Without a Front (22 page)

Still Salomen said nothing, and Tal found herself speaking into the silence.

“I gave you very few options when we began. You deserved more than that. If you'd prefer a different instructor, I can find someone who will train you here on Hol-Opah. You wouldn't have to leave. It's the least I can do to make up for my behavior.”

Of course Salomen would leap at the opportunity to learn from someone else. She had never trusted Tal in the first place—and for good reason, as it turned out. Tal closed down her senses, not wanting to feel Salomen's relief at being released. Nor did she wish to examine her own inexplicable regret at having to relinquish her role as instructor. Hadn't this been a thorn in her side since the first day? Why wouldn't she want someone else to take over? Fahla knew she could use the extra time.

At last Salomen rose from her chair, stepped to the window seat, and held out a hand.

It was the last thing Tal had expected. Cautiously, she reached out, and Salomen took her hand in a firm hold.

“On our first night, I said that accepting you as my instructor was not a free choice. But that was because you were more an opponent than anything else. Judging from your words and from what I'm feeling—” she gripped Tal's hand more tightly—“I think you are not my opponent now.”

“No,” Tal said ruefully. “You just knocked me flat in the dirt, without even a sword in your hand. I believe I've lost the desire to spar—I'm completely overmatched.”

Salomen chuckled. “Somehow I don't think that's likely. And I'm not interested in another instructor. You've taught me so much in the last half moon, and I don't want to start over with someone else. You
are
my choice.”

Rarely had Tal been so humbled. “Thank you,” she managed. “I'm honored to teach you.”

Salomen stepped back and sat down, settling herself comfortably in her chair. “In that case, what is tonight's lesson?”

“You must be joking. Tonight's lesson has already been taught. I'm still recovering from it.”

The full smile that earned her made all the rest worthwhile.

CHAPTER 38
Tal's turn

 

If Salomen changed the rules
of engagement that night, on the next night she changed the battlefield completely. She arrived at the usual time, sat in her chair, and spoke before Tal could say a word.

“How did you feel when you killed the ones who murdered your parents?”

“What? No. I know what you're doing, and it's not appropriate.”

“Why not? Are you the only one who can ask questions? You said that you needed to know my past and present to teach me. I think I need to know your past and present to learn.”

“Salomen…” Tal rubbed her forehead. “That is not part of a student-teacher relationship.”

“Do we have a normal student-teacher relationship?”

“I think that very little about us could be considered normal.”

“I agree. Then you'll answer my question?”

Two days ago Tal would have met that with a stinging parry, but after last night's lesson she found herself unable to refuse.

“Yes, I will, but you should take care in your choice of questions. You may not enjoy the answers.”

“It's not about enjoyment. It's about learning.”

Tal heard the message beneath the words. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to revisit a room she had not opened in some time.

“The first one was the worst,” she said at last. “I tracked him down and waited until he was alone in his home, except for the private guard that he was never without. The guard was good. I was better.” She paused, remembering that fight. It had been silent, quick, and vicious. Both combatants had their honor at stake, and it made them brutal. She had not wanted—

“Did you kill him?” Salomen's voice interrupted her thoughts. “The guard, I mean.”

“I knew what you meant. And no, I didn't. I just made sure she couldn't stop me.” By ending her fighting days forever, it turned out. That had been the worst part of the whole thing, because she had no quarrel with the guard. The woman was just doing her duty, and Tal had been too young and inexperienced to know how to defeat her without causing permanent damage. She would do it so differently now.

“The guard was right outside the study. I had to take her out silently and block her emotions as well, because I couldn't give Norshank any warning. If he'd heard or felt anything, he would have been gone before I could get into the room. But I surprised him.”

You know why I'm here,
she had said.

Yes,
he answered, facing her with an insufferable lack of fear.
Because I made the mistake of not killing you as well.

Now is your chance to rectify that error,
she said, and he tried.

“He had a disruptor in his desk drawer, and when I opened the door, he already had his hand in the drawer. Either he heard something, or he simply lived in that much paranoia. But it didn't matter; I was ready for him. When he lifted his arm, I put a knife through his shoulder.”

“You stabbed him?”

“No.” Tal's eyes were still closed; she was watching the scene play out in her memory. “I threw it from across the room.”

“Fahla,” Salomen whispered.

“He dropped the disruptor, and I walked up to him with a dagger in my hand. I wanted to savor his death. That's why I didn't shoot him; it would have been too quick. I'd planned this for a long time, and I had so much hatred. Nothing but a slow death could satisfy me. I needed him to die slowly enough to
know
he was dying, and to know that he had no control and that I was watching every moment of it. Because he had taken both of my parents from me.”

There was no sound from Salomen, but Tal could feel her horror. She opened her eyes. “You wanted to know.”

“Yes.” Salomen met her gaze steadily. “I still do.”

Tal nodded, but she no longer saw Salomen in front of her. It was Norshank's face, full of fear. Finally.

“He tried to run. I hadn't expected that kind of cowardice. I thought he would die like a warrior, but he was a warrior in name only. But I would not have it said that I stabbed a man in the back, so I brought him down and smashed his face into the floor until he stopped struggling. Then I turned him over so that he could look into the face of his death.”

Her eyes refocused; Salomen's expression had not changed. “And that was when I lost the taste for a slow kill.”

“Why?”

“Because of the damage I had already done. He was broken and bleeding, and his lips were a pulp, and I thought it would make me feel…right. Because I had honor and justice on my side. But it didn't feel right; it just felt unnecessary. I had the right to kill him. But I didn't have the right to make him suffer.

“I planned to stab him through the heart. A cleanly punctured heart won't bleed out right away—the muscle still works and the blood pressure will often keep the puncture sealed. But that only lasts until something disturbs the equilibrium. I'd thought about this so often, fantasized the whole scene. I was going to stab him and he'd know that he was a dead man, that it was just a matter of time. And then I would tell him all of the things I'd wanted to, for so long. I had the whole conversation planned out. And when I was done, I'd stand up, bring my boot heel down on his chest as hard as I could, and watch him die like the blindworm he was.”

“But you didn't.”

Tal shook her head. “When it came to it, I didn't have a thing to say to him. I just stabbed him and moved the blade in his heart. Up and down, back and forth. It was probably a more painful death, but it was also far quicker.” And messier. She should have just slit his throat from behind, keeping his body between her and all that blood.

“How did you feel when it was done?” Salomen asked gently.

“Tired. And filthy. Fahla, it was such a mess. And…disappointed. I had been living for that moment—it was supposed to free me. But it didn't. And I still had two more to go.”

“Were they any easier?”

“Yes. Because I no longer expected the kill to make me feel better.”

“So when it didn't…”

“I wasn't disappointed. Killing them didn't bring my parents back.”

Salomen's brows contracted. “But you knew it would not.”

“No, I had to learn it. I had to learn the difference between avenging my parents and revenging myself. One is a duty. The other is an emotion that a true warrior rejects. And since then, I have.”

“You've never killed in revenge?”

“No. Not since that first time.”

Salomen nodded silently.

Tal reached out with her senses, relieved to see that her horror had faded into acceptance. Not understanding, but acceptance. She didn't think she could hope for more than that. The warrior's code was learned over a lifetime; it was too much to ask that one not raised in it could easily comprehend the loyalties and duties that made some actions not simply justifiable, but necessary.

“Thank you,” Salomen said at last.

“You're welcome. Why did you ask?”

“Because I wanted to understand you.”

“Do you?”

“No. But I'm one step closer.”

Tal looked into dark eyes that seemed so much warmer than they ever had, and spoke the truth in her heart. “I think…that I want you to understand me.”

The smile that appeared on Salomen's face was truly beautiful. Tal was too lost in contemplation of it to be prepared for what came next.

“I owe you an apology, Lancer Tal.”

Tal shook herself out of her daze. “No, you don't.”

The smile turned self-deprecating. “The night after you arrived, I sat here beneath my mother's portrait and called a guest in my home proud, arrogant, and unfeeling. She would have been ashamed of me.”

There was nothing Tal could say to that, so she waited.

“Last night you apologized to me. The Lancer of Alsea, apologizing to a landholder. I thought you proud, and you humbled me. I thought you arrogant, and you showed up my own arrogance. I thought you unfeeling, but now…” Salomen paused. “I confused depth of emotion with lack of it. And I of all people should know better. Will you accept my apology?”

“Without hesitation. I misjudged you as well, with very little excuse. I'm a fully trained high empath, yet I still mistook your integrity and strength of will for arrogance. You fight for what you believe is right. You may be a producer, but you have the heart of a warrior.” Tal looked up at the portrait. “I didn't have the pleasure of knowing your mother, but I think she would have had much to be proud of.”

Salomen's eyes grew suspiciously shiny and she dropped her head, but hiding her face could not conceal her emotions.

Tal watched in alarm, praying that she wasn't actually going to cry.

The prayer was to no avail, and when she heard the quiet sniff, Tal found herself slipping off the window seat to kneel by Salomen's chair. “Please don't,” she said. “Warriors have no idea what to do with tears.”

Salomen laughed and wiped her eyes, but the tears continued to flow. “Neither do stubborn producers who carry the weight of a family and a holding on their back. Fahla, I miss her.”

She looked up and opened herself, and Tal was taken aback at the sudden onslaught of grief and longing. Salomen Opah had been keeping a great deal of pain inside.

A memory surfaced in her mind, perhaps released by Salomen's deep need for comfort. She remembered Ekatya saying
Please accept this as the gift I mean it to be
and the compact body molding itself to hers. For a nineday and a half, she had experienced the precious physical comfort which Alseans denied themselves and which Gaians took for granted.

Perhaps warriors did know what to do with tears.

“Come,” she said, standing up and pulling Salomen with her. “I think you might require a hug.”

“A what?”

“A warmron
,
but between unbonded adults.”

“But—”

“I know, it's not done. And that is our loss.” At Salomen's questioning look, she added, “I learned something from the Gaians during their stay. Captain Serrado taught me that in their culture, warmrons aren't limited to bondmates or lovers, or parents and children. And they don't end when the child reaches the Rite of Ascension. They're given freely, among family, friends, and lovers, from birth to death. If you'll allow me, I would like to give one to you. I can tell you from experience that it's a wonderful thing.”

“Experience? You allowed one of them to give you a warmron?”

Tal didn't need her emotional sense to know how shocked Salomen was at that bit of news.

“Look into me.” She dropped her own blocks and let her mind replay the precious memories, unable to stop the smile as she did so. She had never envisioned herself sharing this with anyone, but felt certain that Salomen would keep it safe. Even so, she was careful to exclude her deepest emotion from the remembrance, guarding it out of long habit. None but Micah knew of it, and he would be both first and last.

“And I called you proud and unfeeling.” Salomen's tone was self-castigating.

“We both made mistakes. But we've also taught each other a great deal in these last two days. Will you let me teach you this?”

Salomen searched her face for long moments, then nodded.

Tal felt a sudden sense of responsibility; Salomen had placed an enormous amount of trust in her. Such close physical contact would render not just their surface emotions but also some deeper emotions instantly clear. In a way, it was like dropping a front. But Salomen needed more than just words. She needed to know that someone understood what she felt, and Tal knew from experience that such understanding combined with physical closeness was the most comforting thing in the world.

Carefully, she wrapped the other woman in her arms, not surprised at the initial rigidity. But then Salomen melted into her and held on, absorbing the comfort with something approaching anxiety, as if she were afraid it would end before she could get her fill. Tal tightened her own hold in response.

“Why do we ever give this up?” Salomen asked, her voice thick with tears.

“Because it's too close to a Sharing, I suppose. But this is one thing the Gaians do far better than we.”

“Oh, Fahla…” Salomen burrowed deeper into the warmron, clinging desperately, and her pain poured out.

Tal held her close, projecting her sympathy and understanding. Salomen's emotion was all too familiar to her. It had been many cycles since her parents' Return, but that kind of pain could never be forgotten.

“I think we've allowed fear to keep us from comfort,” she said quietly.

Salomen made a small sound, then loosened her hold and pushed herself back. But she did not release her arms from around Tal's waist, and Tal did not correct a presumption which would have been inconceivable at any other time.

“You mean we withhold warmrons after the Rite of Ascension because of the emotional connection?”

Tal nodded, looking into the dark brown eyes so close to hers. Until last night she had never seen Salomen this close, and then she had been too consumed by her own shame to really observe her. Now she noticed the marks that cycles in the fields had left on Salomen's face: the lines radiating outward from the corners of her eyes, the slight creases around her mouth. They complemented her cheekbone ridges and set off her dark eyes, which held a depth and seriousness that belied their owner's age. Salomen's life and character had marked her with beauty, but Tal could only observe it in silence. Speaking her thoughts would end this moment and raise all the walls that had just been dropped between them.

“For a culture built around emotions, we seem to have a surprising number of defenses against them,” she said. “We deny ourselves the comfort of physical touch for fear of revealing too much, and in the process forget how necessary that touch is. We accept it as normal and desirable from birth until the Rite of Ascension, and then we're expected to relinquish it, instantly and without regret. And we do, because we're taught to revere the loss as a mark of adulthood. Loss disguised as gain. It took an alien culture to show me that no matter the disguise, it's still a loss.”