Local Custom

by Sharon Lee

  If you believed in such things.

  And Shan, Anne thought, somewhat wildly, sees sparkles.

  "I—see." She took a breath and managed a wobbling smile. "I suppose I should have inquired further into the—suitability of your genes."

  It was a poor joke, and a dangerous one, but Er Thom's eyes gleamed with genuine amusement.

  "So you should have. But done is done and no profit in weeping over spoiled wine." He stepped back, bowing gently. "Why not go into the other room and—be at ease? I will bring the wine in a moment."

  "All right." She slipped past, assiduously avoiding even brushing his sleeve, and fled into the common room.

  "OH, IT'S JUST a mess," she was saying some minutes later in answer to his query. "Admin's being as bitchy as possible. You'd think—oh, never mind." She sighed.

  "The best news is that everyone seems to be accounted for—but the cost in terms of people's work! Professor Dilling just stood in a corner during the whole meeting and shook, poor thing. I went over to see if there was something I could do, but he just kept saying, 'Thirty years of research, gone. Gone.'" She sighed again, moving her big hands in a gesture eloquent of frustration, and sagged back into the corner of the sofa.

  "But surely," Er Thom murmured, from his own corner, "the computer files—"

  "Paper," Anne corrected him, wearily. "Old Terran musical notation—some original sheet music. I'd helped him sort things a couple of times. His office was a rat's nest. Papers, old instruments—wood, metal—all blown to bits. Little, tiny bits, as Jerzy would have it." She reached for her wine.

  "And your own work?" Er Thom wondered softly.

  Anne laughed, though not with her usual ration of humor. "Oh, I'm one of the lucky ones. I lost the latest draft of a monograph I'd been working on—but I've got the draft before that saved down in the belly of Central Comp—some student work, files, study plans—that's the worst of it. The important stuff—the recordings, notes, my letters—is in the storage room I share with Jerzy—all the way over in Theater Arts. I doubt if it even got shook up."

  "You are fortunate."

  This time her laugh held true amusement. "Paranoid, more likely. I didn't care to have my work sitting about where just anyone could pick it up and read it. As a rule, when I'm working on something, I keep the notes with me—in my briefcase—and I have a locked, triple-coded account in Central Comp." She smiled, wryly. "Welcome to the world of cutthroat academics. Publish or perish, gentlefolk, please state your preference."

  "'Who masters counterchance masters the world'," Er Thom quoted in Liaden. He tipped his head. "Central Administration—there are new duties required of you, in the face of this emergency?"

  "Not a bit of it!" Anne assured him. "All that is required of us is that we continue precisely as we would have done, had the Languages Department not been—redecorated—in this rather extreme fashion. Exams are to be given on schedule—Central Admin has located and assigned—alternative—classroom space! Grades are to be filed on time—no excuses." She threw her hands up in a gesture of disgust.

  "Some of these people lost everything! The exams they've already given are buried under a couple of tons of rubble, alongside of the exams still to be given! It was just sheer, dumb luck that I brought my lot home with me last night, or else I'd be trying to issue final grades on the basis of guess-and-golly!"

  "Hah." Er Thom sipped his wine. "The explosion—do they know the cause?"

  "An accident," Anne said, rubbing her neck wearily. "Which means they don't know. Not," she added, "that they'd tell a bunch of mere professors if they did know."

  She sipped her wine, eyes closed. Er Thom sat quietly, watching her shuttered face, noting the lines of weariness, hating the demands of necessity.

  Tomorrow will be soon enough to speak of the journey to Liad, he told himself. She is exhausted—wrought.

  He took a sip of wine, wondering if he might properly offer to fetch her a Healer. It struck him as outrageous, that those to whom she owed service had not provided this benefit. To barely miss being blown up with the building where one's work was housed—Healers should have been present at the meeting at Central Administration today, available to any who had need. Had one of his crew been subjected to such stress—

  "This is wonderful wine," Anne murmured, opening her eyes. "You never bought this at the Block Deli!"

  He smiled. "Alas. It is from the private store of Valcon Melad'a—the ship of my brother, which he—lent—to me for this journey."

  "Is he going to be a little annoyed with you for drinking up all his good red wine?" she wondered, eyes curiously alert, though the question was nearly idle.

  "Daav does not care overmuch for the red," Er Thom told her, with a smile for his absent kin. He moved his shoulders. "We are brothers, after all. How shall it be except that I own nothing that is not his, nor he something that is not also mine?"

  "I—see." Anne blinked and had another appreciative sip of wine. "Is he much older than you are?"

  "Eh? Ah, no, he is the younger—" He moved his hand, fingers flicking in dismissal. "A matter of a few relumma—nothing to signify. You will see, when you have come to be our guest."

  It was little enough, and truly he meant to say no more than that, but Anne's mouth tightened and she straightened against the flat cushions.

  "I have decided," she said, not quite looking at his face, "that I won't be going to Liad. And neither will Shan."

  Without doubt, here was the opening of the trade, which must be answered, at once and fully.

  "Ah." Er Thom sipped, delicately, tasting not so much the wine as sorrow, that she forced this now, with her less than able and he with necessity to his arm—and a Master of Trade, besides.

  "It is, of course, your decision to make," he murmured, giving her full view of his face, "for yourself. For Shan, it is a different matter, as we have discussed. The delm must Know him. Necessity exists."

  It was gentler answer than he would have given any other—by many degrees—and still it seemed to him that her face paled.

  "Will you steal my son from me, Er Thom?" Nearly harsh, her voice, and her eyes glittered with the beginnings of anger.

  "I am not a thief," he replied evenly. "The child's name is yos'Galan. You, yourself, named him. If there is question of—belonging—the law is clear." He tasted wine, deliberately drawing out the time until he looked back to her.

  Her face had indeed paled, eyes bright with tears, mouth grooved in a line of pain so profound that he broke with the trade and leaned forward against all sense, to take her hand in his.

  "Anne, there is nothing here for the Council of Clans—there is nothing between we two that must make one of us thief! Shan is our child. What better than we who are both his parents take him before the delm, as is proper and right? And as for declining the journey entire—what of your friend, who has died and left you duty? Surely you cannot ignore that necessity, aside from this other—" He was raving, he thought, hearing himself. What possible right had he to speak to her so? To demand that she embrace duty and turn her face to honor? What—

  She snatched her hand away from him, curling it protectively against her breast.

  "Er Thom," she said, and her voice shook, though her eyes were steady on his, "I am not Liaden."

  "I know," he told her, his own voice barely more than a whisper. "Anne. I know."

  For a long moment they sat thus, her eyes pinned to his, neither able to move.

  "You're in trouble," she said slowly, and there was absolute conviction in her voice. "Er Thom, why did you come here?"

  "To see you—once more," he said, with the utter truthfulness one owes none save kin—or a lifemate. "To say—I love you."

  "Only that?"

  "Yes."

  "You've done those things," Anne said, and the tears were wet on her face, though she never moved her eyes from his. "You can go home now. Forget—"

  "The child," he interrupted, hand rising in a sign of nega
tion. "I cannot. Necessity exists." He flung out both hands, imploring, the trade in shambles around him. "Anne, I am Liaden."

  "Yes," she said softly, putting her hands into his. "I know."

  She closed her eyes, long fingers cool against his palms, and he watched her face and wished, urgently, for Daav to be here just now, to show them the safe path out of this desperate muddle that only became more confused with each attempt at repair . . .

  "All right." Anne opened her eyes. He felt her withdraw her hands from his with an absurd sense of loss.

  "All right," she said again, and inclined her head.

  "At the end of the semester, Shan and I will come with you to Liad," she said, intonation formal—a recitation of the conditions of agreement. "Shan will be seen by your delm and we will be the guests of Clan Korval while I help Professor yo'Kera's colleague sort out his notes. When that—duty—is done, my son and I will come home. Agreed?"

  He retained enough wit to know he could agree to no such thing. Who was he, to guess what the delm might require? And there was yet that other matter between he and Anne, which the delm must adjudicate . . .

  She was watching him closely, eyes sharp, though showing weariness around the corners.

  "I hear you," he murmured, matching her tone of formality. He bowed as fully as possible, seated as he was, and looked back up into her face. "Thank you, Anne."

  She smiled, dimly, with her face still strained, and reached out toward him. Just shy of his cheek, her fingers hesitated—dropped.

  "You're welcome," she said softly, and sighed, all her exhaustion and strain plain for him to see.

  "I shall leave you now," he said gently, though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and soothe her, to sit the night through, if need be, and watch that her sleep went undisturbed.

  Fighting improper desires, he rose and made his bow.

  "Sleep well," he said. "I shall come tomorrow, as I did today, and care for our child while you are away."

  "All right." Anne made no move to rise, as if she did not trust herself to do so without stumble. She gave him the gift of another tired smile. "Thank you, Er Thom. Chiat'a bei kruzon."

  He bowed, profoundly warmed. "Chiat'a bei kruzon, denubia," he replied and was so lost to propriety that the endearment passed his lips without awaking the least quiver of shame.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Universe adorns

  a flawless jewel.

  Solcintra.

  —From "Collected Poems" Elabet pel'Ongin, Clan Diot

  RELUCTANTLY, DAAV lifted his cheek from the comfort of her breast.

  "Olwen?"

  "Mmm?" she murmured sleepily, raising a hand to push his head down. "Stop fidgeting."

  "Yes, but I have to leave," he explained, shamelessly nuzzling into her softness.

  "You have to leave now?" Olwen released him and actually opened her eyes.

  "I have uses for you yet, my buck," she told him severely. "I was only just considering which to subject you to next."

  He grinned. "You tempt me, never doubt it. But duty is a sterner mistress."

  "A hint in my ear, forsooth! Next time you'll not find me so gentle."

  "And I with a dozen new bruises to explain," Daav said mournfully. "Ah, well. Those who would seize joy must expect a tumble or two."

  "Hah!" Her laugh was appreciative. Rising onto a elbow, she reached out to stroke the hair back from his face, laughter fading as she studied him.

  "Old friend." She sighed, touched the silver twist hanging in his ear. "I recall how you earned that," she murmured, "our first time as team-mates. I wish—"

  "I know," he said quickly, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips lightly. "I would still be a Scout, Olwen, if the universe were ordered to my liking. Necessity exists."

  "Necessity," she repeated and grimaced—an entirely Scout-like reaction. "Does it occur to you that necessity has killed more Liadens than ever the Yxtrang have?"

  "No, are you certain?" He gave her over-wide eyes and a face bright with innocence, winning another laugh.

  "I shall formulate a data box and attempt to corroborate my statement, captain." The laughter faded yet again, and she ran light fingers down his cheek. "Take good care, Daav. Until again."

  "Until again, Olwen," he returned gently and slid out of her bed and left her, silently damning necessity.

  TWO HOURS UNTIL the end of Jump, according to the trip scanner set in the wall.

  And after that, Anne thought, maybe three hours through heavy traffic to setdown in the port.

  Solcintra Port.

  "Annie Davis," she told herself, ducking her head to pass through the low doorway connecting the 'fresher unit to the sleeping compartment, "this has not been one of your better ideas."

  She did not want to go to Solcintra. Yet careful scrutiny of the events leading to her approaching that very place in this lavish, uncannily efficient space-yacht failed to show her how she might have arranged things otherwise.

  The conviction that Er Thom was in some sort of trouble persisted. Pressed, he had admitted to "difficulties" at home—and then hastened to assure her that they were neither "of her making nor solving".

  As if, Anne thought grumpily as she pulled on her shirt, that had any bearing on the matter.

  In the next instant, she allowed that it had every bearing. She simply could not allow him to face his "difficulties" alone.

  She paused in the act of sealing her shirt to look into her own eyes, reflected in the low-set mirror.

  He came to find me.

  That in itself was extraordinary, for surely a man of Er Thom yos'Galan's position might easily call upon powers far beyond those mustered by an untenured professor of linguistics, had he need of aid.

  And yet he had come to find her—a Terran. Come, so he had it—and would not be pushed from that bald statement—for the sole purpose of saying that he loved her.

  The sort of thing, Anne thought, threading her belt around her waist and doing up the buckle, a man comes to say when he's looked eye to eye at his death.

  She sighed and sat on the edge of the too-short bed to pull on her boots, then stayed there, elbows on knees, staring down at the sumptuous carpet.

  "Now, Annie Davis," she murmured, hearing Grandfather Murphy's voice echoing in memory's ear. "Tell the truth, and shame the devil."

  And the truth was, she wryly admitted to herself, that she was head over ears in love with the man.

  "And will not marry him for propriety's sake, willful, wicked gel that ye are!" the gaffer thundered from life-years and light-years away.

  Anne grinned and in the back of her mind, the gaffer laughed. "Well, and who can blame ye? The man might stir himself to a bit of lovemaking, after all."

  Though lovemaking was not precisely the problem—or not in the ordinary sense, Anne thought, shaking her head. It was as if the years of separation had multiplied their desire for each other until a touch, a shared glance, a word held the potential for conflagration.

  The sheer power of the passion—the bone-deep, burning need for him was—frightening.

  "So why not marry the man?" she asked herself. "You've agreed to everything else he's wanted. Take a bit for yourself and never mind he only asked because it was proper."

  Except that he had offered contract-marriage, an arrangement very like a standard Terran cohabitation agreement, with each party going its separate way at the conclusion of the time-limit.

  And the thought of letting him go again made her blood cold and her mouth dry and her stomach cramp in agony.

  Just how she was going to manage herself upon quitting Liad at the end of semester break had not yet become clear.

  I'll think of something, she assured herself, standing and heading for the door to the companionway. Everything will be all right.

  SHE PAUSED BRIEFLY in the alcove to pay respect to Clan Korval's shield with its lifelike Tree-and-Dragon and to consider yet again t
he bold, almost arrogant, inscription: Flaran Cha'menthi. I Dare.

  Not a very conciliatory motto, Anne thought and grinned. The history of Cantra yos'Phelium and her young co-pilot, Tor An yos'Galan, who had used an experimental space drive to bring the people who were now Liadens away from their besieged planet to a fair new world was the stuff of many stories and plays. Pilot yos'Phelium was characterized as a crusty sort who brooked no questioning of her authority. I Dare was probably an entirely accurate summation of her philosophy.