He took a deep breath. “I’d drawn my shindah, just to scare them, you know.” He still refused to admit his true intentions despite their judgment going against him. “I didn’t intend to hurt anyone, but before I could withdraw, Rinli yelled, ‘Don’t!’ My hand went numb, and I wanted nothing more than to let the shindah fall. So I did. But the sound of it clattering on the floor awakened me from a sort of dream. Yes, that’s how it felt—like a dream. Like I hadn’t been there for a moment and had lost control during that moment. That’s when I became aware of Rinli staring at me—glaring actually—like she was concentrating everything on me. And then Korin arrived, and she looked up all innocent to him.”
“And Madlen? Was she aware of any of this?” Elder Oku asked. Oku had good reason to want to find Rinli guilty of using magic; Rinli’s mother had murdered her father, Elder Barok, in the Khared. With that same hermit magic.
“I don’t think so. She never stopped looking scared, and she never turned to look at Rinli.”
“Take him back,” Elder Folzon ordered. “He’s told us enough.”
Tinlo was grabbed by two Defenders, one on each arm, and led out of the chamber. And that was when he realized he may have inadvertently accomplished what he’d hoped to achieve when he’d set out to kill Rinli himself. If found guilty of using magic, the sentence would likely be death in the Pit. He might not be free, but he would still be alive and she would be dead.
Through a full afternoon and most of the following morning, the panel of judges had bickered, tempting Nalin to tap a couple of them on the top of the head. That was how one reminded children to mind their manners, wasn’t it? Not that he’d ever employed such a method. His children had never stepped over as many lines in their entire lives as the two arguing for Akdor’s innocence had in a matter of just a few hours. He said nothing, of course. Bala, worn and willing their child to wait long enough for her to get through this, reined the panel in when tempers flared or reason gave way to emotion.
“I say we vote. All this arguing is getting us nowhere.” This from Idom who, as a compatriot of Dors, had favored Akdor’s innocence from the beginning. The lines had, in fact, been drawn before any of these four had heard their names read out and taken their seats on the dais, and Nalin had come to accept the truth—he’d be breaking a tie.
Nalin sat at Lisen’s desk with the panel settled around the conference table where the notes from the testimony and the evidence lay scattered about in various states of disarray—some pages even torn after abuse at the hands of a judge making a point.
“I agree with the councilor,” Bala said. “We all know how it’s going to turn out, and I think it’s time we admit that none of us is going to budge from where we stand.”
“Agreement from the pouched one?” Elor said, and Nalin clenched his fist under the desk where no one could see it. The boy—how could he think of Elor as anything but a boy?—had acted like a spoiled child intent on getting his way. He wouldn’t get it, something Nalin had determined quickly as each judge had expressed their opinion yesterday afternoon.
“Yes, let’s vote.” Malaki stepped in, doing his best to soothe unhappy nobles, not an easy task as Nalin knew better than anyone in the room.
“All right,” Nalin said, choosing to stay where he was rather than join them at the table. “Those who believe Akdor did not hire the assassin and is, therefore, innocent of the charges?”
The expected two—Elor and Councilor Idom—raised their hands.
“Those who believe Akdor took action to assassinate the Empir?”
Bala and Malaki raised their hands.
“And this is your final vote?”
Nalin watched the glares pass around the table, and then Bala said, “Yes.”
“Someone get Chesa,” he requested. Malaki stood, went to the clerk’s office and brought her back, prepared with stylus, ink and paper. Once she had sat down at the table and Malaki had resumed his place, Nalin continued. “As the vote is deadlocked with no hope of a change of mind, I am casting the deciding vote.” He waited to allow Chesa to finish noting what he’d just said, then he went on. “I believe Akdor Ba acted to kill the Empir. The vote is now three to two in favor of guilt. Chesa, have the half-hour warning bell rung; then send word to the Empir that I need to meet with her.”
“What about the sentence?” Elor asked.
“That is in the Empir’s hands,” Nalin replied.
“Well, given your record in meting out punishment, Akdor is a lucky man.” Elor smiled a nasty little smile at Nalin.
“You all may take a break.”
Everyone except Bala rose from their chairs, stretched and one by one left the room. Nalin stood up and went to his spouse. He leaned over her from behind.
“Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her on the cheek.
“It’s going to be this afternoon, I’m sure of it, but I think I can make it through the announcement of the verdict.”
Nalin felt his heart begin to sing. Out of the ugliness of the last couple of days would come joy, and that was worth everything.
The verdict delivered and Council in recess for the remainder of the afternoon, Lisen picked up the small box that contained her family’s emergence gift for Nalin and Bala’s child—a silver brush. She looked to Korin as he finished buckling his belt. He wore a tunic of Corday light blue which he’d borrowed from her—a surprising choice given his usual preference for warmer colors. She never would have thought this a good color for his desert brown skin and dark hair and eyes, but it suited him, perhaps better than it suited her. Rinli sat on the bed, saying nothing, watching them dress, simply a young woman in need of adult company.
Lisen thought back on the first unpouching she’d witnessed. She’d been Empir for less than three months and had returned from Earth to Garla only three months before that. Life on Earth had not prepared her for this happy-family-and-friends event. So with some trepidation, Lisen had accepted Lorain Zanlot’s invitation to join in the unpouching of her son. To the ill-informed, an Empir attending the arrival of the child of a noble, even when that child was the Empir’s nephew, would appear to grant honor to the noble. But in truth, honor could be found nowhere. Spite had motivated Lorain, with the unpouching opening up the opportunity to remind Lisen that the child’s father was dead because of Lisen’s actions. Lisen had smiled and nodded at all the right moments and played along with Lorain’s charade, but she’d never been so grateful for the end of a “party” as when she’d made her way back from the old palace to the Keep and away from that awful woman.
Lisen shivered to throw off the memory. “Rin,” she said, “why don’t you come with us?” She fluffed the bow of the ribbon that wound around the wooden box.
“No. I’ve attended more than my share of unpouchings, especially in Thristas. They all want me there for their children in the desert.”
“Well, that has to be a sign of their acceptance of you,” Lisen commented.
“Not really,” Rinli replied. “I think they want me there so I’m somehow bonded to the child and can’t put some horrible curse on them.”
Lisen turned to Korin who nodded once and shrugged. “It’s possible,” he said. “But since nearly everyone in the Tribe attends unpouchings, she’s not being singled out.”
Lisen sensed a subject better left untouched. “Shall we go?” she asked of her spouse.
Korin gave his hair a quick slick back with both hands. “Yes.”
They started out, but Lisen snapped her fingers, remembering something forgotten. “The wine,” she said. She turned around and there stood Rinli holding the bottle out for her. “Thank you,” she said to her daughter with a wink. She handed the bottle off to one of the three guards assigned to her for this occasion. Because of the nature of the afternoon’s activities, Korin had announced earlier that he’d be leaving his sword behind as a courtesy. This had elicited a bit of clamoring from both Tanres and Kopol, and Lisen had finally agreed to three
rather than the usual two guards accompanying them across the plaza. It was only a few yards from the door of the Keep to the door of the old palace, but with the city and especially the plaza so busy during Council, no one wanted there to be any surprises.
They arrived at the old palace where two of the three guards remained outside, the third coming in right behind them. They turned left and went to the end of the hall. Lisen had no idea what to expect—a large number of people all crowded in to witness the child’s arrival or just a few close friends along with Nalin and Bala’s other children. She’d offered any room in the Keep, all of which were larger and more conducive to comfort for Bala, but she and Nalin had turned her down. This was their home in Avaret. The fact that Bala had even traveled all this way for the Council session had surprised Lisen. And serving on the judges panel in the trial? She couldn’t have been very comfortable this morning.
The door to the Tuane quarters stood wide open with one guard stationed in the hall. Their guard joined the first, and Lisen entered, followed by Korin. It turned out the guest list was small—Linell, Alabar, Korin and herself. Lisen would have thought the situation would prove uncomfortable for Korin, but he walked right in and sat down on the couch at Bala’s feet. Nalin came to Lisen and thanked her for coming.
“Is there anything I can do?” Korin asked.
“No,” Bala replied. “Nalin rubs my back every so often, but it’s just a matter of time before the cusp.”
Every adult here is equal in this experience, Lisen thought, looking at her spouse as he encouraged Bala quietly. He never touched her, but he focused his knife-sharp attention on her, and Lisen knew what a heady thing that could be.
“Your spouse is stealing my spouse away,” Nalin said softly. It was a tribute to her Will that he could say such a thing after the years he’d spent suspecting Korin of any manner of treason and sedition.
“You’d better go reclaim her then,” Lisen replied, and she moved over to behind Korin and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Korin stood up and stepped around the couch to stand beside her.
“Something feels wrong,” he whispered.
Lisen turned to study him. “What?” she whispered back.
“I…can’t define it.”
“Should we send for the primate?” Niko was old, but he had once been a healer. And he was the closest they had.
“I’ll see to it,” Korin said, and Lisen watched as Nalin, Bala and their children remained unaware of the quiet panic churning in Lisen’s stomach. Korin left the room, presumably to send one of the guards to the primate’s palace, and Lisen tried to sense what Korin had felt. Nothing. His well-honed ability to read a situation in an instant surpassed her skills without question. By the time he’d returned from the hall and rejoined her, she still couldn’t pull anything that resembled foreboding from the warm tableau of a family awaiting their newest member.
“What do you feel?” Lisen asked him.
“Shh,” he hushed her softly, and aware that their whispering would attract attention soon, she shifted her focus to the sweet celebration.
“My Liege, Captain Rosarel,” Linell said. “Would you care to sit here?” She pointed to the two chairs where she and Alabar had been sitting, and Lisen nodded.
“Yes, Linell. That would be lovely. Thank you.” She made her way around the couch, Korin behind her, to sit directly in front of Bala and Nalin. Linell and her brother brought a chair and a stool in from the bedchamber and set them down at Bala’s head on one side of the couch. Lisen thought back on her own unpouching with Nasera. Most Garlan children sit in on several unpouchings before they themselves become parents, but Lisen, having observed only one emergence prior to Nasera’s, had turned to Korin for advice and reminders of what must and must not be done. She’d seen a few since, including Insenlo’s, of course, but even the nobility was shy about inviting the Empir to an unpouching.
“The cusp,” Bala announced with a smile. The first time Lisen had heard the word from Lorain’s lips, she’d had to wait until she was back in the Keep with Nalin to find out what it meant. Now she knew. It was the moment when the baby released the teat in preparation for its emergence into the world.
No one said a word. Nalin took a blanket that lay folded on the arm of the couch and set it in his lap. They focused on the movement in Bala’s pouch which signaled the beginnings of the baby’s struggle to get out. This continued for some time, longer, Lisen believed, than it should. She looked to Korin, furrowing her brows, and he responded with a barely perceptible nod. She hoped that Niko would arrive soon.
Bala rubbed her pouch and cooed to the baby, urging him to come, hiding the concern Lisen sensed she felt. Bala put a finger into her pouch. Korin had done this with Insenlo, just to encourage the first little poke into the world, but as soon as he had, Insenlo had pulled herself out, arriving with a grumpy look on her little face. She and Korin often joked about that—how Insenlo had wanted to stay in there forever. But this was different. Bala pulled her finger out and looked up to Nalin.
“He won’t move,” she said.
The prevailing advice for both the pouching and unpouching focused on leaving the baby alone and allowing it to make its own way. Otherwise, it was believed that the child would be weak, perhaps even too weak to survive. But if the baby was no longer suckling at the teat, it needed to come out, if only to assess why it had stopped nursing.
Lisen considered the variables and the necessities. No Niko yet; he might arrive too late. And something clearly needed doing. But what?
She took Korin’s hand and looked into his eye. “I must,” she mouthed. He only required a second to comprehend.
“Is it safe?”
She shrugged. Certainly the child’s noncompliance with nature’s plan wasn’t safe. She released Korin’s hand and reached her mind out for the child, a beautiful little boy, the child of her dearest friends. She sought the little one’s soul with her own and after a brief moment, she greeted the child in the ether. He’d waited. He showed her the waiting. Sensing his mother had a duty to complete, he’d waited for her. But the waiting had worn him out, and he no longer wished to move.
Determining that the child wasn’t ill, Lisen prepared to do the only thing she could do. She held on tightly to the baby’s soul and pushed that little body to move, urging one arm up and its hand out of the pouch. She heard from somewhere far away the sounds of gasps. Her eyes remained open, but she saw only the darkness inside the pouch as she continued to funnel energy to the child. She pushed until she felt the comforting hands of a mother helping the last bit of him out, and then she retreated.
Lisen returned to her body, and she joined in the “oohs” and “aahs” that had accompanied the child’s arrival. The coat of downy fur that had protected him in the pouch from variations in temperature was almost white. He’d lose it in a few days, and then he would look exactly like an Earth baby. Save for the fact his head was perfectly formed, not having traveled through the birth canal. Oh, and he had a pouch.
Nalin quickly wrapped the baby into the blanket, put his ear to the child’s face presumably to confirm he was breathing and offered him back to Bala.
“What’s his name?” Alabar asked.
“Well,” Bala said with a smile, “your father and I have thought this through very carefully.” She paused then spoke in the accustomed ceremony. “In tribute to my father, we name you Lael.”
“Welcome, Lael.” Everyone in the room responded with the traditional name greeting.
Since the time of her return to Garla from Earth, the naming of children here had fascinated Lisen. On Earth, a child might bear the name of a relative. Or, a modification of that name. But here, all children received a name beginning with the last two or three letters of the pouching parent’s name. Her own name, Ariannas, carried her mother Flandari’s name’s terminal letters of “a-r-i.” Korin had named Rinli using both of their names, a bold move. So, Lisen always appreciated the care shown to the naming of c
hildren. In this case, Bala and Nalin had found a way to acknowledge Bala as the one who had pouched the boy while honoring Elsba Tuane, Bala’s beloved father.
“A perfect name for a perfect child,” Lisen said, fully aware that unbeknownst to anyone in the room save Korin, this perfect child might not have survived if she hadn’t intervened. She hadn’t employed the push in years, not since the One-Day War. Well, except for that day with Rinli, she reminded herself. Even her scream of danger at Korin had been a call to action and not the push. She’d never pushed Korin and never would. But the baby was fine now, blinking in the light and making faces is he adapted to life outside the pouch. Linell and Alabar kept touching him, and Nalin and Bala both beamed with joy.
“Thank you,” Bala said. “We felt it was time to remember Father.”
“Oh, we brought a little something,” Lisen said.
“The gift, yes,” Bala replied. “I saw it.”
“No, something else. Korin?”
Korin rose and headed for the door, and Lisen followed after. Hoping they were out of earshot, she whispered, “Have them take the primate to the Keep when he arrives. No point in upsetting them needlessly.” She nodded subtly towards Nalin, Bala and their family. Korin nodded and left to consult with the guards while Lisen returned to the room, smiling. “He’ll be right back.” As soon as she said it, she realized how Earth-like a thing that was to say. She sat down, searching for a way to move past her inanity, when Nalin spoke up.
“Have you decided on Akdor’s punishment yet?”
“Yes,” Lisen said, relieved to change the subject. “He failed to kill me, so I will send him off to Kakalos.” The island off Bedel, informally referred to as “the Anvil,” had often served as a place of exile for noble felons. It had, for hundreds of years, belonged to the Empir and not the Zanlots. Another reason for the holding family of Bedel to resent their ruler. “Ah, here we are,” she said as Korin returned, the bottle of wine in his hand.
“I’ll get glasses,” Nalin said and went to the cupboard behind Bala’s desk.
Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel Page 30