In another family, Nunce’s constant fretting would have produced a pack of rebellious brats, going out of their way to make themselves embarrassments. Fortunately, Cappie’s mother Jewel had a counterbalancing talent for making children civilized. She was a big blond woman, tall and wide, proud possessor of a cheerful no-nonsense approach to dealing with everyone except her husband. Jewel fiercely believed Nunce was an important man, a thinker and philosopher. I can’t tell you what his philosophy might have been—he never shared it with the village. Rumor suggested that Nunce was writing a book which would explain everything in the world so easily a child could understand it…but most Tobers believed the rumor had been started by Nunce and Jewel themselves. I’d visited their house almost daily since I was born, and had never seen anything that looked like a manuscript.
“Happy solstice,” Nunce said as he fidgeted to keep Cappie out of public view. “Did you have a pleasant vigil?”
“A gripping one,” I replied. “Just thought I’d check how Cappie was doing.”
“Fine,” came a tentative answer from behind Nunce’s back. “How are you doing?”
“Fine. Just fine.”
I’d been trying for an ambiguous tone of voice—not post-love creamy, but not a hard-edged “Sorry, babe, the dew has dried” either…something cozy enough for Cappie’s peace of mind, but detached enough for mine.
Okay: it’s a lot to expect from three words.
Cappie stuck her head over her father’s shoulder; she must have been standing on tiptoe. Her expression was balanced right on the divide between happiness and fury, ready to swoop down the slope in either direction if I gave her cause. “Your note said you went back to vigil.”
“Good thing I did,” I replied. “Hakoore came to see me.”
“Leeta said he might.”
“Really?” I asked. “How would Leeta know?”
“The Patriarch’s Man discusses lots of things with the priestess.”
That surprised me. I couldn’t imagine Hakoore discussing anything with anyone. “Did Leeta tell you why Hakoore wanted me?”
Cappie nodded. “But you told him you couldn’t, right? That you had other plans?”
“I said no as clearly as I could,” I assured her…which wasn’t really what she was asking, but I hoped sounded like an answer anyway. Thank heavens women seldom resort to direct questions. “I refuse to be anyone’s disciple.”
“You’d be Leeta’s disciple,” she said. “Unless you intend to weasel out on what we agreed last night.”
“I’m not a weasel!” I snapped.
She pushed her father out of the way so she could confront me face to face. “Look me in the eye, Fullin, and tell me you’ll keep your promise.”
“Um…” Looking her in the eye was tough for more than the usual reasons: the male clothes were even more interesting on her in full daylight. They made her look excruciatingly feminine—the slight definition of her breasts under that white shirt, the short-cropped hair framing her delicate face. At that moment, I wished I had more visceral memories of our lovemaking the night before…something juicier than the secondhand recollections of what my body had done while my sister self was in charge. “At this moment,” I said with all sincerity, “I’m tempted to reopen negotiations. If you go male, I’ll never see you look like this again.”
She stared back, her eyes judging me. “What, Fullin?” she finally asked. “Are you actually feeling something, or are you just horny again?”
“Oh, please!” Olimbarg moaned. She thrust herself between Cappie and me, planting a hand on each of our chests and pushing us both back. “No one wants to hear this!”
On the contrary, Cappie’s whole family was listening with avid interest. Her mother wore a hopeful smile; her younger brothers and sisters had their hands over their mouths to stifle giggles, but were crowding close to make sure they didn’t miss a word; even her father was paying attention, temporarily forgetting he wanted to hide his daughter from the neighbors. Cappie, however, took advantage of the distraction and stepped clear of everyone: Olimbarg, me, the rest of her family.
“Look,” she said, to them as much as to me. “The meeting’s ready to start. We’ll talk later, okay? Okay, Fullin? We’ll really talk?”
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll talk. We will.”
If the Patriarch’s Hand had been fastened on me at that second, I don’t know if it would have taken my words as truth or crushed me for lying. Part of me had suddenly decided to want Cappie again. A different part would rather kiss a snapping turtle than “really talk” with her.
“Good morning, friends!” Mayor Teggeree called from the top of the steps. “You have other things to do, so I won’t waste your valuable time. Permit me to announce that we’ll have a dignitary among us today: Knowledge-Lord Rashid of Spark!”
Rashid emerged from the interior of the council hall, while the assembled village favored him with gasps, chatter and hasty applause. Under the noise, I whispered to Cappie, “Didn’t he want to keep his presence a secret?”
“Absolutely,” she whispered back. “And I’m sure he thought he could blend right in with us Tobers…except that he’s a complete stranger wearing bright green armor.”
Cappie had a point: Rashid carried his helmet under his arm, but he still wore the rest of his green plastic suit. The glossy shell reflected the sun like an emerald mirror, flashing glints in all directions as he stepped forward. In the full light of day, it was obvious the armor was far finer than anything owned by even the greatest nobles down-peninsula. If Feliss nobles wore armor at all, it was only a steel breastplate that went over a chain mail tunic. Rashid wouldn’t fool anyone by claiming to be some visiting Southern Duke—the only people in the world who might encase themselves in OldTech plastic were the Spark Lords.
And Master Disease, some upstart voice whispered inside my head. But I refused to feel sheepish about my mistaken assumption—Rashid’s tear gas had hickoried my brain, so how could I be expected to think clearly?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rashid said warmly, “boys and girls—or vice versa—I’m delighted to come here for your Commitment Day and would like to thank your Council of Elders for graciously inviting me.”
Cappie made an outraged choking sound. Her mother patted her on the back and asked if she had a tickle in her throat.
“I’m especially pleased to be here,” Rashid went on, “because it’s a Knowledge-Lord’s duty to learn as much as I can about every society on our planet; and frankly Tober Cove has a pretty interesting one, don’t you think?”
Many people smiled, but Cappie only snorted. Her mother placed a hand on Cappie’s forehead and offered her a barley sugar.
“Now I’m just here to observe,” Rashid was saying, “and I don’t want special treatment. A lot of places I go, people start talking the way they think lords talk, using big words, rolling their Rs, quoting obscure old poets…”
Cappie took the barley sugar, popped it into her mouth, and ground her teeth against it.
“But I don’t hold with such top-lofty behavior,” the Spark Lord said, “and neither should you. Just do what you’d do on any other Commitment Day, without putting on a show for me. I know you don’t get many Spark Lords here—as far as I can tell, you’ve never had a Spark visit, although your Patriarch came to see us long ago—so some of you might want to chat with me…shake my hand…have me kiss your baby…something you can drop into conversation the next time you go to Wiretown.”
I heard a crunch as Cappie bit clean through the barley sugar; and just for the record, Jewel’s homemade candy was only a hair softer than quartz. Zephram called it “barely sugar”—he liked it enormously.
“Don’t worry,” Rashid said, “I’m happy to give everyone a few minutes. But that’s not what Commitment Day is about, is it? It’s not about catering to lords, it’s about your children going to meet Master Crow and Mistress Gull. That’s worth celebrating and I don’t want to get in the way.”
>
Cappie gripped my arm and made a show of digging in her fingernails…as if she were desperate enough to kill Rashid or herself any second now. I just shrugged. She might mistrust him, but everyone else in the crowd clearly took him at face value. Why shouldn’t they? From birth, we’d been taught to revere the Sparks as our protectors, our line of defense against the scheming traitors who sold out to the star demons four hundred years ago. If Cappie and I had met Lord Rashid under different circumstances: without Steck, for example…
My mother…
Where was Steck anyway?
“That’s all I have to say,” Rashid finished. “I wish everyone a good celebration and thank you for giving me such a…robust welcome so far.”
Mayor Teggeree surged forward with his hands high in zealous applause. The rest of the village joined enthusiastically—most of them anyway. Neither Leeta nor Hakoore put much energy into their clapping, although Leeta at least had the grace to wear an expression of determined courtesy. Hakoore didn’t so much as smile, and his ovation was restricted to three constipated claps.
“It’s an honor to have you with us, my lord,” Teggeree boomed out when the applause eased. “And while the Council of Elders has already welcomed you…” (he didn’t mention that it happened in the middle of the night) “…I want to make sure you receive the full offer of hospitality you deserve.”
Cappie inhaled sharply. “He wouldn’t!”
But the mayor was already gesturing into the crowd. “Father Ash? Mother Dust? Are you willing to come up here?”
Heads nodded approval all around as people near the stairway nudged back to form an open space. Into that space, Bonnakkut and the other members of the Warriors Society helped two people as thin as skeletons: Father Ash and Mother Dust, the oldest man and woman in Tober Cove. Their names were ceremonial titles, given when their predecessors died; I had known them by other names before, but it was disrespectful to use those names now. When this Mother or Father died, the next oldest in town would rise to the position, losing whatever human name he or she might have and becoming what we called a Doorkeeper to the Gods.
As Father Ash and Mother Dust moved to the bottom of the stairs, everyone in the crowd knelt. You did that when the Mother and Father came together—going down on your knees wasn’t just a tradition, it was an automatic response. No matter how foul-tempered or foolish the two might be as human beings, Father Ash and Mother Dust commanded respect.
They were the true masters of Tober Cove. Outsiders might think the mayor and Council of Elders spoke for the town, but they were only in charge of mundane matters: setting the price of fish and collecting taxes to pay the schoolmaster. Hakoore kept the town true to the Patriarch’s Law and Leeta stood for woman’s wisdom, but neither Patriarch’s Man nor Mocking Priestess had final word over what went on in the cove.
That right belonged to Father Ash and Mother Dust. They almost never took a stand…but when the mayor said one thing, Hakoore said another, and Leeta said a third, Father Ash and Mother Dust were there to adjudicate between the squabbling children. Zephram called them figureheads, but he was wrong—they were our spiritual leaders, raised by venerability above Hakoore’s legalistic theology and Leeta’s milkweed dances. Father Ash and Mother Dust were the tiny nuggets of holiness that remained after you got past the rules and rites of religion.
“Father…Mother…” Teggeree called from his knees. “I beg you to extend the hospitality of Tober Cove to Lord Rashid.”
“And to my Bozzle, of course,” Rashid said offhandedly.
Steck stepped out of the Council Hall doorway, sliding in behind Rashid like a shadow. I doubt if most people in the crowd even noticed—everyone knew Spark Lords had such aides to handle secretarial chores and other menial details. The town’s concentration was centered on Rashid, Father Ash and Mother Dust. Perhaps Cappie and I were the only ones to give the Bozzle a second glance.
Overnight, Steck had become female…at least to outward appearance. The beard was gone and the carelessly shaggy hair had been trimmed into the practical style worn by many farm wives: efficiently short but feminine, in a hearty way that fit Steck’s broad-shouldered physique. I wondered if the mayor’s wife had done the haircutting. Certainly, she had donated the clothes Steck now wore—I recognized the long but billowy dress of forest green, and the lighter green overshirt with enough of a V neckline to show a hint of cleavage. As a forty-year-old woman, Steck actually had a remarkable body…
…then it struck me I was ogling a Neut, not to mention my mother. I shuddered with a sudden case of the icks.
Get over it, I told myself. Pretend Rashid’s Bozzle is just some Southern woman, not worth a second thought. I had sworn I would keep Steck’s secret, and besides, I didn’t want to remind the town of my scandalous parentage. It wouldn’t hurt to think of Steck as a woman, at least for a day.
She looked enough like a woman, didn’t she? The face was not one hundred percent female, but it would pass. In a way, seeing that ambiguous face made me want to know what Steck looked like when she was my mother. She wouldn’t have been the same, I knew that. Except for flukes like Olimbarg, people’s male and female selves seldom resembled each other more than brother and sister; Neuts were supposed to be different again. There was little chance anyone would recognize Steck as a Neut they’d seen briefly twenty years ago…especially now, when all the people had turned their attention to Rashid.
Father Ash and Mother Dust were sizing up Rashid just like everyone else. We were lucky this Father and Mother both had clear wits—not always the case, when the sole criterion for gaining the position was being older than anyone else. The elderly man and woman squinted up at the lord with thoughtful expressions on their faces, while Rashid returned their gaze calmly. He didn’t make the mistake of trying to charm them with a politician’s smile, but I thought he looked pleasant enough: a good-natured man, well-groomed and respectful.
Mother Dust whispered something to Father Ash and he whispered back. I found it hard to believe they were seriously discussing the option of denying hospitality to a Spark Lord—more likely, this was only a token gesture to assert their independence from the Sparks, the mayor and everyone else.
Then again, it was possible they really were talking it over. Offering the town’s hospitality to Rashid and Steck was almost like making our visitors official Tobers; it was a sober commitment, an honor that had only been bestowed once before in my lifetime (to Governor Niome of Feliss). Furthermore, Ash and Dust were above trying to curry favor with anyone: they were close enough to the embrace of the gods that worldly blessings had lost their shine.
That’s what we were taught anyway. And since Father Ash and Mother Dust had been taught the same things ninety-odd years ago, they believed in their own impunity.
“All right,” Mother said in a whistling voice. “You have our hospitality.”
“Both of you,” Father added.
On her knees beside me, Cappie shuddered. I wondered what bothered her more: that Rashid had been granted full access to our Commitment Day ceremonies, or that Steck had been officially welcomed back to Tober land. The hospitality of Father Ash and Mother Dust had the legal force to override the decree of banishment imposed twenty years ago—my mother was no longer an exile. And the hospitality had not been won under false pretences; Ash and Dust surely knew who Steck really was. I couldn’t remember if they’d been present for the council meeting in the middle of the night, but Teggeree would never request their indulgence without making sure they had the facts. Our mayor had a knack for his own expedience, but there are some lines you just don’t cross.
“What’s done is done,” I told Cappie, “and they knew what they were doing.”
“Sometimes,” she answered, “nobody knows what they’re doing.” And she got to her feet so fast, for a moment she stood tall while the rest of the town stayed crouched on their knees.
ELEVEN
A New Name for Steck
Mayor Teg
geree dismissed the assembly. The result was a general milling about, with some people trying to push their way through the crowd in order to rush home, but many others staying to chat with neighbors, or shuffling in search of their closest cronies so they could jabber about the Knowledge-Lord. The talk all amounted to, “A Spark here in the cove…well, well, well!” but everyone felt compelled to offer his or her variation on that theme. People who’ve heard surprising news are like wolves staking out their territory—they have to piss on it to prove it’s theirs.
From where I stood with Cappie’s family, I couldn’t see Zephram and Waggett, but I assumed they were tied into one of the knots of people babbling about our distinguished visitor. Eventually they’d come looking for me, and I didn’t want that—not if Steck was in a position to connect me with my son.
“Olimbarg,” I whispered to Cappie’s sister, hanging close at my heels while pretending complete indifference to me. “Can you do me a favor?”
“No,” she answered automatically.
She didn’t mean it. “Can you tell Zephram to take Waggett back home without me? There’s something I have to do here first.”
“What do you have to do?” Olimbarg asked. “Paw up my sister?”
“Don’t be jealous. You can be nice to have around when you aren’t jealous.”
That was true…not that I’d ever seen her keep the jealousy in check for more than a minute at a time.
“Who’s jealous?” she said with unconvincing haughtiness; then she went to give Zephram my message, walking with a flouncing swing of her hips because she knew I was watching her. I couldn’t tell if she intended her walk to be sexy or belligerent…but then, she was fourteen and likely didn’t know which she wanted either.
It took a full ten seconds for me to pull my gaze from Olimbarg—not because I felt lustful urges toward a bratty kid, but because I wasn’t eager to turn back to Cappie and her family. If Cappie wanted to “really talk” right away, which part of me would be ready to speak? The part that liked the curve of her breasts under suspenders, or the part that lied and evaded as easily as scratching an itch?
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