Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  To me, death tended to be a personal insult.

  Roelm’s body would be placed in a special receptacle, the Jorenian version of a coffin, which during the ceremony was fired from the ship into the corona of the nearest star. When the Jorenians said they embraced the stars, they meant business.

  I hurried down to level ten, where the ceremonial chamber was located. Captain Pnor must have put the Sunlace on auto-stardrive, from the size of the crowd. Most of the crew were assembled and waiting.

  Roelm’s ClanSiblings performed the traditional preparations of the body first. On the center dais, they formed a circle around the receptacle, and danced as they wove fine, silvery strands of yiborra grass to bind the outer panels.

  As I watched the receptacle shroud taking form, I recalled how Roelm had been so embarrassed to admit he’d been studying Jorenian weaving. I’d go down and access his environome program later. That would be my way of saying good-bye.

  The rest of the assembly chanted a harmony that I felt throb deep in my bones. Their voices were so solemn, yet joyous. No one wept. HouseClan Torin honored their dead with smiles and happiness.

  I didn’t try to fake a smile. I wasn’t happy.

  Once a complex web of silver encased Roelm’s receptacle, the song dwindled away. In silence, the ClanSiblings bowed to an oversized vid screen that had been lowered from an upper deck. I watched as Roelm’s bondmate offered her blessing for his new journey via direct relay from Joren.

  I had done this, for Kao. Worn the same iridescent “journey” robe. Said the same words.

  The anguish I’d thought had begun to pass twisted like a fresh blade inside me.

  Kao, killed by my own blood.

  The NessNevat girl, dead before I could touch her.

  Dra Torin’s voice shook as she repeated the ancient words. “From your bondmate, your heart, can only come what is bright and beautiful and honorable. You and I will never lose each other . . . ”

  As Dra continued with the ritual blessing, Roelm’s receptacle slid into the ejection tube. As the receptacle was fired into space, I closed my eyes.

  Roelm was gone.

  Tonetka mounted the dais to address the assembly. Her face looked terribly strained. New, thicker streaks of purple had appeared in her dark hair.

  My God, I thought. She’s trembling. What had Roelm told her that could be that bad?

  “I speak for the son of this House, Roelm Torin. His words were given to me, to be brought to those he honored. I bring them with joy.”

  No, she didn’t. Everyone could see that.

  Duncan Reever had said those same words weeks before, for Kao. Distracted by the memory, I scanned the assembly for him. Was he here or had he decided to skip—

  There. A few yards away, Reever looked back at me. Was that sympathy in his eyes? Sure enough. I snapped my head around, rigid and furious. He had no right to feel sorry for me. It required a heart. He didn’t have one.

  The Senior Healer’s skilled hands bunched at her sides as she delivered the traditional farewell. As she did, her white eyes scanned the assembly, alighting on Captain Pnor. The man in charge of the Sunlace must have sensed the same thing I had, for he began to approach the dais. Tonetka shook her head slightly, and Pnor halted. Her voice rose, loud and strong.

  “I charge the HouseClan Torin with my last request: Find the one who has sabotaged the Sunlace.”

  I’d never thought six hundred people could jump out of their footgear simultaneously. I was wrong. There was a collective gasp. Some startled exclamations. Not a single eye moved from the dais.

  “One who is not one of us has deliberately damaged this vessel. My warning must be heeded, or more paths will be diverted. Find the traitor and invoke the right of ClanKill. Farewell and safe journey. I embrace the stars.”

  All hell broke loose.

  Hands made savage gestures I’d never seen before. Faces reflected undiluted fury. Hard voices demanded something be done. Tonetka descended from the dais, looking ancient and exhausted. Captain Pnor rushed to her side.

  No wonder my boss had dreaded this ceremony. Who wanted to enrage six hundred or more Jorenians? Against each other, for that matter?

  I remembered Darea and Salo’s reaction to Squilyp’s verbal indiscretion, and multiplied that by three hundred. Maybe it was time for me to get out of here. I’d lock myself in my quarters until the Torins calmed down. Say a few weeks.

  Someone seized my arm, and I nearly jumped out of my footgear.

  My ClanBrother loomed over me. “Come with me, Healer.”

  Xonea swiftly guided me from the ceremonial chamber. I didn’t pay attention to where we were headed. I was too relieved to be out of there, and still pondering exactly what had just happened.

  Find the one who has sabotaged the Sunlace. A saboteur, on board the ship? What would make him believe such a thing? There were those engine problems just before he’d died. But what made Roelm go from worrying over malfunctioning transductors to accusations of sabotage?

  My warning must be heeded, or more paths will be diverted. If Roelm was right, certainly lives were at stake. Find the traitor and invoke the right of ClanKill. What did that part mean? Was he asking the entire HouseClan to kill whoever was doing this?

  And what exactly had he meant by one who is not one of us?

  I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the door panel that closed behind me. Xonea’s voice finally got through my preoccupation.

  “Healer.”

  Reality snapped back into focus. I looked around, and discovered we were alone, in his quarters. The very last place on the ship I wanted to be alone with Xonea.

  At once I chided myself. Xonea was my ClanBrother. I was as safe here as I was in, say, Squilyp’s quarters. As long as Xonea didn’t think I was the culprit. If he did, my life wasn’t worth a vocollar franchise on Terra.

  “Nice place,” I said while prudently hovering near the only exit.

  His rooms were arranged with the harmonious elegance I’d come to expect from the Jorenians. Furnishings upholstered with countless shades of HouseClan Torin blue. Xonea’s weapons collection was seriously impressive, judging from the amount he had displayed on the walls. That, or his quarters doubled as this level’s armory.

  Besides the guns, knives, and other virulent-looking items, there were mementos of alien cultures. I caressed a dense cluster of transparent nodules and snatched my hand back as alien music spilled into the air.

  “Hey! What’s this?”

  “A singing prism from Udarc,” Xonea said.

  I saw the look on his face and took an automatic step back toward the door panel. “Um, why don’t we do this another time?”

  “No, it must be now.”

  “I just remembered I have to—”

  “Cherijo.” He pointed to a large divan. “Sit. I will explain.”

  An enraged Jorenian never offered to chat, so I relaxed and sat down. He offered refreshment. I politely accepted a server of jaspkerry tea. He paced over to the viewport and stared out at the stars for a long time. I sipped my tea, and tried not to wrinkle my nose at the overly sweet taste. Ugh, how did he stomach this stuff day in, day out? And why was he being so quiet now?

  “Xonea.” He turned around. “What’s wrong? Besides Tonetka’s Speaking, that is?”

  He crossed the room and sat down beside me. What little space there was on the divan abruptly vanished. This close to him, I felt as small as Jenner. His hand rested over mine. Another point in my favor. Jorenians did not hold hands with someone they intended to pound into the decking.

  “Do you know we were once a nonverbal race?” Xonea asked.

  I thought for a moment. “Kao said something about it once, how you evolved from a more primitive life-form. Most species do.”

  “The first humanoids on Joren were highly skilled predators,” Xonea said. “At first solitary, then banding together in small familial groups for cooperative hunting. Over time they settled int
o territorial tribes, and a complex social structure developed. The first House was born.”

  I tugged at the collar of my robe. “Was that when your people developed language?”

  “Not in the beginning. Our ancestors had no need to verbally communicate. Nor had they ever known territorial boundaries.” He went to his prep unit and made his own server of tea. Too bad, I would have happily given him the rest of mine. It was like drinking straight sucrose. “HouseClans began clashing over land, resources, and hunting rights. They had no method of negotiation, other than acts of violence.”

  “So they threw rocks at each other instead of chatting,” I said, rearranging my skirts. Maybe I should ask him to adjust the room temperature. My ceremonial robe was making me sweat.

  His brows drew together. “Wars are not fought with the throwing of rocks, Cherijo. Hundreds of thousands of our people died in the subsequent decades of conflict.”

  Now was not the time to mention Terran history. “Sorry.”

  “Over time, our people realized the only way to achieve lasting peace between the HouseClans was to develop specific disciplines regarding conflict. For that, we needed language. Joren became a united world, and never again suffered civil war. Those disciplines have never been forgotten.”

  “But you still have warrior-training,” I said.

  “We train as warriors, yes.” His hand tightened around his server. “Yet there is only one reason warfare is permitted—to defend the HouseClan.”

  “I’m with you so far.”

  He didn’t want to tell me the rest. I could sense that much. He emptied his server with two swallows and put it aside.

  “Cherijo, you must understand, we were a savage, ruthless species. Hunters without parallel. It is this part of our past that lives on in us today, when we protect the HouseClan.”

  “Most species have similar practices,” I said, and lifted my braid off the back of my neck. “Terrans have a number of cultural methods of self-defense.” So what was the big deal?

  “Do you know what an invocation of ClanKill entails?”

  I’d read a little about it; what there was in the database wasn’t all that specific. “If I remember correctly, when you say that to someone, you intend to kill them.”

  “Do you know the conditions under which it can be declared?” I shook my head. He sat down next to me again.

  “If an individual makes a threat against a member of the HouseClan, in the presence of the HouseClan, a warrior may declare the outsider as ClanKill. Roelm stated someone has threatened HouseClan Torin. He has charged everyone with what he could not do himself. We will take action on his behalf.”

  Not good. “Action against who?”

  “It could not be a Jorenian.” He looked away from me. “There are not many others left. Pilot Dhreen. Linguist Reever. The Omorr. The Chakacat. And you.”

  So that was it.

  “Xonea, I assure you, I haven’t threatened anybody. Dhreen, Reever, and Alunthri wouldn’t do anything to sabotage the ship. Squilyp is a resident physician, sworn to do no harm.” I wasn’t going to mention the incident with Salo and Darea. I didn’t hate the Omorr that much. “Why couldn’t it be one of the Jorenians?”

  “You heard Roelm’s Speaker,” he said. “Tonetka stated it was ‘one who is not one of us.’ ”

  “Roelm was so paranoid about the engines he frightened a little girl, then walked out of Medical without clearance.” I felt I had to point this out. “I don’t know if I want to take his word on this.”

  “ClanKill is not invoked upon a whim, Cherijo. Not when it means one of us will have to eviscerate another being while they still breathe.”

  I got to my feet at once. “You’re joking.”

  “No.” He scowled at me. “Kao did not tell you of our traditional response to our enemies?”

  “He never said anything about disemboweling people!” Disgusted, I regarded a display of swords with new eyes, then glanced back at him. “These what you use to do it?”

  “No.” Xonea extended his hand, and flexed it. Six very sharp-looking claws suddenly shot out of his fingertips. “We use these.”

  “How convenient,” I said. The claws retracted. Kao hadn’t shown me that little surprise, either. I forced my lungs to slow down, and swiped at a trickle of sweat running down the side of my face. “You do give them a trial first, right?”

  “No.”

  “So how do you know they’re guilty?”

  “The threat must be repeated in the presence of a HouseClan member.”

  “That’s it?” I turned around. “That’s all?”

  “It is more than enough to justify invocation.”

  “I see.” I wanted to slap him. “Someone says the wrong thing, and you eviscerate them. Perfectly normal behavior. What was I thinking?”

  “Cherijo.” Xonea rose to his feet, came toward me, and seized my hand. His grip was hard enough to make me gasp. “You must tell me if you know of whom Roelm spoke. At once.”

  “I don’t.” I jerked my fingers away. If he didn’t cut it out, I might end up a ClanKill candidate myself. “I don’t know anything, Xonea.”

  Something strange gleamed behind his pale eyes. “I saw your expression when Tonetka Spoke for Roelm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I flung out my arms.

  “Sure, I was upset. I knew what she said wasn’t going to make everyone applaud!”

  Now his hands descended on my shoulders. Not gently. “Cherijo, you must not conceal knowledge of the traitor from us.”

  My teeth clenched. “I’m not concealing anything. Take your hands off me.”

  He didn’t. “You were too eager to leave the ceremony.”

  “You dragged me out of there, remember? Besides, why would I want to hang around six hundred upset Jorenians? Someone might have taken a swing at me.”

  “No one would have dared touch you!” He shook me, hard. “Unprovoked assault has been banned for centuries!”

  “Really? What do you call what you’re doing now?” I yelled back. “Energetic hugging?”

  Xonea’s hands dropped away from me as though scalded. He took several deep, controlled breaths, then said, “I never meant to harm you.” When I rubbed my bruised flesh, he averted his gaze. “Your pardon, Healer.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not forgiven.” I was doing some deep breathing of my own. “How would you like being accused of sabotage? Did you kill Roelm, ClanBrother?”

  That really shocked him. Seven-and-a-half feet of solid Jorenian went absolutely still. Color drained from his face, leaving it a chalky pale blue.

  “Never would I betray my HouseClan thus. Never.”

  “No?” To even things up, I decided to press the point.

  “You do know a lot about this buffer that supposedly never shatters. Then you haul me in here, hand me a bunch of attitude, and accuse me of conspiracy. Just what are you trying to cover up?”

  His hands worked convulsively at his sides. “I did not divert Roelm’s path. I brought you here out of concern for your safety.” He reached out, and I automatically took another step away. “Do not fear me.”

  This, from a guy who had nearly shaken my teeth out of my skull. “You think what you’re doing is making me trust you?”

  “I am . . . anxious.” A weary hand pressed against his eyes for a moment. “I never meant to frighten you, Healer. Please, your pardon.”

  Although I was still mad enough to deck him, I’d take that on face value. For now. “Okay. You’re pardoned.”

  “I would never betray my HouseClan, or force myself on another’s path.”

  “Right.” I mopped my face with my sleeve again. I’d better finish this and get out of here; the stifling atmosphere was unbearable. “Forget about it.”

  Xonea didn’t stop. “I cannot begin to express—”

  Damn Jorenian formality. “I got it, Xonea. You’re innocent. I believe you.” Good thing I didn’t go around eviscerating people who gave me
a hard time. “This unprovoked assault thing—that ties in with ClanKill, right?”

  “No Jorenian would threaten another life-form, unless after invocation of ClanKill. It is—” What he said was untranslatable. It was that bad.

  “Okay, I get the picture.”

  “Our people are incapable of such deviant behavior,” he said, looking very righteous.

  “But you think I might be capable of it. Or Reever. Or Alunthri.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Alunthri, for God’s sake, who never even raises its voice in anger.”

  He had the grace to look ashamed. “You are not born to us. Our traditions are unknown to you.”

  “It wasn’t any of the non-Jorenians, Xonea,” I said.

  “It will be determined.” He made a noncommittal gesture. “If you discover who has done this, Cherijo, you must inform me. At once.”

  “Okay, let’s say I find out, and tell you. What happens then?”

  “Our ways are very specific,” he replied. “The traitor will confess before the entire House. Outsider or Torin, ClanKill will be declared. If the traitor chooses the cowardice of silence, then a sentence of banishment is imposed.”

  I’d read about banishment while studying HouseClan protocols. For a Jorenian, it meant being thrown out of the HouseClan. Forbidden to return to the homeworld. Shunned by all Jorenians. Forever.

  “Why would someone risk so much?” Something suddenly clicked. “Hold on. Are non-Jorenians subject to the same law?”

  “Yes.” He thrust a hand through the hair above his furrowed brow. “I must speak with Captain Pnor about the others.”

  The others and I were in trouble. Automatically I thought of Duncan Reever, who always seemed to appear whenever that happened. Too bad he couldn’t pop in here now. Reever could—Reever!

  “Wait. I can’t prove I’m not the saboteur, but Duncan Reever might be able to. He can access my memories—”

  “No.” Xonea went to one of his weapons racks. His strong blue hand moved lovingly over a six-bladed knife with an ornate hilt. “I believe you, Cherijo. Linguist Reever need not be involved.”