Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  Fergus shook his head. “When you are safely on your throne, I will have made amends. Until then, you will simply have to accept my poor hospitality.” The priest paused to drain his mug. “Enough of this: I have bent your ear backward, and you have been in my presence since vespers.”

  “A firepit between us,” Sheel said, managing a faint smile.

  “It should be fine, but I will take no chances with you, Mindbender. You have children yet to sire that will be needed.” Nodding in his abrupt manner, Fergus stood, shook his poncho into folds around his body, and stalked toward the outside.

  “Atare?” Mailan said softly.

  He glanced her way, the look piercing. “What did you hear?”

  “He… Your sister is…”

  “Yes. There is a good chance it happened just that way. Did you think it a boggie story, when your elders warned you against bedding Sinis for any length of time? Once or twice would not be a danger, but an affair of several moons…” Sheel actually started to chew on a ragged cuticle.

  “Stop that,” Mailan said idly, her thoughts elsewhere as she considered Fergus’s words. “This could mean — ” Her mind froze. The ramifications were too frightening.

  “Yes. It is very serious. Now you know why I was losing weight long before White and his friends borrowed my person.” Closing his eyes, Sheel leaned back against the bend of the couch. “There is a way to settle it without bloodshed… maybe even without scandal. There has to be a way.” This last was scarcely audible.

  Mailan waited until his breathing slowed before settling a fur over his knees and banking the fire for the night.

  CEDARPOINT, STARRISE MOUNTAINS

  ONEHUNDRED SEVENTYTWODAY, VESPERS

  “We are here! We are here!” Avis went ahead of the group, her steps still light, indefatigable even after ten days of travel. The strange, swaying litter the guaard had strung between a team of horses was totally foreign to Darame, but it had made the last day or two of travel with a pregnant woman feasible.

  Darame dismounted slowly, glad to reach journey’s end, uncertain of what she would find. Moving over to Camelle’s horse, she held the stirrup while the older woman stepped down. Although Camelle had been silent much of the time, Darame knew it had been hard on her: she was not accustomed to heavy riding, and no amount of day jaunts could prepare the legs for a solid two days in a saddle. Smiling wanly, the woman accepted Darame’s arm as support, and they started up the slope. Wind pushed at them, slicing like knives through their clothes, and Darame was relieved to note that the entrance was sheltered by a pile of boulders.

  Bundles were scattered over the floor of the cave — another cave, Sweet Peter, is there no end of caves? — and guaard were everywhere. So many guaard, in fact, that Darame was suddenly nervous, her gaze taking in faces, looking for the young men who had watched Sheel so carefully.

  “It is all right,” came Crow’s cheerful voice behind her. “They are on our side.”

  “How do you know?” she muttered to him as she helped Camelle over to the fire.

  “You were the one who thought the conspiracy was small,” he reminded her as he swept by, a saddle on each shoulder.

  That was during my abstract period, she thought, but did not say aloud. I am no longer an observer trying to stay out of the flood. I fell in — now I must keep my head above water. “I would kill for a cup of tea,” was all the reply she gave him. “Will you — ” She cut her question to Camelle off as she realized how absurd it sounded.

  “No, I will not sit down,” Camelle said, managing a weak chuckle. “But if we can get enough hot water for a sponge bath, I will be asleep long before compline!”

  “No murder will be necessary, either for tea or hot water,” a low voice commented. Two mugs of steaming saffra were passed toward them. “Tea next time.” Blinking swiftly to clear her eyelashes of ice, Darame recognized Mailan looming out of the firelight.

  “More caves?”

  Mailan started laughing. “This one is warmer, I promise. They cut it from stone themselves, and the passages and vents are well-planned.” Gesturing toward the stove against the wall, she continued: “You have timed it well: dinner is just being served.” Under her breath Mailan added: “He is fine, just tired of the entire business. All the surface injuries have closed properly.” With that, the guaard moved off to speak to the other new arrivals.

  Relieved she did not have to ask, embarrassed that Mailan should think it important enough to seek her out — which Darame was certain she had done — Darame lowered herself stiffly to a backless sofa pulled sideways next to the fire. “I wonder who is doing the cooking,” she said to Camelle, who was leaning on the high right side of the couch. “The last cook was a terror; I was almost poisoned.”

  “Frost has a high opinion of his biscuits and an exaggerated flair for spices, but things are edible.” At that familiar, weary voice, Darame almost spilled her saffra, which she was clutching with two cold hands; old reflexes took over and spared her the indignity. Only after taking a sip did she look up.

  Much, much better. Tired, perhaps — there were still dark circles under his eyes — but otherwise quite acceptable. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said softly, offering a slight smile.

  Lifting his mug almost in a salute, Sheel managed a pull of a dimple before Avis flounced back into the cave and seized him, eagerly asking where she was going to sleep.

  I know that mood, Avis. You are determined to cheer all these worried faces, and I am not sure it can be done. Letting a sigh trickle out of her body, Darame ignored the entire scene — horses, guaard, dinner — and tried to relax. He looks all right, you can stop telling yourself not to worry. Dear God, two days on the rails, six either flying, waiting to fly, or refueling…

  “Did Mailan send you in to see your surprise?” Sheel’s voice was almost at her ear; this time she did jump, but the saffra mug was already half-empty. “The area behind the kitchen stove — “

  “No, Atare, he insisted he was well enough to move to the general quarters,” said an unknown guaard. “He felt you should have your room back.”

  Puzzled, Darame looked from one to the other… and then realized what they meant, the only thing they could have meant. Dropping the mug, she pushed past the guaard and into the corridor, looking from side to side, bewildered by a sweep of mock-Sini robes until… Yes, small piles of black uniforms by bed rolls —

  “About time you returned! The Atare was getting moody,” came a cheerful Caesarean call.

  “Halsey!” Darame stopped herself just in time from leaping at him. Sitting up on a mat with a mug in his trembling hand, he was a ghost of himself. “You’ve finally lost some weight!”

  The laugh was a bit weak, but with all the familiar tenor tones. “No bad jokes, now. I’m grateful for what’s left!” Reaching out an arm to gently hug her, he whispered in her ear: “Did you gut the bastard, or did you leave him for me?”

  “No time this trip,” she told him, grinning slyly. “But I stole Avis. That is guaranteed to infuriate him.”

  Another laugh, which turned into a cough. “No, I’m fine! Nothing to laugh at for days, it feels good. Yes, I imagine that he’s figured out the other one’s too crazy to use. He will be very angry, Darame.… You must avoid him, unless you can get the drop on him.” This last part was whispered, even though it was in Gavrielian.

  “Oh, I’ll get him for you, Halsey. It will be a pleasure.” No one here but her old mentor knew her well enough to recognize the layers of threat in her purr. Glancing at the doorway as she spoke, she saw that Sheel was standing in the corridor, pointing out rooms to Avis. He caught Darame’s eye as he moved by… and she wondered if he could now recognize threat in any language.

  It turned out that Fergus and his followers had several large copper tins and a source of boiling water. Avis could not indulge, due to her condition, so it was agreed that Camelle would take the first bath, followed by Darame. The elderly healer in charge o
f the sick demanded the second tub for Halsey, which was how Darame found herself keeping Sheel company by the firepit, long after compline had been rung.

  “So Jude made it to your mother’s home with Quenby Ragäree and Tobias?” Darame confirmed, folding her hands around a fresh mug of hot cocoa. Something besides saffra to drink, praise Peter and Paul.…

  “That was the report we received. It came by one of Fergus’s followers who remained behind in Portland. There are others from the village who wish to join us here — Harald and his wife, for example — but they intended to wait until attention was drawn away from the river,” Sheel answered, fumbling through several containers in search of the saffra.

  “Then they could arrive any day.”

  Sheel’s hands paused as he located the correct jar. “Yes, I imagine so.” He settled comfortably on a pile of furs, stretching out his long legs and folding down on one elbow.

  Comfortable speaking distance. On her part, Darame had no idea what to say. How do we start over? Not exactly over: intellectual curiosity and humor had led to desire, but that was so far in the past it was dust. What do we have now?

  Respect… At least she respected him, even as she despaired over some of his tightly held ideas. He had imagination, he could still learn… Pebbles rolling, a flash of black out of the corner of her eye — The guaard did not know how to handle this situation. I am related to the sick off-worlder, as they call Halsey, and to this plot. They know that much. Yet I travel with Avis and am a confidante of their ruler. No wonder they are confused.

  Gratitude. He had tried to express his thanks, just moments before, and she had turned it aside by asking about Tobias. I don’t want gratitude! I did it because I had no choice. You children were disturbing my sleep. Patently absurd, but Darame had no strength to laugh at the voice within. I will miss you and your bubbly sister, Sheel Atare, when this finally ends. Unless, of course, we fail, and then we’re leaving together in a hurry. I wonder if your Last Path really appears as a path?

  And then there was… desire? What could she call it? Affection? That, too… Be careful. It is dangerous in your business to care about people. Where was that thought when she still had control over things?…

  A breeze slipped into the area, strong enough to lift a strand of silver hair. Outside the cedars roared in the rising wind. Shivering, Darame reached for one of the furs and pulled it over her shoulders. Where had she laid that fur cloak?

  “I begin to despair of your blood growing thicker,” Sheel said quietly, watching her efforts.

  “Does blood really thicken?”

  That slight smile, a pull of dimple… “What really happens is that your system becomes used to certain extremes. If you are no longer cold when it is simply cool, it takes greater cold to penetrate your barriers.” The abstract, clinical expression crossed his face, and he reached for her left wrist. “I wonder…”

  Darame felt warmth trickle into her arm, spreading to her fingers. “Stop that,” she said sharply. Before he had time to be startled she added: “You could have died less than twenty days ago. Do you think you are ready to do that yet?” Flexing her hands, she added: “It does help, but for how long? I just have a strange thermostat.” Frustration flamed in her breast with every word. The most important conversation I have ever tried to steer, and I am helpless before those eyes.

  At least there was no haste as he removed his hand from her wrist. A sudden grin blossomed over his face. “Between you and Mailan, I may be scolded to death. Xena, too…” His expression softened as he studied her, and Darame caught herself wishing that looks could replace words. “If I am boring you, or you are still annoyed at me for not coming back with you… I am sure Frost would be happy to teach you how to play Bones.”

  “Bones?” Her mind scampered after his train of thought.

  “The sticks are carved of tazelle horns and bones.”

  “Whatever made you think I was bored? Unless that is a not-so-subtle hint that you are ready for bed and want me to get lost,” she added, setting her empty mug down by her feet.

  “No, no — I am not sleeping, as usual. Just not tired anymore.” He looked away from her, then, toward the light in the back and the noise of several games. “I just thought… you might prefer livelier company.”

  “I am quite content here.” Not exactly, but close enough…

  “Frost was awed by your entrance this evening. I just thought — ”

  “No, you did not,” Darame interrupted, her annoyance increasing. “You decided I am Frost’s type or something? Whatever he may need, I do not need a man at my feet every hour of the day!” I am not your sister. “I have had enough problems the last few moons without having to deal with one of these children.”

  “They do seem like children.” It was almost reflective, and made Darame look back at him. “I just do not want you to feel obligated… to…”

  Something snapped. It had been too much, the many days since things went horribly wrong in Portland. Furs scattered everywhere, and Darame pulled back her fist and swung to make the blow count. Scuffling warned Sheel, who looked up in time to seize her wrist as she leaped at him.

  Much of his strength had returned; he held her off with little effort as her flare of anger cooled, shaking his head at someone beyond her. I suppose I am fortunate I did not get a knife in the back, but, damn it Sheel! “Do you think I am some sort of court sycophant or something? Do you really think that is why I did what I did, when I could have stayed in Atare and dealt with whatever government survived?” Before she could stop herself, Darame whispered: “Sweet Saints, Sheel, who did this to you? If she is within reach I will take her apart myself!”

  Wrong words. She could feel him tighten, through only his hand; releasing her, he reached for their mugs and stood to carry them to the washwater.

  “Will you walk away from it forever?” Idiot child, that’s done it. Darame cursed her earnest tone, wondering if it had revealed more than was wise.

  “Darame, Camelle is finished with the tub!” came Avis’s lilting voice from down the carved hallway. “Are you ready?”

  “Coming, Avis.” Darame watched Sheel adjust the temperature on the kitchen stove, and then rose lightly to her feet. Dropping the fur, she paused, waiting for… what? Folding her arms at the sudden cold, Darame started for Avis’s sitting area.

  o0o

  A wordless anger coursed through Sheel’s thoughts for quite some time, lasting through another cup of saffra, a summons to a fresh tub of water, and well into scrubbing himself nearly raw. When his tension finally passed, the cessation left him emotionally drained, as if he had been in a shouting match. Slowly curling himself down into the tub so that the water tickled his chin, he tried to consider the matter.

  Will you walk away from it forever? And what had she meant by “it”, as if he could not guess. Perhaps it is not imagination or wish-fulfillment. If there is something on her side as well… “Coward.” Barely whispered aloud, but there was no one to hear it.

  So what if you were wrong not once but twice? Dig through the journals of your ancestors who kept writings: no doubt many of them had similar experiences. To bring Constance back here would have been a mistake. Cort and Riva’s only surviving brother had made that mistake, bringing back a woman who had hesitated to leave her family, her planet — who had feared The Long Sleep. She had pined and died within two years of arriving on Nuala. No, Constance was right, and he was glad he’d seen the signs before becoming too enamored of her.

  But Muriel… Is it because I am a healer that it hurt so? Still hurts so? Nothing in her behavior to indicate she’d feared him — everything had seemed fine. Until she became pregnant. I never told you why I left.… Perhaps that was wrong of me. Apparently the woman had not truly understood the range of his talent. He had not mentioned her condition to her, letting her discover it in her own time… but never thinking that — Sheel sat up abruptly, reaching for a kettle of boiling water, carefully pouring it into the fo
ot of the tub. To abort a heathy embryo and never tell me… She had grown more distant, then, as if re-assessing whether to encourage him.… As if deciding whether the wealth and position were enough.

  The entire container tipped into his bath, raising the temperature higher than necessary, but he did not step out. If it was simple fear? If we had talked about it, could it have been dealt with, pushed into the past? I could not deal with it, and so I drifted away from her, never asked her about it, about marriage… about anything. So many years, eighteen at least, on Emerson; scarcely a Nualan year for him.… Why did he mourn that child still? When he could see his line’s strength in so many places —

  No. Mere genetic selfishness was not the reason. It was healthy, and alive, and no danger to you. There are people on Nuala who would have risked death for that child.… Sweet Mendülay, woman, we could have removed it, placed it in Sleep — given it to someone who wanted it! The healer within raged at the waste; the Nualan railed at the injustice. Once, when we did not have so many gifts of skill, I think I could understand such a decision. But not now. Not with all that Mendülay had given them.

  You were wrong not to tell her why you stopped caring. Also wrong to think she should understand, without words, how his people felt about life. Her people decreed life began at birth; there were others on Emerson foolish enough to think viable life began at conception. Not always. He had been unprepared; it had been a rude awakening.

  So… what had his mother said, after the Light Ceremony? Only the best can accept it. It seemed that Darame had come to terms with his healing. That was certainly one of the strangest things about Nuala. Very adaptable, that woman.… Enough to stay here? To want to stay here? You want her to understand without talking about it. Unfair, Atare. As you must learn to play politics with lives, surely she could learn equally valuable lessons from you.

  Standing, he let the heavily mineralized water stream from his body. She may not want to stay… may not be thinking beyond the moment. So make her think beyond the moment. Crystle had wanted him, and not just for his genes. You seemed interesting and amusing and attractive.… Darame’s words, and he had responded in kind. Enough for a night… Surely enough to build upon.