by Karen Lord
Tarik lived in an old stone watchtower, an offshoot of Piedra sited partway between that ancient city and the Masuf Lagoon. His small hovercar made quick work of the varieties of ground along the way, from soft sand to hard gravel, and also provided the final step of elevating them to the second-storey entrance of the tower. Silyan immediately felt that he was entering a stronghold for some great treasure, and when two young monastics of Tirtha welcomed them in, like acolytes to a temple, the impression was only strengthened.
‘I always ask for two,’ Tarik said as they went inside. ‘Girls or boys, it doesn’t matter, but there must be two, and they must be able to speak to the mind as easily as to the ear.’ He paused and looked momentarily anguished, then said by way of explanation and apology, ‘It is a necessary experiment.’
Silyan followed him into the main living room, let himself be seated comfortably amid rugs and cushions and given refreshments, and prepared himself for the revelation. When it came, it was in the form of two toddlers each holding tight to the hand of their carer. At first glance he knew them to be Tarik’s children. A second glance convinced him they were identical twins, but a longer look made him less sure. They were quietly shy and he smiled at them reassuringly.
‘What is your name, little one?’ he asked, holding out a hand to one of the children.
Tarik answered. ‘The name registered with the authorities is Kiratsiha. This one, my daughter, is sometimes called Siha and this one, my son, is sometimes called Kirat.’
Siha lowered her head and drew away from Silyan’s now-frozen hand. Kirat, though farther away, mimicked her motion precisely. Silyan let his hand fall, silenced by a terrible thought that he did not wish to believe.
Tarik began to speak more swiftly and volubly than Silyan had ever heard him do in all their days of acquaintance. ‘As I said before . . . a necessary experiment. New Sadira does not want our sons, and we do not wish to give them our daughters. Sadira-on-Cygnus is a far better place to be than New Sadira, and still – do you know there were young men approaching us before Siha was even born? Some wanted to be her husbands, and some wanted her to bear their children or raise them, according whatever terms were agreeable to us. A pureblooded Sadiri female is a precious thing in our society, and they were bidding for whatever genetic and psionic influence she could bring to their line. Nasiha, my wife, demanded that we find a way to protect them from being used, whether for good or ill.’
‘How is it that they look so alike?’ Silyan wondered.
‘There are medical treatments that encourage the blending of phenotype. We began such treatments in utero and they will continue for the rest of their lives, or until Siha and Kirat no longer need them or want them.’
Silyan met the eyes of the carers. ‘And Tirtha is encouraging the development of their telepathy from a very early stage.’
‘It strengthens communication between them,’ Tarik said. ‘The isolation is also an important part of the process.’
‘Each will be able to impersonate the other,’ Silyan noted.
Tarik nodded. ‘New Sadira’s influence is fading, but if required, Siha can present herself as my son.’
‘And Kirat as your daughter?’ Silyan guessed.
‘Yes.’ Tarik smiled, immersed in memory. ‘My wife insisted. She wanted them to be able to go anywhere in the galaxy on their own terms. She appreciated Punarthai culture but she did not want them to trade one set of restrictions for another.’
Kirat began to fuss slightly, bored at all the talk. Tarik raised a hand and the two young novices took the children out of the room. Silyan brought his hands to his face and dragged them slowly over his eyes. ‘This is . . . ambitious.’
‘But it could save both their lives,’ Tarik replied quietly. ‘Once we hoped it would be enough to keep our family together.’
Silyan knew what was coming. He had sensed it even from those early days of polite greetings and casual conversation. He knew that Tarik wanted something from him.
‘Can you teach Kirat and Siha to have what you have with Galia?’
‘I don’t know!’ he cried out. Why did people ask him such things, as if it had not been enough to produce that one miracle of transit? ‘Can such things be taught? We were abandoned, untutored, unsocialised. No one taught us how to be.’
‘Can you try? You and Galia may be the first, but you must not be the last. I am asking you and Galia to raise Kiratsiha as best you can. Another experiment, another necessity.’ His expression became suddenly, tragically agonised. ‘My wife is still missing. I have searched this entire planet for her, and now I must search elsewhere. I have heard of a mindship whose pilot was so badly injured that it was forced to absorb the physical body to keep the human consciousness alive and intact. If that rumour is true, it means there remains one pilot from Cygnus Beta whom I have not yet asked about my wife.’
‘Where is this mindship now?’ Silyan asked.
Tarik exhaled slowly. ‘I have been told to try the old Sadiri monasteries and retreat colonies,’ he mumbled. ‘That will be my first step.’
Silyan tried to warn Tarik about the utter lunacy of seeking a single human in the vastness of the inhabited galaxy, but he could not find the words and he could not keep the pity from his eyes.
Rather than be offended by that pity, Tarik chose to use it. ‘If Kiratsiha stays with me, New Sadira may discover his secret and Siha will be taken away from us. Siha and Kirat can live with you as orphans from the Lyceum or acolytes from Tirtha. Whatever tale you care to tell, it will be accepted.’
Silyan’s secret guilt pricked him and he hesitated, suspended between the cruelty of no and the folly of yes. At last he spoke, faltering but honest. ‘I think I will say yes – I know I will. Perhaps I owe this to the universe for all my sins and all my gifts, but . . . when I say yes, I fear your children may never see you again.’
Tears filled Tarik’s eyes, but he stayed resolutely focused on Silyan. ‘That may be the case. I would rather them safe and distant than close and in peril.’
Silyan bowed his head in respect for Tarik’s hard choice. ‘I need a moment alone.’
Tarik got up and opened a small door at the side of the room. ‘These steps lead to the top of the tower. No one will disturb you there.’
The curving staircase went up and up and ended at another small door secured with a crude bolt on the inside. Silyan unfastened it, took a few more steps up and found himself space and solitude in the form of a circle bordered with low battlements, low enough for him to see the distant lights of Piedra and Masuf glimmering in the twilight. That same twilight greyed the surrounding semi-desert to emptiness, a void in which the twin cities floated with the watchtower as midpoint, fulcrum, nexus and anchor. What did Galia think of all this, of bringing two strangers into their self-contained circle? He questioned her mind within his and felt her unique response: she was intrigued; she wondered about the balance; she would try the experiment for the sake of the possible findings. Silyan laughed to himself. She would leave the guilt and the pity for Tarik to him; her mind was and always had been on another plane. There was no one like her, and he doubted either part of Kiratsiha could compare, but he did miss his students a little and here were two for the asking.
And yet Tarik’s pain spoke to him – the pain of losing his wife, giving up his children and leaving his community. He had been part of that kind of pain through his work with the Lyceum. Something was owed.
The battlements were ancient and crumbling, with decaying mortar and weathered rubble. He took time to gather a talisman for a promise. Descending to the living room, he gave Tarik three stones and said, ‘You will lend us your children for a while and we will do our best. But the stones of this watchtower will draw you to return. Say it.’
Tarik’s eyes were still wet but his face was peaceful and his voice was steady as he held the dusty stones in his hand and promised, ‘By the stones of the watchtower, I will return.’
Acknowledgements