sal. I have duty."

  "Any duty involving a gun needs some close examination," Sal said grimly."Bethy..."

  "My name is not Bethy," she told him, sharply now."It is --"

  "Cyrbet Meriandra," a man's gentle voice said out of the shadows before them."Clan Jabun."

  Sal's grip loosened in surprise. She took advantage of his lapse to pull her arm free.

  "Show yourself," she snapped, wrapping both hands around the gun's grip.