Kiran frowned, obviously more irritated than thoughtful. “They are the Keepers of the True Memory. They are careful to preserve only what happened. They would not tell untruths.”
“Hmm.”
Kiran glared at her. “You are not of this world. You know nothing of our people. You are not in a position to judge.”
“Maybe not,” Tempest said tightly. “But from what I have seen, the people of this world aren’t a whole hell of a lot different than the people, which means they not only lie sometimes, but they also only see their own side of things, which isn’t always the complete truth. My father told me that history was recorded by the victors, and they always told everything from their own side. He said it was natural to want to take pride in the things they’d done and that I should always look at both sides before I made a judgment because, without actually meaning to lie, they might gloss over the ugly things … or just leave them out.
“If it isn’t the whole truth, then its partly a lie.”
Kiran gave her a strange look. “Your father was wise for an Earthling.”
Tempest rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. It was a backhanded compliment if she’d ever heard one, but it was actually pretty amusing to have someone from such a backward world comment on the intelligence of Earthlings, who’d been far superior, at least technologically.
“This amuses you?”
Tempest shook her head. “Pride goeth before a fall,” she quoted, with no idea what the origins were, except that there was a lot of wisdom in it.
“This means?”
“Be careful you don’t trip over it and learn humility the hard way.”
He flushed slightly. Tempest wasn’t certain whether it was from annoyance or embarrassment, but she thought it was terribly cute to see such a big, brawny warrior blush. “You are young to have such wisdom.”
Tempest felt her own color heighten, partly from pleasure at the compliment, and partly because she knew it wasn’t strictly true. “I was taught a lot, but, truthfully, I haven’t had much chance to practice, or experience, the things I learned. Mostly I just know because I was told. How did you learn to speak my language anyway?”
“From the others.”
Tempest’s heart seemed to stand perfectly still in her chest. “There are others? Like me?” she asked breathlessly.
He smiled faintly. “There are none like you. But yes, other young of the star people. The Zoeans took them in to raise with their own young.”
Tempest tried to quell her disappointment. It wasn’t actually that she was completely disappointed. She was still tremendously relieved to realize she wasn’t the only survivor, but it had instantly leapt into her mind when he’d mentioned the others that she had might have a chance of finding a companion among them. “My age?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps. I cannot judge the age of Earthlings well. They are far smaller than Niahians.”
“Males?” Tempest persisted, trying to keep the hopeful note out of her voice.
Kiran frowned, looked away, and finally shrugged. His belly tightened, a chaotic tangle of emotions gnawing uncomfortably at his gut as it sank in that Tempest had leapt immediately to thoughts of finding a mate for herself among the star children. He didn’t know why that angered him, but it did—or why it relieved him when he’d scanned his memory and could think of none who seemed near manhood. “Young males.”
Try though she might, Tempest couldn’t contain the thrill of hopefulness and relief that surged through her. In all the time since she’d left, she hadn’t dared even to allow herself to dream there might be others of her own kind, that she might find people she’d known. The colony hadn’t been so large, though, that she hadn’t learned most of the faces, even though she hadn’t really known everyone. She firmly tamped the hope that any of her friends might have made it out alive. It was enough just to know she wasn’t alone, she assured herself, and that there was some possibility, at least, that she had hope of finding a companion among them. If nothing else, she’d have friends of her own kind, people who thought the way she did.
Overwhelmed with joy, she rushed to Kiran and flung her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you! Thank you!” she cried, laughing and kissing him all over the face with enthusiasm.
Kiran caught her arms, pushing her gently away, and Tempest sat back on her heels, embarrassed now at her impulsive affection, but too happy to feel much discomfort over it. She smiled up at him. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy,” she added, feeling a surge of tears from out of nowhere.
Kiran’s hands tightened on her forearms. She hadn’t even realized that he’d never released her until that moment. Lifting her arms, she placed her palms on his chest for balance. To her surprise, when she tried to push away to rise, Kiran pulled her closer instead. She looked up at him, both the laughter and the tears of relief abruptly dying. An odd sort of breathless tension took its place as she stared into his eyes.
His expression was harsh, his eyes gleaming with some heated emotion that she was both drawn to and afraid of. He seemed at war with his own emotions and desires, as uncertain as she was. After a moment, however, he closed the distance between them, angling his head slightly and brushing his lips lightly across hers.
Tempest gasped at the strange sensations that poured through her, felt her heart gallop painfully against her chest wall, felt a tingling rush of heat that made her skin prickle all over. Her fingers curled into his flesh as if they had a mind of their own. Her entire body abruptly seemed strangely alien to her.
A tremor went through him as he brushed his lips lightly back and forth against hers. He lifted his head after only a moment, pulled a little away from her.
“They will not make you feel as I can,” he said harshly.
Tempest stared at him blankly. “They won’t?” she asked, having no idea who he might be referring to.
“Were I not bound by my vows, I would show you,” he murmured, his voice husky with promise.
Tempest merely stared at him, unable to jog her sluggish brain into making any sense of what he’d said. She couldn’t, in fact, get beyond anything but disappointment that he had only given her the barest taste of a real kiss. Naturally, she’d done some experimentation, despite her parents’ warnings that ‘kissing leads to capitulation’, but she hadn’t believed them because none of the times she’d tried it before had made her feel like this, had made her the least bit interested in carrying it any further.
Now, she completely understood what they’d meant, because she really hadn’t wanted him to stop and she would have allowed him to do most anything he had wanted to do.
He released her abruptly and moved away and Tempest shivered at the absence of his warmth. Sluggishly, her brain kicked into gear again and she began to wonder what, exactly, he’d been saying, offering.
After a moment, she rose, almost like a sleepwalker, and moved back to the bedding, sitting on it and covering herself with the blanket. The tiny fire had given off little warmth and it had been allowed to die to embers. As she watched, Kiran removed the food carefully and moved over to sit beside her on the bedding, offering her a portion. She took it, but found she’d lost much of her appetite. She ate anyway, knowing she would be hungry later if she didn’t eat, and there would be nothing to eat. Almost absently, she tore off a small piece of her own food and tossed it to Kirry. The grat sniffed it, rolled it around with her paws as if she was playing with it, but, obviously, she’d already eaten her fill.
When she’d finished eating, Tempest rose and wandered off to relief herself and to find the watering hole so that she could wash up and drink her fill before sleeping. Kiran was stretched out in the bedding when she returned and she stopped abruptly, surprised. He hadn’t offered to share the bedding with her since that first night, leaving it to her while he lay on the other side of the fire from her with nothing at all to protect him from the night air.
They had no fire tonight, though, and she supposed
it was as much for that reason as any other that he’d claimed a portion of the bedding for himself. After that brief hesitation, she moved toward him with as much unconcern as she could muster, crawled beneath the blanket and lay down on her back, staring up at the stars.
“You are afraid of me now?” Kiran asked, raising up on one elbow to study her in the shadows.
Tempest glanced at him in surprise. Was she? She didn’t think so. She wasn’t afraid of sex, if that was what he was thinking. Before the disaster, she’d looked forward to it with eagerness, impatient to explore the new experience. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt nothing but anticipation, hadn’t really given a thought to what might happen next. If he’d decided to have sex with her, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have objected at all.
Now she wondered if it was even wise to consider it. For all she knew the Niahians might have taboos regarding copulation that could mean serious trouble for her … for both of them. It was all very well to think about seeking, or accepting, companionship from someone who was not of her own kind when she’d had no choice, but he’d said there were other Earthlings. Wouldn’t it be best to stick with her own kind, particularly since she knew and understood the ways of her own people?
And she had no means of birth control, she realized suddenly. She hadn’t reached the age of consent before the disease struck, so she hadn’t been given the implantation that prevented conception. That was something else to give serious consideration to.
“No,” she answered him finally. “I’m not afraid. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He sighed gustily, a mixture of relief and irritation. “I should not have kissed you.”
Tempest smiled faintly. “Probably not … but I expect it was my fault anyway. I gave you the wrong idea. It’s just… I was so relieved and happy, I didn’t think before I did it.”
Kiran frowned. As relieved as he was that he hadn’t frightened her, he wasn’t particularly pleased that she seemed so ready to dismiss it completely. Try though he might, though, he could see no sign that she was struggling to hide her feelings from him as she had when he wounded her before. She seemed … radiant with joy and hope, but neither distressed by what had passed between them or disappointed, as he was, that he’d not been able to carry it further. “This ....”
“Affection,” Tempest supplied when he seemed to be searching for the right word. She sighed. “I used to have so many friends, and my family, too. I don’t think I even realized how much I missed kissing and hugging, holding hands … just being able to touch somebody else and feel close to them. I guess it’s like you said, Niahians and Earthlings are a lot different in their ways and customs … worlds apart, literally.”
Kiran felt his belly tighten uncomfortably at that, realizing it was as he’d suspected. The discovery that she wasn’t the last of her kind had completely turned her mind to them, banished the sadness from her eyes, the loneliness that had pulled at him. “We are not so different that we could not learn,” he pointed out, wondering even as he said it why he had. They were different. He’d realized himself that they were so different the possibility of finding harmony between them was remote.
He should be glad … relieved. Perversely, he was miserable and angry.
Tempest shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t picture an Earthling taking a vow of chastity for any reason,” she said with a chuckle, then was immediately sorry she’d said it, and worse, laughed. Obviously, it was really important to him. She hadn’t meant to insult him or his customs. “Sorry. I know it’s important, but you see what I mean?”
“No,” he said grimly.
She reached up and patted his arm. “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She sighed happily. “Oh, I just can’t wait to see them! I’ll bet we could go back to the colony.” She frowned. “I should go alone first. If the lab’s still working, I could run some tests .… I used to help my parents in the lab. I’m sure I can remember how to test for immunity. Well, I suppose I should check to see if the virus is still active first.”
Kiran studied her a long moment and finally lay back. After a moment, he put his arm around her waist and dragged her toward him, fitting her against his length. “Sleep. We must rest while we can.”
Tempest was a little surprised, but she was perfectly willing to snuggle closer to his warmth. “I don’t know if I can sleep,” she said, yawning.
“It will be difficult for me, as well,” Kiran said wryly.
Tempest chuckled sleepily, having discovered that his warmth and her full stomach combined with the day’s trek had tired her more than she’d realized in her excitement. Now that it was dissipating, she found it harder and harder to stay awake.
She felt Kiran’s hand in her hair, stroking her head. “I like the sound of your happiness,” he murmured.
“Hmm. Laughter. It feels good to laugh. I can’t even remember the last time I felt like laughing.”
“I am glad that I brought this back into your life.”
Tempest nuzzled her cheek against his chest and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Me, too.”
Chapter Seven
The day was bright with sunlight when Tempest woke. She sat up with a jolt of anxiety, looking around.
Kiran was sitting across from her, studying her.
Tempest combed her fingers through her hair. “I’ve overslept.”
Kiran shrugged. “I thought it best to allow you to rest until you woke of your own accord.”
“Oh.” Tempest scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to shake off the dregs of sleep. “Thanks! I guess we should get going, though.”
Be the time she returned from the watering hole, she felt more alert, but also more aware of the soreness of her muscles from her unaccustomed exercise. Kiran had broke camp when she returned. Without a word, he handed her the water skin, hefted his pack and started the climb down the rocks.
He wasn’t the talkative type, but there was something about him that seemed different. He didn’t seem to be angry—exactly. He seemed withdrawn, she finally decided, as if his mind was elsewhere. She dismissed it after a while, following her own thoughts, allowing her imagination to run wild with plans for a future with the other survivors of the disaster.
Even if there was no longer any sign of the disease that had killed so many, or if, by some lucky chance, she and the other survivors had built up an immunity to it, it was going to be hard, emotionally speaking, to go back to the colony, bury the dead and take up the lives they’d had before. She felt certain, though, that that was what they should do. As many times as she’d heard the adults bewail the loss of so much of their technology in the crash, it was still vast when compared to what the Niahians had, and more than that, a part of the people that needed to be preserved.
It was mid-afternoon before they stopped to eat again. Tempest, still caught up in her own world, was surprised when Kiran stopped, and tempted to try to persuade him to keep going since she now had her own reasons for seeing that Kiran finished what he’d set out to do as quickly as possible. He seemed rather disinclined to talk, though, and she realized that she needed to pace herself, despite her impatience, so she kept her thoughts to herself.
They stopped only briefly in any case, since they’d had a late start to begin with. Tempest felt more than a little guilty about it. He’d emphasized how important it was for him to reach his destination in time. It didn’t matter what she thought about it, or that she couldn’t see what difference it made when they got there. It was important to him, and because he’d been kind enough to allow her to tag along, he might not reach this sacred place he’d told her about, not when he was supposed to, anyway.
Realizing that, Tempest made an effort to keep pace with him, pushing herself as much as she dared to try to make up the time he’d lost. He glanced at her curiously several times and finally spoke. “You cannot keep this pace. You will exhaust yourself.”
Tempest shook her head. “No,” she said a little b
reathlessly. “I’m used to it now. And we need to make up the time you lost waiting for me.”
“We will not make it up if you faint and I have to carry you,” he pointed out.
Tempest chuckled. “Good thing I’m not prone to fainting. I did once, though. The first time I killed something to eat, I puked and then I passed out cold when I cut its throat and it bled all over the place.”
His brows rose questioningly and Tempest shook her head.
“It’s the difference between knowing how and actually doing it. Like I said, I learned a lot, but actually doing it is something else altogether.”
“You had not prepared food before you were forced to leave the place of the star people?”
Tempest frowned. “Actually, nobody had had a lot of experience with it. When we crashed here—well, not me. I was born later—they managed to retrieve a lot of our supplies. It was a controlled crash, you understand—damaged the ship beyond repairing it, but they managed to set it down without killing many people. Naturally, they rationed supplies, but they mostly lived off of them while they were building the colony. They knew, eventually, the supplies would run out and they’d have to start growing, or catching, food, but nobody really had much of an idea of how to do that—they had to learn. On Earth, you see, everything was processed, packaged, ready to add water or heat or eat just as it was, right from the package. And then, too, they had to test everything to see what could be eaten by humans that wouldn’t kill them.
“Luckily for me, they’d figured all of that out before … before everybody got sick and started dying. I’d gone out to hunt and gather plenty of times, but mostly the young people just went to help carry things back, not to actually do it—the killing and preparation, you know.”
Kiran shook his head. “This is very strange.”
Tempest drew a deep breath with an effort. “I understand that it would seem that way to you. Violence almost completely destroyed our world, however, and we had worked very hard to learn not to be violent. Unfortunately, violence is part of survival and it was hard to learn to take care of ourselves when we found that we had to kill if we wanted to live.”
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