When Tarlac woke, though, it wasn't morning and he wasn't on his
sleeping mat. It felt like the middle of the night, and he was
standing as he had stood once before at the altar in the clanhome's
gathering hall, with his palms laid flat on the bare lower platform.
He didn't know why or how he came to be here looking up at the images
of those who formed the Circle of Lords, but it seemed right to him
that he stood so, at peace as his hands rested on the alien altar.
Or was it alien? He didn't want it to be, and it certainly didn't seem
alien. He knew, now, what he had only felt during the drive to the
clanhome. He belonged here, to the Traiti, as surely as he belonged to
the Empire, and he had to bring the two together. It was a need he
didn't question, any more than he questioned the approval he sensed
from somewhere. Stepping back from the altar, he bowed formally.
Conscious of the chilly night air on his bare skin, he descended the
steps, intending to return to the sleeproom he shared with Hovan and
several other fighters.
There was someone at the far end of the gathering hall, approaching
him. He recognized the green-robed figure as the Speaker, Daria, and
wondered briefly if being here in his condition was considered
disrespectful, or worse.
Apparently it wasn't; she smiled at him. "The Lords saw fit to summon
you quickly. Was the communion pleasant?"
"I don't know," Tarlac said. "I don't remember--"
He broke off in shock. She had spoken Language, and he'd answered in
it. Not in the halting fragments he'd learned from Hovan, but as easily
and fluently as if he'd been speaking Imperial English! "What-- How--"
"The Lords taught you, of course." She showed no surprise at that.
"But here, I brought a cloak when I sensed them calling you; I thought
you would need it. And come, I will get you some hot chovas. It will
warm you."
"Thanks." Tarlac took the cloak gratefully and wrapped it around his
body, feeling a sense of relief. He'd adapted well enough to the
in-clan nudity that under most circumstances being nude himself might not
bother him too badly--but this woman was the clan's religious leader,
and he was still uncertain enough not to want to commit any Terran
improprieties around her. "The chovas sounds good, too."
By the time they were in the dining room and Daria had brought mugs of
aromatic chovas from the always-ready pot in the kitchen, he'd stopped
shivering and managed to accept the fact of his new command of
Language. He'd also discovered it did him no good to think about how
he'd gotten it. When he tried, his thoughts simply shied away from the
subject.
"Do the Lords do that sort of thing often?" he asked as they took
seats. They weren't the only ones in the dining room, even at this
hour, but nobody paid any noticeable attention to them.
"No, they very seldom intervene," she said calmly. "Why? Do your gods
speak often?"
"It hasn't been proven that any ever have. I've never really believed
in any of Terra's gods." The hot mug between his hands gave off
cinnamon-flavored steam. "I'm not very good at taking things on
faith."
"On faith? Your gods provide no evidence?" Daria's voice held faint
disapproval. "They must be inferior gods, then."
Tarlac had to agree. "Yeah. The Circle of Lords doesn't leave much
room for doubt, does it? No wonder Hovan thought I was naive."
He took a drink of his chovas, enjoying the warmth amid his troubled
thoughts. He didn't see any alternative to accepting the Lords'
reality, like it or not. And he didn't particularly like it. Gods who
took an active part in mundane affairs introduced an uncertainty factor
that he found unsettling at best. "Why haven't they helped you win the
war, though?" he asked.
Daria smiled sadly. Apparently Language hadn't been the only thing the
Lords taught him; he was reading her expression easily. "Who can say
what motivates a god? We can only hope that their intervention now,
through you, will save some of us."
"Yeah." Tarlac sipped again at his chovas. "Look, will you explain
something for me?"
"If I can. What is it?"
"What in--" Tarlac hesitated, modified what he was going to say.
"What does a Ranger taking the Ordeal have to do with ending the war?"
Daria was silent for a moment, then she smiled again, easily, at the
Ranger's almost aggrieved tone. "Ruhar, you must have noticed that all
officers and high-status males are n'Cor'naya. There is a reason for
that; we have so many that there must be a way to select the most
capable, courageous, and honorable. The Ordeal has done that for many
millennia, though it changed when Lord Sepol was called to the Circle.
"If the war is to be ended with honor, it must be done by someone who
has high status on both sides. As a Ranger, you already have that in
the Empire; once you pass the Ordeal, you will also be able to
negotiate a peace agreement as a Cor'naya."
Tarlac frowned. "Any agreement that will work can't involve you . . .
surrendering"--he had to use the English word--"since that's something
you can't do. With the way your people fight, and with us winning as
decisively as we are, that is not going to be easy. Will the Lords
help me there?"
"I cannot tell you," Daria said, frowning in her turn, perhaps at the
unfamiliar word. "They have remained unresponsive; I can only pray
that they will. But you must not count on it, for they give no more
help than they consider essential. If they think there is any
possibility you can do it without them, success or failure is up to
you. We must learn, they say, by our mistakes."
"It wasn't your mistake that started this war," Tarlac said. "It was
the Empire's, but you're the ones paying for it." He had a sudden
thought, frowned again. "Fleet-Captain Arjen said the Supreme and
First Speaker invited me here. That 'invitation' really came from the
Lords, didn't it?"
Daria nodded. "Yes; all the Speakers know. But do not let that make
you over-confident of their help. It is quite likely that having you
brought here and teaching you Language is all they intend to do."
She sensed a question he hesitated to ask, and smiled. "No, Steve,
your adoption was not dictated by the Lords. The Speakers were
informed of your need to take the Ordeal, and we in turn informed our
respective Clan Mothers--but the choice of offering adoption or not was
theirs. Ka'ruchaya Yarra, in her wisdom, chose to offer it, and I am
glad."
"So'm I. And it may mean I do have a chance of finishing." Tarlac
grinned, unable to suppress a short-lived surge of hope. He'd been
prepared to die to bring peace; just the thought of living to enjoy it,
as Hovan was confident he would, was enough to make him reach out and
take Daria's hand even as it faded. "Thanks, ruhar. I was--"
"I know," Daria interrupted, putting her other hand over his. "That
you continue when you feel certain of death does you honor. You are so
intense, Steve. Relax, let the chovas soothe you."
"I can now, I guess. But I'm still worried. From what Hovan's told
me, the Ordeal's no picnic, even if I do get help from the Lords."
"That is true, es'ruhar, but be easy. Worrying will only make it
worse."
Tarlac was touched by her concern, and even more by what she called
him--though her intonation, combined with her use of the male
signifier, made that term . . . intimate. It was almost embarrassing,
and he didn't know how to respond. "Speaker . . ."
"I am Daria, es'ruhar."
"Daria, then." Tarlac was acutely aware of her tone and her touch.
The gray skin, despite its dense toughness, was soft and supple around
his hands. This was a little too much closeness. "Uh, I think the
Traiti and Empire have a lot to offer each other. For instance, you--"
"Steve, es'ruhar . . ." Daria interrupted again, smiling gently as
she ran the backs of her claws up and down his forearm.
Tarlac shivered, not from cold, and a gulp of hot chovas didn't help.
He wanted to run from what he was suddenly sure she meant. He
couldn't, not yet, not so soon--maybe never! He was afraid as he'd
never been in combat, and shamed by the fear, but he was unable to deny
it.
Daria paused, sensing the man's reaction. She had expected some
unease; the Lords said that he had never shared bodies, since he had
never gone through the ceremony humans needed to make it honorable, as
some of the prisoners had. But simple inexperience didn't explain his
near-panic response. There was a First Sharing for everyone, an
occasion for joy in the clan almost as important as a birth.
Then she remembered stories she had heard about the prisoners, stories
she recalled only with pity. "Married" Terrans shared bodies, yes, but
only in private, as if doing so brought shame even then. And they
never spoke of it, never otherwise slept unclothed, and certainly never
allowed their bodies that freedom while awake. That had to mean, she
realized with sudden horror, that Steve was disturbed by just the
thought of such sharing. He must be fighting not to think of it at
this moment.
Touching hadn't upset him before, but now his arm muscles were taut
under her fingers, and she could tell it cost him effort to remain
motionless and silent. She didn't remove her hand, letting it lie as
before over his forearm, but when she spoke her intonation was
concerned instead of intimate. "Ruhar, let me help you."
". . . What? Help? I . . . don't need any help. It's just . . . I'm
not judging you, but you can't ask me to . . ."
Tarlac's voice trailed off. He couldn't look up and meet her eyes,
could only stare at the gray, gracefully-clawed hand on his arm. At
the altar he had felt he belonged to these people, and it had made him
happy. Now he was a confused alien again, belonging nowhere and to no
one.
The sudden violent changes of emotion he'd begun experiencing lately
weren't usual for him at all, and he didn't know how to handle them.
It was like some of the Academy entrance examinations, when he'd been
tested for his reactions to mood-altering drugs--and, at the same time,
for his ability to function under wildly varying conditions. He'd been
trying to adapt to too many things at once, he thought desperately.
Maybe he did need to slow the pace, maybe he should . . . but he didn't
have time . . .
He couldn't . . . couldn't do what he thought she wanted. He
hesitated, tried to explain. "Speaker, I can't make love to you," he
said desperately, forcing himself to speak quietly though his words
came out in short, harsh phrases. "It just isn't done. Even if you
weren't a priestess. We aren't married. I gave up wanting a
family . . . I just can't!"
When he became silent, Daria said softly, "You joined Ch'kara."
"I had to. To take the Ordeal." Tarlac was still staring at her hand,
and sat frozen where he was as she moved to a place beside him.
Ah, the Ordeal, she thought compassionately. Perhaps if he knew this
was part of the Ordeal, showing he was able to share in the creation of
a new life? Then she decided against telling him. It would be better
if he did not know just yet, if he did this freely rather than from a
sense of obligation. "Ruhar, please. Let me help. I can ease the ill
that has been done you, perhaps cure it. You need not suffer as you
do."
"Ill?" After a few moments, the Ranger was able to look up into
sympathetic amber eyes. "I'm not suffering, I like what I do. You
just, well, surprised me. I didn't mean to offend you. If I did, I'm
sorry."
She'd shocked the hell out of him, would be more accurate, but he had
regained some control and did regret any distress he might have caused
her. More, he was angry at himself for losing control in the first
place. It was about time he started thinking with something more than
his cultural prejudices. Dammit, he was supposed to be able to adapt
to just about any circumstances. So why shouldn't he accept this?
Unless she was right, and something in Terran culture had warped him.
Or--maybe not warped him, but been mistaken about him. He'd lost his
reserve far too easily in the short time he'd spent aboard the
Hermnaen, and here in-clan, for real detachment to have been an
integral part of him. He'd enjoyed--until now--the Traiti closeness
that was unacceptable in Terran society at present.
That had to be it. The tests, reliable as they were, weren't
infallible; they'd missed Shining Arrow's need for closeness. Given
his own isolated childhood, it wasn't surprising they'd missed the same
need in him--a need he hadn't even known, in Terran society, that he
had.
And that was his key. This wasn't Terra. This was the Traiti
Homeworld, and physical expression of affection was the norm here. He
closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, deliberately relaxing.
Daria felt his body's tension ease, and put an arm around his
shoulders. "That is better, ruhar. I have heard of marriage, though it
is not a Traiti custom. Adopted or not, you are part of the clan, and
you are adult. Any ruhar can share bodies with you, in full honor."
Any--? the Ranger thought blankly, then he realized it made sense.
With their sex ratio and limited fertility, the Traiti couldn't pair up
as Terrans did. Hovan and the five he shared young with should have
made that obvious. But she was still a priestess . . .
Daria answered that unspoken thought, startling him. "The Lords do not
forbid their Speakers sharing of bodies or young--if they did, none
would serve them. There are no barriers, es'ruhar, except those in
your mind."
She was silent then, letting the man absorb her words and her unspoken
caring, as some people drifted out of the room and others drifted in,
to sit near them. The emotional storm Steve was generating, and its
texture, let the clan know his First Sharing was near, and that he
needed support to make it what it should be.
Daria remembered her own First Sharing, a good eighty years ago, and
recalled that she had been a little apprehensive herself, even though
she had grown up seeing the adults sharing bodies. She had only
relaxed when her best-loved es'ruhar, he who had given her life, came
to give her this gift as well. And those who were with them included
her other closest n'ruhar.
Now the ones Steve knew best were here to show their approval and joy.
Daria regretted that he had no one really close to him for this, but
with Hovan and the others around them, she was sure he would take some
pleasure in it, and he would be unaware of how much he was missing.
Tarlac felt the presence of his n'ruhar, male and female alike, in a
perception that was a glow of warmth. They were his clan, his family.
And yes, he was es'ruhar to Daria. He looked up at her, reached to run
his fingers softly along the side of her face. "Ka'ruhar," he said,
almost whispering, "I will . . . I will be proud to share bodies with
you this night."
When Tarlac woke the next morning he felt good, almost euphoric, eased
of a tension he'd lived with for so long he'd forgotten he had it.
Daria was also awake, he realized, and those who had been with them the
night before were now gone. He put his arms around her.
"Ka'ruhar . . . it was unbelievable." He remembered the night with
delight, and appreciation for something he'd never expected to
experience--the unity with another person, someone who treated him as a
person instead of a symbol.
"Such sharing is always good," she said serenely, running gentle claws
down his back. "And we share more, my Steve. I bear our ka'esten."
"Our daughter." Tarlac, beyond surprise, couldn't question her
knowledge of pregnancy or of the baby's sex. He took a moment to sort
out his reactions. He knew Daria was pleased--he couldn't deny that in
a way he was pleased himself!--but this made it certain. One way or
another, this was his last mission as a Ranger. He'd told Hovan what
might happen if he returned to the Empire with a clan and family, but
he hadn't really expected to have to leave the only group of friends
he'd known. That would be a wrench.
Still . . . he remembered the feeling of belonging he'd had at the
altar, and Daria's undeniable concern for him. Maybe it wouldn't be
too bad a deal, at that, if he somehow survived. He might be gaining
more than he lost . . . a badge for a daughter. Jim and Linda for
Hovan and Daria. Yeah, that seemed fair enough.
Tarlac smiled, already a bit nostalgic. Guess you'll have to find
yourself another Ranger, Jean, he thought. Looks like if I ever ride
the Lindner again, it'll be as a passenger. Then his attention turned
fully to Daria, and the idea of being a father.
It turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant idea. He felt brief
concern about how their daughter would be accepted, but decided that
shouldn't be a problem, since he'd been accepted. Something else was
more important. "Daria, ka'ruhar--what happens to her, and to you, if I
fail? Not if I die trying this; I know Ch'kara will take care of you
both. But if I can't end the war, and the Empire invades Homeworld?"
Her serenity was unimpaired. "I believe you will not fail, that you
will watch her grow. To ease your mind, though, as long as I am
carrying and nursing her, it would be dishonorable for me to fight--and
the need to care for her will keep me alive, even as a captive, until
she no longer needs me."
"That helps, some." It wasn't perfect; Tarlac didn't want anyone to
have to die, and he hoped the invasion never happened . . . but what
she said did help. Then another thought occurred to him. "What'll we
name her?"
"We have time to give that much thought," Daria said with amusement.
"But not now. I have duties, and we both must eat."
"I suppose so." He hated to do it, but he released her and they both
rose.
Going to the door, Daria retrieved a bundle and handed it to him.
Clothes, in Imperial green and silver--with his badge. He took them,
pleasantly surprised; he'd expected to have to go back to his quarters
to dress. Somebody was being thoughtful.
Nobody seemed to pay any particular attention to them when they went in
to breakfast, though Tarlac was reasonably sure that what had happened
was common knowledge. He became positive when, shortly after they
found seats, Hovan and Yarra joined them.
Yarra smiled at them "Well, Steve, have you lost all your doubts of
truly belonging?"
"There's no need for the English now, Ka'ruchaya--the Lords are good
teachers." Tarlac was still baffled by their gift of Language, but
he'd come to accept it. "I've lost all my doubts."
"That is good," Yarra said. "I like my n'ruesten at ease."
Then Daria touched Steve's hand. "You tell them, es'ruhar. I will
tell the rest at morning service."
"Tell us what?" Hovan asked, but his face told Steve that he'd guessed
the news.
"Daria and I share a daughter."
Hovan looked at the two of them, then at Yarra. "It seems our newest
one serves Ch'kara well. And himself--I have never heard of anyone
passing the first part of the Ordeal so quickly."
"The Ordeal!" Tarlac exclaimed--but shock almost instantly turned to
understanding. "Daria, you should have told me!"
"And make your First Sharing a thing of duty instead of joy? No,
es'ruhar. That would have been wrong for you, and for our ka'esten.
You deserve better of the clan."
Yarra smiled at them, and spoke to Steve. "Ruesten, the Lords must
truly favor you, to teach you Language, then grant a girl child to the
clan on your first sharing of bodies. That is a thing of joy, for all
of us."
"Yes, but--"
"No buts, ruhar," Hovan said. "Are you concerned that she is half
human? That does not matter." He turned to Yarra and Daria.
"Ka'ruchaya, may I show him?"
Yarra nodded. "If Daria permits."
"Go ahead," Daria said. "I am content to make the formal announcement
at service."
Hovan stood and raised his arms, claws fully extended in a stance that
demanded the room's full attention. Silence fell, and he waited until
every face in the dining room was turned toward him.
"In seven tenth-years, n'ruhar," he began, "we will have--"
Some breakfasters were quick to make the connection between the
timespan and the previous night's First Sharing, no doubt aided by the
little group's satisfied expressions.
"Female or male?" someone called.
"Female!" Hovan called back, too proud for Steve to be dismayed by the
interruption.
Within seconds Tarlac and Daria were surrounded by well-wishers, being
congratulated with obvious sincerity. There was no doubt in the
Ranger's mind of that, as he found himself grinning like an idiot,
accepting the compliments and feeling as pleased with himself as any
Traiti male.
A clan-sized family had built-in safeguards against his swelling head,
though. A youngling Steve couldn't remember meeting tugged at his
shirt, and when he looked around, said, "Hey, ruchaya Steve, you don't
talk funny any more."
Tarlac laughed. "Thanks! Think you could do any better, in English?"
The youngling grinned engagingly at him. "Sure I could, if you teach
me."
"We'll see. If I have time, it's a deal."
Over the next several days, however, Tarlac was too busy to teach; he
was studying instead, fourteen hours a day, which left him time for
little except food and sleep. He didn't mind the hard work; it was
interesting, and it would very probably keep him alive--if anything
would.
Hovan did leave him time to study the first-contact tape and read the
daily news summaries the Supreme had delivered as promised. Neither
brought any surprises, though he paid close attention to the tape,
trying to find some way the war could have been avoided. Doing so
wouldn't solve this situation, but it might help prevent another
first-contact disaster.
He didn't find anything. The tape simply confirmed Hovan's account of
the first human/Traiti meeting, adding little to Tarlac's knowledge
except a sight of the guardship crew's intense horror when they saw
women aboard an armed scout, being taken into danger only males should
face. The human scouts had followed first-contact procedure, Tarlac
found; the problem was the mixed crew, and there was no point in
changing that. Anything the Empire did there--except perhaps for
crewing all scouts with Irschchans, whose sex was difficult for
non-felinoids to distinguish--could be just as bad, depending on the
culture being contacted. And that had other practical difficulties.
No, the Ranger decided, it was what he'd originally called it: a mutual
misunderstanding. What he'd called the Empire's fault, to Daria, had
been unavoidable. Neither side could be blamed.
The news summaries reported that the Empire was winning as steadily as
ever. It was the casualty reports that bothered Tarlac. The Imperial
losses were lighter than predicted, and he knew few individuals in the
Empire well enough to feel more than mild regret at their deaths; but
the increasingly heavy Traiti casualties upset him with their sheer
numbers.
More, some of them hit him very personally. The loss of people from
Ch'kara, even people he'd never met, left a void. They were a loss to
the entire clan, and it wasn't balanced by the birth of a son to one of
the n'ka'ruhar on Norvis--though Tarlac did share the clan's joy at
that event.
The losses couldn't intensify his need to end the war, though. Nothing
could; it was already the central fact of his existence. So, aside
from paying attention to the news summaries and the necessities of
life, Tarlac spent all his time on the concentrated study that might
keep him alive through the Ordeal.
All the same, it was a welcome break when, just before dinner the
evening of his tenth day on Homeworld, Hovan informed him that school
was over and invited him to join one of the fighters' discussion groups
after eating.
Tarlac pushed himself away from the study unit and stood, stretching
luxuriously. "That sounds good, and I could sure use the change. Have
you decided when I'm supposed to go out?"
"Tomorrow, or if you prefer, the next day."
"Okay. Tomorrow, then. I still don't care to waste time."
"I thought you would not. I arranged for a null-grav car for
midmorning; I will take you to the test area myself." He smiled a
little. "Before we leave, you will have to make a decision. Now that
you know all the dangers, you must choose whether to remain in the test
area for the full two ten-days, or attempt to walk out. The Ordeal
requires that you survive, nothing more."
"Mmm." Tarlac frowned. "Staying put's safer, but if I'm lucky,
walking out should only take five or ten days. That's ten, maybe
fifteen days saved--I'll take the chance. And I'll bet you expected
that, too."
Hovan's smile widened. "I did. It means you will carry a locator
beacon as well as your knife, timed to go off in twenty days. If you
are not back here by then, we will come for you."
"Yeah, okay. You know me pretty well, don't you? Let's eat."
He slept that night as if he had nothing hanging over him, and when he
went to first-meal, barefoot and wearing only shorts and a knife, he
was greeted with enthusiasm and urged, almost forced, to eat heartily.
It was the last meal in quite a few days, he was concernedly told, that
he could be sure of.
"Hey, don't worry about that!" he reassured them, chuckling. "Being
small does give me some advantages--I can go for two or three days
without eating and without getting really hungry."
That drew some exclamations of disbelief. A Traiti who fasted for even
a single day would feel severe hunger pains, and three days would leave
one seriously weakened.
"An advantage that may balance his lack of claws and his thin skin,"
Hovan pointed out. "It seems a fair exchange; otherwise he faces the
same hazards we do."
"Yeah," Tarlac said. "It's a little hard to convince an overgrown
bobcat to pull its punches."
"N'derybach are not known for their peaceful dispositions," Hovan
agreed. "But if you are done eating, we should leave. You will want as
much daylight as you can get."
"Okay, let's go. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
Moments later, Tarlac and Hovan were climbing into one of the clan's
null-grav cars. Hovan was confident that Steve was, as he'd said,
truly as ready as possible; there was no point in a last-minute
briefing, so they made the trip to the test area in companionable
silence.
Twenty n'liu from the clanhome, slightly over fifty kilometers, Hovan
set the null-grav car down in a clearing, reached into a storage
compartment in the control panel, and handed Steve the locator beacon.
Tarlac clipped it to the waistband of his shorts. "Twenty days,
right?" he said as he climbed out of the car.
"Five or ten," Hovan said with a smile. "May Lord Sepol guard and
guide you, ruhar." Then he lifted the car and pointed it toward the
clanhome. Steve was on his own now, totally out of contact, and Hovan
found himself suddenly apprehensive. N'derybach weren't the only
dangers in Homeworld's wilderness.