The Best of All Possible Worlds
Page 27
She gave me a worried look. “Hasn’t Dllenahkh spoken to you about that? My God, Delarua, don’t you know?”
“You mean the telepathic bond thing?” I said, clueing in at last.
“Yes, I mean ‘the telepathic bond thing,’ ” Freyda said in amazement at my unfazed attitude.
“Yes, of course I know about it. Why are you looking so worried?”
Freyda set down her glass and leaned forward. “Are you sure he told you everything about it?”
“Yes,” I said, beginning to grow irritated. “He said Sadiri men have a need to form meaningful telepathic bonds. He certainly didn’t give me the impression that meant having no private thoughts whatsoever.” I realized even as I spoke that he had said “we will speak more on this later,” but I was too embarrassed to admit to that now.
“Well, there is some choice about how deep the bond goes, but considering what Dllenahkh’s wife did to him—”
I spewed a mouthful of wine half through my nose and half through my mouth. I’m sure it was as unpleasant to observe as it was to experience. “His wife?” I wheezed.
“Oh, shit,” said Freyda. She grabbed a double handful of napkins from the table and pressed them on me. I cleaned myself up, glaring at her, but she avoided my eyes as she babbled, “I’m so sorry. I … I think I’ll let Dllenahkh tell you about that.”
“No, you’re going to tell me. Now,” I said grimly.
She hesitated, but then she folded her hands together and looked at me with an earnest expression of sympathy and concern. “You know most of them have marriages arranged for them when they’re fairly young, right?”
I grew impatient. “Yes, of course. But he never mentioned a wife.”
“She died in the disaster, like so many others. But even before that, they were separated.”
“Separated? What does that mean for Sadiri?” I demanded. “He said they didn’t do temporary monogamy.”
“They don’t,” Freyda confirmed. “That’s why it was such a big deal when the marriage and the bond were dissolved.”
I breathed out slowly. “Oh. Oh, poor Dllenahkh. So he was divorced is what you’re telling me.”
Freyda looked uncomfortable. “There was a bit more to it than that. You see, bonded Sadiri men can be possessive—very possessive. Dllenahkh found out his wife was unfaithful to him. He beat the other man senseless.”
“What?” I gaped at her in disbelief. She had to be making it up. It sounded like a bad, sordid holovid.
“Broke his jaw,” Freyda said bluntly. “He was never charged for it. The Sadiri have different rules for a crime of passion. It’s treated like a kind of temporary insanity. When he came to his senses, he told her he was releasing her from their bond.”
“Oh,” I said, unable to find words.
“I’m sorry I’m telling you this. Obviously he doesn’t like to talk about it, and ordinarily I wouldn’t have found out except that Lanuri told me. I think he was trying to be completely honest with me so I could objectively assess the pros and cons of a close bond.” She hung her head and glared at her wineglass. “It didn’t work. I’m even less objective about it now.”
“It’s going to be lots of fun trying to look him in the eye now that I know this,” I muttered. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“It’s not an easy thing to tell,” she reasoned. “Please, please don’t let on that I told you. I feel terrible about this.”
“I’ll pretend I never heard a thing,” I said miserably.
Pretense did work for a little while. There was so much to do in those early days on the homestead that there was no time to revisit the bonding issue with Dllenahkh. That was my excuse, a good excuse and an honest one, but eventually fate took matters out of my hands. Dllenahkh continued to train others in the mental disciplines, and there was a meditation hall on the homestead for that purpose. I didn’t use it myself. I could meditate just fine in my own room, and there was also a meditation room in the main house. But I did pass by it on occasion, and once I was walking with Freyda when we heard the sound of a voice raised in anger. We exchanged puzzled looks, then naturally drifted closer to listen to what was going on.
“—withhold more than you teach! You are only concerned about your own status and power in this community.”
“I withhold nothing,” Dllenahkh’s voice returned calmly. “I can only say that reliance on meditation alone is inadvisable.”
“And yet you managed for decades. You succeeded. Why not another?”
“It was never intended as a permanent solution to solitude, as you are attempting to make it. The Ministry can help you select an appropriate spouse, and there are also chemical suppressants available to ease the pain of your loss. I recommend that you choose some remedy, and quickly.”
There was a crash, and Freyda and I instinctively grabbed each other and cowered. It was a very good thing we hadn’t been standing right in front of the window or we would have been hit by the heavy wooden bench that came through. We did get covered in slivers of glass. Then we heard people scuffling inside the hall. Peeking through the broken shutters, we saw the beginnings of a fight. Dllenahkh was trying to restrain rather than injure, but his student seemed quite serious about doing some harm. The other students hovered uncertainly, mainly getting themselves and the furniture out of the way but otherwise looking on anxiously, waiting to be told what to do.
I instinctively surged forward, but Freyda caught hold of me. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “You can’t go in there!”
She was right. Dllenahkh ducked a blow, and his antagonist’s fist left a sizable crack in the paneling of the wall. With a firm hold and a quick pivot, Dllenahkh brought him down to the wooden floor with a booming crash. Two students quickly piled on, keeping him pinned with their weight, while Dllenahkh put one hand to his forehead and the other around his neck, squeezing with careful timing until he slumped into unconsciousness.
“Take him to the main house,” he ordered, not even out of breath. “Class is dismissed for today.”
Then he looked at the ruined window and saw us. His eyes went wide. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said, brushing a tiny smear of blood from my wrist. He saw it and frowned.
“Honestly, we’re fine,” Freyda insisted. “Go deal with … whatever it is you have to deal with. We’ll get this cleaned up.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded, still frowning, and followed his students out of the hall. Freyda turned to me, and her face changed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I didn’t know what to answer. I’d accepted Sadiri strength in a “be a dear and shift the groundcar out of this trench for me” kind of way, but it was the first time I had seen a Sadiri in full, uncontrolled rage. Freyda’s story came back to my mind with a new vividness, as did Dllenahkh’s somber reminiscences about how the men had behaved after the disaster. Worse yet, I had been willing to view Dllenahkh’s account of events in the context of the severe trauma that all Sadiri had experienced, knowing too well how their telepathy made them susceptible to collective anger and pain. But what of Dllenahkh’s own loss of control, years and years before, in a sane and stable society where women were not a scarce commodity? It was appalling to contemplate.
Freyda guessed at the train of my thoughts and began to babble apologies again.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Really. Let’s go inside and get this glass out of our hair.”
———
That night, I dreamed of elephants stampeding.
I woke up suddenly in the dark, disoriented at first, then feeling—knowing—that something wasn’t right. I put on a robe and went barefoot up the stairs to the roof terrace. It was a clear, starry night but cool enough that the wooden flooring was already drenched with dew. A shadowy figure was lying atop the broad wall: Dllenahkh, not yet dressed for bed, wide awake and staring up at the sky with no regard for the four-meter drop below. I walked right up to him and looked down
, frowning.
“Why are you still up?” I asked him.
His eyes softened; he blinked, and some of the tension left his face. Still, he did not look at me but kept his gaze on the stars. “I did not want to disturb you,” he answered.
I knew he had some inkling of my nightmare. I knew he had sensed fear and tension and all manner of things that I had never associated with him before. But this was Dllenahkh. He would never push me for explanations, only wait with patience and openness until I was ready to come to him.
I decided to be blunt. “What I saw today scared me. You see, someone told me—quite by accident—about your first marriage.”
There was silence for a while. Then he began to speak slowly, choosing his words with care.
“I believe I was at fault. I took our mental bond for granted and was often not physically present. In addition to my career, I was very much focused on my studies of the mind, an interest that my wife did not share. One day, during a meditation session, I attained—no—glimpsed the state that our mindship pilots regularly experience. Before that day, I had viewed their vocation as a lofty but lonely endeavor. Afterward, I understood why they are called half immortal. It … I cannot describe it, what it felt like, how it changed me. I was a man struck by lightning—a benign, sentient lightning. I wrote poetry. I laughed. I told every pilot I met, and they smiled indulgently and said what a pity it was that I was not free to be bonded to my own mindship.
“I could not change my life. Becoming a pilot would have meant making a different decision when I came of age, and there had been no mindship pilots in my line to inspire me to choose that path. I had to content myself with what I had, and yet I could not let go of what I had seen. I studied further and became advanced in meditation theory and practice. I considered this an admirable endeavor. She took it as evidence that I was arranging my life to exclude her.
“She could have told me that she wished to marry another. I would not have welcomed it, but I would never have stood in her way. Instead, she purposely hid it from me, arranged for me to discover them together, and stepped back to view the result.”
“Oh,” I breathed. “Oh, cruel.”
“Yes, as cruel as she believed I had been to her. In the years after our separation, I immersed myself in even deeper study of the disciplines, looking for ways to ensure that such a thing could never happen to me again. In spite of all that had occurred, I still yearned for a bond with another human mind, but if it had not been for the destruction of Sadira, I might have easily persuaded myself to become a pilot.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this, Dllenahkh?” I said faintly.
His mouth tensed. “I should have. I would have in time.” There was a small pause, and then he admitted, “I feared losing you.”
“Well, I’m here now,” I pointed out.
He turned his head to look at me then. “You are. I do not understand why.”
“Think, Dllenahkh,” I chided him. “Clearly something about you convinces me that you are the best possible choice.”
“And what is that?” he asked very softly.
I sighed. “So many things, but the first on my list right now is that I do believe you love me. I know you are capable of living without that emotion, but you choose not to.”
“I would not classify love as an emotion, Grace.”
That startled me. “Really?”
“Certainly it comes attended by various physical reactions which manifest as emotions, but it is one of the drives.”
“Oh,” I said. “Like hunger, or wanting to procreate, or the desire to protect one’s offspring.”
“Yes. I have identified you as the most appropriate mate, probably through an unconscious assessment of pheromones, mental capacity, and, of course, social compatibility.”
“So, you’re saying you like how I smell, you like how I think, and you like to hang out with me?” I was amused but genuinely warmed at such a unique declaration of love.
He sat up suddenly and turned to face me, swinging his feet down to the floor so quickly that I was half afraid he’d go over the edge. “What is love to you, Grace?”
There was an intensity to his gaze that made the blood rush to my face. I began to stammer something, then fell silent. Breathing quickly, I took hold of his hand, bringing it to my cheek. “You tell me,” I whispered.
He drew me into his arms and into his mind. He saw how I valued his selflessness and trusted his integrity even when he exasperated me by being inflexible. I showed him my admiration for his physical strength, intelligence, and psionic abilities and the gentleness that complemented all those qualities. I even allowed him to see that I had found him physically attractive from the moment we first met.
“So,” he said lightly, and I knew he was teasing me because he was somewhat shaken. “You believe that I possess certain characteristics that you would like to be passed on, via genetic transfer and mentoring, to your children.”
I began to laugh.
“I am surprised at the strength of your appreciation for my shoulders,” he continued, still teasing, still holding me close, fitting me neatly between his knees.
“They’re nice and broad,” I said, running my hands over them to emphasize my point.
“Nor was I previously aware that you had any special regard for my eyes.”
“Deep, dark, and intense. They make you look almost Ntshune,” I murmured, cuddling closer as his hands stroked my back.
“I apologize for not being honest with you earlier,” he said, his voice low and soft so I could feel it rumbling in his chest.
“And I’m sorry for even dreaming that you’d ever hurt me. I won’t abandon you, Dllenahkh. Invincible or vulnerable, whatever state you’re in, you’re stuck with me.”
He tightened his arms around me. “A fact that gives me great satisfaction.” He sighed as he slowly brushed his nose up the side of my neck and breathed heat under my ear.
“There’s just … one thing,” I said hoarsely, trying not to become completely distracted. “You mentioned pheromones. There’s another way to assess chemistry. Taste and smell are, as you know, closely linked.”
He pulled back slightly and gave me a wary look. “I believe you are trying to entice me to attempt kissing.”
“Maybe,” I said casually. “Just one? Please?”
He gave a gentle, tolerant smile and closed his eyes. “I am in your hands.”
I didn’t want to shock him or put him off, so I started with small, chaste kisses pressed firmly to his jaw. Then I quickly, lightly touched my lips to his mouth, very much a drive-by kiss, and paused to assess his reaction. His hands twitched on my back, but he did not pull away.
“Again,” he said softly. “I am beginning to see the value of the practice.”
I obeyed, this time allowing a tiny bit of tingling gold to breathe from my lips to his, just as he had taught me to do from palm to palm. He leaned in to capture it with an appreciative murmur, added a little more of his own, and kissed it back to me. The physical mechanics were still inexpert, but his energy curled in boldly and unraveled right down to my toes, making me gasp at the sensation.
“I am not averse to including this option in our repertoire,” he mused. “But I clearly require more practice. Again, please.”
Reader, I married him. About … oh, three times, I think. First there was the signing of the Ministry document, which we did on our homestead with Qeturah as witness and a few close friends around. Then my semilapsed Baha’i mother insisted on a Baha’i wedding ceremony. I warned her that I was well past the age laid down by the Ministry for mandatory parental permission, but to my surprise and secret pleasure, Dllenahkh was quite taken with the idea. We held it on the banks of Tlaxce Lake, with more of our City friends in attendance and even a few from the other provinces. Dllenahkh presented my mother with the nonobligatory bride price of a quantity of pure gold, which he’d had fashioned into the shape of a hummingbird.
She loved
it. She told me, “Of course I’m leaving it to you in my will, but it’s such a nice gesture. It shows he really treasures you.”
The third time was a secret. We went to the forest uplands, to a certain temple, and there we were bonded by law, by religion, and by mind in a silent ceremony with a few physically attending and hundreds more mentally present. I don’t want to say too much about that, sorry. Not secret but far too close to my heart, I think. I get a bit teary just remembering it. Deep breath! Moving on!
We did have one dramatic event, something rather akin to a “speak now or forever hold your peace” moment. I should have guessed that in time, what with all the bride interviews, the infamous Zhera would have come across a woman from the temple and extracted her secrets using nothing but the sheer force of her presence. Or, to speak more charitably, they had likely recognized her worth and extended an invitation to her. Whatever the reason, she showed up at the end of our wedding ceremony, richly robed and closely attended by two young nuns as if she already owned the place. Her glare called to mind the evil fairy who gets vexed at being left out of the royal christening and decides to lay down a curse that will afflict not only the poor innocent babe but the entire kingdom as well.
“So, Dllenahkh, thou hast bonded again.”
She spoke a very old and stylized form of Sadiri that hinted at too many hours spent reciting rituals with subordinates and too few minutes engaged in normal conversation with peers.
“I have, Zhera,” he replied courteously but briefly.
“Thy choice of spouse seems … unwise.”
I seethed quietly but said nothing. She might think herself qualified to sit in judgment over the young ones of the settlement, but as a grown woman I wasn’t going to put up with any nonsense.
While I struggled to keep my cool, Dllenahkh calmly defended himself. “I would not call it unwise to marry a woman who is capable of strong euphoric projection.”
Still striving for control but now for an entirely different reason, I wondered how he managed to sound so bland and yet so insinuating. Zhera, to my continuing astonishment, did not frown or show any kind of disapproval. Her stern look gentled to one of mild amusement, and the straight line of her mouth relaxed.