Courtship Rite

by Donald Kingsbury

  “I just got undressed!”

  The labyrinth of the Cloister contained perhaps one-third of the entire Kaiel wealth. There were the tapestries and the windows and the gold foil and silver inlay, of course, but that was for show. The major investment was in intricately crafted biochemical apparatus, dust-free and sterile rooms, electron eyes, silvergraphing techniques that could capture the image of a protein string on boron-anate plastics. There were rooms where genetically truncated and modified microlife cells fabricated difficult chemicals. Priest-changed ziants performed much of the necessary micro-manipulation and sensing. Within this labyrinth the ancestor of Gaet’s host mother had been synthesized from human and artificial genes. Even among the priest clans where breeding and biochemistry was a familiar art, the Kaiel were known as magicians.

  While Noe took a nap with her head on the desk top, Gaet curiously examined relevant silvergraphs and pondered over hundreds of variations of hypothetical genetic chains that had been inserted in the fast-breeding symbiotes and tested. It was not his field of expertise but he read the group’s work well enough. In the Getan language the same word was used for “priest” or “leader” or “biologist”. Nobody survived the creches who was not a fine biochemist.

  “Hey, this one seems to work!”

  She woke up and looked to see the source of his enthusiasm. She smiled proudly. “It’s sluggish but my children are optimizing it.”

  “You’re still sleepy.”

  “I need the mountain winds in my face.”

  “How about a run on my skrei-wheel?”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  It was dangerous so she loved it, clinging to Gaet’s back, flying faster than men could run. The ground rushed under her eyes like that peak-risk moment when a sailplane comes in for a landing, but there was no jolt or collapse of wings — the earth kept slipping past in endless orgasm.

  18

  Note how the large maelot is captured by a true sea master. We do not deck this creature with the first haul. The maelot is strong and the line is fragile. Let the four-legger escape until it has lost all hope. Then it is weaker than the line.

  Mnankrei Time Wizard e’Nop of the Temple of Raging Seas

  STORM MASTER TONPA was waiting in a skiff behind his ship when the cry came. He could have overtaken her easily but he did not. He kept his oarsmen far enough behind her so that she had hope, but moved them fast enough in pursuit so that her desperate hope would exhaust her.

  When he finally took her, Teenae raked him with her claws and his crewmen had to tie her feet while he held her. They fastened the line so that she was hauled behind the boat. Face down. She had to struggle frantically for air. Tonpa gave careful visual attention to the vigor of these splashings. If they ceased it would mean she was drowning and would need revival.

  The skiff slapped safely over the waves to the mother ship. There Teenae was reeled aboard by her bound feet, recklessly swung against the hull by the cavalier sailors, and left to hang by the ankles until Tonpa himself had climbed aboard in his own good time.

  The sea priest did not bother to speak to her. He ignored his clawed face. Callously he supervised his men while they lashed her into the painful four-quarter rigging, as if her limbs were the four corners of a sail replacing the furled fore-topsail. Up there her husband would be sure to see her at dawn, upside down, silhouetted, perhaps even rosily outlined.

  Arap was also lashed to the rigging, but right side up, and lower down. Tonpa told Arap that pleasure set better in the memory when it was framed by pain. And then he laughed. “How else do I convince her to convince her husband that what you told her was whole truth?”

  As an extra precaution he moved his ship out of the bay, silently and without running lights, to foil whatever rescue efforts her husband might attempt. There would be no need for a rescue. At dawn they would be back and what was left of her would be returned to her man.

  At the fading of the stars, when Getasun was only peeking at the Njarae from behind the mountains, two rough seamen lowered Teenae and slopped salt water on her crumpled body to revive her. They towelled her down, joking cruelly. A taciturn sailor shaved the strip at the top of her head. They fed her. All the while she said nothing. For a long time she was kept below deck, and then they took her up, unclothed, to face Oelita. She would rather have died on the mast. Not only was Oelita there, but many of the townspeople she knew as well. Oelita, in disbelief, made her say what she had to say over and over again. That was a special torture.

  Finally Oelita turned to Tonpa and asked with a precise electric force, “Is she speaking under duress? Are you forcing her to say this?”

  “Do you imagine that people only speak Falsehood under duress? Yes, she is speaking under duress. Can you imagine this Truth to be pleasant for her? She speaks Truth under penalty of death.”

  “She seems to be ill-treated.”

  “I have been under no obligation to treat her well.”

  “What will happen to her?”

  “She loses her nose for slandering the Mnankrei and then we give her to you to do as you please.”

  “You will not harm her in any way or I will slander the Mnankrei in ways you cannot imagine!”

  The sea priest chuckled. “Ah, the Gentle Heretic who forgives her worst enemy. Flowers for the criminal. So be it.” He bowed. “We’ve been wronged, but yours is the graver wrong.”

  “May I speak with her alone to see that she is not speaking what torture has commanded her to speak?”

  “Of course.”

  On the deck away from everyone, Oelita placed a shawl around Teenae’s shoulders to protect her from the sea chill. “Why? Tell me why?”

  Teenae shook her head.

  “Why!” Oelita insisted with a storm’s forpe.

  “We were proposing to you,” she said in the tiniest of sounds while looking at the deck.

  “You were what?” Lack of understanding made Oelita’s voice antagonistic.

  “Proposing marriage.”

  Oelita stared.

  Teenae was in a state of shock. “Our marriage is incomplete. We need another.”

  Finally the calm wonder with which one treats the truly insane mellowed the Heretic of Sorrow. “Is that a Kaiel custom, to murder the bride?” she asked as if she was asking about the weather.

  “If you survive, you’re worthy.”

  “And you think I would be willing to present my grail after such a courtship?” The grail was the bride’s gift, a layering of sacred and profane foods.

  Teenae hung her head.

  “Was this the way you were courted?”

  “No,” said Teenae with a wistful absence. Her mind hardly functioned. “My husbands took me to the mountains. They sang songs. I was only a little girl. I didn’t even have any breasts. They were kind.” She was crying. “Don’t you see? They didn’t want you! They were ordered to marry you! We wanted another.” She sobbed. “It’s too complicated. Joesai was the wrong man to send but they had to send him because all the Kaiel they’ve sent have been murdered and he’s a violent man who is at home with murder and I was supposed to mute him and I didn’t.” Teenae spoke more but nothing that was comprehensible.

  The older woman led the young one back to the Storm Master’s stateroom. “We’ll go now,” she said, defying any of the Mnankrei to stop her. They let her go, her arm around Teenae’s shoulders, having gotten what they wanted — witnesses to tell of Kaiel deceit and weakness.

  Among a quiet group on the quay, Oelita reunified Joesai with his wife. “Take care of her.”

  “Thank you for this favor,” he intoned stiffly.

  “Am I glad to see you,” muttered Teenae, hiding her nakedness in her husband’s chest.

  “I brought her back without killing anyone.” Oelita was defiant.

  Joesai laughed because he was so happy to have Teenae in his arms again. The laugh blazed as a forge does while it melts steel. “But imagine the violence that has been done to my pride.�
�� His fingers combed Teenae’s long hair. “To soothe that fire I’ll have to kill them all.”

  “It is wrong to kill,” Oelita said.

  “No,” he said.

  “I have contempt for the traps you have laid for me, and the deception with which you have laid them. Both of you!”

  “The next time we shall take more care to win your respect,” he replied ironically.

  “So! You’re not going to leave me alone!”

  “You read me that easily?”

  “Yes! You are Kaiel! You are a creature of ritual. Ritual; that’s the plague of Geta.” She sounded frightened. “I’ll survive you!”

  He was grinning like a skull. “I don’t recommend that. Then you’ll have to marry me.”

  His arrogance possessed Oelita with a stormy mixture of rage and fear. “I’ll poison the grail!” she said, not knowing what she was saying.

  Joesai couldn’t contain his laughter. With Teenae back, his fear was gone. “It’s wrong to kill,” he chided. All this time he was appraising the hostile crowd. He gestured his group into a defensive formation and they moved out.

  Kaiel men surrounded Teenae, fast-pacing along the quay from the angry mob. Far across the bay, the Mnankrei ship was blending darkly into the waves. Only now, as Teenae was beginning to be aware that she was alive and even safe, did she have time for rage.

  “That shipleech Tonpa, may his scars turn to pus! I’ll never forgive him. Never.” She felt her nose. It was still there. “Kill him for me, Joesai. You can do it. I want a new pair of boots!”

  Joesai’s mind was more on immediate survival. “First your feet will have to acquire a new set of calluses. Second you will have to row to the moon. Third…”

  She was in no mood to be joshed. “Kill him for me tonight while my hatred is hot enough for me to enjoy it!”

  Joesai laughed. “He’s just lucky he didn’t make the mistake of beating you at a game of kol!”

  “You’ll have your chance to kill him at lownode!”

  “How?”

  “Cut his throat at lownode!”

  “And what happens at midnight’s halfmoon?” he asked cautiously.

  “A Mnankrei party is going to come ashore and burn down the peninsula granary.”

  19

  The Wheel of Strength has four spokes — loyalty to Self, loyalty to Family, loyalty to Clan, loyalty to Race.

  It has been said that Self is the first loyalty, for if the Self is not whole can we build a Family? can we build a Clan? can we build a Race? But I say to you a selfish human is a one-spoke wheel soon broken, a fool trying to move the boulders of Mount Nae by himself.

  It has been said that Family is the first loyalty, for if the women and children are not protected can there be men? But I say to you a Family of selfless humans, who stands against their Clan while exploiting the Race for the sake of their children, will not roll far.

  It has been said that loyalty to Clan is the first loyalty, for is it not the Clan which moves mountains and brings its terrible force against evil? But I say to you a Clan dominated by loyalty to itself will destroy its Families and perish.

  It has been said that loyalty to Race is the first loyalty, for without genetic purity can we hope to meet the Danger? But I say to you the Race is heartless without its Clans and Families and Selves.

  The Wheel of Strength has four spokes — each equally weighted and balanced or there is no strength at all.

  Prime Predictor Tae ran-Kaiel at his first Festival of the Bee

  KATHEIN HAD NEVER MET Aesoe before. She did not know what he looked like, for whenever they had been within sight of each other — and once she had been as close as an arm’s reach — he had been gazing at her and she had dared not return the gaze. She could feel his fascination deep in her loins as a face can feel the sun that eyes must turn from. She did not know what to make of this summons to his country residence.

  Two Ivieth from his personal livery came for her with a richly cushioned palanquin. A wet nurse met them at the carved doors to take the baby. Another woman led her to a hot tub where a male and female servant bathed her and attainted her with perfumes upon her ears and nipples before dressing her in soft robes resplendent enough for an audience with the Prime Predictor.

  Kathein could not even look at him now as she made her entrance into his grandroom. It was with relief that she knelt in formal bow to touch her head upon the stone-cold floor of smooth granite. Music was playing — gentle strings, a reed. She had watched the musicians briefly with eyes that were avoiding his. The afterimage of these delicate women stayed with her.

  They were of the Liethe, small beauties shrouded in fabric woven from the soft wings of the hoiela, blending unobtrusively into the tapestries of the room. Aesoe valued them for their rarity. Who knew where they bred? Perhaps on some forested island of the Drowned Hope Sea? Gossip had Liethe appearing from and disappearing into the islanded ocean.

  They sold themselves for gold if the buyer was a priest, but they were not slaves. A Liethe would leave her master but another always came and took her place. Aesoe’s three had the same face and body. Rumor spoke of parthenogenesis. Rumor also spoke of varied physical types. Somebody far across the Itraiel Plain had once confided to a friend of Kathein that they garroted their sons. Veiled daughters came and vanished. It was said aloud that any man who was served by a Liethe became all-powerful. It was whispered that any man who kept one became a slave of the Liethe. Whatever their powers, they played enchanting music.

  An iron-strong hand lifted Kathein’s chin. “I’ve wondered about the color of your eyes. I’ve only seen the length of the lashes.” She saw a man’s face wrinkled with laughter, his shirt opened to a foam of white hair. He was an old man but he had all the grace of a blacksmith in full swing. He was Prime Predictor because the prophesies he had registered in the Archives as a youth had been more accurate than the vision of any other Kaiel. That was how the Kaiel elected their leader. He would be Prime Predictor until he died or retired or was ousted by a man who had proved a clearer vision.

  Aesoe awed Kathein. She, whose greatest skill was the making of predictions in the simple world of light and stone and bouncing atom, could not even approach his ability to see and control the future. Half of a prophet’s strength was his ability to monitor a prediction and make it come true. Aesoe was one of her gods. The God of the Sky was a comforting protector. Aesoe she feared.

  He took her hand. “I’ve done you grievous harm,” he said, “but I have no regrets.”

  “I am too close to my sadness to understand.”

  “Sadness is a disease of youth.”

  “You’re never sad?”

  “Never.”

  “I’m sad.”

  “The maran-Kaiel family is expendable. You are not. That is the whole of it.”

  “How can you say that about them! They’re wonderful people! I know. I’ve loved them!”

  “Hoemei I would hate to lose. The sun may rise on the day he becomes Prime Predictor. I could manage to say pleasantries at Gaet’s funeral without gagging. And there is nothing I can do for Joesai. An impatient eater falls into the soup pot, goes the proverb. To lose Noe would cause a scandal in those circles where scandals are most quickly forgotten.”

  “And my beloved Teenae?”

  “I don’t know if I am fond of Teenae or not. I’ve never slept with her.”

  “You’re callous!”

  “I’m generous. I’m giving them Oelita. They can make use of that opportunity and be gloriously successful. Or they can fail. I see no alternate way of reaching the coast this generation. Yes, we have other mature families. But which of them is so impetuously foolhardy as the maran? You I dare not endanger. If our population was twice as large as it is, and twice as bright, I might ask you.”

  “Then I can bargain.”

  He smiled. “As long as it has to do with physics and not love.”

  “There’s a machine I want built.”

  H
e laughed. “A mere machine? I had intended to give you far more than that. How about leading your own clan?”

  Was he jibing her? That was her greatest dream. As a child she had drawn her own clan cicatrice and even now wore it between her breasts. It was an impossible dream, but to hear Aesoe offer it made her heart pound, even if he was only cruelly jesting. “That is not yours to give,” she said with formal rebuff. Only a Gathering could create a new clan. As the Gathering of Ache had created the Kaiel.

  “In the history of the clans, which clan was founded without a Gathering?”

  “There is no such clan.”

  “The Liethe.”

  She searched her mind and found nothing, only tale and mystery and fear. “There must have been a Gathering.”

  “No. One woman created the Liethe. And so it shall be again. You can have whomever you want, up to a hundred bodies — from the craft clans, from the creches, from the Kaiel. As long as they are good at physics. If I have to divorce them from their families, you shall have them! You are to create the traditions and the breeding rules. Your assignment is to duplicate your own peculiar mental bent — and perfect it if you can. I have predicted that the Kaiel shall win all of Geta if it is possible to true-breed your abilities. That is why I cannot risk your affair with the maran-Kaiel who perhaps are lovable but who are not worthy of you.”

  He must be demented. Was this how senility suddenly attacked? She stared at him in amazement. “You cannot…”

  “I can! I am a Gathering of One! I am doing it!”

  Kathein dropped to her knees again — weakly — and touched her head to the floor. “The honor is too much.”

  Quickly he knelt beside her and took her bowed head in strong hands that had held many women. “How pleasant to see you no longer sad! I think you are liking my gift. Perhaps we will have time to share our mutual interests on the pillows?” He was chuckling. His grin was so wide that he had difficulty kissing her.