Kinsman's Oath

by Susan Krinard

  She grasped the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him back to her mouth. "I want you, Ronan," she whispered. "Now."

  He had never found a surer welcome. Her body enfolded him like an ocean of peace where time had no meaning. He moved, and she moved with him. He murmured words she could not understand, and she gave him the universe in the unsparing gaze of her blue eyes.

  They were not gods, nor angels. Their shared humanity was the greatest gift that Cynara's love had bestowed, and he could never repay her.

  Completion came as softly as the loving. Cynara shuddered and sighed beneath him, her hands massaging the throbbing muscles of his back and shoulders. He remained inside her as long as he could, chest to chest and thigh to thigh. At last her eyes closed and her head sank into the pillow. He kissed her brow and tucked the blankets under her chin. Even in sleep her grip on him could not be broken.

  He cradled her in the hollow of his curved body and tried to sleep. There were no nightmares.

  Dawn came with the smell of an unseasonably late snowfall. Ronan worked his way free of Cynara's arms and went to the shuttered window. The sky hung heavy with clouds; there would be concern among the an'laik'i field workers.

  He glanced back at Cynara and denied the temptation to return to her side. There was no more he could give her now. His body ached, but his wounds were already healing; they must both be fit to meet the new day's challenge. He sat in the center of the room and practiced the Eightfold Way three times before Cynara awoke.

  She sat up and pushed the blankets away, seeking him in the dim light provided by the single open shutter. Her skin appeared flushed, as if in memory of their joining. "How long have I been asleep?"

  "Do not be concerned," he said. "Nothing has happened."

  She combed her fingers through her hair, ordering it as best she could, and draped one of the blankets about her shoulders. "I meant to keep watch while you slept. I'm sorry."

  "No need. Shaauri would not enter without warning."

  "But humans would. And Kinsmen are human."

  "When they come to Aitu, everyone will know."

  She swung her legs over the bunk, shook out her shipsuit, and put it on. "How are you feeling?"

  "Better." He smiled, watching her small, graceful motions as if they were steps in a captivating dance. "You helped. I can still fight."

  She hesitated and then came to sit beside him. "You believe it'll come to that?"

  "The settling of disputes can be very simple, especially among Lines such as Kalevi. It is an ancient way that any shaaurin may seek if other methods prove inadequate."

  "Fighting each other?"

  "Among certain Paths, yes. Among others, like those of Spirit, the competition may take a different form. Once the challenge is given and accepted, the outcome is final."

  "Those Darja warriors weren't following the rules."

  "There are always those who behave with dishonor."

  "Then it's the strong who ultimately conquer."

  "Not always the strongest. Sometimes it is the bravest and most determined. There are old tales of weak shaauri who defeated great warriors because of their use of what you would call psychology."

  "If it was a matter of courage, you'd win. But we're sentient beings, Ronan, not wild animals."

  Her scorn for the shaauri cut worse than Darja nails. "You understand so little of shaauri ways. Poverty as you know it does not exist here. Each has his or her place and function, and will never starve or be cast out except as punishment for the most severe crimes. And crime itself is rare."

  "Because people's lives are preordained by Selection. And your ne'li… aren't they outcasts without recourse? You condemn them because they don't fit neatly into your social structure."

  "Even ne'li are provided for by most Houses."

  "But they live on the outside, always apart."

  "Is it so unlike the way females are treated on Dharma, or those of different body shape or color or doctrine on other human worlds?"

  She shook her head. "Humans make the same mistakes, Ronan. But you idealize the shaauri far too much."

  "And you judge them too harshly." He got to his feet and offered his hand to her. "Come. There are things I would have you see."

  She took his hand. "Won't some shaaurin or other challenge you if you go out again?"

  "Not yet. And you are under my protection."

  Her dubious expression spoke almost as clearly as shaauri body-speech. "Will they think it a weakness if I keep this blanket?"

  "We will go first to the weavers' lodge and get you an outer garment."

  She tossed the blanket on the nearest bed and accompanied him to the door, casting an uneasy glance at the leaden sky. Ronan kept her close to him as he followed the labyrinthine paths between buildings to Anki-ja and the workshops of an'laik'i crafters.

  Ronan was very much aware of the shaauri they passed.

  Many reacted with hostility, as Cynara had observed, but others were warily cordial in ways she would not be likely to recognize. They had reason to be guarded, especially those of the more docile Paths who avoided conflict.

  Yet Ronan had no doubt that if he required it, assistance would be forthcoming. Soon he would visit his old companions and renew the ba'laik'i bonds he, unique among Kalevi, maintained in adulthood.

  He and Cynara soon reached the weavers' lodge, situated among those of other an'laik'i crafters. He asked Cynara to remain in the anteroom while he went to the First of Weavers with his request.

  As he hoped, the crafters were curious to see this new human. The First was not personally known to Ronan, but he was amiable and quite willing to provide covering for Kalevi's furless guest.

  'They don't hate us?" Cynara asked when he returned to fetch her.

  "They are not warriors or leaders who make policy or fight battles. They take satisfaction in their own work, and most have never left this world."

  "Not even on Walkabout?"

  'There are shaauri who remain very near their House or Line Holdings, and such almost always select as Body. An'laik'i, by nature, are not aggressive. But they do hear of all that passes in the settlement. I am the only other alien they have ever observed."

  The weavers crowded as close to Cynara as courtesy permitted, faces averted, silent only in voice. She allowed them to look their fill. The First offered a neutral greeting and came forward with a heavy vest made for a youth near Cynara's size.

  She took the folded garment carefully, smiling with her lips closed. "How am I to pay for this?"

  "Since you are my responsibility and I am still of this House, you owe nothing."

  "I see," she murmured, though he knew she did not. "How do you say 'thank you' in Voishaaur?"

  "Ina-sh'ei vai kana—it means, roughly, 'My honor to you.'"

  She repeated the word with a comprehensible accent, and the Aho'An's ears twitched in amazement. He answered eagerly and mimicked her smile.

  "He asks that you come again if the vest proves inadequate to cover your body," Ronan translated. "He is very sorry that you have no fur of your own."

  "At the moment, so am I."

  Ronan thanked the weavers and helped Cynara into the vest. It was vastly oversized, but it was warm and would cut the worst of the chill.

  "You didn't ask for one yourself," she chided. "I presume your usual immunity to pain, hunger, the elements, and other human hazards is still operating at full capacity."

  "I am accustomed to the cold," he said humbly.

  "Someday I expect you to teach me these tricks of yours. Where now?"

  "To Riama-ja… Place of Spirit."

  He led her through a new-budding garden to the compound of the ri'laik'i. Cynara paused to admire the intricate, interlocked designs carved into the walls and doors of the lodges. "These buildings are different from the weavers'," she commented.

  "They reflect the disciplines of those of Spirit—philosophers, artists, those who seek the intangible."

 
"You've never mentioned shaauri religion. Are there priests as well?"

  'There are shaauri who study the wisdom of the Ancestors and interpret for all the House. They are of great importance to Kalevi, because my Line is committed to tradition in all things." He entered the door of the first lodge and walked without hesitation to the inner door. The shaauri within did not look up from their work. Two sat at huge desks, poring over fragile books brought from Aur itself. Others simply gazed at some inner vision.

  In the next lodge, shaauri artisans carved ceremonial staffs and painted pictorial records of Ain'Kalevi history on handmade scrolls. They hardly noticed the humans' presence.

  "Selection gives much easier jobs to some shaauri than others," Cynara said when they had left the second lodge. "I'd far rather be one of these than a laborer in the field."

  "Yet each is suited to his or her task, without the need to seek elsewhere for contentment. Humans search always for such a place. You were not satisfied to remain a breeding female on Dharma; your Selection at birth was flawed."

  "So it was." She met his gaze gravely. "But at least I still have a choice."

  "Sihvaaro teaches that all Paths are one."

  'They allow him to speak of such revolutionary concepts freely?"

  "Few listen, or believe."

  "Do you, Ronan?"

  "I would follow Sihvaaro's example and be content."

  She shook her head. "I think you still have your own Path to make."

  Her words said far more than what their simplest meaning implied. She still feared his loyalties and where they might lead him.

  She feared for his soul.

  "I have one thing more to show you," he said.

  Cynara ran a few paces to catch up to Ronan, dividing her attention between him, the environment of an unfamiliar culture, and the winding path behind them. Every corner or garden thicket provided possible cover for ambush; she had none of Ronan's confidence that shaauri would disdain a covert attack, and a' very healthy respect for the damage razor-sharp nails could do to human flesh.

  She was also disturbed that Ronan found it necessary to convince her of shaauri worth. You have nothing to prove to me, she wanted to tell him.

  But she would be lying. These aliens were not worthy of Ronan's loyalty; nothing he'd shown her had changed her opinion. She felt only pity for the low-ranked shaauri stuck with menial labor and no hope of advancement through hard work or simple determination.

  Like women on Dharma, she reminded herself. This is hardly the time to debate philosophy when both of you are in very real danger.

  But if she was to turn Ronan completely to the human side, she had to be able to counter his arguments, even when they came from his heart and not his head. Their mutual affection and regard was not enough. She had to understand him and his adopted way of life better than she ever had before.

  Ronan stopped, and she realized they'd reached the next compound. Linei-ja," he said. "Place of Heart."

  Unlike the others, this compound was made up of many smaller dwellings, with broad gravel yards in between. The arrangement reminded Cynara of nothing so much as a schoolyard. Even as she thought it, a group of very young shaauri trotted out into the yard and began to play with a ball, tossing it from hand to hand and butting it with their heads. The hissing of shaauri laughter was like water rushing over stone.

  "Ba'laik'i," Ronan said. "The children of Ain'Kalevi."

  Children, like children everywhere. Their bodies were small and still learning to move with shaauri grace; fur was tones and tints of solid red, no sign of barring. The youngsters were so absorbed in their play that it was several moments before one of them noticed the humans.

  Immediately they fell silent, as if the message had been passed from one to the next on a single breath. Eyes grew very wide and ears waved madly. All at once one of the children bounded forward, stopped, and then hurled itself at Ronan.

  Cynara hadn't a hope of putting herself in the shaaurin's path. It crashed into Ronan and sent them both tumbling to the ground. Cynara lunged to pull the little hellion away, but Ronan had already flipped the child onto its back.

  "Silta," he hissed, followed by a string of vowels and consonants, squeaks, and rumbles. Then he did something utterly unexpected and entirely human: He tickled the youngster until it rolled up into a tight ball and yowled for mercy.

  The attack had not been an attack at all. Cynara swallowed her amazement as the other children drew closer.

  Ronan hauled the youngster up by the collar of its loose vest and grinned at Cynara. "Silta is the child—son—of Annukki, who bore him during her Walkabout and now lives as ki'laik'in. She was among the ba'laik'i I knew when I was a child."

  Cynara crouched to the youngster's level. Red-gold eyes stared into hers. "Please tell him I'm glad to meet him."

  Ronan translated, and Silta's ears flattened in a look of astonishment. He asked a long and obviously complex question.

  "He asks," Ronan said with a very straight face, "if I have brought you back from Walkabout as my mate."

  'This seems to be the general assumption," she said with feigned amusement. "What will you tell him?"

  "If I were va'laik 'in or ve'laik'in, I could tell him that you are pregnant with my offspring, and I kidnapped you so that our child would be of Kalevi and not your Line." His eyes sparkled with unexpected mischief. "Shaauri children are not so protected about the necessities of mating as humans seem to be."

  She touched her stomach, hot with the image of Ronan's child inside her. It could have happened, even last night. She had never thought to bear children.

  "Isn't it enough that I'm your hostage?" she said.

  "Not to Silta. He knows mere is something more."

  She couldn't mistake the way he watched her, as if he waited for a definitive response. What did he expect her to say that she hadn't already? What more could she give?

  "He wouldn't understand if you told him we were friends," she said.

  The light died in Ronan's eyes. "Perhaps I can explain another time." He turned to the boy and gave him a gentle push toward the other youngsters. Cynara felt as though she'd struck Ronan down, and she didn't know what to do about it.

  He'd never said he loved her, far less suggested a permanent mating. And if he had… if he did… was that what she had been hoping for, like any proper, desperate Dharman female?

  What she'd offered Ronan demanded no repayment, no promises. He must know that. He'd already agreed without saying a word.

  "The children seem very happy," she said as Silta rejoined the game.

  "They have all they want or need."

  "Silta's parents don't take care of him."

  "His father is of another Line and has no claim on the boy, though his genetic signature has been carefully recorded in the annals of Ain'Kalevi. His mother has her own work."

  "Humans would regard that as—"

  "Wrong. But humans raise their offspring even if they are ill-suited to the work, and the child suffers. No shaauri child is without love or proper care. Those adults drawn to nurturing, li'laik'i, can never be driven to unhappiness or cruelty toward their charges. Their patience is endless."

  "What about your own children? You aren't of any one Path. Would you care for them yourself?"

  His face lost its color. "I will have no offspring."

  "What makes you so sure of that, Ronan?"

  He looked ready to respond and then swallowed his words. Tension, feral and erotic, laced the air between them.

  "It's the old claim of unworthiness," Cynara said, snapping the angry silence. "You don't think you have the right to pass on your many defects to another generation." And that's why you hold back, Ronan. That's why you wait in stoic patience until you've proven yourself to me and the world.

  Unworthy. Never the true equal of Cynara D'Accorso.

  "We will speak no more of this," he said, turning away.

  Cynara hung back to watch the shaauri children. They s
quabbled and tussled and tested as children will, but without the bloodthirsty intensity she had seen in boys on Dharma. They seemed to understand each other's limits instinctively, and not push beyond them.

  "What happens when a ba'laik'in needs to be punished?" she asked.

  Ronan's shoulders relaxed, and he smiled at her as if in apology. "Very little behavior is punished. It is the time of rhoka-toi'sun, irresponsibility. Much is tolerated of ba'laik'i before Walkabout, when they become be'laik'i and are free to go where they will until Selection finds them."

  "It's a shame they didn't treat you with such tolerance."

  "Come," Ronan said, taking her hand. They walked up a low ramp to the door of the nearest building. The moment they stepped inside, warmth embraced them.

  "Linei-ja is built over natural hot springs," Ronan said, "to provide the young with extra comfort." He crossed the antechamber, very like those in the other buildings with its padded benches for visitors, and into a room bright with light from numerous windows and painted in rich earth tones.

  Three shaauri children sat on floor cushions, two playing with what appeared to be a wooden, three-dimensional puzzle, the third reading aloud as an adult watched over its shoulder. The second adult in the room sat cross-legged at a low desk and looked up at the sound of footsteps.

  Ronan stopped. "Li Hanno," he said. The name was an endearment, thick with emotion and memory.

  The shaaurin stood up. It—she, Cynara decided, certain without knowing why—laid her ears to the side and made an odd, keening sound.

  "She who raised me," Ronan murmured to Cynara. Hanno circled the desk and passed the wide-eyed students and second li'laik'in. They met in the center of the room; there was no hesitation, no formality in their embrace.

  "Ronan," Hanno said, still keening in a way that would have alarmed Cynara if not for her obvious delight. She was Ronan's height, small for a shaaurin, and her fur was a bright mahogany but lightly marked with black. If any shaauri face could be called gentle, hers met the description.

  Human and shaaurin fell into rapid conversation. Ronan had not looked so relaxed since he had come to Aitu. Hanno expressed herself with great vivacity, her hands and whiskers and ears in constant motion. She touched Ronan again and again, like an anxious relative making sure that a loved one had returned whole from a long journey. Her feelings were plain even to human eyes.