by G. R. Lyons
He paused, then straightened in his chair and glanced around the table. Put out notice that a Collision is coming. We'll do that to start. If we get enough panicked inquiries as to precisely when, then we'll say we're trying to contact the Agori for an accurate prediction. Then we can let it be circulated that the Collision will hit on Partri seventeenth at twenty-seven minutes past midday, for instance; that the Agori swear their prediction is accurate, though we're inclined not to believe them, though they've always been right before.
The Elders nodded, a few jotting down notes, and the chairman set aside another sheet of paper, his eyes quickly scanning the one below it.
Ah, yes, Officer Benash, he said. We are expecting him today.
I believe he has arrived, Elder Gozden added. Shall we call him in?
Hmmm, just a moment, the chairman said. What say you all to notifying the officers of Sonekha about the Collision? I believe the last reports on the integrity of that facility indicated it would become entirely unusable in the event of any sort of natural disaster.
Yes, I believe that was the case, Elder Rethil put in. He paused, tapping a finger on his chin, and added, I have a thought about that, but I'll need to check the data from a few studies we've ordered. This Collision might serve to alleviate some of our budget concerns for the next quarter. For now, though, I say we only make a general announcement about the Collision, as our Chairman said, and go from there. We can always be more precise with the officers later, if the need arises.
I agree, the chairman said after a moment of deliberation. And now, to this matter of the rebels. He turned and looked at the closed doorway, and projected a thought to the Eagle officer standing guard just outside. Send in Officer Benash.
* * *
BENASH STOOD before the Elders, keeping his mind fully secure. There was no telling what trouble he was in for now, but if they got hold of the treasonous thoughts swirling through his mind, he'd be put to torture before he could blink.
Officer Benash, Chairman Elder Moaba droned. We commend you for your efforts regarding this rebel prisoner. The information you have brought us has proved very useful indeed, and we look forward to receiving much more from you.
Benash bowed his head, and wondered how much longer he could keep up the lies.
We have also learned, the chairman continued, that of your two wives, you have gotten– He stopped, consulted a paper lying before him, and looked back up. Eight healthy children, and all sons, by the look of it.
Benash struggled to keep his face blank. The sudden change of subject unnerved him, but not as much as the information.
He'd honestly had no idea how many children he'd fathered.
As such, the chairman went on, oblivious to his unease, based on your record and the loyalty you've shown to the badge, we are going to move you and your family to a larger apartment, as you will be receiving a fourth wife. It is our thanks to you for your excellent work.
Gods be damned, Benash thought, catching himself just in time before saying those words aloud. Two more wives. Why? Why now? Vorena–
He cut off the thought before it could sting too painfully. The Elders were staring at him intently, clearly waiting for a response, so he bowed his head to give himself a moment.
Thank you, Council, he said, glad that his inner voice was steady. I will honor this gift with my duty.
Your new apartment will be ready for you shortly after you return to Sonekha, and your new wives will be brought to you on the fifth of Sulinel, one of the Elders said. Reconstruction Day is auspicious for getting a woman with child, and we hope to see many more come from your household.
Benash bowed his head again, repeating, Thank you, Council.
You are dismissed, the chairman said.
After making a full bow, Benash turned and strode from the Council chambers, and didn't stop moving until he reached a small stand of trees on the outskirts of the capitol. He dove off the road, leaned back against a trunk, and closed his eyes with a groan.
Two more wives. Seven help me, I can't do this. Not now.
Yet, he knew he had to, for the sake of appearance, if nothing else. He had to keep pretending to be his usual, routine, dutiful self if he was going to have any chance at all of staying within proximity of Vorena—and that was something he wouldn't give up now for the world.
Alright, Benash, he told himself, here's what you're going to do: You're going to accept your new wives, you'll use them once so they won't suspect anything is amiss, you'll mark them, and then you'll find excuses to never touch them again.
It shouldn't be too difficult, he knew. He hardly touched Suned or Oneri anymore because he was simply too tired at the end of the day to even think about the effort required; otherwise, he'd probably have a great deal more than eight children.
Good gods, eight children. I had no idea. Somehow that– Gods, it just seems a thing a man ought to know. How did they know that and I didn't?
Benash shook his head, then straightened up, took a deep breath, and resumed his journey home.
Chapter 29
THE MILES melted away while Benash was deep in thought, so he hardly noticed the time passing until he arrived home, surprised at how light it still was outside.
Once inside his apartment, he shut the door, put his hands on his hips, and projected an order to his wives.
Hardly a moment passed before he heard doors opening and a rush of muffled footsteps as ten people made their way down the hall toward him. They all squeezed into the small main room, yet managed to stand in such a way that none of them touched one another.
They waited silently, staring at the floor while Benash studied them, their grey- or white-clad bodies almost disappearing against the white walls and concrete floors.
“You, boy,” Benash called, looking at the tallest of his sons. “How old are you?”
Without looking up, the boy answered, “Fifteen, sir.”
Fifteen! Gods, he's almost a man himself! He'll be ready for his first wife soon.
Benash stared at the boy, marveling at how childlike he still looked, considering the fact that within a few months he'd be assigned his own apartment, job, and wife, becoming his own man with his own designated responsibilities. Benash remembered feeling so grown up at that age himself, yet…
Gods, did I look so young back then? He's just a boy! But soon he'll have to be a man whether he's ready or not. And there's been no one to teach him, no one to show him how to–
The thought cut off when Benash realized there was nothing to teach the boy. He'd be instructed in whatever job he was assigned, but other than that, all he would have to do is rely upon his wives for his basic wants—food, sex, and clean clothes were the only things he would need or have time for, and those were a woman's responsibility. There was nothing the boy would need to know other than to follow orders.
Feeling a profound sense of guilt and emptiness, Benash turned and looked at the others, trying to guess their ages while he took in the reality of their presence. Eight children, all heading inexorably to the same routine lives, and he'd had absolutely no idea.
“There was a girl…” he thought aloud while a memory tugged at his awareness—something about trying to sleep after a frustrating day, and being kept awake by Oneri's cries of pain while she was in labor in the other room. He'd stormed in, furious at having his night interrupted, and just as he'd thrown the door open, Suned lifted the baby from between Oneri's legs and quietly announced, “Girl.”
As the memory came to him, he saw Suned shift uneasily, her hands tightening as they clutched her skirts.
“Suned?” he asked, and she tensed more.
She lost hold of her mental barriers, and an accidental projection came to Benash's mind, showing him Suned's memory of suffocating the baby while she slept—to her mind, giving the child a merciful ending before it could know the hardships of a woman's life.
That was when Benash took a good, long look at his wives—really looked at them in
a way he'd never bothered to do before. He tried to study their features and their forms with the same intensity he'd studied Vorena.
Oneri was strikingly beautiful, almost painfully so, with rich golden hair that fell loose to her waist, smooth skin, and full lips. Suned was also pleasing to look at, though her brown hair didn't shine quite the way Oneri's did, and her lips weren't as full, but her figure was the more supple and feminine of the two.
Oneri had stretch marks on her hips, and Suned had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
He'd never noticed those things before.
He'd never had a reason to notice those things before.
He looked them both over again, noting the fact that Suned was slightly taller than Oneri even though she was four years younger. He saw the narrowness of their waists and the gauntness of their faces, and wondered if they were getting enough food.
He noticed the smallness of Oneri's breasts, and the way Suned's were barely contained beneath her wrap. Both women, of course, had their wraps arranged with the excess cloth hanging over the right shoulder, leaving the left exposed as was required for a married woman. Where Vorena's shoulder had been smooth and unblemished, his wives both bore the glaring marriage scars.
His name, carved into their flesh.
The scar on Suned's shoulder was as clear and legible in Tanasian script as one could get with a knife, but Oneri's scar was quite rough and ragged.
When he'd achieved manhood at the age of six-and-ten and had been assigned his first wife, the idea of possessing a woman to use at his own pleasure had been both daunting and intriguing. Their first coupling had been awkward and exhausting—and wonderful. The exquisite release he'd felt in that moment had been quite literally the highlight of his life up to that point. The union of their bodies had made Oneri his possession, though, and with his heart still slowing from the intensity of his orgasm, he'd put his mark on her with shaking but eager hands.
By the time he'd been given Suned for a second wife, just a few years later, he'd already been numbed to the expected pleasure. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that Oneri was dutiful but vacant when he called her to his bed, and the first sight of Suned told him she'd be the same way. He'd used his body to make her his own, and then very calmly and steadily carved his name into her skin. After that, he'd spent most of his nights alone, unless the need for release was just so desperate that his hands weren't enough and he found himself squeezing his eyes shut while taking his pleasure from one or the other of them, all the while telling himself it was their duty and he didn't need any sort of response from them.
The experience always left him feeling a deep-seated ache in his chest that was worse than the physical pain they'd helped relieve.
Now, as his wives stood there before him in the main room, the angry red letters seemed to slap him with an accusation. His own name staring back at him had turned from a mark of pride and masculinity to a mark of conviction and punishment.
It was my choice, he realized. I could have said 'no'. I could have declined them both. It would have meant punishment—perhaps death—but I still could have chosen otherwise. I should have chosen otherwise, but I was just a foolish boy…
He stared at the scars, and shook his head. A feeble excuse. Boy or not, it was my choice, though they didn't let me think I had one. I could have chosen punishment and death—but that really is what I chose, isn't it? This punishment, this–
The words living death hung there, unspoken, in his mind. His eyes moved back up from the scars to the women's faces, and the hint of what he saw there made him suddenly ill, yet he had to know.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
Both wives hesitated, but both obeyed.
He wished they hadn't.
Whereas he'd seen that intense spark of life in Vorena's eyes, both Suned and Oneri looked like living corpses. Their eyes were dull, flat, and empty.
Lifeless.
Then he looked at his sons again, really studying their faces, and found the same dull emptiness in their eyes, the eldest more so than those younger. He could almost see his own childhood in the progression of his glance from the youngest child up to the boy who was almost a man, seeing how the little spark of life slowly faded and vanished as he moved from one face to another.
When had it happened to him? How had he not even noticed?
And how had he let it happen to them?
He choked out, “You may go.”
The women and children silently vanished, their postures slumping back into their usual bent, submissive shapes, and Benash had to keep himself from running as he sought the privacy of his bedroom. He stepped inside, shut and locked the door, and put his back to it.
Some time later—whether it was minutes or hours, he couldn't tell—he found himself crouched on the floor with his hands clamped firmly around his head, and he was shaking so violently that he almost couldn't breathe.
The collar of his uniform was soaked with tears.
Benash wiped his cheeks and stared at his hands, seeing the wetness on his fingers in the dull moonlight that found its way through his bedroom window. He couldn't remember sinking to the floor, though the doorknob was now clearly above his head rather than level with his hip, nor could he remember the feeling of the tears streaming down his cheeks, though the evidence was right there on his hands.
Somehow, that startled him more than anything. He'd never cried in his life. It simply wasn't done. People were supposed to be routine and predictable, the Elders said, not changeable and emotional. Yet, he'd felt such a gripping terror that the tears had come without notice.
“Breathe, Benash,” he told himself, quietly biting off the words as he roughly scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. “You're not dead. You're not. Breathe and live. Just breathe…”
He pressed his palms firmly over his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths, waiting for his racing heart to calm down.
When he lowered his hands and blinked past the kaleidoscopic patterns that still danced in his vision, the first thing he saw was the gun at his hip. A moment later, he was standing in the middle of the room with the weapon in his hand, but no memory of having gotten up from the floor.
He carried the loaded weapon to his washroom, flicked on the light, and deliberately set down the gun and rested both hands on the rim of the sink before forcing his eyes up to the mirror.
The same dull emptiness he'd seen in his wives' eyes was right there, staring back at him.
Keeping otherwise perfectly still, he blindly reached for his gun and pressed the muzzle to his right temple, right next to his lifeless eyes. The trigger slowly eased back with a slight pressure from his index finger.
Time slowed to a crawl, and in the space of a fraction of a second, Benash was aware of the moment the hammer struck, since it was the same moment he felt a surge of desire to live and knew the desire had come too late.
Chapter 30
BENASH STARED at himself for a long moment, wondering what the faint click had meant. He'd heard it, but it hadn't immediately registered in his brain.
Several long seconds passed before he saw that the dead haze in his eyes had been replaced by fear and hope and the fire of life.
I'm alive!
Breathing heavily, his gaze flashed to the reflection of the gun, still pressed to his skin, and as he very slowly moved it away just in case of a hang fire, the narrowness of the mirror meant he only saw the gun and not his hand, so it looked as though the weapon were simply floating there on its own, just the way he'd imagined it when Vorena had threatened telekinesis on his keys.
He burst out laughing.
The sound of it and the pressure in his chest startled him, being such an unfamiliar thing, and he knew he should have restrained the emotion, but he found he didn't want to. He let the laughter break free, enjoying the release it gave him, and by the time it faded away, his facial muscles ached and his voice felt hoarse and he had tears streaming down his che
eks again.
He'd never felt more alive.
He wondered what his wives and children must be thinking, since they must have heard his maniacal outburst, but mostly he wondered how it would have felt to share that moment of pure, unrestrained joy with the only truly living person he'd ever met.
Remember this, he told himself. Hold onto it. They can't take this from you. They can't, right? Can they?
He thought of Vorena, looking calm and somehow in control even in her confinement. They'd taken away her freedom of movement, but with the strength of her mind, they'd never fully take away her liberty. Surely, she couldn't be happy being locked in a cage, but just as she had told him, as long as there was life, there was choice and opportunity.
And I can learn this. I must learn this. No matter the cost—even if it means my death—I must learn this. If I can only do so without getting caught, if I can live long enough to learn from her! I must hold on to this. This is something precious. No, they can't take this.
Benash glanced back up at the mirror, and his reflection showed him a hint of the living, breathing, choosing man inside of him.
He cleared his firearm and stowed it away, then crawled into bed and lay in the dark, thinking.
* * *
BENASH WOKE with a start on the fifth of Sulinel: Mourning Day, Reconstruction Day, the anniversary of the Breaking of the World, when the gods had shattered the land into separate Isles, and untold thousands had died in the destruction.
According to the history books, the population of the land that became Tanas had suffered worst of all, hence the Elders' persistent drive to see the population rebuilt.
Benash shook his head. Even after hundreds of years, the Tanasian population was still thin and weak. Too many people kept dying too frequently in too many ways. No matter how many marriages were assigned and children forced into being, the Elders never seemed satisfied.
