Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  The cubiz Lyte swept into a pouch. He’d bank most of it on-world, keep a bit for dice games. Picking up the deck of cards, he touched the keypanel. The computer’s edifice board pulled away from the seat divider and slid into the wall. Finally, Lyte looked over at Moran.

  “All right?” the man asked. Lyte nodded. “We’re arriving in about twelve Nualan hours. Tomorrow night is one of the biggest parties of the Nualan year, The Feast of Adel. You’ll have a great time. Trust me, the Nualans really know how to throw a party.”

  Still reassuring; did he really look that bad? “I know,” Lyte said casually, gesturing at the promotional 3AV hologram. “I can’t believe this tape. Parties to celebrate a kid being fertile, for gods’ sake! I’m sorry we’re going to miss the Festival of Masks, though. It’s about forty days from now. Sounds like fun—everyone dressing up in ornate masks, acting crazy all night, keeping their identity a secret ...they visit the extended family during the day, I guess....” He toyed with the tape controls, stopping the tape. “And two wedding ceremonies—”

  “Only one wedding ceremony. It’s public, held in the temple, and usually not until a child is on the way. If the couple is sterile then it’s ... an excuse to throw a party.” Moran chuckled at how neatly he had fallen into Lyte’s trap. “But the first ‘ceremony,’ if there is one, is private, called Bonding. It has deep religious meaning, which probably wouldn’t interest you. But any birth, any healthy child is reason to celebrate, so when an adolescent reaches puberty and tests positive, the family goes on a blitz of partying.” Moran glanced at his tiny timespot. “We’re almost there. Are you having fun with the propaganda tape? Is there more to Nuala than trine gold?”

  Lyte allowed a dramatic sigh to pass his lips as his fingers started to riffle the cards. “All right. I’ve seen the landscape information and it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it’d be. You have to admit I need some information about this radioactive wasteland.”

  “Wasteland!” Moran shook his head, not bothering to hide his smile. “I’ve heard tales of the desert people creating paradise out of sterile sand. And the sinis, the irradiated humans, farm the hot lands. Things do flourish on Nuala, Lyte.”

  There was silence for a time, the only sound the ruffling of the edifice cards. “Did you learn all this at one time?” Lyte asked abruptly. “When you came here three terrayear ago, with the ambassador’s party?”

  “A great deal of it. Roe has taught me quite a bit.” He smiled faintly. “I’ve known her three Nualan years tomorrow night—we met at the palace party the night of the Feast of Adel.” Moran’s smile grew broader. “Relax! You’re going to the most lavish party of the year. The Feast of Adel, ushering in High Festival and the new year—party before penitence, and then party again! And the women, Lyte! The women —”

  “Can steal a man’s soul. No, thanks.” Lyte smiled as he said it. “I just wish we could stay longer so I could find out why you like the place so much. You talk as if you’ve come home.... You have a home, Moran—I’m the one who was thrown out.”

  He had spoken easily, but Moran politely skirted the subject of his family. “A fifteenday furlough isn’t bad —”

  “Elevenday, Moran,” Lyte reminded him casually, starting to set out the cards face up in an intricate pattern. He carefully controlled his sudden tension. Moran was as skilled at “reading” emotional currents as any commando—perhaps more skilled than most. If he realized Lyte was blocking ...

  He knew—and that knowledge pained Lyte. Lyte could see the puzzlement in his eyes. Commandos usually did not “read” their friends, nor did they block each other. Moran had to wonder why Lyte was blocking. But he chose not to ask. And that’s why they sent me. You’re too trusting.

  “I forgot. Why didn’t Officer Matias tell me about the meeting? I would have scheduled my furlough earlier.” Moran actually sounded annoyed. Interesting; he did not criticize his superiors very often....

  Lyte shrugged. “It came up quickly, I guess. They must have a special assignment for us, or something.” He grinned. “If we’d known in advance, I could have found a discount trip to Mercury 7—and you’d be traveling alone.” Moran smiled at that. He had issued many invitations to Nuala over the past few years, but this was the first time Lyte had accepted. Usually the sumptuary worlds were too much of a lure.

  Are you so in love with this woman that you can’t see? Lyte wanted to shout. It is friendship that brings me here, but not coincidence. His fingers hesitated on a card. They told me someone wants to kill you for even contemplating marrying a Nualan. And they told me to get you off the planet four days early. Did you think your furloughs to visit her on Nuala or at the university went unnoticed? Lyte shivered at the implications of such an assassination. Moran might be the perfect warrior; he was a decorated war hero, even a scholar. He was also an aristocrat of the bluest blood, the eldest son of a wealth-poor, title-rich Secundus CSSI family. I, too, am from the planet Secundus.... Lyte knew the bigotry of the CSSI system, knew its conscious and unconscious prejudices. It had a social system which married off strangers—his parents, among them—and forced them to remain together, to produce heirs to great wealth. Lyte shook his head to clear it. He thought he had escaped Secundus. And now the values of CSSI had the power to reach across a stellar alliance and touch them once again....

  He could believe such a tale; could believe it of the fanatical aristocrats of CSSI, the first system colonized by humans. The Axis Tribunal ordered me to protect you, to entrap the assassin, if possible. So I’ll stop him ... if he exists. Lyte sighed inaudibly and set down the card in his hand.

  There was more to it ... what, Lyte did not yet know. But the tribunal had withheld information—Lyte had “read” that fact as clearly as printed words. They told him to tell Moran there was a meeting. Was there a meeting? Had the war effort really calmed down enough for them to take a furlough? Nuala was only one system away from the front. Lyte had a feeling they were being used, but how? Why? The only way to solve the mystery was to follow his orders and shadow Moran. A commando followed orders, he did not question them. On a planet where no one carried blasters, a commando should be safe ... unless, like Moran, he was so smitten by the place he had lost all caution. Lyte would provide the buffer.

  “Just be careful, for my sake, all right?” Moran asked. “Don’t offend anyone. You can bargain, and flirt, but ... remember the old proverb: ‘The Nuala do not lie, and therefore are not easily deceived.’ They are a highly civilized and moral race within their own laws, and they don’t trust off-worlders.”

  “Do they really never lie?” Lyte said, suddenly interested.

  Moran made a wry face. “Nualans are instinctively, or culturally, like commandos—they are highly skilled at ‘reading’ emotional currents. So they are difficult to deceive face-to-face. But, they have the same problems commandos have—the more people present, the harder to sift out the emotions of an individual. So Nualans don’t try to lie to individuals; they may keep secrets, or leave out information, or avoid a topic ... but they usually don’t lie to each other—why risk it? Yet they’re human. Their politics are as convoluted and scheming as any I’ve seen, and they have their share of criminals—not many, but some. Violent crimes are very rare there. More often it’s theft, illegal trading....” He returned to the question. “In other words, I wouldn’t risk trying to cheat a trader in the bazaar, but if you can attract a crowd with your bargaining, you’ll probably get away with it.”

  “Because I bargain better than anyone else you know?” Lyte inquired innocently.

  Moran fixed him with a stern look. “Just use whatever sense you have, all right? Remember the Nualans are an interesting dichotomy where off-worlders are concerned—both hospitable and paranoid.”

  “If I had been abandoned after a colony mission backfired, I’d be paranoid, too. It took the Axis hundreds of years to find the courage to start colonizing again after the Nualan disaster. How many people are born sterile today?”
/>
  “About seventy percent now, although they are still called 80s. Apparently fertility has nothing to do with ‘hotness’; many sinis, irradiated humans, are fertile. However, an exceptionally large number of cool young people have been testing out fertile lately. For the Nualans, it’s a reason to rejoice. Everything here is centered around gene recombination; the child-rearing, the multiple spouses, the royal succession through the woman’s line—all to keep the genes moving.”

  “Can you survive the intrigues of Baskh Atare’s court, Moran?” Lyte suddenly asked bluntly. “Can you grasp the possibility of fathering a king and having no power yourself?”

  “A king?” Moran shook his head in denial. “Ronüviel has two healthy older sisters, one of them pregnant. We will have our place. With Ronüviel as a hot healer and as the Mythmaker, we will have just enough connection to the capital to keep everyone happy. I’ve been a scientist, a historian, a musician and a cartographer, and I was pretty good at all of them. I have only one more year of this tour to serve; then I’m going back to Nuala for the rest of my life.” Moran looked thoughtful. “To live on a planet where they abhor killing—to never have to kill again....”

  Lyte was silent. He had suspected Moran would not renew his service. But had he really thought out the current political situation? Lyte knew that the heir was a scientist, not interested in ruling Nuala—and that the second son was of fragile mind, possibly already insane. The third would probably make a fine ruler, if the various enemies of the ruling Atare House did not kill him first. One man had been trying to supplant the Atares for fifty years.

  “A deceptive paradise,” Lyte murmured, hoping Moran would think he meant the contrast of the harsh beauty of Nuala and the dangers of its radiation. “If more people are being born fertile, will they keep the polyandry and the polygyny? I’m not sure I’d like to be one of three husbands—that I could deal with it, I mean. How about you?”

  “Anyone who marries an off-worlder can have only one spouse—they don’t think we handle their ways very well, either. Roe and I will be considered a family unit, with whatever children we may have. They like to know who the parents are to keep track of genetic disease, but other than that they don’t care. There is no such word as illegitimate in Nualan, by the way.”

  “Isn’t polygamy the norm?” Lyte persisted. “The tape mentioned—”

  “No. It is totally free choice. Those who are fertile—the 20s—are raised believing they are responsible for gene recombination and should try and find more than one spouse, but it is up to the individual. Most prefer monogamy. Only the off-worlders and Atares are bound to one spouse at a time. Sometimes 20s will marry 80s, but they keep looking for a 20.”

  “I’m getting confused again.”

  “I don’t think you ever pay attention. Here’s a real example—Arrez, the high priest, has four wives. The first, Elana, is a love match. The second was required because he is high priest and she high priestess—it’s part of the religion. But he and the priestess decided to make a real marriage out of it, not merely a symbolic one. Now, the high priestess already had a husband when she married Arrez. But there is nothing between her husband and Elana. They are friends—maybe only casually, I don’t know—and courteous to a member of their extended family. But for the two of them to get involved with one another ... well, it would be a little too much togetherness, and usually doesn’t happen. It could, but the Nualans are very conscious of possible tensions in families. That’s why godparents help raise children for periods of time. It also makes the kids more secure, knowing that more than one person loves them. Am I making sense?”

  “I think so. You’re saying the morality is very strict within Nualan religion and custom. I take it that it works?”

  “So far,” Moran answered, “Five thousand years’ worth. They are a rather unique people. There’s always enough love for the Nualans ... it never has a limit.”

  Lyte’s gaze settled on the card in his hand—a king. He kept his thoughts to himself. People go there by choice? What draws you, Moran? What makes you choose Nuala?

  MT. AMURA, NUALA, SONOMA MOUNTAIN RANGE

  NUALAN YEAR 4952, FOURHUNDRED TWENTYFOURDAY, VESPERS

  Dusk fell slowly, subtly on Amura, shadows giving way to night. The street illuminaries blazed on in the distant city, and Roe searched for major buildings and forums. It was no use; the temple and the palace were simple enough to find, as well as the medical complex and fine arts center. All else vanished in the increasing glow of the capital. The synod’s current yearly session would end tonight, if they could ever pass those last two bills, she thought wryly. Most likely the elders had personal worries. In less than one Nualan year elections for the 708th Synod would be held, and with the current heated debate on tariffs, immigration and the ever-present 20s-versus-80s problem, quite a few men and women were finding their benches in jeopardy. One nice thing about the session ending—only the garden and honor lights would be on, and the inner-city residents could sleep with their blinds up and windows open.

  The night deepened, and still she and her brother did not speak. Roe let her hearing sharpen, waiting for the symphony to begin. She could hear the furtive rustlings of ground-stalkers, the wild akemmi and the lante; the shifting of tiny baby silva birds in their nests deep in the caves behind them. It was late for silvas to be nesting. Soon the adults would begin to migrate. She wondered if the little ones would be able to keep up.

  Roe glanced out of the corner of her eye. Braan had not moved in hours. A few cheeps and trills came from the treetops below. The night symphony was beginning. The soft insect harmony grew louder. More and more Faxmur birds began to sing as the last streaks of light vanished from the horizon. Roe sat up, looking for the Brethren. The Seven Systems were so called because of the extremely close proximity of seven stars, Nuala’s young pale yellow sun the furthest out. The others soon appeared as the brightest constellation in the sky, shaped like the keystone of the Atare’s office.

  Roe moved again to pull her long dark hair free and abruptly noticed the waterfall, its flow momentarily interrupted. She waited, smiling—a splash followed. Some small animal was going for a swim. They loved the high pool as much as her family did. Braan rolled over and sat up, looking out over the wide valley below. Only the multitude of lights was visible, and even further off, beyond the center of the city, the huge river Amura, the glowing orbs of the Brethren reflected in it. The sea was darkness—there were no moons yet this night. Zair moved, smelling the akemmi, his ears flicked forward. Roe put a gentle hand on his back to restrain him. The monstrous dog dropped his head.

  “Shall we build a fire?” she asked. They were staying the night. It was for most a full day’s climb simply to the bottom of the mountain and the way station; they planned to cut through the caverns. They would have to leave well before dawn to meet Moran’s transport.

  “If you are cold,” Braan replied. Roe did not move. The dry season was ending and the rains beginning, but there was no frost yet. She had only wanted a bit of cheer, anything to snap him out of his mood. She studied the black shape of his square jaw in the backdrop of the capital lights. Enid had had a relapse, and the truth was on the lips of every citizen; she was dying. Finally, after more years than Roe cared to count. And no one could blame Braan for taking a few days away from her side. Indeed, many wondered that he had the strength to bear it, that he had not taken a lover long ago, Atares barred by law from more than one mate. Six long years since the birth of their daughter; six years since Enid contracted the virus which slowly destroyed her health, her mind, and now, soon, her life. Long ago she had ceased to recognize any of them. As a healer, Roe had never entertained such thoughts, but perhaps the burden which hung over their entire family would lift if only the poor woman would die in peace, take the Last Path, her soul free.

  Braan, she was sure, did not desire fire or even conversation. He wanted only to sit in this glade, oblivious to the world, his life, his responsibilities, h
is future. When had things been simpler—six, seven terrayear ago? He had been twenty-three terra then.... Ten years ago, serving a short tenure as a trader, in reality searching the galaxy for an intelligent, healthy woman brave enough to leave behind everything for her man and an unknown future. It was the same when their older brothers and sisters went searching, in many ways harder for the women. A man strong enough in himself to forsake all for the big planet was a rare man indeed. No one came half-way to Nuala....

  “Moran will arrive for the feast?”

  It was more statement than question, calling Roe back to the moment. Strange that they had discussed Moran so little, Roe thought. Usually they told each other everything, these two, best-loved of their generation. Praise Mendülay that their oldest brother, Tal, took no offense at Braan’s popularity, believing it could only help the royal family. Deveah, however, who was second in line—that was a different matter. His resentment of Braan was well-known by all. Braan was careful, very careful around Deveah. But Tal was the heir. He loved Braan, and respected Ronüviel’s opinion of him. Stay healthy, Tal, very healthy....

  “Of course,” Roe answered, “providing the transport is on time. Sometimes I wonder if we are wrong, placing such restrictions on freight and passenger ships, even those crewed by our own people.”

  “We are right.”

  Ronüviel’s lips tightened at the hardness in his voice. Like Baskh Atare, Braan did not trust the Axis Republic, the confederation governing their interstellar alliance. Someday, they might turn their backs once again on Nuala ... he did not want his descendants to blame him for failing the vigil.

  “Will you announce the marriage then?” Braan continued.

  “He has not formally asked for marriage,” she answered, a chuckle in her voice. Braan snorted, stifling his laughter. Roe wondered if he suspected that the first, private ceremony had already taken place.