Local Custom

by Sharon

  He bowed, profoundly warmed. “Chiat’a bei kruzon, denubia,” he replied and was so lost to propriety that the endearment passed his lips without awaking the least quiver of shame.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Universe adorns

  a flawless jewel.

  Solcintra.

  —From “Collected Poems

  “Elabet pel’Ongin, Clan Diot

  RELUCTANTLY, DAAV lifted his cheek from the comfort of her breast.

  “Olwen?”

  “Mmm?” she murmured sleepily, raising a hand to push his head down. “Stop fidgeting.”

  “Yes, but I have to leave,” he explained, shamelessly nuzzling into her softness.

  “You have to leave now?” Olwen released him and actually opened her eyes.

  “I have uses for you yet, my buck,” she told him severely. “I was only just considering which to subject you to next.”

  He grinned. “You tempt me, never doubt it. But duty is a sterner mistress.”

  “A hint in my ear, forsooth! Next time you’ll not find me so gentle.”

  “And I with a dozen new bruises to explain,” Daav said mournfully. “Ah, well. Those who would seize joy must expect a tumble or two.”

  “Hah!” Her laugh was appreciative. Rising onto a elbow, she reached out to stroke the hair back from his face, laughter fading as she studied him.

  “Old friend.” She sighed, touched the silver twist hanging in his ear. “I recall how you earned that,” she murmured, “our first time as team-mates. I wish—”

  “I know,” he said quickly, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips lightly. “I would still be a Scout, Olwen, if the universe were ordered to my liking. Necessity exists.”

  “Necessity,” she repeated and grimaced—an entirely Scout-like reaction. “Does it occur to you that necessity has killed more Liadens than ever the Yxtrang have?”

  “No, are you certain?” He gave her over-wide eyes and a face bright with innocence, winning another laugh.

  “I shall formulate a data box and attempt to corroborate my statement, captain.” The laughter faded yet again, and she ran light fingers down his cheek. “Take good care, Daav. Until again.”

  “Until again, Olwen,” he returned gently and slid out of her bed and left her, silently damning necessity.

  TWO HOURS UNTIL the end of Jump, according to the trip scanner set in the wall.

  And after that, Anne thought, maybe three hours through heavy traffic to setdown in the port.

  Solcintra Port.

  “Annie Davis,” she told herself, ducking her head to pass through the low doorway connecting the ‘fresher unit to the sleeping compartment, “this has not been one of your better ideas.”

  She did not want to go to Solcintra. Yet careful scrutiny of the events leading to her approaching that very place in this lavish, uncannily efficient space-yacht failed to show her how she might have arranged things otherwise.

  The conviction that Er Thom was in some sort of trouble persisted. Pressed, he had admitted to “difficulties” at home—and then hastened to assure her that they were neither “of her making nor solving”.

  As if, Anne thought grumpily as she pulled on her shirt, that had any bearing on the matter.

  In the next instant, she allowed that it had every bearing. She simply could not allow him to face his “difficulties” alone.

  She paused in the act of sealing her shirt to look into her own eyes, reflected in the low-set mirror.

  He came to find me.

  That in itself was extraordinary, for surely a man of Er Thom yos’Galan’s position might easily call upon powers far beyond those mustered by an untenured professor of linguistics, had he need of aid.

  And yet he had come to find her—a Terran. Come, so he had it—and would not be pushed from that bald statement—for the sole purpose of saying that he loved her.

  The sort of thing, Anne thought, threading her belt around her waist and doing up the buckle, a man comes to say when he’s looked eye to eye at his death.

  She sighed and sat on the edge of the too-short bed to pull on her boots, then stayed there, elbows on knees, staring down at the sumptuous carpet.

  “Now, Annie Davis,” she murmured, hearing Grandfather Murphy’s voice echoing in memory’s ear. “Tell the truth, and shame the devil.”

  And the truth was, she wryly admitted to herself, that she was head over ears in love with the man.

  “And will not marry him for propriety’s sake, willful, wicked gel that ye are!” the gaffer thundered from life-years and light-years away.

  Anne grinned and in the back of her mind, the gaffer laughed. “Well, and who can blame ye? The man might stir himself to a bit of lovemaking, after all.”

  Though lovemaking was not precisely the problem—or not in the ordinary sense, Anne thought, shaking her head. It was as if the years of separation had multiplied their desire for each other until a touch, a shared glance, a word held the potential for conflagration.

  The sheer power of the passion—the bone-deep, burning need for him was—frightening.

  “So why not marry the man?” she asked herself. “You’ve agreed to everything else he’s wanted. Take a bit for yourself and never mind he only asked because it was proper.”

  Except that he had offered contract-marriage, an arrangement very like a standard Terran cohabitation agreement, with each party going its separate way at the conclusion of the time-limit.

  And the thought of letting him go again made her blood cold and her mouth dry and her stomach cramp in agony.

  Just how she was going to manage herself upon quitting Liad at the end of semester break had not yet become clear.

  I’ll think of something, she assured herself, standing and heading for the door to the companionway. Everything will be all right.

  SHE PAUSED BRIEFLY in the alcove to pay respect to Clan Korval’s shield with its lifelike Tree-and-Dragon and to consider yet again the bold, almost arrogant, inscription: Flaran Cha’menthi. I Dare.

  Not a very conciliatory motto, Anne thought and grinned. The history of Cantra yos’Phelium and her young co-pilot, Tor An yos’Galan, who had used an experimental space drive to bring the people who were now Liadens away from their besieged planet to a fair new world was the stuff of many stories and plays. Pilot yos’Phelium was characterized as a crusty sort who brooked no questioning of her authority. I Dare was probably an entirely accurate summation of her philosophy.

  Still grinning, she bowed respect to the device and its motto, then reached out to stroke the dragon’s muzzle and look into its bright green eyes.

  “Keep good watch,” she told it, surprised at how earnest her voice sounded. She stroked the dragon once more, fingers lingering on the cool enamel surface, then continued on in search of Er Thom.

  THEY ENTERED THE piloting chamber from opposite doors and Anne noted once more how well-suited he was to this ship. Each doorway that insisted she bend her head for entry framed Er Thom’s slender figure like a benediction. The small chairs with their short backs that forced her to bundle her long legs into a ludicrous, adolescent tangle beneath the seat welcomed and enclosed Er Thom as if they had been made for him.

  Which, Anne thought wryly, they very possibly had.

  He bowed now, graceful and smooth, smiling as he straightened.

  “Anne. Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well,” she said, returning his smile and feeling her doubts about the wisdom of this journey begin to slip away. “I missed you.”

  “Ah.” He came closer, fingers stroking her arm, feather-light and enticing, beautiful face tipped up to hers. “The pilot must be vigilant.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, half-tranced by his eyes. She took one careful step back and turned her head toward the board. “About ninety minutes to the end of Jump.”

  “And another two hours to Solcintra Port,” he agreed. “We shall be at Jelaza Kazone by late afternoon.”
He tipped his head. “Are you troubled, Anne?”

  “Nervous,” she said and gave him a quick smile. “I don’t know much about your cha’leket the delm except that he used to be a Scout and that the two of you were raised together. And your mother—”

  Here she faltered. The little she had gleaned of Er Thom’s mother seemed to indicate the old lady was a high stickler, with, perhaps, a gift for sarcasm. She strongly suspected that Thodelm yos’Galan was not going to find Terran Scholar Anne Davis, the rather irregular mother of her grandson, much to her liking.

  “My mother.” Er Thom slipped his hand gently under her elbow, as he had done on the occasion of their first meeting, so long ago, and guided her across the pilot’s room and into the alcove that served as a kind of snack bar.

  “My mother,” he repeated, after he ordered them both a cup of tea from the menuboard and they were sitting across from each other at the pull-down table. “You must understand, she is—ill.”

  “Ill?” Anne blinked at him, teacup halfway to her lips. “Er Thom, if your mother isn’t well, it would be—discourteous—of me to insist—”

  “You are my guest,” he interrupted her softly. “All is as it should be, and no discourtesy attached to you at all, who merely accepted invitation freely offered.” He paused to sip tea.

  “Several years ago,” he said slowly, “a—tragedy—befell the clan. When all was accounted, we had lost the delm—Daav’s mother, twin of my mother—and a’thodelm of yos’Galan, my elder brother, Sae Zar.”

  Anne lowered her cup, eyes wide on his face, but he was staring at some point just beyond his own cup, which was cradled in the net of his fingers.

  “Such a blow to the Line Direct could not easily be withstood. Of course, Daav was called home immediately to take up the Ring—and there was myself to—absorb—a’thodelm’s duty—but we were neither of us yet full adult and looked to the remaining elder of the Clan to guide us.” He sighed.

  “Which she was not at first able to do, so desperate was her illness. We feared—for relumma—that she would follow sister and son and leave us—a halfling delm, as Daav would have it, and an unschooled thodelm—alone to guide Korval.”

  “But she didn’t die,” Anne breathed, unable to take her eyes from his averted face.

  “Indeed,” he murmured, “she gained strength. To a point. A very specific point, alas, and that more by will than any skill the medics brought. Damage from the radiation had gone too far, taken too much. She is not well. In fact, she is dying. And all the medics and the autodocs can do is somewhat ease the pain of her determination to live.” He lifted his cup and drank, eyes still cast aside.

  “I’m so terribly sorry,” Anne managed and his eyes flashed to hers, brilliantly violet.

  “It is not of your blame,” he said, softly.

  “No,” she agreed, “but I still grieve for your grief. Was it—was it an honor-feud?”

  “There was nothing honorable in it!” he said sharply, then moved a hand, fingers tracing a formal sign in the air between them.

  “Forgive me. It was lies and treachery and outworld conniving and the stupidity of it is the trap was not even set for us! She who told the first tale, the one who set the bait—she had only been awaiting a master trader. One would have done as well as any other. Only ill luck that it was Sae Zar yos’Galan who walked into the place where she waited and lay down his coin for a drink.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anne said again, damning the inadequacy of the phrase. “Were you and your brother very—close?”

  “Close?” He tipped his head, frowning. “Ah, I see. Not so—close. Sae Zar was eleven—twelve—Standard years my elder. He brought presents to Daav and me, and took us with him to Port a time or two … He was kind, but old, you know, and we but children.” He paused.

  “There was—vast difference in our estates, you must understand,” he said and the impression she had was that he was choosing his words with the utmost care. “It became—necessary—for the delm to provide the clan with another child. The elder child of yos’Phelium had then ten Standard years and it was the delm’s wisdom that the new child should have another of—near age—with whom to grow and learn. Thus she commanded her sister my mother to also wed, and then took the child of that union in fostering.”

  “Which is how you and Daav came to be cha’lekets,” Anne murmured, shaking her head over this commanding to wed. “Er Thom—”

  A tone sounded in the piloting chamber—one clear, bright note.

  Er Thom stood. “Forgive me. We are about to re-enter normal space, and I must be at the board.” He hesitated, flashing her a look from beneath golden lashes. “Would you care to sit with me there?”

  A signal honor, Anne knew, to be asked by a master pilot to accompany him at the board. And honor beyond counting, that one who was not even a pilot should be offered that place.

  Heart full, she inclined her head.

  “I would be honored, Er Thom. Thank you.”

  “The honor is my own,” he returned, which she knew was rote, and thereby sheer nonsense. He bowed and left the alcove then, Anne hard on his heels.

  TRAFFIC WAS NOT so heavy as she had imagined—or Delm Korval’s pleasure-yacht commanded a clear approach whenever it appeared.

  Which, she allowed, upon consideration, might not be so fanciful a notion, after all.

  She leaned forward in the acceleration chair that was built all wrong for her size, and watched his face as he worked the board, listening to his matter-of-fact exchange of information with Solcintra Tower. There was nothing hurried in the rapid dance of his fingers over the various keys, toggles and switches—no hurry and no hesitation. Only pure efficiency enveloped by a nearly transcendent concentration.

  “You love this,” she breathed, barely knowing that she spoke aloud. “Really love this.”

  Purple eyes flashed to her face. “This—yes. Every liftoff is a privilege. Every homecoming is—a joy.”

  She was about to answer—and then started, abruptly alert on an utterly different level.

  “Shan’s awake,” she said, rising and moving away. “I’ll go and make him presentable.”

  But Er Thom was fully back in the pilot’s beautiful, unfathomable dance and gave no sign that he heard her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Each one of a Line shall heed the voice of the thodelm, head of that Line, and give honor to the thodelm’s word. Likewise, the thodelm shall heed the voice of the delm, head of the clan entire, and to the delm’s word bow low.

  Proper behavior is that thodelm decides for Line and delm decides for clan, cherishing between them the melant’i of all.

  —Excerpted from the

  Liaden Code of Proper Conduct

  ER THOM LED the way down, Anne coming after, holding Shan’s hand. At the edge of the ramp, they were met by a woman in mechanic’s coveralls, the Tree-and-Dragon emblem stitched on her sleeve.

  “Sir,” she murmured, bowing low.

  Er Thom barely inclined his head. “There is luggage in the smaller hold to be sent on immediately to Trealla Fantrol,” he said in the mode, so Anne thought, of Employer to Employee. “The ship shall at once be inspected and made ready according to its standard bill of orders.”

  The mechanic bowed, indicating understanding of her orders. “Sir,” she said again and stepped aside.

  Without further ado, Er Thom moved on, Anne a step still behind him, slowed by the shortness of her son’s stride, and her own desire to crane around like a tourist and stare at everything.

  “Hi!” Shan announced as they passed the mechanic, which earned him a flash of startled gray eyes and a bow nearly as low as the one given his father.

  “Young sir,” the woman said swiftly. Her eyes lifted and barely touched Anne’s face before she bowed yet again.

  “Lady.”

  Anne blinked, cudgeling her brain for the proper response. Clearly, her melant’i in no way approached Er Thom’s, whose Clan employed the woman. Nor d
id she have any notion of the relative status of learned scholars to starship mechanics, though she was inclined to think that, on the basis of practical abilities, the mechanic stood several orders above a mere professor of linguistics.

  She was saved the necessity of making any decision at all by the arrival of the rest of the woman’s crew, to whom she turned with rapid-fire orders. Reprieved, Anne walked over to Er Thom, Shan in tow.

  “I need a scorecard,” she muttered in Terran, and saw the gleam of a smile in his eyes.

  “A guest of the House outranks a hireling of the House,” he said softly. “She expected no response. Indeed, it was forward of her to offer greeting, except she was forced to it by this young rogue.” He reached down to ruffle Shan’s hair.

  Anne sighed. “Shannie,” she said, without much hope, “don’t talk to strangers.” She met Er Thom’s eyes, adding wryly: “Not that he’s ever met a stranger.”

  He frowned briefly, brows pulling slightly together, then his face cleared. “‘Happy the one who finds kin in every port’.”

  “Close enough,” she allowed. “Except if the other person counts differently there’s Hobbs to pay.”

  “Who is Hobbs?” Er Thom wondered and Anne laughed, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed after a moment. “Hobbs isn’t—anybody—really. A figure of speech, like his brother Hobson, who’s generally seen offering a choice.” She paused, suddenly taken. “Actually, you may know Mr. Hobson. His choice goes like this: Take my terms or take nothing.”

  “Hah!” The smile this time was nearer a grin. “We have met.” He slid his hand under her elbow, guiding her away from the cold-pad and toward a low building some distance away painted with the Tree-and-Dragon.

  “A car awaits us,” he said, “and then we may to Daav. In any case, we should clear the field.”

  As was only prudent, Anne thought. The field was a-buzz with activity. Jitney traffic was heavy, racing between cold-pads and the distant bulk of the main garage. Added to the speedy jitneys were fuel trucks, repair rigs, forklifts and ground-tugs, some with ships in tow.