by Kate Elliott
“You knew I was following your trail? And the Chapalii—khepelli—” The word, in his tongue, sounded strange and dangerous to her ears. “—they knew, too?”
Yuri’s cheeks flushed pink.
Pretending not to listen, Sonia nevertheless said in a low voice, “I call it dishonorable to leave a woman walking so long. How she made it alone from the coast I can’t imagine. She might have died. It’s a disgrace. And I told Ilya so myself.”
Yuri grinned, glancing up from under long lashes at Tess. “She did, by the gods. You should have heard it.”
Tess was too coldly furious to respond to the grin. “And just what do these khepelli say they’re doing here, that I should want to spy on them? And risk my life like that while I’m at it?” Abruptly, before Yuri could answer, she stood up and wiped her hands on her trousers. “No, don’t bother to answer. Just take me to them.”
“I can’t. Ilya would…” He trailed off, unable to express what Ilya would do.
“He wouldn’t—it isn’t—” Tess realized suddenly that she knew nothing at all about this culture, except that they practiced summary execution. “He wouldn’t kill you?”
Yuri sighed. “Killing would probably be a mercy, compared to what he would say to me,” he replied, evidently having already forgotten the horrible act committed in front of his eyes that very morning. “Ah, Tess, you’ve never been on the sharp end of his tongue.”
“Well, then, Sonia, will you take me?”
Without hesitation, Sonia met her gaze. “I can’t, Tess. This is men’s business, not mine. But Yuri, on the other hand, ought to take you. Isn’t that so, Yuri?”
Yuri sheathed his knife, adjusted the position of his saber on his belt, and ran a hand down the black and gold embroidered pattern that decorated the sleeves of his red shirt.
“Yuri.”
“Yes, Sonia. Come on, Tess.” He led Tess off in silence, but as soon as they were away from the camp, out walking up a rise, the grass dragging at their knees and thighs, he was voluble enough. “It isn’t fair, having four sisters, and all of them older than you. Well, three, since Anna died with the baby. But it’s always, Yuri do this and Yuri do that, and what am I to say? They don’t have to face Bakhtiian. He would never dare raise his voice to them, and if he ever did—although I can’t imagine him ever trying to—then Mother would find out, and then Ilya would hear about it.” He looked suddenly pleased with the image brought to him by this hypothetical turn of events. “I’d like to hear that. But then,” and he looked at Tess with an impish smile, “Ilya never makes mistakes, so it will never happen.”
“Yuri, I promise you, if Bakhtiian tries to blame you for bringing me with you, I’ll deal with him.”
Yuri regarded her skeptically but did not reply.
It was a shorter walk than Tess expected to the huddle of tents standing next to a makeshift corral of banked earth, stakes, and ropes. Far enough away from the main camp to give privacy to the foreigners, but close enough, Tess judged, for easy access. She recognized the tall, thin silhouettes of the Chapalii immediately. They wore plain brown tunics and trousers, but as always, the clothing could not disguise their gauntness or their pallor. There were other men as well, men of the tribe, but by and large those men were engaged in riding and currying and otherwise examining—horses.
“Horses.” The word gusted out of her in a sharp breath. She stopped stock-still far enough away from the tents that no Chapalii ought to recognize her. These were nothing like the horses that Bakhtiian and Yuri, and she herself, had ridden. She knew without question, with that instinct carried down over millennia of Earth generations, that these were Earth horses. The horses from the shuttle’s hold.
“They’re very fine, aren’t they?” said Yuri enthusiastically. “They are a breed called—khuhaylan. When Ilya saw the first one, two years back, and the khepelli traders told him that he could have a hundred more just for helping them search for the lost haven of their god, of course he agreed. They’re much stronger than they look. With such horses—” He went pale. “There he is. He’s seen us.”
“Chapalii,” said Tess in Anglais, watching one dark figure detach itself from a cluster of men and start with a determined and menacing stride toward them, “don’t believe in a god. Just in commerce and rank.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Come on, Yuri.” She started for the nearest tent, where a lone Chapalii had stopped to stare at them.
“But Ilya—” He trailed after her, glancing over his shoulder at the approach of his cousin.
“I have business with these Chapalii, Yuri, not with Bakhtiian, who, need I remind you, let me walk for three days without food or water, and then—by God!—then the first time he spoke to me in Rhuian, asked me trick questions to see if I was really from Jeds.”
Yuri murmured something indistinguishable behind her. Tess did not bother to ask him what it was.
Chapter Four
“Art is ever far better than strength.”
—MUSAEUS
“I GREET YOU WITH good favor, Cha Ishii Hokokul.” Tess halted in front of the Chapalii, whom she recognized as the one who had protested so vehemently against her presence on the Oshaki. A sickly shade of blue gave color to his face as he stared at her. Belatedly, he remembered to bow. Tess smiled. She was so angry at seeing him here, and at knowing that he had known all along of her plight, that she did not mind watching him squirm.
Eventually he found his voice. “May I be allowed to offer good greetings on my part, Lady Terese,” he said, his voice as expressionless as any well-trained Chapalii’s had to be, but the hint of blue in his cheeks betrayed his consternation.
“You may.” For a moment she let her anger get the better of her, and she lapsed out of Chapalii and into Anglais. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing on an Interdicted planet? Where your species is very specifically prohibited?”
He regarded her blankly. Of course, as a member of the ruling culture, he had no reason to learn her language. “Cha Ishii, I feel sure that you are well aware that you and whatever people are with you are violating the duke’s Interdiction order covering this planet. I think you must also be aware that I can have you stripped of all your wealth for this infraction.”
But his color faded, and he regained his pallor. “You are also in violation of this edict, Lady Terese.”
“I am heir to this system. If I choose to journey through my brother’s demesne, I do not need your permission.”
He flushed violet and then, looking up, went pale again. “But I comprehend, Lady Terese, that we are here now, and to reveal us for what we are to these natives—if indeed they could understand it in any case—would be an even greater violation of your brother’s edict.”
“Tess.” Yuri sounded nervous as he glanced from Tess to Cha Ishii and then behind her. She turned. Bakhtiian came up, looking grim, with Nikolai Sibirin in tow. He stopped equidistant from both Tess and Ishii.
“Evidently you know one another,” he said in Rhuian. He did not sound pleased. His gaze settled for one uncomfortable moment on Yuri, who looked distinctly anxious, and then flicked back to Tess and on to Ishii.
“Why, yes,” said Tess sweetly. “We do. I was hired to act as an interpreter for their party. How unfortunate that we became separated. I am sure Cha Ishii will agree with me.” She added, in court Chapalii, “You will, of course, agree, Cha Ishii. Do you require my efforts to translate for you?”
“I am not unprepared, Lady Terese. I speak some Rhuian.” He twisted to address Bakhtiian in that language. “Certainly it was unfortunate.” Tess was stricken to silence by astonishment at his knowing such a primitive tongue. His command of the language was rough, but serviceable. “I apologize for any inconvenience this oversight may have caused you.”
“No inconvenience at all,” replied Bakhtiian. Tess did not know him well enough to be sure if he meant the remark to be as sarcastic as it sounded to her. “Had you mentioned her before
, I might have been able to reunite you sooner.”
“But Ilya,” said Yuri, “you knew someone was following them before we even met them at the lakeshore.”
“Yuri. The horses need water.”
Yuri reddened from neck to brow and mumbled something in khush, glancing back at Tess as he left.
His summary dismissal did not improve Tess’s mood. “I confess myself curious to know why I was left to walk that long when you knew I was following you.” She stared straight at Bakhtiian. “But I now need to speak with Cha Ishii. Alone.”
Something subtle shifted in Bakhtiian’s already severe expression, a narrowing of the eyes, a tenseness in his lips. “Indeed,” he said, scrupulously formal. “You introduced yourself to me before, Terese Soerensen.” He did not stumble, only slowed, over the awkward syllables. “But I have never introduced myself. I am Ilyakoria Bakhtiian.” He gave a polite bow, like those Tess remembered from the court at Jeds, but she felt it was as much mocking as respectful. She returned it, mimicking him exactly. He did not smile. “If you will excuse me.”
Someone, off in the group of men clustered around the corral, laughed, choked it back, and there was a murmur of voices that quieted abruptly as Bakhtiian turned away from Tess and returned to the horses. The older man lingered.
His short, light silvering hair and weathered face and hands offered Tess abundant signs of the natural aging that did not show in his posture. “If I may interrupt a moment,” he said in heavily accented Rhuian. He inclined his head in a brief nod of greeting, not really waiting for their assent. “We have not met. I am Nikolai Sibirin.”
Despite his sober expression, some light in his eyes made her want to smile at him. “I am honored,” she replied, when she saw that his introduction was meant for her. Ishii, as attuned to nuances of hierarchy as all Chapalii must be, stepped back to afford them privacy for their conversation.
Sibirin hesitated, mulling over words. “While I do not, by any means, recommend unquestioning deference to Ilyakoria’s leadership in these matters, I do find it inadvisable to provoke him deliberately.”
Tess recalled the execution in vivid detail. “Yes, I see. Thank you.”
“Well,” said Sibirin apologetically, watching her closely, “perhaps you do and perhaps you don’t. He’s not usually so volatile, but when he is, one steps carefully and rides with a light hand on the reins.” Then, to take the sting out of the words, he smiled. By the lines in his face, she could see that he smiled a great deal.
“I have been known to have a quick temper. And I’m grateful for your people’s hospitality.” He nodded, satisfied, and she could not resist a question. “Did you learn Rhuian in Jeds, too?”
“No, no. Only Ilyakoria and three of his kin have traveled so far. But I have always liked other tongues, and I try to learn as many as I can. Most jaran speak only khush.”
“Then I shall have to learn khush.” Having said it, she felt a sudden consanguinity, not so much that feeling of having known someone before but rather of being certain that she would like him very well, and he, her. He smiled and excused himself, leaving her with Ishii.
Three other Chapalii had appeared from inside their tents. They merely stood at the entrance flaps and watched as Ishii bowed again, acknowledging that her attention had returned to him.
“Well,” said Tess to herself in Anglais. Her initial flood of anger had dissipated with Sibirin’s gentle words and she was better off for it, able now to measure with a cooler heart what she said. “Cha Ishii. You will understand very well that I am shocked and disappointed that you and your party, with the connivance of Hao Yakii and unknown others, have willfully chosen to violate the Interdiction of this planet by the duke. But perhaps your explanation will bring matters into a more positive perspective.” She folded her hands in front of herself in that arrangement, palm to palm, fingers of the right hand concealing the left thumb, known as Imperial Judgment.
A hint of violet colored Ishii’s face, but it was only a suggestion, paling to white. “We are pilgrims, Lady Terese.”
“Chapalii have no God.”
A swell of color flooded their faces. One of the Chapalii back by the tent put his hand on his belt. It was a threatening gesture, although there was no obvious weapon there. Cha Ishii raised a hand, and the other turned and went back into a tent.
“You gain nothing by insulting us, Lady Terese. I compliment you on your impressive and scholarly command of our language, but you cannot comprehend all of our culture. And whatever you may choose to believe about us, we have told these natives that we are a priest and his pious followers. It is a currency that they understand.”
“Pilgrims engage in pilgrimages. Where are you going on an unmapped, primitive planet?”
“The duke has satellite maps.”
“Geological maps, not geographical.”
“May I remind you again, Lady Terese, that if you endeavor to expose us to these natives, you will be forced to utterly overturn the duke’s Interdiction and meddle irreparably with their cultural development. We have merely asked for guidance and protection, offering horses as coinage, leaving no other trace of ourselves or our culture but our brief presence here. They believe us to be from an empire over the sea. It is a sufficient fiction to leave them unsuspecting. Any other, and you risk obliterating all the protections the duke has put in place.”
Instead of replying, she found herself listening. It was a quiet land; the noises of the horses and the hushed voices of the men tending them, a soft scraping sound coming from inside one of the Chapalii tents, and the high whistle of a bird, that was all—no background noise at all, except the whisper of the breeze through the tall grass. Ishii had her, of course, had the right of it. She could not compound their transgression with a worse one of her own. Perhaps they could manage an entire journey and scarcely mark the cultures through which they traveled. It was possible.
“As well, Lady Terese,” he added softly, and presumptuously, hearing some kind of submission—or admission—in her silence, “I am aware, as you must be, that the duke has had a handful of men traveling and mapping this world for the last twenty years, for what you call anthropological reasons, and certainly for future resource exploitation, when such times come, as they undoubtedly will. One cannot sit forever on such wealth as this planet holds.”
Faced with her brother’s flouting of his own rules, she could scarcely claim to be righteous—after all, she had come to Rhui, and to this pass, with no one’s permission but her own. “Very well, Cha Ishii. There is some justice in your claims, although you will understand that I must report this infraction. Nevertheless, since I will be journeying with you, if you and your party behave appropriately, I will ask that the penalties be softened.”
“You are most gracious, Lady Terese.” He inclined his head to signal his obedience. She could read neither his tone nor his skin to give her a clue as to what he was thinking now. “If I may ask your indulgence, I have ablutions to perform.”
“You may.” She watched him bow and back away into the tent, followed by the two remaining Chapalii, and then she turned and walked back toward camp. His quick acquiescence made her uneasy, but what could he do now that she was here? Kill her? She dismissed the idea as quickly as it occurred—it was simply too alien and revolutionary an idea to the chapalii psyche as she knew it. Hierarchy was too ingrained for one of lower rank to consider doing harm to any person above him. She had only to wait and watch, listen and be patient. Eventually they would betray their true purpose for being here.
At the top of the rise she paused to look back, at the round, tall white tents of the Chapalii and then at the men examining the horses. She could not be sure any of them was Yuri. One man detached himself from the group. By his walk and his dark hair and by the single-minded purpose of his stride, she guessed it was Bakhtiian—coming to talk to her. She started forward as fast as she could at a walk, not wanting to seem to run. She had no desire whatsoever to talk with Bakhtiia
n, not yet. She had a story to get straight, facts to invent. More than anything, she had to absorb the Chapalii’s presence here and what this meant to herself and to her brother. If Charles were here, he would know what to do. But Charles wasn’t here. It was up to her. And I’m not the right person to be his heir. She wanted to glance back to see how close Bakhtiian was but she refused to let him know that she knew he was following her. Why can’t Charles see that? I don’t want this work.
Then what do you want? It was a mocking question, thought at herself, but the answer appeared unexpectedly, although it was the answer to a different question. Tess saw Sonia, walking at the edge of camp with a boy, midway in age between the babe-in-arms and the older girl, in reluctant tow. She saw Tess and halted, smiled, and then, looking past Tess, smiled broadly.
“Tess.” As soon as Tess was close enough, Sonia took the boy’s dirty hand and pressed it into Tess’s.
The boy, who had been wailing insincerely a moment before, snapped his mouth shut and gazed up in awe at Tess with eyes as blue as the summer sky. “You’re tall,” he said. “You’re as tall as my papa.”
Sonia chuckled. “Vania, your manners. Tess, is that Ilya I see? He looks quite angry.” She seemed quite cheerful. Tess did not have the nerve to turn around enough to see the contrast between Sonia’s fair, blonde prettiness and her cousin’s harsh, dark features.
“I don’t suppose you can hide me? I don’t want to talk to him right now.”
Sonia’s eyes widened in surprise. “Then don’t talk to him. But here, you just stay quiet.” Tess took a step back, turning, as Bakhtiian came up to them.
“I would like—” he began without preamble, ignoring Sonia.
“Well, Ilya, what is it you would like?” The curtness in Sonia’s tone shocked Tess. Yuri had practically slunk away from Bakhtiian’s anger.
