“Are you hungry?” she asked, although it should have been Karielle asking her. She failed to respond. “Do you want to unpack?”
While Karielle’s parents had moved most of her belongings into the house, she had brought a small suitcase with her as tradition demanded. Soris entered her bedroom and opened a drawer, more out of restlessness than any need for an item. She stopped, however, surprised at the foreign slacks folded into a pile. “What's this?” she demanded, without bothering to wait for an answer. “Karielle!”
Resentment visible in every stiffly held curve of her body, Karielle came toward Soris. “Yes?”
“What are these?”
“My clothes,” Karielle answered, her voice just short of rudeness.
“Why aren't they in your room?”
“My...” Karielle's voice trailed off. “My room,” she repeated in disbelief.
“Your room is down the hall,” Soris explained, pointing. She took out the stack of clothes and placed them in Karielle's arms. “I always get up in the middle of the night, and you won't want to be awakened every night.”
Karielle threw her head back. “Good,” she said, but her voice wobbled. “Who'd want to share a room, anyway?”
****
Karielle threw herself onto the narrow bed in the sparse room, bitterly telling herself to be grateful for small mercies. At least this way Soris couldn't see her cry.
A monster, she thought. A horrid, inhuman monster, who treats me as if I'm an insignificant bug.
The door opened, and Soris brought in another armful of clothes before Karielle could shut the door. Or was she allowed to shut the door? Did she have any rights? Soris stopped, setting the sweaters on top of the dresser.
“Are you crying?” she asked. Fearful, almost. Against her better judgment, Karielle answered.
“Yes!” she spat out.” I didn't do anything wrong, and you kicked me out! What did I do?”
How could she live down the shame? Not even one day into her marriage, and already Soris had rejected her. This was her punishment for saying she wouldn't get married; now her life partner didn't want her.
Soris fumbled for words. “But... this is the nicer room. It has the window overlooking the garden, and in the morning you can wake up to the sunrise. I thought you'd want it.”
Karielle shook her head, trying to clear it. Was this girl for real? “Do you find me attractive?” she demanded. Emboldened by Soris' hesitation, she continued. “Did you even want to marry me?”
Worry creased Soris' forehead. “Of course,” she answered, even though the lie wouldn't have fooled a five-year-old. “I promised to take care of you for the rest of your life. Do you want the other room? Because we can switch.”
“Oh, forget it,” Karielle snapped. She turned her back, and instinct told her Soris would leave without reproof. A few moments later, Soris proved her right.
****
Soris roamed around the empty house, checking perfectly good locks and straightening perfectly neat throw rugs. She tried to settle down to work, but the silence unnerved her. The sound of Karielle's sobs haunted her. Novia would tell her to grow up and accept responsibility, but had she ever heard that kind of cry? Soris had caused a pain she couldn't understand, and she didn't know how to fix it. Novia would be angry with her for not holding firm from the beginning, but how could any human being contribute to someone's tears?
Against her better judgment, Soris returned to Karielle's room to find her sitting on the bed, wiping away tears. The splotchy, red nose and eyes tugged at a place in Soris she had never felt before. She wanted to put her arms around Karielle, but was that allowed? Would she encourage Karielle to stop showing her respect?
“Are you okay?” she asked, stupidly, because she could think of nothing else to say. What could she say to someone who was so obviously not okay?
“I'm fine,” Karielle lied, avoiding her gaze. “Don't worry.”
“What can I do?” Soris asked, wishing herself one thousand miles away. “Do you need something?”
Karielle looked up at her, surprised. Her eyes darted from one end of the room to the other. “Do you care?”
“Yes,” Soris said, ashamed Karielle didn't know already. How had she failed so badly on her first day as a Dis?
“It'll be okay,” Karielle said, as if she were reassuring herself. “When I go for squivet training tomorrow I'll be able to—”
“Wait,” Soris cut her off. “What's squivet training? You're not going anywhere.”
Karielle gaped at her, panic growing on her face. “I have to,” she explained, as if to a backward child. “I qualified for a squivet, and I have to report to training tomorrow or lose my place.”
“For what?” Soris demanded. “I never gave you permission.”
Karielle's voice rose. “I'm going to be a First Responder, and you can't stop me!” She flinched, and Soris could have bitten her tongue out. No one should fear her, a mousy researcher in the quietest profession of Bastia.
“You can't,” Soris coaxed her.
“It's not time for us to apply to be parents yet,” Karielle argued. “Not for months. So why can't I—”
Parents. The word alone struck terror in Soris' heart. “We won't be parents,” she said, and Karielle's face grew white.
“You're kidding,” she said, but Soris frowned. She was letting Karielle go too far.
“You're not becoming a First Responder, you won't go to whatever training, and we're not raising a child. I'll get a special exemption.”
At Karielle's stunned silence, Soris found herself without anything more to say. She had hoped to comfort her Nur, and she had only distressed her more. She should withdraw and allow Karielle her privacy.
“It won't be so hard, once you get used to it,” she said. “You'll see.” She hoped, for both of their sakes that her words would prove true.
Chapter Three
One powerful muscled leg poised to run, Karielle watched her new Dis lift her hands in supplication to their statue of Basti. The bamboo rod glistened in the reflected light of the cleansing pool, and Karielle shivered underneath the thin scarlet penitent’s robe. Droplets of the holy water fell into the pool, and she held her arms close to her chest.
“Forgive me, Basti, for I have sinned and am unworthy,” she recited. She refused to believe the words she spoke, but she had made her recent promise to the entire Assembly in front of her parents. And Basti. “Punish me,” she whispered, laying her trim athlete’s body across the unforgiving wood of the disciplinary stand.
Soris, Dis of the House of Sor, raised her rod of correction to enforce the primary rule she had been taught since birth: True rightness with Basti must be purchased through tears of repentance and pain.
****
Karielle lay on her bed, curled up in pain. It hurt to move, to breathe, or to even think. She had known to be a Nur would mean physical punishment, but she had never dreamed of this kind of pain. What hurt most was not the bamboo rod but Soris' coldness, although the rod had hurt plenty. Whoever taught her how to wield the stick had done so with terrifying skill. No squivet training, or even nuevet training, could have been as grueling or humbling. “Go to bed,” Soris had said, as if she were a child. To her separate bed, isolated in what should have been the guest room rather than Karielle's room. What kind of married couple slept in separate beds in separate rooms? “I don't want to disturb you when I get up in the middle of the night to work,” Soris had said. It was an excuse, a poor attempt to hide the truth that Soris never cared for her and never had. Karielle was a duty to her, nothing more.
Tanatha and Gritel had raised Karielle to do her duty, but they had also taught her to love. Surely they would understand even the most dutiful daughter could not survive in such a clinical environment. They would be angry, but perhaps they would help her.
Getting to her feet, Karielle moaned. The ordeal of her first punishment had left her overwrought by emotion and dizzy with exhaustion. Instinct to
ld her going out in this state was not in her best interest, but she ignored it. If only she could talk to her parents, stay with them for the night, they could talk to Soris. They would help Soris realize she shouldn't take Karielle for granted.
Karielle put on her hooded cape, drawing it around her shoulders. She tiptoed to the door and listened. Soris' bedroom remained quiet. That was one good thing about Soris; she didn't poke into her affairs. She had free rein of the entire lonely house as long as Soris didn't decide she needed to teach a lesson.
Today, it was time for Karielle to do the teaching.
****
“Nur?”
Gritel opened the door and stared at her. “What's wrong?” she cried, turning back to shout. “Tanatha! Something's wrong with Soris!”
Soris? Why didn't she realize something was wrong with Karielle? “Soris is fine,” Karielle contradicted. Disappointment lent a sharp note to her voice. Why didn't Nur hug her, ask her if she were all right? Karielle was her daughter, not Soris. Gritel took a step backward, as if she were afraid to touch her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, but Tanatha interrupted.
“Does Soris know you are here?”
Karielle's hand dropped from the doorknob, and tears formed in her eyes. Never had she dreamed her parents could speak to her this way. “Nurry... Dis... I'm so unhappy. You have to help me!”
Gritel and Tanatha exchanged glances. She couldn't read their expressions, but Tanatha laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Come in, child.”
They installed her in the parlor without offering her anything to eat or drink. Never had she set foot inside her home without being welcomed, even cosseted. She bit her lip, trying to keep from giving way to tears. When Tanatha asked her to explain herself, as if she were up for judgment before the Bastil, her words came out in uncertain spurts rather than the torrent she'd expected to unleash.
“Soris beat me!” she cried. Tanatha and Gritel exchanged glances again. “For no reason. She won't sleep in the same room as me. She hates me. You never should have made me marry her. I hate her!”
Gritel started to say something but interrupted herself by reaching for Tanatha's hand.
“Did she injure you permanently?” Karielle couldn’t read Tanatha's expression. No, Soris hadn't inflicted permanent damage. Did that matter? She had done enough.
“No, but—”
“Did she break one of the laws of the Bastil?” Tanatha's gaze pierced Karielle the way they had every time she had gotten into trouble as a child. While she could count on Gritel for comfort, Tanatha never allowed emotional pleas to distract her from justice.
“No.” Sullen, Karielle rose from her chair. “I'll leave then, since you no longer care about me.”
“Sit.”
“Tanatha.”
Karielle sat, more out of surprise than obedience. Nur never contradicted Dis, especially not in front of her.
“Couldn't she stay just for tonight? You know how hard it was when we were first married. I'm sure Karie just needs some love and she'll be ready to go home in the morning.”
Despite her appreciation for Nur's attempt to help her, Karielle winced. Home. How could anyone think Soris' prison could be a home? “Please, Dis,” she begged, ready to settle for anything short of going back to that horrible place.
Tanatha raised fingers to her mouth, and Karielle noticed for the first time the tremors in the older woman's movements. “I can't,” she said, sounding tired. “We promised to respect Soris as your Dis, dear heart.”
“We could make an exception this once,” Gritel began, but Tanatha turned away. Her voice shook.
“She belongs to them. Not us.”
Anger fled, and Karielle slumped in her chair. Their chair, no longer her chair. No longer her home. “Do you still love me?” She feared hearing the answer.
Gritel came to her, cupped her face in soft hands, and kissed her on the forehead. “With every bone in my body.”
“Every hair on my head.” Karielle responded with the litany of her childhood.
“And every breath I take.” Tanatha rested her hand on Karielle's shoulder as they formed a trinity of connecting bodies. Tears trembled in her eyes until she blinked and allowed them to fall. The warm wetness splashed onto her hand, bathing her in the living liquid. Why couldn't she have stayed safe at home—their home—instead of being pushed into an alien, unforgiving new home? It was done, though, and she could no longer depend on her parents. The Bastil would not approve of a Dis who contravened another Dis' authority, and it might not be willing to listen to Tanatha's explanations. She should go before she endangered the people she loved most.
“Can this be a secret?” she asked. “If I go—” she halted over the word, unable to say ‘home,’ “back to Soris, do you have to tell her I came here?” To ask for a lie contradicted all of the Bastil's teachings, but silence was another matter.
Gritel caressed her hair. “Yes, child of my heart,” she said, without waiting for Tanatha's approval. “You are always our sweet Karie.”
Karie, the name of her carefree and cherished adolescence. What she wouldn't give to become Karie again for one day! How little she had appreciated her paradise while she lived it. She leaned against the woman who had cradled her as an infant, taught her to walk and to talk, and who had nursed her through every illness of her life. She embraced Tanatha, the woman who had held her up as a newborn in front of the Assembly, proclaiming her a child of the House of Tan. The woman who worked long hours to provide for her every need, who rarely punished but instead earnestly explained why Karie must make the right decisions and act with integrity. Everything good about her life, she owed to her Dis and Nur.
“Will Soris ever love me the way you love Nur?” she asked, trembling. Tanatha lifted her chin.
“Soris will love you in her own way, dear heart, but you must love her first. Your Nur taught me how to love her.”
“But you've always loved...”
“Oh no, she didn't.” Gritel broke into a smile of remembrance. “Tell Karie how long it took you to kiss me.”
Karielle blushed. She didn't like to think of her parents kissing, nor could she imagine ever kissing Soris with anything more than duty, but her parents had always acted more like young lovers than old parents.
“Another time.” Tanatha helped Karielle to her feet. “When you receive permission from your Dis for a parental visit. For now, you must go and teach her how to love you.”
“Yes, Dis,” Karielle said, with the obedience of her childhood. She gave each parent a hug and a kiss before replacing her cape. “I'll return to that cold fish.” She grinned before Tanatha could rebuke her. “Just kidding, Dis. I'll be good.”
She slipped out the door, running into the darkness. She would take a shortcut, and if she ran she might be able to return before Soris knew she had left. She'd explain everything her parents had said and ask Soris' forgiveness. Not for the silly “wrong” of Soris' unfair punishment, but for not doing her job as a Nur.
Dises are supposed to discipline, she told herself. Nurs to nurture. I forgot I had a job, too.
So intent was she on making good time that she failed to see a tree stump ahead of her. She fell, wrenching her back and ankle as she landed. When the haze of pain descended on her, she had one moment of clarity.
Soris doesn't know what she's doing, she thought. She's as new at this as I am.
Chapter Four
Soris rose, as she often did, shortly after retiring for the night. Her best ideas came to her while lying in bed, and she had struggled all day with the application of the latest article proposed by the Bastil. She went to her desk and shuffled through the papers she had brought home from the lab. Perhaps Karielle found it strange for her to keep a desk in her room, but her Dis had always done so. Sleep with your work, Novia had said. Never allow yourself to become distracted by earthly pleasures, but focus on your Bastian duty. Soris had been given a gift for the law, an
d she must use her gift for the good of Bastia. Particularly when presented with dilemmas such as the one brought forward by Roscel, the peppery new member of the Bastil.
Roscel said that previous scholars had translated “gaina” incorrectly and whip-bearers should not be restricted by gender for the Ria and Mar. Instead of gender, “gaina” meant the youth of a child should counterbalance the new adulthood of the marrying couple and the adulthood of sponsoring parents. But how could the Mar and Ria achieve perfect balance if children of either gender were permitted to serve as the whip bearer?
Roscel argued her points well, as she always did, and a significant minority of the Bastil agreed with her. Her scholarship was sound, her reasoning impeccable, and her conclusions irrefutable. There was nothing against her conclusion except prejudice, and yet something nagged at Soris. Hadn't there been a case, decades ago, when someone had challenged the limitation of gender in ceremonial roles? Originally, the Bastil had been limited to women because Bastia was female. Scralit, the early legal scholar, said gender difference should be considered and true equality lay in respecting those differences rather than pretending they didn't exist. Would Scralit's findings be applicable here?
Soris sighed. How could she know Basti's will? She wanted to carry out her role to apply each new proposed law to the full rigors of theological scrutiny, but Basti never said anything specifically about the gender of children for the marriage ceremonies. A new theory came up each generation, sometimes to be accepted and sometimes to be disproved with ridicule. She raised her hands in submission, while sitting at her desk, and lowered her head in prayer.
“Forgive me, Basti, for I have sinned and am unworthy.” Never did she feel as unworthy as when faced with a decision that could be wrong either way and lead Bastia astray. “Please guide me to know your will, and give me the wisdom to make the right decisions. Help me to do my duty.”
She sat with her hands up and head down, relaxing into the peacefulness she could only find in her late-night work sessions. As much as she worked hard during the day at her research lab, she found it difficult to concentrate amidst the commotion of junior researchers barging in at all hours for consultations. She liked these moments when she could commune with Basti and focus. She was an instrument, tuned each day to perform Basti's will.
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