“…My life is theirs.”
“That is the First Truth. Never forget it.”
“I—” Thezalden faltered, struggling for words. Even hunched over, his eyes fixed on the floor, Prynn could see his cheeks flush dark blue. Finally he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Prynn dabbed at her burning eyes with her fist and, breathing heavily, turned away and marched back the way she came. By the time she reached the foyer, she’d felt she’d regained enough composure not to attract attention. But she desperately wanted to find the sleep room now, put what she’d just witnessed out of her mind, and do her part to help Shar get through this and away from these people as soon as possible. Spotting two Andorians strolling together down a different passage, she decided to follow them, ask for directions—
“Unless you’ve just pulled your weaving off the loom and you’re ready to dye it,” someone remarked dryly, “I’d advise you to avoid that one.”
Recognizing the voice, Prynn spun around. “Thia!”
Her cheeks painted with representations of insect wings in gold, red, and purple, Thia bore little resemblance to the harried zhavey she’d seen earlier. She’d discarded her travel robes for heavily embroidered teal green ceara with the addition of a gauzy drape over the top that Prynn had come to recognize as part of a zhavey’s clothing. Her braids had been wound up into a topknot behind her antennae with a half-dozen single braids looping out of the bottom; each ear was adorned with a series of earrings—several hoops, gem studs and a longer teardrop loop at the bottom.
She bowed slightly from the shoulder. “I am glad that you arrived safely, Prynn Tenmei. And wearing our traditional clothing, no less.”
“Um, yeah. They misplaced my things, but I really like the Andorian style,” Prynn said, grateful for the distraction. “I wondered if we’d run into you here, but I didn’t see you at Enclave or at Deepening meal.”
“I was taking a turn in the keep crèche, where our very young are cared for,” Thia explained. “I heard about the travel difficulties created by the storm. Shar did the proper and sensible thing, bringing you here.”
“I was afraid that under the circumstances—that is, with the preparations for the Sending that must be under way—this would be an inappropriate time to come here.”
“The rites of the dead must be observed, once Shathrissía’s clan has gathered,” Thia acknowledged, “but so too must the traditions of the Spring Water Festival, including the welcoming of visitors such as you and me. The timing is unfortunate, but not unprecedented. You may be assured that all is well in that regard.”
And now the awkward moment of silence ensues. Prynn looked at the floor; looked up at Thia—offered her a pleasant smile. The young zhen waited expectantly, though Prynn wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do—bow, do the palm thing, ask about her child. This might be a good opportunity to find out where the hell I’m supposed to be going. “You want to keep me company while I get lost?” Prynn said, throwing up her hands in defeat. “I have absolutely no clue where I’m supposed to sleep.”
Thia’s eyes smiled at her, much the way Shar’s sometimes did.
Prynn relaxed.
“Wouldn’t you rather dress for the festival dances? I have many jewels you could borrow—and I could paint your face and body.” Thia pushed aside her drape so Prynn could see that her empty kheth was made up similarly to her face.
For a moment, she was tempted, especially when she recalled Shar’s explanation of the festival, but she declined, sensing that she needed to be cautious while at the keep. The idea of losing herself in a crowd of strangers here made her uneasy.
Thia seemed genuinely disappointed that Prynn wouldn’t be joining her in the festival. “If you would like, I will escort you to your sleep hall.”
This offer Prynn accepted gratefully.
Prynn’s transparent motives for leaving the dining hall early simultaneously frustrated Shar and sobered him: Had he seriously thought he could sit side by side with his bondmates without so much as a word? Her choice forced him to confront the issue, without excuses. Of course, he had studied them out of the corner of his eye during the Enclave and Deepening meal, hoping to ascertain their feelings, but he was left unsatisfied. Both Anichent and Dizhei had been well schooled in the ways of protecting the interior world. He did not expect that he would know the truth until they chose to reveal themselves to him. Seeing them again reawakened his pain—and his love. Anichent’s eyes were once again alert, having shed the tranquilized expression he wore at their last good-bye. He exuded the solemn solidity that Shar had always counted on. And Dizhei…she was definitely thinner, shadows beneath her eyes bespoke the stress of the previous months, but the gauntness in her face had vanished. Perhaps they had learned to live with grief. Had he? Or had he cut it out of himself, like diseased tissue, instead of learning how to be in this world without Thriss? What he had done was abandon his other bondmates. It had been the least egregious of his options. Or so he’d thought when confronted with the choice.
Noise continued in the dining hall, understandable considering the hundreds of people still eating.
“Thirishar.” Anichent spoke first. Of course he would. Tragedy could not fully extinguish the relationship they had cultivated since childhood.
“Th’se,” Shar said, using the endearment. He needed them to know of his love for them. Of all that had changed, his feelings had not.
“You look well,” Dizhei said, pushing food around her still-full plate.
“As do you, Sh’za.”
Silence: thick, obscure.
At last, Anichent said, “Will you come with us—to the arboretum? We should talk.”
Shar nodded. He offered Dizhei his arm. Her split-second pause before she accepted stung, but what else could he expect her to do? Anichent took Shar by the hand. Together, they departed.
Prynn and Thia walked for what felt like half a kilometer or more, reinforcing the notion that the keep was more a small city than a manor or a farm. When they finally arrived at the sleep room, Prynn discovered it was yet another chasmal stone hall with a high-vaulted ceiling. Faded frescoes featuring winged creatures and fantastical knotwork adorned the longest wall. Folding screens composed of metal frames with dark-colored fabric stretched over them like canvas sectioned the room into smaller spaces; there were no personal “bedrooms” to speak of. Prynn watched a clan resident select a sleeping mat from among those stacked against the wall and unroll it on an open space on the floor. After stripping off her top layer of clothing, the shen folded it neatly and placed it beside the mat before crawling between the layers. No pillow. No lights out. No hint as to who might be sleeping next to you several hours from now.
Now, that’s trust.
As Prynn strolled along the wall, wondering what criteria she should use to identify an adequate sleep bundle, she asked Thia about this lack of individual space—didn’t it bother her? Did she ever want to be by herself?
“We’ve always lived by the axiom When others are in need, I give, meaning that whatever resources we have, we share between us,” Thia said, selecting an especially bulky (and, Prynn hoped, warm) bundle and passing it to her. “Individuals in this sleep room need a place to sleep in order to meet a biological need that assures health and well-being. If a group is newly bonded and undergoing the shelthreth—or if a zhavey has recently delivered—there are secluded, isolated places where such sacred experiences can occur in privacy. Sleeping isn’t a ritual.”
In light of Thia’s statement, Prynn considered her own bedtime routine, involving hot baths, novels, and pillow punching, and suddenly it all seemed a bit ridiculous. She followed Thia to one of the sectioned-off corners, where she discovered with some relief that her bag had been deposited. “This may sound like an odd question, but what about your possessions? Like, personal belongings?”
“Each family unit has rooms in the keep. Private family issues can be dealt with in those spaces, belongings stored, and so for
th.” Thia unrolled a bundle for Prynn, smoothing it out, loosening the layers. “But for the most part, the need to possess something exclusively doesn’t figure into the Andorian way.”
Prynn considered Thia’s explanation for a moment, and then said, “You’re all in this together, aren’t you?”
“We’re supposed to be,” Thia said. She patted the bundle. “It’s ready for you now. And lest you think we’re entirely backward, take comfort in knowing that temperature regulators have been woven into the fabric. You’ll stay warm.”
Prynn laughed. “Am I that transparent?”
“Your skin. It’s…bumpy,” Thia said, pointing at the goose-flesh that prickled Prynn’s arm. “And you’re rather bluish for a species that ordinarily is not.”
“Guess I’ve just gotten used to the chill—didn’t realize I was becoming an icicle,” Prynn said. “Say, if I needed to use the ’fresher…”
“Around the corner”—she pointed to the nearest passageway—“make a left, through the black stone arch.” She paused. “If you are settled…?”
Prynn nodded. “I’ll probably turn in. We’ve had a long day. Where are you sleeping?”
“Close by. My sh’za has the children tonight. I will be taking my rest after dancing.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Thia was one of a half-dozen people Prynn knew in the entire keep. She wanted to maintain contact with the zhavey if for no other reason than to have someone around who could show her the ropes.
“As you wish, Prynn Tenmei.” She bowed her head politely.
Prynn prepared for bed, unwinding herself from the ceara and climbing between the covers as quickly as she could. Pushing aside her worries about Shar, she shifted her focus to her novel—a campy horror yarn about the early terraforming days on Mars—and to staying thawed.
“I recall our visits here with Thriss,” Shar said, running his hand over the trunk of a blooming elta tree. Of all the rooms in the keep, the temperate arboretum with its profusion of plants and flowers reminded him most of their home in the southern continent. On their rare visits here during their youth, Shar frequented this place, especially when he felt homesick. “Is that why you chose it, Anichent?”
“In part. We shared happy memories here. I wanted to invite them to return, hoping that past joys might ease our present grief.”
Shar nodded, agreeing with the wisdom of Anichent’s choice. Feeling the peace in this place of ponds and delicate plant life, he was about to share his own memories of that occasion—shortly after their Time of Knowing—when Dizhei spoke.
“We have talked with many zhen and chan, Thirishar.”
He swallowed hard, the now familiar ache suffusing his insides. “I hope you have found them suitable.”
Dizhei sighed, her shoulders hunched as if weighted painfully. “In fact, we have not. We have found them—”
“They are not you, Shar,” Anichent said, moving to Shar’s side.
And before Shar could speak, Anichent leaned forward, touching his antennae to Shar’s. Murmured endearments, words that Shar had not imagined he would hear again in this lifetime, soothed his raw emotions. He received Anichent, and felt alive with pain and soaring joy. Yet the familiar comfort of his th’se’s touch wrenched him, and he stumbled as if he had taken a blow. Reaching for Anichent, Shar gripped his shoulders, pulling him close. Anichent folded him in his arms.
“And they are not Thriss.” Dizhei came up behind Shar, pushed his tunic to just above his waist and caressed his back with such tenderness that Shar was overcome. They stood together, touching, whispering words that had long remained unspoken. How easy it was, how natural, to step into their embrace and yield to their love for him—
Their love for him.
The love he had rejected for fear of hurting them.
Shar broke away. Though he felt that he was severing himself from a source of life, he forced himself to stand apart from them. Not long ago, he had closed off this possibility, allowed himself to mourn the loss. He did not know if he had the strength to do so again. “What is it that you want from me,” he whispered, saying it not as an accusation, but as a plea.
“It is not too late, Ch’te, for you to be chan,” Anichent said.
The old doubts reasserted themselves. Chan for you? Or chan for us? Can we be together without forever being drawn into the past? “Will there ever be a time when you don’t blame me for her loss?” Shar said, his voice raspy.
Without hesitation, Anichent answered yes; Dizhei said nothing for a long moment. He most feared her silence.
“Forgiveness is not the issue,” she said finally. “We—Anichent and I—hope that something might be saved. And whatever is past, can stay in the past. I cannot say that I will ever understand the choices you made, ch’te, but I can live with them.”
Before Shar could answer, he glimpsed a figure in the doorway dressed in the ceremonial garb of keep security. He gestured for the thaan to come closer to deliver his message.
“You must come with me, Cha Thirishar,” the sentinel said, politely redirecting his eyes. “It is urgent.”
Shar frowned. “What is it?”
“Zha Charivretha is here.”
Prynn had dozed off midway through chapter three. Disturbing dreams of the Martian terraformers in her book being possessed by the parasites they’d recently encountered on the station had yielded to an urgent need to visit the ’fresher. Parting the cobwebs of her dreams, she emerged from her sleep to discover the sleep room much as it was when Thia had left her. More sleep bundles had been spread out on the floor, more Andorians resting peacefully—still no sign of Phillipa or Shar, though. Drowsily, she stumbled out of her sleep bundle, felt around the floor until she found her slippers, and wondered in her half-awake state if she ought to cover up—find a bathrobe or something. Where was the ’fresher again?
Vague recollections of Thia’s directions floating in her mind, she turned at the doorway, and shuffled down the hall. Surprisingly, she wasn’t as cold as she thought she’d be, though she could see the storm winding up outside, the wind pressing brush and other flotsam against the window, sprays of water drizzling against the transparent aluminum, the incessant thrum of rain crashing against the roof and the outer walls.
Prynn made another turn through a dark gray archway, stepped into another passageway, and yawned. She was looking around for anything that would indicate where the facilities might be when she noticed a door left ajar. In her muddled mind, the door registered as unusual because she couldn’t recall seeing a single door since she’d arrived in the keep. Hair prickled on her neck; her breath quickened. Pale light spilled from behind the door into the passage where she stood; the light beckoned her and she was helpless to resist. Gingerly, she opened the door. She had nothing to fear, nothing to fear….
Upon stepping over the threshold, Prynn knew she should leave. She had no right to be here. But her need for understanding overcame her sense of propriety. She advanced further into the chamber.
Looking through the coffin’s clear lid, Prynn saw her own face superimposed over that of Thriss.
Even in death, Shar’s zh’yi was beautiful. Prynn brushed the transparent surface as if she were stroking the fine white-blond hair fanning out beneath Thriss’s shoulders. Dewy and soft, her lips parted slightly in a breath never taken. So much loss, she thought, so many lives broken.
I can never have this moment with my mother. Prynn had no remains, no tokens, no mark to honor Ruriko’s memory. And Shar will be denied this!
Placing both hands on the coffin, she leaned forward, rested against the surface, studied Thriss’s silent face, and wished, for a moment, that she could wake Thriss from her death-sleep like a princess in a fairy tale: with true love’s kiss. Her love for Shar.
She held the thought. Her love for Shar.
Is that what I feel?
Passing through the archway to the formal receiving room, Vretha discovered Thantis already within. The zhen stood with h
er back to her, hands linked behind her back, watching rain drizzle down the frosted panes. Even viewed from behind, Thantis appeared as unkempt and askew as she’d been six years ago—the last time Vretha had been in this room—the last time the two zhavey s had been allies.
Unified by a desire to encourage Shar to defer his Academy admission until after the shelthreth, they had hatched many plans, none of which had come to fruition. So Thantis had accepted the appointment to the Art Institute of Betazed and taken Thriss with her. Vretha had ascended to the Federation Council, providing her with easy access to Starfleet Academy and thus to Shar. Vretha hadn’t spoken with Thantis since, save a few subspace communiqués exchanged between her and Thantis during her unsuccessful attempt to dissuade Shar from going on the Gamma mission. Once again I’m reduced to depending on Thantis for help because of my failure to raise Thirishar properly. Steeling her resolve, she took a deep breath, pushed her hood back from her face, and approached her old nemesis.
“I apologize for my intrusion at this sacred time of Sending.” Standing beside a curio table, Vretha buried her clasped hands within the draping arms of her cloak and bowed deeply, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Somehow,” Thantis began, turning about to face Vretha, “it seems oddly appropriate that your chei, who wreaked such havoc in my zhei’s life, should blunder into Thriss’s final rites. He’s always been a headstrong one, rarely willing to accept correction, ever insistent that his way was right. Then again, his present behavior proves how effective your teachings have been.”
You would have been well suited for a career in politics, Vretha thought, smarting at Thantis’s words. If she was planning on keeping her promises to the party council, she didn’t have time to play word games with Thantis. She rose up from her bow and faced the zhen directly. Thantis’s simple ceara and long silken tresses made her seem deceptively nonthreatening; Vretha had learned, through experience, that the artist knew how to target her barbs as skillfully as a seasoned parliamentary advisor. Still, an in-kind response was beneath one of Vretha’s standing—after all, she was a Federation councillor, an elected representative of millions of Andorians; such an honor required that she know how to behave. This zhen had lost her child; Vretha would not return an attack on a wounded opponent. “I apologize also for Thirishar’s untimely visit. Had the protests and the attempted bombing in the capital—instigated, I believe, by Visionist radicals—not interfered, my chei would be in Zhevra right now.”
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