Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  Braan studied him. “Tay, do you have your recorder?” he asked in Galactic.

  “No, Atare. Shall I get it?”

  “Please.” The woman hurried off, the akemmi protesting and clinging tightly to her poncho. Zair paused, nosed Braan and then followed. The Nualan smiled faintly, sadly at the dog’s confusion.

  “You keep her close. Why?” Arrez asked, persisting with the Nualan tongue.

  “I fear for her. You have seen the dark looks she receives. It has been but fourteenday, Arrez. She is a good scripter and quite mute when others question her about state affairs. The best kind of assistant to have. Also, ” he went on drolly as she reappeared, “She is the only woman in the city not throwing herself at my feet. It is refreshing.”

  “She is the only woman not attempting to become pregnant. Fully a third of those who were pregnant have lost the children they carried before the bombing, and Elana fears problems with another third. We revert to the Nualan instinct.”

  “So pray for Roe,” Braan finished, glancing at his sister.

  “You think I do not?”

  But Braan was smiling at Tay’s long leap to the plateau, the akemmi chittering its distress and anger. He was already explaining to Tay that he wanted the following conversation transcribed and a summary prepared for the evening meeting. As Braan led the way, politely gesturing for Arrez to follow, Teloa contained any questions for Ronüviel about the actual power of the Ragäree and quickly brought up the rear.

  oOo

  Roe remained alone. She had already heard about Baakche, as she often heard about things before anyone else did, and was not interested in a second recitation. Tonight would come soon enough. She moved on into the mountain, pushing thoughts of starvation out of her mind.

  Taking a flight of newly-chiseled steps and a natural upper corridor, Roe ducked under a tarp and entered the new medical wing. Her gaze traveled to the back of the cave, and she repressed her alarm. Stop it, you are acting like a ward nurse! Moran was sitting up on his bunk, a blanket loosely thrown across his shoulders. He was leaning against an outcrop of rock, eyes closed and face very pale. Roe could tell that he was attempting to control his agonized breathing. She rushed to support his side, silently cursing the hands that had controlled those bombs.

  The bones had fused well, and infection had been kept to a minimum; but these were not the real problems of recovery. The difficulties of dealing with Dielaan poisoning, as the elusive radiation of Nuala was termed, were more subtle. As Braan had hoped, the defense shields had been able to control the luna radiation almost completely. In cases like Moran’s and Lyte’s, however, the planet had leapt into their weakened defense systems, sweeping past centuries-old protections like a gale wind. And it fed on their body processes, slowing the bone marrow’s attempts to replace blood and thereby siphoning the muscles’ strength. It was one thing that could not be rushed, this slow cure—bed rest, fluids, slowly increased exercise, and occasional blood transfusions. Because of it all, Moran seemed to need her close to him, physically and emotionally; she gladly obliged.

  Moran opened his eyes as she gently brushed his long bangs across his brow. He studied her, his dark blue eyes glazed with pain he could not hide.

  “Maybe you should lie down,” she began.

  “No. I want to go out.”

  Roe started to reply and stopped herself. She stared down the passageway between the ends of the beds. So short—so long. Could she get him down there? And what about back? She took in his form. He wore joqurs and laced skin boots, a thick vatos wool blanket thrown over all. He would be warm enough. Why not? The snow clouds were already forming over the Sonoma range; soon winter would settle in to stay. She sensed chaotic emotion in him—she knew his hatred of caverns.

  The walk took forever. Roe felt every step of pain, although Moran said nothing. Finally they reached the broad ledge Elana had chosen as the life shelter walkway. Moran sank down on the bench against the outer wall, exhausted by the movement.

  “I am weak,” he admitted, a brief smile illuminating his face.

  Roe gently traced his cheekbone, appalled by his thinness and enchanted by his beauty. Yes, beauty; he had traveled beyond his usual classic features. It was a bit too close to the pose of an ancient angel for Roe’s taste. She outlined the sculptured muscles of his shoulder and arm, glad for him to see the tone was not completely gone.

  “You will be yourself before you know it,” she replied, avoiding his direct gaze as she drew the blanket tighter around him.

  “You think so?”

  “As a doctor, I can tell you the recovery has been swift. Being familiar with your temperament, I can say it will not be nearly fast enough for you.”

  “Lyte is up and walking alone,” he said accusingly.

  “You are not Lyte,” Roe answered, laying her cheek on his outstretched arm. In response Moran slowly raised his other hand to run his fingers through her hair.

  “I don’t sleep,” he whispered absently.

  “I know.”

  “Ever since I heard about—those women—I’ve been worried about you. And it. You’re in a dangerous time now—“

  “Do not. I am as healthy as—“

  “So were they.” It was abrupt, unlike him. He stared off over the outer stone wall and down onto the foothills below.

  She felt the fear, the need to defuse it. “Nualan women really are different, Moran. We have stone wombs. A radiation blast strong enough to kill me could not touch this child—or children. Stress would. So you have to get well soon; that is my major worry.”

  “Children? Plural?” His bewilderment was amusing, touching.

  “Elana thinks she can hear two heartbeats. We are going to wait a time before we run tests.”

  Moran sighed deep down in his chest, and Roe prayed for the thousandth time to be able to do something, anything to shake the depression he was sinking into. Often he demanded to sleep at the mouth of the life shelter cave, on the walkway; and he laid awake nights, watching the stars. What did he feel then? Anger? Hopelessness? He had not planned to join them so soon—and in such a way....

  An unusual vibration passed through Roe, and realizing what it was, she moved closer to him, seizing his hand and pressing it against her stomach to feel the child’s movement. Moran’s puzzlement turned to wonder, his deep blue gaze devouring her smiling face as if he could not look at her enough. She lowered her head, her lips brushing the crook of his elbow. Roe could feel his body temperature rise in response to her action and was irritated that months of separation lay between them. She was beginning to show a great deal more than the others as far along as she; by the time he was healed, she would be spending a large portion of the day confined to bed.

  “I’m worried about the baby—babies—because, what with the radiation fallout, I’ve been afraid that I might be ... sterile now.” So—at the roots all men feared the same things.

  “Highly unlikely. And you are certainly not impotent.” Roe grinned wickedly at his mirthless smile. “Do not let it eat away at your mind; that is the danger. It could destroy you.” She traced with her lips the muscles of his upper arm and shoulder, pausing at his throat. He bent down and sought her face. She gave in to the embrace, pushing thoughts of his condition out of her mind, enjoying something they both had been deprived of too long.

  A keen wind knifed through them, and Ronüviel shivered, wrapping her arms around his body.

  Moran managed a slight chuckle. “Do you think you can protect me from the elements?” He slowly folded his arms, pulling her close. “Go ahead and try.”

  “There will be hard frost by morning,” she answered. “Snow by the Feast of Souls.”

  “Another day of rites,” Moran mused. “Without a temple. Where will they meet?”

  “Soon we will be using the great cavern. I just hope we are inside the mountains before the winter strikes. It is not so long, but it is bitter and deep.” Roe watched the star creep toward the floating horizon, try
ing to allow the silva’s song to lull her. “Moran,” she whispered suddenly, “what is to become of everything?”

  Moran did not answer, but his arms tightened around her.

  Chapter Eleven

  MT. AMURA, THE CAVERNS

  FIFTEENDAY, VESPERS

  Smoke, smoke everywhere, rising to the ceiling, and a riot of noise. Teloa carefully picked her way across the cavern floor, avoiding milling adults and racing children. She had lost the dog, Zair, in the crowd. Praise the powers that food was now distributed by tribes—today was calm compared to just after the bombing. Spotting the Atare firepit, she shifted the cooking pot she clutched in her arms and started in that direction.

  A blow behind her knees caused her to stumble, dropping the metal pot with a crash. As Tay turned to see what had happened, a blur of child whisked by, snatching the kettle.

  Teloa’s arm snaked out, seizing the thief’s ankle. “Hold it right there! What do you think you’re doing? That pot belongs to my firegroup!” she exclaimed indignantly, standing once again. “And that knee trick hurts!” Downcast, the boy did not struggle, and his mother descended upon them, grabbing her son and beginning to apologize.

  Suddenly the woman and boy were shoved aside, and a huge form seized Teloa’s arm in a bruising grip. Flinching, she pulled back, and the man dealt her a stunning blow to the side of the head. “Bitch! What do you mean, taking food from my son’s mouth? You do not belong here; you are off-world, entiss, unwanted,“ the man began to scream, shaking her vigorously as he did so.

  Teloa was seeing sparks. She was vaguely aware of the crowd pushing near—some attempting to help her, others trying to aid him. “We will waste no food on murdering Axis warriors, and I shall remove one problem—“ and then the scream was of pain as Zair slashed into her attacker.

  Two men jumped the hysterical Nualan, and Braan was there, a death grip on the man’s wrist, forcing him to release Tay’s arm. A healer stepped up with a sedative, assisting the citizens in removing the crazed man. Kalith and Kavan restrained Zair and recaptured the tiny akemmi, depositing it in Tay’s hood. Teloa sank to her knees during the spectacle, not fully cognizant of Braan’s arm encircling her waist and hauling her up, guiding her to the Atare family firepit. She was in a dream state, huddled in a crevice, hot saffra being forced down her throat. Among a thousand words and encouragements from Atare relatives both distant and throneline, Braan’s calm, solitary comment stood out. “I asked you to stay with me.”

  The only other thing Teloa remembered from the meal was watching Braan and his son Dylan. Other family members would seek their ruler’s attention, but thirdmeal was clearly Dylan’s time. This night there was an edge of excitement to the boy’s voice as he related the day’s activities, and Teloa heard several whispers indicating the family’s pleasure that the boy was snapping out of his depression. She knew he had not forgiven himself for Asiai’s disappearance. Tay sank into forgetfulness, her last view of Dylan’s shining face.

  She awoke with the dying rays of Kee reflecting off her knees. Sitting up, she found Dylan was next to her, hovering near the akemmi. Smiling faintly at him, Tay rearranged herself and offered an arm to the animal. The creature scampered up her sleeve and perched on her shoulder. Dylan pulled out a few nuts and offered one to the beast. Chirping in delight, the creature warily took one from him.

  “You are a charmer,” Tay murmured, testing the lump behind her ear with her fingers.

  “I wish one would stay with me,” Dylan sighed. “I have been trying to get her to take that nut since you fell asleep. Do you feel better?”

  “Just tired. I will sleep well.”

  Dylan looked uncomfortable. “The man lost much family—he has been crazed in his grief for days on end. His wife wishes to speak with you tomorrow, when you feel better. She is very embarrassed.”

  “No permanent harm, I hope. Of course.”

  The boy nodded, looking pleased with his arrangements. Zair lay beside him; he gave the dog a hug and firmly pushed the beast down when it tried to follow. “Stay with Teloa.”

  “Tay,” she prompted.

  He nodded, smiling. “I have to go to bed. I will see you later.”

  As he started to leave, Tay said, “Dylan, don’t worry about Asiai. The ships achieved orbit, and the Nualans off-world will find her and take care of her. Believe it.” He just stared sadly at her, and then walked off.

  “Poor child, his childhood is over,” she said aloud. Shivering at the thought of thirdmeal, she was glad that she had logically traced it out. The man was not angry at her—only at what he believed she represented. It was some consolation, if brief.

  The voices in the cavern had grown louder. Almost everyone was gone, hidden from sight beyond the deep recesses of the garedoc, the great cavern, and preparing for sleep. Only the Atare family gathered near, talking quietly among themselves. Arrez was also there, and the surviving synod elders were trickling in. Braan stood alone by the pit, his face and chain of office dazzling in the light, his dark clothes muted against the walls. He did not look quite as grim as he had earlier, she thought; sharing the meal with Dylan had calmed him. Tay had been horribly afraid the boy would remind him so keenly of Enid and of his missing daughter Asiai that he could not tolerate the child’s presence. But Braan was making a great effort, and each day seemed easier. She stood, pulling her recorder from under her poncho, and moved to the fire coals. She suspected that Braan merely had given her something to do, but she was thankful for it. It would help her concentrate on the foreign language.

  “Brethren, cease thy speech!” It was an older woman who spoke, her poncho design marking her an Atare, not a synod elder. “We have been called for consultation and decision. Let us hear our Atare.”

  “We have been called,” came the almost unison answer, confirming Tay’s suspicion that the formal words were ceremonial.

  Braan stepped back into the fire’s glare, fully visible to the whole assembly. Teloa saw that there were more present than she had expected; the house of Atare must have been great, to lose so many and yet be so represented. The Atare paused, as if measuring his words.

  Then he began to speak. He was not gentle; his tone told Teloa that much. From what she could understand, Braan was saying that they would begin to build within the mountain immediately and would abandon Amura for the duration of the battle emergency. Low speech broke out among the gathering, especially at the words a siege of generations.

  Ronüviel rose to address the gathering. “The Atare alludes to the last time a maximum offense against the Axis occurred, in the Helix quadrant. It took the Axis sixty-three terrayear to regain its lost colonies. I, for one, do not intend to spend that time living out of a sack, and Amura will be uninhabitable for several years, unless we desire a massive water purification system. We have been tapping the stellar communications scans. We are now deep in Fewha territory.” No one chose to comment on this statement.

  “Ragäree?”

  “Speak, friend.”

  Jaacav rose from her seat on the rocks. Her speech was much swifter than Roe’s, and Teloa knew that the tape dots would take a long time to translate. The thrust of the warrior’s words concerned their time buffer. The Fewha’s spearhead into the outer line had been so great, it might take them as long as twoyear to return to the Nualan System. It was necessary to use that time to guard against invasion by pirates or “a zealous Axis force, demanding we explain our overelaborate defense system”.

  Teloa found herself sorting out the Nualan words of Jaac’s comments; those words hinting around the Axis response. She glanced over at Roe—the Ragäree also looked thoughtful. How was the Nualan defense being interpreted?

  “Our main priority is food,” Braan continued, regaining leadership of the discussion. “Growing it, storing it, distributing it. We shall not be hungry this winter. That does not mean we can feast, nor does it imply that next year is guaranteed. We must return to the soil and traditional planting methods. Lars s
ends word that while not impossible, things shall be very difficult for a time.”

  “A comment.” It was Jaac once again.

  “Speak.”

  “For some time the Nualan defense has been attempting to develop a planet-wide shield which could destroy a lesser attack and continue to defuse a luna barrage. As a matter of record, you will find south of Amura numerous growing fields unmarked by bomb craters. These areas were protected by the new test shield, totally forgotten by everyone during the excitement of the devastation.

  “The new shield has its faults—it cannot stop incoming ships, whether they are constructed like Nualan vessels or are general carriers. But it will severely damage even a captured Nualan transport. As always, the radiation will protect us from any other intruders. It has the advantage of being geographically controlled. We can deactivate one beam to allow allies to land, yet continue the protection of the planet as a whole. An active scansearch will be maintained to warn us of the smallest ship’s entry into our upper atmosphere. We hope to construct enough power stations to implement this planetwide by the thaw.”

  Teloa felt rather than heard the buzz that answered this; the words were too swift for her to catch. Jaac evidently was finished; she settled herself as if she did not intend to rise again. Braan now spoke, assuring the elders that warriors were monitoring the emotions of their people and that the guaard was being replenished by its standby legion.

  The last note was directed to an elderly man who had an air of importance. It meant nothing to Tay but apparently answered an earlier question. The elder seemed satisfied in an impersonal way. Tay caught herself picking out guaard, all standing near throneline Atares.

  Ronüviel stood up and moved to Braan’s side, and the audience immediately gave her their full attention, the undercurrent of whispers concerned with her supposed pregnancy. Their relief and pleasure over her condition was evident.

  She is not only Atare, she is Nuala, Tay thought. And they would not want it any other way. She did not fail to notice that Roe did not have to ask for the chair’s recognition to speak.