At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (11 page)

“No.”

“I beg your forgiveness if this would never happen.”

“It would never happen.”

“I have offended my friend,” said Kta. “I know you have grown nemet, and this part of you I trust; but forgive me: I do not know how to understand the other.”

“I would do anything to protect Mim—or Elas.”

“Then,” said Kta in great earnestness, “think as nemet, not as human. Do nothing without your family. Keep nothing from your family. The Families are sacred. Even the Methi is powerless to do you harm when you stand with us and we with you.”

“Then you do not know Djan.”

“There is the law, Kurt. So long as you have not taken arms against her or directly defied her, the law binds her. She must go through the Upei, and a dispute—forgive me—with her lover—is hardly the kind of matter she could lay before the Upei.”

“She could simply assign you and
Tavi
to sail to the end of the known world. She has alternatives, Kta.”

“If the Methi chooses a quarrel with Elas,” said Kta, “she will have chosen unwisely. Elas was here before the Methi came, and before the first human set foot on this soil. We know our city and our people, our voice is heard in councils on both sides of the Dividing Sea. When Elas speaks in the Upei, the Great Families listen; and now of all times the Methi dares not have the Great Families at odds with her. Her position is not as secure as it seems, which she knows full well, my friend.”

8

The ship from Indresul came into port late on the day scheduled, a bireme with a red sail—the international emblem, Kta explained as he stood with Kurt on the dock, of a ship claiming immunity from attack. It would be blasphemy against the gods either to attack a ship bearing that color or to claim immunity without just cause.

The Nephanite crowds were ominously silent as the ambassador left his ship and came ashore. Characteristic of the nemet, there was no wild outburst of hatred, but people took just long enough moving back to clear a path for the ambassador’s escort to carry the point that he was not welcome in Nephane.

Mor t’Uset ul Orm, white-haired and grim of face, made his way on foot up the hill to the height of the Afen and paid no heed to the soft curses that followed at his back.

“The house of Uset,” said Kta as he and Kurt made their way uphill in the crowd, “that house on this side of the Dividing Sea, will not stir out of doors this day. They will not go into the Upei for very shame.”

“Shame before Mor t’Uset or before the people of Nephane?”

“Both. It is a terrible thing when a house is divided. The Guardians of Uset on both sides of the sea are in conflict.
Ei, ei,
fighting the Tamurlin is joyless enough; it is worse that two races have warred against each other over this land; but when one thinks of war against one’s own family, where gods and Ancestors are shared, whose hearth once burned with a common flame,—
ai,
heaven keep us from such a day.”

“I do not think Djan will take this city to war. She knows too well where it leads.”

“Neither side wants it,” said Kta, “and the Indras-descended of Nephane want it least of all. Our quarrel with—”

Kta fell silent as they came to the place where the street narrowed to pass the gate in the lower defense wall. A man reaching the gate from the opposite direction was staring at them—tall, powerful, wearing the braid and striped robe that was not uncommon in the lower town and among the Methi’s guard.

All at once Kurt knew him. Shan t’Tefur. Hate seemed in permanent residence in t’Tefur’s narrow eyes. For a moment Kurt’s heart pounded and his muscles tensed, for t’Tefur had stopped in the gate and seemed about to bar their way.

Kta jostled against Kurt, purposefully, clamped his arm in a hard grip unseen beneath the fold of the
ctan
and edged him through the gate, making it clear he should not stop.

“That man,” said Kurt, resisting the urge to look back, for Kta’s grip remained hard, warning him. “That man is from the Afen.”

“Keep moving,” Kta said.

They did not stop until they reached the high street, that area near the Afen which belonged to the mansions of the Families, great, rambling things, among which Elas was one of the most prominent. Here Kta seemed easier, and slowed his pace as they headed toward the door of Elas.

“That man,” Kurt said then, “came where I was being held in the Afen. He brought me into the Methi’s rooms. His name is t’Tefur.”

“I know his name.”

“He seems to have a dislike for humans.”

“Hardly,” said Kta. “It is a personal dislike. He has no fondness for either of us. He is Sufaki.”

“I noticed—the braid, the robes,—that is not the dress of the Methi’s guard, then?”

“No. It is Sufak.”

“Osanef—Osanef is Sufaki. Han t’Osanef and Bel do not wear—”

“No. Osanef is Sufaki, but the
jafikn,
that long hair braided in the back, that is an ancient custom: the warrior’s braid. No one has done it since the Conquest. It was forbidden the Sufaki then. But in recent years the rebel spirits have revived the custom—and the Robes of Color, which distinguish their houses. There are three Sufak houses of the ancient aristocracy surviving, and t’Tefur is of one. He is a dangerous man. His name is Shan t’Tefur u Tlekef, or as he prefers to be known—Tlekefu Shan Tefur. He is Elas’ bitter enemy, and he is yours, not alone for the sake of Elas.”

“Because I’m human? But I understood Sufaki had no particular hate for—” And it dawned on him, with a sudden heat of the face.

“Yes,” said Kta, “he has been the Methi’s lover for many months.”

“What—does your custom say he and I should do about it?”

“Sufak custom says he may try to make you fight him. And you must not. Absolutely you must not.”

“Kta, I may be helpless in most things nemet, but if he wants to press a fight, that is something I can understand. Do you mean a fight, or do you mean a fight to the death? I am not that anxious to kill him over her, but neither am I going to be—”

“Listen. Hear what I am saying to you. You must avoid a fight with him. I do not question your courage or your ability. I am asking this for the sake of Elas. Shan t’Tefur is dangerous.”

“Do you expect me to allow myself to be killed? Is he dangerous in that sense, or how?”

“He is a power among the Sufaki. He sought more power, which the Methi could give him. You have made him lose honor and you have threatened his position of leadership. You are resident with Elas, and we are of the Indras-descended. Until now, the Methi has inclined toward the Sufaki, ever since she dispensed with me as an interpreter. She has been surrounded by Sufaki, chosen friends of Shan t’Tefur, and has drawn much of her power from them, so much so that the Great Families are uneasy. But of a sudden Shan t’Tefur finds his footing unsteady.”

They walked in silence for a moment. Increasingly bitter and embarrassed thoughts reared up. Kurt glanced at the nemet. “You pulled me from the harbor. You saved my life. You gave me everything I have—by Djan’s leave. You went to her and asked for me, and if not for that—I would be—I would certainly not be walking the streets free. So do not misunderstand what I ask you. But you said that from the time I arrived in Nephane, people knew that I would become involved with the Methi. Was I pushed toward that, Kta? Was I aimed at her,—an Indras weapon—against Shan t’Tefur?”

And to his distress, Kta did not answer at once.

“Is it the truth, then?” Kurt asked.

“Kurt, you have married within my house.”

“Is it true?” he insisted.

“I do not know how a human hears things,” Kta protested. “Or whether you attribute to me motives no nemet would have, or fail to think what would be obvious to a nemet. Gods, Kurt—”

“Answer me.”

“When I first saw you—I thought—He is the Methi’s kind. Is that not most obvious? Is there offense in that? And I thought: He ought to be treated kindly, since he is a gentle being, and since one day he may be more than he seems now. And then an unworthy thought came to me: It would be profitable to your house, Kta t’Elas. And there is offense in that. At the time you were only human to me; and to a nemet, that does not oblige one to deal morally. I do offend you. I cause you pain. But that is the way it was. I think differently now. I am ashamed.”

“So Elas took me in,—to use.”

“No,” said Kta quickly. “We would never have opened—”

His words died as Kurt kept staring at him. “Go ahead,” said Kurt. “Or do I already understand?”

Kta met his eyes directly, contrition in a nemet. “Elas is holy to us. I owe you a truth. We would never have opened our doors to you—to anyone—Very well, I will say it: it is unthinkable that I would have exposed my hearth to human influence, whatever the advantage is promised with the Methi. Our hospitality is sacred, and not for sale for any favor. But I made a mistake—in my anxiousness to win your favor, I gave you my word; and the word of Elas is sacred too. So I accepted you. My friend, let our friendship survive this truth: when the other Families reproached Elas for taking a human into its
rhmei,
we argued simply that it was better for a human to be within an Indras house than that you be sent to the Sufaki instead, for the influence of the Sufaki is already dangerously powerful. And I think another consideration influenced Djan-methi in hearing me: that your life would have been in constant danger in a Sufak house, because of the honor of Shan t’Tefur,—although I dared not say it in words. So she sent you to Elas. I think she feared t’Tefur’s reaction even if you remained in the Afen.”

“I understand,” said Kurt, because it seemed proper to say something. The words hurt. He did not trust himself to say much.

“Elas loves and honors you,” said Kta, and when Kurt still failed to answer him he looked down, and with what appeared much thought, he cautiously extended his hand to take his arm, touching like Mim, with feather-softness. It was an unnatural gesture for the nemet; it was one studied, copied, offered now on the public street as an act of desperation.

Kurt stopped perforce, set his jaw against the tears which threatened.

“Avoid t’Tefur,” Kta pleaded. “If the housefriend of Elas kills the heir of Tefur,—or if he kills you—killing will not stop there. He will provoke you if he can. Be wise. Do not let him do this.”

“I understand. I have told you that.”

Kta glanced down, gave the sketch of a bow. The hand dropped. They walked on, near to Elas.

“Have I a soul?” Kurt asked him suddenly, and looked at him.

The nemet’s face was shocked, frightened.

“Have I a soul?” Kurt asked again.

“Yes,” said Kta, which seemed difficult for him to say.

It was, Kurt thought, an admission which had already cost Kta some of his peace of mind.

The Upei, the council, met that day in the Afen and adjourned, as by law it must, as the sun set, to convene again at dawn.

Nym returned to the house at dusk, greeted lady Ptas and Hef at the door. When he came into the
rhmei
where the light was, the senator looked exhausted, utterly drained. Aimu hastened to bring water for washing, while Ptas prepared the tea.

There was no discussion of business during the meal. Such matters as Nym had on his mind were reserved for the rounds of tea that followed. Instead Nym asked politely after Mim’s preparation for her wedding, and for Aimu’s, for both were spending their days sewing, planning, discussing the coming weddings, keeping the house astir with their happy excitement and sometimes tears, and Aimu glanced down prettily and said that she had almost completed her own trousseau and that they were working together on Mim’s things, for, Aimu thought, their beloved human was not likely to choose the long formal engagement such as she had had with Bel.

“I met our friend the elder t’Osanef,” said Nym in answer to that, “and it is not unlikely, little Aimu, that we will advance the date of your own wedding.”

“
Ei,
” murmured Aimu, her dark eyes suddenly wide. “How far, honored Father?”

“Perhaps within a month.”

“Beloved husband,” exclaimed Ptas in dismay, “such haste?”

“There speaks a mother,” Nym said tenderly. “Aimu, child, do you and Mim go fetch another pot of tea. And then go to your sewing. There is business afoot hereafter.”

“Shall I—?” asked Kurt, offering by gesture to depart.

“No, no, our guest. Please sit with us. This business concerns the house, and you are soon to be one of us.”

The tea was brought and served with all formality. Then Mim and Aimu withdrew, leaving the men of the house and Ptas. Nym took a slow sip of tea and looked at his wife.

“You had a question, Ptas?”

“Who asked the date advanced? Osanef? Or was it you?”

“Ptas, I fear we are going to war.” And in the stillness that awful word made in the room he continued very softly: “If we wish this marriage I think we must hurry it on with all decent speed; a wedding between Sufaki and Indras may serve to heal the division between the Families and the sons of the east; that is still our hope. But it must be soon.”

The lady of Elas wept quiet tears and blotted them with the edge of her scarf. “What will they do? It is not right, Nym, it is not right that they should have to bear such a weight on themselves.”

“What would you? Break the engagement? That is impossible. For us to ask that—no. No. And if the marriage is to be, then there must be haste. With war threatening,—Bel would surely wish to leave a son to safeguard the name of Osanef. He is the last of his name. As you are, Kta, my son. I am above sixty years of age, and today it has occurred to me that I am not immortal. You should have laid a grandson at my feet years ago.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kta quietly.

“You cannot mourn the dead forever; and I wish you would make some choice for yourself, so that I would know how to please you. If there is any young woman of the Families who has touched your heart—”