Nebula Awards Showcase 2003

by Nancy Kress

  The panel intrigued Kamoj as much as it baffled her. It linked to cables that climbed up inside the walls of the house until they reached the few remaining sun-squares on the roof. No one understood the panel, but Lyode’s husband, Opter, could make it work. He had no idea why, nor could he fix damaged components, but given undamaged parts he had an uncanny ability to fit them into the panels.

  “Hai!” Kamoj winced as a twig stabbed her foot. Lifting her leg, she saw a gouge between her toes welling with blood.

  “A good reason to wear your shoes,” Lyode said.

  “Pah.” Kamoj enjoyed walking barefoot, but it did have drawbacks.

  A drumming that had been tugging at her awareness finally intruded enough to make her listen. “Those are greenglass stags.”

  Lyode tilted her head. “On the road to Argali.”

  Kamoj grinned. “Come on. Let’s go look.” She started to run, then hopped on her good foot and settled for a limping walk. When they reached the road, they hid behind the trees, listening to the thunder of hooves.

  “I’ll bet it’s Lionstar,” Kamoj said.

  “Too much noise for only five riders,” Lyode said.

  Kamoj gave her a conspiratorial look. “Then they’re fleeing bandits. We should nab them!”

  “And just why,” Lyode inquired, “would these nefarious types be fleeing up a road that goes straight to the house of the central authority in this province, hmmm?”

  Kamoj laughed. “Stop being so sensible.”

  Lyode still didn’t look concerned. But she slipped out a bowball anyway and readied her bow.

  Down the road, the first stags came around a bend. Their riders made a splendid sight. The men wore gold diskmail, ceremonial, too soft for battle, designed to impress. Made from beaten disks, the vests were layered to create an airtight garment. They never attained that goal, of course. Why anyone would want airtight mail was a mystery to Kamoj, but tradition said to do it that way, so that was how they made the garments.

  On rare occasions, stagmen also wore leggings and a hood of mail. Some ancient drawings even showed mail covering the entire body, including gauntlets, knee boots, and a transparent cover for the face. Kamoj thought the face cover must be artistic fancy. She saw no reason for it.

  Her uncle’s stagmen gleamed today. Under their vests, they wore bell-sleeved shirts as gold as suncorn. Their gold breeches tucked into dark red knee-boots fringed by feathers from the green-tailed quetzal. Twists of red and gold ribbon braided their reins, and bridle bells chimed on their greenglass stags. Sunlight slanted down on the road, drawing sparkles from the dusty air.

  Lyode smiled. “Your uncle’s retinue makes a handsome sight.”

  Kamoj didn’t answer. Normally she enjoyed watching Maxard’s honor guard, all the more so because of her fondness for the riders, most of whom she had known all her life. They served Maxard well. His good-natured spirit made everyone like him, which was why a wealthy merchant woman from the North Sky Islands was courting him despite his small corporation. However, today he wasn’t with his honor guard. He had sent them to Ironbridge a few days ago, and now they returned with an esteemed guest— someone Kamoj had no desire to see.

  The leading stagmen were riding past her hiding place, the bi-hooves of their mounts stirring up scale dust from the road. She recognized the front rider. Gallium Sunsmith. Seeing him made her day brighten. A big, husky man with a friendly face, Gallium worked with his brother Opter in a sunshop, engineering gadgets that ran on light, like the mirror-driven pepper mill Opter had invented. Gallium also made a good showing for himself each year in the swordplay exhibition at festival. So when Maxard needed an honor guard, Gallium became a stagman.

  Down the road, more of the party came into view. These new riders wore black mail, with dark purple shirts and breeches, and black boots fringed by silver fur. Jax Ironbridge, the governor of Ironbridge Province, rode in their center. Long-legged and muscular, taller than the other stagmen, he had a handsome face with strong lines, chiseled like granite. Silver streaked his black hair. He sat astride Mistrider, a huge greenglass stag with a rack of cloud-tipped antlers and scales the color of the opal-mists that drifted in the northern mountains.

  Kamoj’s pleasure in the day faded. Still hidden, she turned away from the road. She leaned against the tree with her arms crossed, staring into the forest while she waited for the riders to pass.

  A flight-horn sounded behind her, its call winging through the air. She jumped, then spun around. Apparently she wasn’t as well-concealed as she thought; Jax had stopped on the road and was watching her, the curved handle of a horn in his hand.

  Kamoj flushed, knowing she had given offense by hiding. Her merger with Jax had been planned for most of her life. He had the largest corporation in the northern provinces, which consisted of Argali, the North Sky Islands, and Ironbridge. Argument existed about the translation of the Iotaca word corporation: for lack of a better interpretation, most scholars assumed it meant a man’s dowry, the property and wealth he brought into marriage. A corporation as big as Jax’s became a political tool, invoking the same law of “Better the offer or yield” as had Lionstar’s rent.

  Ironbridge, however, had given Argali a choice. Jax made an offer Kamoj and Maxard could have bettered. It would have meant borrowing from even the most impoverished Argali farmers, but besting the amount by one stalk of bi-wheat was all it took. Then they could have declined the marriage offer and repaid the loans. She had been tempted to try. But Argali was her responsibility, and her province needed this merger with flourishing Ironbridge. So she had agreed.

  Jax watched her with an impassive gaze. He offered his hand. “I will escort you back to Argali House.”

  “I thank you for you kind offer, Governor Ironbridge,” she said. “But you needn’t trouble yourself.”

  He gave her a cold smile. “I am pleased to see you as well, my love.”

  Hai! She hadn’t meant to further the insult. She stepped forward and took his hand. He lifted her onto the stag with one arm, a feat of strength few other riders could manage even with a child, let alone an adult. He turned her so she ended up sitting sideways on the greenglass, her hips fitted in front of the first boneridge that curved over its back. Jax sat behind her, astride the stag, between its first and second boneridges, his muscular legs pressed against her hips and leg.

  The smell of his diskmail wafted over her, rich with oil and sweat. As he bent his head to hers, she drew back in reflex. She immediately regretted her response. Although Jax showed no outward anger, a muscle in his cheek twitched. She tried not to flinch as he took her chin in his hand and pulled her head forward. Then he kissed her, pressing her jaw until it forced her mouth open for his tongue. Despite her efforts, she tensed and almost clamped her mouth shut. He clenched his fist around her upper arm to hold her in place.

  A rush of air thrummed past Kamoj, followed by the crack of a bowball hitting a tree and the shimmering sound of falling scales. Jax raised his head. Lyode stood by the road, a second ball knocked in her bow, her weapon aimed at Jax.

  The Argali and Ironbridge stagmen had all drawn their bows and trained their weapons on Lyode. They looked acutely uncomfortable. No one wanted to shoot Kamoj’s bodyguard. The Argali stagmen had grown up with her, and Gallium was her brother-in-law. Jax had visited Kamoj at least twice each short-year for most of her life, since their betrothal, so the Ironbridge stagmen also knew Lyode well. However, they couldn’t ignore that she had just sent a bowball hurtling within a few hand-spans of the two governors.

  In a chill voice only Kamoj could hear, Jax said, “Your hospitality today continues to amaze me.” Turning to Gallium Sunsmith, he spoke in a louder voice. “You. Escort Lyode back to Argali House.”

  Gallium answered carefully. “It is my honor to serve you, sir. But perhaps Governor Argali would also like to do her best by Ironbridge, by accompanying her bodyguard back.”

  Kamoj almost swore. She knew Lyode and Gallium meant wel
l, and she valued their loyalty, but she wished they hadn’t interfered. It would only earn them Jax’s anger. She and Jax had to work this out. Although their merger favored Ironbridge, it gave control to neither party. They would share authority, she focused on Argali and he on Ironbridge. It benefited neither province if their governors couldn’t get along.

  Perhaps she could still mollify Jax. “Please accept my apologies, Governor Ironbridge. I will discuss Lyode’s behavior with her on the walk back. We’ll straighten this out.”

  He reached down and grasped her injured foot, bending her leg at the knee so he could inspect her instep. “Can you walk on this?”

  “Yes.” The position he was holding her leg in was more uncomfortable than the gouge itself.

  “Very well.” As he let go, his fingers scraped the gash between her toes. Kamoj stiffened as pain shot through her foot. She didn’t think he had done it on purpose, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She slid off the stag, taking care to land on her other foot. As she limped over to Lyode, bi-hooves scuffed behind her. She turned to see the riders thundering away, up the road to Argali.

  2

  THE OFFER

  Incoming Wave

  Jul, the sun, had sunk behind the trees by the time Kamoj and Lyode walked around the last bend of the road, into view of Argali House. Seeing her home, Kamoj’s spirits lifted.

  Legend claimed the house had once been luminous pearl, all one surface with no seams. According to the temple scholar, who could read bits of the ancient codices, Argali House had been grown in a huge vat of liquid, on a framework of machines called nanobots, which were supposedly so tiny you couldn’t see them even with a magnifying glass. After these machines completed the house, one was to believe they simply swam away and fell apart.

  Kamoj smiled. Absurdities filled the old scrolls. During one of her visits to Ironbridge, about ten years ago, Jax had shown her one in his library. The scroll claimed that Balumil, the world, went around Jul in an “elliptical orbit” and rotated on a tilted axis. This tilt, and their living in the north, was purported to explain why nights were short in summer and long in winter, fifty-five hours of darkness on the longest night of the year, leaving only five hours of sunlight.

  She had always thought it strange how her people counted time. One year consisted of four seasons, of course: spring, summer, autumn, winter. They called it the Long Year. A person could be born, reach maturity, wed, and have a baby within one Long Year. For some reason her ancestors considered this a long time: hence the name. Even more inexplicable, they divided the Long Year into twenty equal periods called short-years, five per season. People usually just called those “years.” But really, it made no sense. Why call it a short-year? The scroll claimed this odd designation came about because the time span came close to a “standard” year.

  Standard for what?

  Still, she found it more credible than too-little-to-see machines. Whatever the history of Argali House, it was wood and stone now, both the main building and the newer wings that rambled over the cleared land. Huge stacks of firewood stood along one side, stores for winter. Seeing them gave her satisfaction, knowing that preparations for the harsh season were well under way.

  Bird-shaped lamps hung from the eaves, rocking in the breezes, their glass tinted in Argali colors—rose, gold, and green. Their radiance created a dam against the purple shadows pooled under the trees. The welcome sight spread its warmth over Kamoj. Here in the road, a fluted post stood like a sentinel. A lantern molded and tinted like a rose hung from a scalloped hook at its top, its glow beckoning them home.

  They entered the front courtyard by a gate engraved with vines. Five stone steps ran the length of the house, leading up to a terrace, and five doors were set at even intervals along the front. The center door was larger than the others, stuccoed white and bordered by hieroglyphs in rose, green, and gold, with luminous blue accents.

  As they neared the house, Kamoj heard voices. By the time they reached the steps, it resolved into two men arguing.

  “That sounds like Ironbridge,” Lyode said.

  “Maxard too.” Kamoj paused, her foot on the first step. Now silence came from within the house.

  Above them, the door slammed open. Maxard stood framed in its archway, a burly man in old farm clothes. His garb startled Kamoj more than his sudden appearance. By now he should have been decked out in ceremonial dress and mail, ready to greet Ironbridge. Yet he looked as if he hadn’t even washed up since coming in from the fields.

  He spoke to her in a low voice. “You’d better get in here.”

  Kamoj hurried up the steps. “What happened?”

  He didn’t answer, just moved aside to let her enter a small foyer paved with white tiles bordered by Argali rose designs.

  Boots clattered in the hall beyond. Then Jax swept into the entrance foyer with five stagmen. He paused in midstride when he saw Kamoj. He stared at her, caught in a look of fury, and surprise too, as if he hadn’t expected to reveal the intensity of his reaction to her. Then he went to Maxard, towering over the younger man.

  “We aren’t through with this,” Jax said.

  “The decision is made,” Maxard told him.

  “Then you are a fool.” Jax glanced at Kamoj, his face stiff now with a guarded emotion, one he hid too well for her to identify. In all the years she had known him, he had never shown such a strong response, except in anger. But this was more than rage. Shock? Emotional pain? Surely not from Jax, the pillar of Ironbridge. Before she had a chance to speak, he strode out of the house with his stagmen, ignoring Lyode, who stood just outside the door.

  Kamoj turned to her uncle. “What’s going on?”

  He shook his head, his motion strained. Lyode came up the stairs, but when she tried to enter, Maxard braced his hand against the door frame, blocking her way. He spoke with uncharacteristic anger. “What blew into your brain, Lyode? Why did you have to shoot at him? Of all days I didn’t need Jax Ironbridge angry, this was it.”

  “He was mistreating Kamoj,” Lyode replied.

  “So Gallium Sunsmith says.” Maxard frowned at Kamoj. “What were you doing running around the woods like a wild animal?”

  She would have bristled at the rebuke, except it was too far outside his usual congenial nature to make sense. She always walked in the woods after she finished working in the stables. He often came with her, the two of them discussing projects for Argali or enjoying each other’s company.

  She spoke quietly. “What is it, Uncle? What’s wrong?”

  He pushed his hand through his dark hair. “We can meet later in the library. You’ve several petitioners waiting for you now.”

  She studied his face, trying to fathom what troubled him. No hints showed. So she nodded, to him and to Lyode. Then she limped into her house.

  •

  For her office, Kamoj had chosen a large room on the ground floor. Its tanglebirch paneling glimmered with blue and green highlights in scale patterns. The comfortable old armchairs were upholstered in gold, with a worn pattern of roses. Stained-glass lanterns hung on the walls. She didn’t sit behind her tanglebirch desk; she had always felt it distanced her from people.

  A carafe of water waited on one table, with four finely cut tumblers. Kamoj was pouring herself a drink when the housemaid showed in her first visitors, Lumenjack Donner, a broad-shouldered man with brown eyes, and Photax Prior, a much slimmer man who could juggle light-spheres like no one else in Argali. Both were wearing freshly cleaned homespun clothes and carrying their best hats, with their dark hair uncut but well-brushed for this meeting. They bowed to her.

  Kamoj beamed at them, a smile warming her face. She had known both farmers all her life. “My greetings, Goodmen.”

  Lumenjack’s deep voice rumbled. “And to you, Governor.”

  “Tidings, Gov’ner.” Photax’s hands moved restlessly on his hat as if he wanted to juggle.

  She indicated the armchairs. “Have a seat, please. Would either
of you like water?”

  Both declined as they settled in the chairs. Kamoj sat in one at right angles to theirs, so she could watch their faces and judge their moods. “What can I do for you today?”

  Lumenjack spoke up. “Photax be cheating me, ma’am. I come to ask your help.”

  “It’s a twiddling lie, it is,” Photax declared.

  Kamoj suspected that if they had agreed to seek an arbitrator, the situation was probably salvageable. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Lumenjack crossed his arms, accenting his husky build. “ Photax is plowing my land and taking my crops.”

  “It’s my land!” Photax gave Kamoj his most sincere look. “He traded it to me last year when I juggled for his daughter at the festival.”

  Lumenjack made an incredulous noise. “I wouldn’t give you my land for throwing pretty gigags in the air.” He turned to Kamoj. “I said he could have the crops, just last year, from a strip of my land that borders his.”

  “You said the land!”

  “I meant the crops!”

  Photax shot Kamoj a beseeching look. “He be going back on his bargain, Gov’nor.”

  Kamoj rubbed her chin. “Photax, do you really think such a parcel of land is a fair trade for a juggling show?”

  “That’s not the point. He made a deal and now he’s reneging.” Photax glowered at Lumenjack. “You’re as crazy as that madman Lionstar.” To Kamoj, he added, “Begging your pardon, ma’am. Lionstar rode through my fields yesterday and tore up my bi-grains.”

  Kamoj didn’t like the implications. Lionstar seemed to be stirring from his borrowed palace more often lately. “Did he recompense you for the damage?”