The Marann (27 page)

Marianne swallowed hard and nodded.
The Jorann bent into a slight bow.

“It will take a great deal of my
blessing to accelerate your transformation to the extent required,”
the Jorann said. “As it happens, I have a great deal with me—all
that would have gone to Detralar this season.”

Marianne shuddered.

“The entire people of Detralar will
soon step into the dark. So many of my children. It has not
happened in a thousand years. Such a waste, this game my rulers
play.”

“Highest,” Marianne said, “why do you
punish his people for his crime?”

She grunted. “Where did your manners
go?” She motioned Marianne to lie down in the blankets. She
complied without hesitation, and the apothecary piled more blankets
over her.

“At least you are obedient,” the
Jorann said. “Very well then. Before we begin, my grandson will
tell you part of the answer.”

The Sural’s face went grim. “He is
dishonored, and all of Detralar is pledged to his life.”

“Yes, but—”

“Every man, woman, and child above the
age of four in Detralar has sworn their lives to his,” the Jorann
continued. “But their Detral is dishonored and will soon be dead.
Tell me, child, have you learned enough of our ways to know what my
children do when they are dishonored?”

“They—die,” she whispered.

“Yes, child. They go into the dark. I
do not choose this fate for them. They choose it themselves, and it
would be cruel to send them my blessing to live in dishonor. Almost
all will choose the dark. Those who do not will try to flee and die
when they find no haven in other provinces. Those who are related
to the Detral by blood—he has fathered many children—will feel it
most keenly. It compounds the tragedy. Soon, there will be no
Detrali left on Tolar.”

Marianne squinted. “The Detral
has—”

“He can have only one heir,” the Sural
said, emphasizing the last word, “but any woman in the province can
request him to father hers. According to his own boasts, the Detral
never declined such requests, even when the genetic analysis was
poor. He fathered hundreds of children.” His lips compressed until
lines formed at the corners of his mouth.

She snorted. “He must have been busy
at night.”

The Sural laughed. “In a manner of
speaking. Every adult has the right to an heir, but the Detral was…
excessive in his devotion to that duty, perhaps.”

“Beloved—” She stopped, uncertain how
to ask the question on her mind.

“Yes,” the Sural said, “I receive such
requests.”

“Do you—”

“On occasion. I am… more
discriminating… than the Detral. I refuse requests if the genetic
analysis is not favorable enough.”

“How many children do you
have?”

“Aside from Kyza, I have fathered
thirty-six. There will be a thirty-seventh before high
summer.”

“Thirty-seven!” Marianne
exclaimed.

“They are scattered all over Suralia,”
he added, eyeing her. He raised an eyebrow. “This makes you
uncomfortable.”

“The human customs I grew up with
are—different.”

“Humans would call our way
promiscuous. Yet they dissolve relationships with wanton frequency,
while we bond for life.”

“If I—if we—will you—”

“Tradition demands that I lead by
example.”

“But—”

“You cannot think me an undesirable
candidate to father a woman’s heir?”

“No!” she exclaimed, then said, in a
low voice, “I just hoped you would be more—well—unavailable...” She
trailed off.

“It is my duty to consider any
daughter of Suralia’s request which meets my standards,” he said.
“Did I not, resentment would soon fester.” He took her hand. “The
liaison lasts only for the short period of time required to give
the woman a child. Quite often, it is no more than a single
encounter.”

She took a deep breath and stared at
the cavern’s ice-coated ceiling, high above. Tolari ways came out
of six thousand years of tradition. She could hardly expect them to
change just because
she
didn’t like it.

But I love him.
She sighed and
glanced at the Jorann. She sat motionless with her eyes fixed on
Marianne, one corner of her mouth lifted and eyes glinting. Feeling
naked beneath that gaze, Marianne flicked her eyes back to the
Sural.

“Do I know any of your other
children?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “My first. I
fathered my apothecary.”

“Your apothecary!” she blurted. “But
she—” The woman smiled—the Sural’s own enigmatic smile.

“Who better to care for my health than
an apothecary I fathered?” he asked.

“You must continue this discussion at
another time,” the Jorann interrupted. She knelt on the blankets
and handed Marianne a cube. “Take this.”

Marianne settled herself, letting it
dissolve on her tongue. It had no particular taste, and she didn’t
fall unconscious as she had the first time. The Jorann reached over
her, offering some to the Sural. With raised eyebrows, he extended
both hands to take them.

“Consume two,” she said. “They will
accelerate your wound’s healing. Give one to your apothecary. She
saved your life, and I approve of the way she handled you on the
stairs. Her status should reflect her ability.”

Marianne snorted with mirth and almost
choked. The Sural shot her a rueful smile and handed a cube to the
apothecary, who took it with reverence.

“You honor me,” she whispered, placing
it on her tongue.

The Sural consumed the two cubes and
swayed. The healer turned her scanner on him, studying the readout
on a tablet. She looked back at the Jorann with gratitude and
relief plain on her face.

The Jorann grunted and shifted her
attention back to Marianne. “Open,” she said, dropping another cube
in Marianne’s mouth.

The apothecary opened her bag and
fished out a piece of equipment the size and shape of the top half
of a small apple. She set about adjusting it and, satisfied, placed
it on the blanket beside Marianne.

“Again,” the Jorann commanded, and
dropped another cube in Marianne’s mouth.

“How do you feel?” the apothecary
asked, running a scanner over Marianne’s head.

“Strange.” Marianne’s voice sounded
distant and distracted to her own ear. “The world is
rippling.”

The Jorann nodded. “Open.” She dropped
another cube in Marianne’s mouth.

As the youthful but ancient Tolari
continued to feed her, Marianne began to think the apothecary had
been mistaken about the pain. Then the world jerked and began to
spin, turning into a whirlpool of razor-sharp knives, slashing at
her. She screamed.

The apothecary placed her device on
Marianne’s forehead and turned it on.

Marianne slipped into
blackness.

<<>>

Up on the ship, the Admiral faced an
Adeline whose only sign of anger was her flaring
nostrils.

“You
should
have the authority
to open Marianne’s psychological profile and personal history
file,” she said.

“Be that as it may,” he said, “I
don’t. I’ll kick your request up the chain of command. It’s all I
can do. I’ll probably have an answer for you in a week or so. Maybe
by then the phase platform will be repaired.”

He could do nothing Adeline wanted,
and she couldn’t
not
know that. Scuttlebutt all over the
ship concerned the phase platform and the possible causes of its
malfunction. A phase coil had melted for no apparent reason,
damaging it and rendering it unusable. Engineering had sent for a
new unit, but until it arrived, he couldn’t extract the
schoolteacher without creating an interstellar incident.

Adeline chewed on her lower lip,
nodding. “Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he
said, watching her retreating back.
Even before I do, I bet,
he thought, with a slight headshake. He couldn’t warn Smithton
without risking his own life.
Smitty has no idea.

<<>>

Marianne swam back into consciousness
and opened her eyes, shivering in the cold of the Jorann’s
cave.

“Is it done?” she gasped.

The apothecary shook her head. Her
hair was still gray, but the lines on her face were gone. “No, high
one. Forgive me, but I had to wake you. You were in peril, close to
the dark. But you need not awaken long. I will reset the device
shortly.”

The bones in Marianne’s neck popped as
she nodded. “I understand,” she whispered. “How long has it
been?”

The ticking time sense in her head
told her the answer before the healer spoke it.

“Four days.”

The Sural maneuvered her head and
shoulders into his lap, and the healer pressed a steaming mug into
her hands.

“Drink this,” she said. “It will
replenish you.”

“Beloved,” the Sural murmured, pushing
her upper body a little straighter so she could drink.

She gave him a weak smile. “You look
better,” she whispered. She sipped at the mug, which proved to
contain a savory broth.

“The Jorann’s blessing healed me,” he
said with a warm smile. “I am well and strong again.”

Her stomach lurched at the thought of
what that meant for her when they returned to the stronghold, but
she didn’t have the strength to be afraid. “Tell me about—how it is
for Tolari women, to have an heir.”

His brows tried to meet his hairline.
“Are you certain you wish to hear about that now?” he
asked.

She nodded, settling back against him,
drinking the broth. He folded his arms around her.

“Very well,” he said. “Our customs and
laws are different for women than they are for men. There are
biological and developmental realities to take into account—you
have a much greater physical and emotional investment in the
child’s early years. Women spend most of two seasons carrying the
child during gestation and have a bond with the infant before it is
born. None are required to bear more than their own heir, although
many do—they must, or our population would fall by half every
generation.

“We have special laws with respect to
the ruling caste,” he continued. “High ones are forbidden to
request an heir from a Tolari who does not yet have an heir. A
woman carrying the potential heir of a member of the ruling caste
must live in his stronghold until her bond to the child dissolves
between the ages of six and ten seasons.”

“So Kyza’s mother—”

“Would have lived in the stronghold
until Kyza had ten seasons of age, yes. It is ever the way with
daughters. They need the woman who mothered them longer than sons
do. Our sons bond to us when they have five or six
seasons.”

“Do I know her?”

“No. She died shortly after giving
birth. Kyza herself nearly died, refusing to bond to me at first.
Infants by instinct seek the mother they knew before birth and will
seldom be comforted by another.”

“So that’s why she was bonded to you
instead of her mother.”

“Even so.”

Marianne shook her head and set aside
the now-empty mug. The Sural eased her from his lap onto the
blankets.

“Forgive me, beloved,” she said. “I
had no idea.”

The apothecary replaced the device on
her forehead and pressed a button.

Chapter
Fifteen

Marianne swam back to the light and opened her
eyes. The Sural knelt beside her, one of her hands in both of
his.

“Welcome back, child,” said the
Jorann. “It is done.”

“How long—” she whispered, but again,
she knew the answer.

“Another three days have passed,” the
apothecary replied, handing her a mug of the replenishing
broth.

“You have little time, children,” said
the Jorann. “Go now.”

<<>>

Marianne tried to walk back to the
stronghold. Her knees wobbled and threatened to give out before
reaching the stairs, even leaning most of her weight on the Sural.
Ignoring her protests, he picked her up and carried her.

Face heating, she swallowed her
protests and sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder and
letting an unaccustomed warmth creep through her. He smiled, and
her hand twitched with an urge to run her fingertips down his
cheek. She quelled the impulse. He had recovered his strength, and
when she recovered hers, he would want to—

“You are a brave woman,” he
said.

She knitted her brows together and
frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“You know you are weak, and yet you do
the hard thing. You are afraid, and still you continue.”

“Except—”

“Will you tell me what happened to
give you such fear?” he asked. “There are no guards in this tunnel,
and my apothecary follows at a respectful distance. No one else
will hear.”