by Diane Duane
“Karg is a veteran of many battles, a warrior of considerable renown. He fancies you, niece, and he is well able to provide you with anything any female could want. I accepted his offer.” Rising, he strode to the open door and beckoned. The Klingon captain stepped in from the hall, and grinned broadly at his promised bride.
“Karg…” Valdyr whispered, faintly. The knot in her belly turned over, and she had to lock her knees to keep from trembling.To wed and bed Karg? NO! I would embrace my dagger as bridegroom before that dishonorable Denlbya’Qatlh!
As though he could read her mind, Karg gave her a mocking half-bow. “My wife-to-be…your uncle has done me a great honor.”
“Hah!” Kamarag barked out a shout of laughter, and slapped the suitor on the back. “The honor is all ours, Karg!” He gave Valdyr a smug glance. “I do not wonder that she is speechless with joy.”
I cannot marry him, I cannot! I hate and despise him, Uncle! Do not make me do this!But, seeing the pleased expression on Kamarag’s face, Valdyr forced herself to take a deep breath and regain her control. She might not be warrior material herself, being slender and not tall, but the blood of a noble house of warriors flowed in her veins. She would not dishonor herself by begging. “Uncle, I must think about this seriously. Karg needs a wife who has high social position and much…beauty,” she said, cautiously. “I have neither. I do not believe the match would be satisfactory for such a high-ranked warrior.”
“Such modesty!” Karg chuckled richly as he stepped over to the young woman and ran a caressing hand up her arm, testing the muscle that lay beneath her sleeve. For a lingering moment his hand trailed perilously close to her left breast, and Valdyr went rigid. Would he dare to fondle her in front of her uncle?If he does that, I will kill him here and now, she thought.
But Karg contented himself with kneading and prodding the muscles of her arm and shoulder. “Small, but there is good, wiry strength there,” he remarked approvingly. Then, glimpsing the outrage in her eyes, he added, sardonically, “Ah, my bride…you are so young, so innocent…you warm my heart.”
Grasping Valdyr’s chin and forcibly turning her face to and fro, he continued to examine her as he might a prospective mount for his stables. “You know nothing of what excites a male…” he said caressingly, obviously enjoying her humiliation. “But have no fear…innocence excites me greatly. Do not worry, mytarghoy. There is beauty in you. With the flowering of your womanhood, it will come, Valdyr-oy. When you are my wife, your beauty will blossom likechal flowers in spring.”
His endearments and the love suffix attached to her name made the young woman long to shriek with fury. Her mind filled with images of her plunging the dagger she wore strapped to her forearm into his heart.
As his fingers touched her cheek, Valdyr could not repress a shudder of disgust. “Look, Kamarag, she trembles for me already!” Karg chortled; then he seized her in a bruising embrace and pressed his face into her neck, his teeth fastening on her throat so hard that the woman gasped from the pain.
“Enough, Karg!” Kamarag ordered, and the captain released her. Raising her hand, Valdyr touched her throat, then stared unbelievingly at the smear of blood on her fingers. “I know you are hot to take a bride, but the wedding will not take place until after our triumph. The taste of victory will add extra savor to your wedding night, Karg.”
The captain was breathing hard as his eyes ran over Valdyr’s body, and his voice, when he spoke, was thick. “Very well, Kamarag. But she is sweet enough to tempt any male…. ” He addressed the young woman then. “Do not concern yourself about your fitness to be my wife, Valdyr-oy. Just as the beauty will come, you will learn the intricacies of society, until you are ready to take your place with me, to help my advancement. Your uncle assures me that you possess high intelligence, for a female.”
Valdyr wanted to flay him alive for his words, but she held herself back. She must be clever, use all of her wits to escape this fate that loomed before her. Allowing Karg to see her true feelings would only make them watch her closely until the day of the wedding.
Perhaps she could run away. Or, if she could not refuse Karg, perhaps she could postpone the marriage for a while. Karg was a warrior. Perhaps he would be killed. The thought made her smile.
So, steeling herself, Valdyr forced herself to say, “At the moment, school occupies all my time. Perhaps when I finish this term, I will find myself more…prepared for marriage, Uncle.”
Kamarag frowned. “You will not need further schooling now that I have arranged such a successful match for you, Valdyr. Better you should turn your attention to the management of households. That in itself is a demanding life.”
“Your uncle is right, Valdyr-oy. I have a large house, but it has suffered from the lack of a woman to care for it,” Karg added.
“No further schooling?” Valdyr struggled to control her temper. If she made her uncle angry, it would bode ill for her brothers, as well as for her. She must not allow them to know what was in her mind. “But, Uncle…”
Perhaps sensing her distress, her uncle said, “You may finish out this term, as long as it does not interfere with your duties here, and with your spending more time in the kitchens, learning the duties of a wife.” He gave Karg a smug glance. “I will not have Karg say that you did not come to him properly trained for your new role.”
“In addition to the kitchens,” Karg said, his gaze roving over her body again, “do not forget that you must learn the ways of the nursery, Valdyr-oy.” With a toothy grin, he slapped her uncle on the back and left the chamber.
Once they were alone, Kamarag regarded his niece with a touch of impatience. “Well, girl?” he barked, finally. “Have you nothing to say?”
The young woman exerted rigid control as she forced herself to reply quietly, “Uncle, I will do as you say.”
“See that you do,” he grumbled. “You do not want to appear ungrateful, do you, niece?”
“No, sir.”
Relaxing visibly, her uncle rocked back on his heels, and smiled as he changed the subject. “The meeting went well today, did it not?”
“They all seemed to share your point of view,” Valdyr said, treading a careful verbal path. “All except Keraz.”
Her uncle dismissed the commander with a wave of one blunt-fingered hand. “Hundreds of years from now, our names will be remembered as the ones who saved the Empire and the Klingon way of life,” he said, earnestly, his deep-set eyes gleaming.
“But…current policy of our government is to make peace with the Federation,” Valdyr reminded him. “Peace with the Federation, friendship with our old enemies—even peace with James Kirk, who saved the chancellor’s—”
“Kirk!” roared Kamarag so loudly that Valdyr started. “Niece, I cannot hear that name without anger—do not think to provoke me by letting it fall from your lips so casually! May Kirk be devoured by ten thousand demons on his way to oblivion! Kirk lives still, and I have no peace!”
Furious, the ambassador strode back and forth in the small chamber, his boots resounding on the floor like ancient war drums. “Kirk! Kirk is the enemy, and I will never regain my honor until he is dead, until I can dip my hands in his warm blood and dye them scarlet—I will never rest until Kirk and all his line are wiped out!”
“But, Uncle.” Valdyr was taken aback. Kamarag’s temper was legendary, but she’d never seen her uncle in such a rage. “Kirk saved Azetbur’s life. She will never agree to having him killed.”
“I care nothing for her!” Kamarag was livid. “She is the spineless daughter of a spineless coward. She will not stop me, niece.”
“Stop you in what, Uncle?” Valdyr asked, curious and repelled at the same moment.
“Stop me from carrying out my plan,” the ambassador said, and smiled.
The sight of that smile chilled her, even though her chamber was warm. “What plan?” she asked.
His smile broadened, revealing a mouthful of teeth. A cunning, predatory expression replaced the a
nger that had been there. “You will see, Valdyr,” he promised softly. “Just wait, and you will see…. ”
Journal of Amanda Grayson Sarek
September 16, 2293
What is it like to die?
Vulcans, of course, have theirkatras…a word no one has ever been able to translate with any degree of precision. Not quite a soul, not exactly a personality, more than a memory, less than a living being…I suppose one has to be born Vulcan to have any hope of understanding Vulcan mysticism.
Spock and Sarek will live on, after their deaths. Will I? Many of Earth’s religions hold that I will…but there is no certainty. And if there is an afterlife, would individuals from different worlds mingle there?
Now I am getting metaphysical—and silly. Speculating about such things is fruitless…illogical. Life after death will either happen, or it won’t, and there is nothing I can do about it either way…except be philosophical.
I dread Sarek’s return from Freelan, even as I long for it. I suspect T’Mal contacted him, and that she was as blunt with him as she was evasive with me. No doubt she was concerned that the truth would be too much for a human to bear.
Little does she know this particular human. I have known what is happening to me for months, now. I can’t remember when I first realized that my body was running down, sputtering to its inevitable halt…the knowledge just grew in me, day by day.
It seems that I have Reyerson’s disease. It isn’t always fatal, especially to those in the prime of life—but I am ninety-three. Luckily, it’s not an illness that causes a great deal of pain. Its main symptom is continuous exhaustion, which, at my age, is fairly common anyway.
I’ve spent time these past few days reading over my old journals. The moments come back so clearly, it almost seems as though the past is the reality, and this present, with its exhaustion and inevitable ending, is merely a bad dream.
When I read about them, the memories revive, as fresh as if they happened only yesterday. I cannot believe I have lived this long—it all seems to have gone by at great speed. Every time I look in a mirror these days, I am shocked to see a woman who is, beyond a doubt…old. I don’t FEEL old!—not inside. The aches and pains remind me of my true age, but my mind and my heart feel as young as ever. Young Amanda is in here with me, in my head, and Old Amanda has trapped us within this shell of aged bone and flesh.
Curious, isn’t it? I wonder if every human feels this way…or am I unusual?
Vulcans, of course, feel exactly as old as their chronological age. Anything else would be illogical….
Can I really be…dying?
At times I have to fight off panic, but those episodes are growing less and less frequent. They are simply too tiring, I suppose, for a body that is…shutting down.
Of course, I would not want to live forever…but I don’t want to die, either. I want to live—there are still so many things to do, so many places to go, so many things to see—
I want to live…yet I am coming to realize that I will not, at least, not for much longer. By this time next year, probably much sooner, the universe will be going on without me. Amanda Grayson, Madam Sarek, the Lady Amanda…I will be gone, will be no more.
I am dying.
There, I’ve admitted it. Writing it out in black and white like that has actually been a relief. Facing the worst the future has to offer is better than mincing around, shying away from an all-too-possible reality.
Of course, the Healers are treating me, trying to arrest the disease. But I know without asking that my prognosis is dismal. And, even if a miracle happened, and I were cured of this particular illness, at my age, the inevitable can only be staved off for a short time.
There is one journal entry that I’ve been saving as a treat, for when I feel particularly low. I believe that tonight is the night to read it….
June 14, 2229…a few minutes past midnight
My hand trembles as I write this…I can scarcely believe what happened tonight! After all these months of seeing him, trying to make myself believe that his interest was not solely that of a diplomat befriending a student of his culture…trying, but never quite succeeding—I can hardly believe what I am about to write—tonight Sarek kissed me!
It was not really a kiss as a human knows it—but it happened. Just the softest brush of his fingertips against my lips, but I trembled as we turned and walked home in silence. Even now, as I sit here writing, I feel as though I have caught some exotic fever.
Is it possible that we have known each other for only four months? It seems incredible that my life could have changed so radically, so irrevocably, in such a short time. Four months, almost to the day.
My work was everything to me…teaching was my only passion. Being able to convey to my students the wonder and richness of alien cultures was my fondest dream, a goal to be striven for, my heart’s greatest desire. The day I won the T’Relan Award for Excellence in Teaching was, I thought then, the pinnacle of my life.
All this time, these past months, wondering, trying to fathom why such a distinguished diplomat wanted to spend time with a teacher who happened to win an award for teaching and thus was invited to an embassy reception…
Once or twice I thought, “Perhaps he’s attracted to me,” only to back away from the thought at warp speed. Vulcans do not form romantic attachments, after all. Either they bond at a very young age, or they make a reasoned, logical decision later in life. Romance? Don’t be ridiculous, Amanda!
But tonight…was romantic. I believe that even Sarek felt it, was affected by the spell of the night….
The three-quarter moon was setting over the Pacific as the couple walked along the beach. Amanda Grayson picked her way over the wet sand, smiling as the white-tipped waves curled ever closer to her feet. Dinner had been excellent; Sarek had taken her to one of the finest restaurants in town.
As they’d eaten, she’d caught curious glances from their fellow diners. It was unusual, she knew, for a human woman and a Vulcan male to be seen together. And her escort was a noted diplomat at the Vulcan Embassy—a well-known public figure.
Thankfully, after they’d left the restaurant, none of the curious had followed them. Now, watching the moon slip down toward the waves, they were completely alone. The tide was coming in, lapping ever higher. Amanda watched her escort covertly as he gazed at the ocean, his expression quiet and serene.
She was so intent on watching Sarek that an importunate wave caught her unawares. Amanda jumped and gasped as cold water sloshed over her feet, and she bumped hard against the Vulcan. Automatically, he caught her arm and steadied her. It was the first time he had touched her in the four months since she’d met him.
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed. “If I’d fallen in, I’d have gotten soaked.” Glancing up at him diffidently, she caught her breath in surprise as she realized that he was…smiling. There could be no doubt about it. Sarek’s austere, aquiline features had softened, and his normally stern mouth curved upward on both ends. The Vulcan’s dark eyes held an amused spark.
Sarek is smiling. At me,she thought, amazed and touched.I didn’t know he could smile!
She smiled back at him, feeling a rush of happiness so pure and strong that it was like some euphoria-inducing drug. As they stared at each other, their eyes locked, the next wave caught both of them in its wash.
This time they both jumped. Amanda, glancing down, saw that the ambassador’s boots were soaked. “Oh, dear. Your boots.”
“They will dry,” Sarek said, ignoring his footwear. “Amanda…tell me something.”
“What?”
“Is there anyone…special in your life?”
He can’t possibly know what that question means on Earth,she thought, blankly. “Of course there is,” she said, struggling not to blush. “I have my parents, and my students, my family and my friends. They’re all very special to me…Sarek.”
It had been hard for her to call him by only his name without his title—he was such a formal
person, so reserved. It was growing easier each time she did it. “And of course, back East I have several friends that I only see a few times a year, because they’re—”
“Amanda…” She couldn’t believe that he’d interrupted her. He’d never done that before. The Vulcan stepped closer to her, so close she could feel the heat of his body against her face and throat.
“Yes, Sarek?”
“I wanted to know whether there is a specialmale in your life.”
She stared at him unbelievingly, but managed to compose herself. “No, Sarek. There is no special…male.” Her heart was pounding harder than the surf.
“So you are free to choose a…mate?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, but hardly any sound emerged from her throat. The Vulcan leaned closer, indicating that even his acute hearing had not picked up her answer. “Yes,” she repeated. “Yes, I am.”
“That is good to hear, Amanda,” he said quietly; then he leaned forward, slowly and deliberately, andkissed her mouth with his fingertips.
Even as he drew back, Amanda instinctively knew that her life had changed forever. There was only one possible explanation for Sarek’s words and action—he wanted her for his wife. She knew from her studies that Vulcans did not waste time in casual dalliance.
For a moment he regarded her intently, his eyes filled with all the things he could not say aloud. Then, without another word, the Vulcan offered her his arm to help her back up the beach. Amanda went with him, her whole body conscious of his touch, of the heat of his skin beneath his sleeve.
I love him,she realized.I’ve loved him from the first, and didn’t realize it until now.
September 16, 2293
Just finished rereading that journal entry. Oh, my! Was I ever that young?
And yet…if I close my eyes, I can still taste that kiss, even after sixty-four years.
I have had a good life. I have been blessed. There are few regrets….
But for now, I am tired…must rest…
