by Ako Emanuel
She would not move, even when he took her elbow solicitously.
“Pentuk, please,” he whispered, looking around, embarrassed. He did not want anyone to see this. “Get up. This is all unnecessary, really.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Highness. What I did was unpardonable,” she said carefully, attempting to control her quaking voice. “One does not speak to an Av’Son that way.”
“No,” he replied, his voice grave. “One does not.”
She looked up, her eyes filled with dread, only to see his smile. “But I won’t tell if you won’t - just don’t do it again,” he said lightly. When she only continued to stare at him fearfully, he sighed. “I forgive you, Pentuk. You are royally pardoned. Exonerated. Absolved of all guilt. Freed of all penance. All right? Now will you get up? My back hurts.”
She blinked stupidly for a while, then slowly stood, helped by his hand on her elbow, her face unreadable.
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you, so to speak - I was looking for you,” he said, noticing for the first time how scantily clad she was as he began expertly arranging her guinne. She wore little more than a linen loincloth girded across her hips with a fine silver mesh. And across her breasts she wore only a long strip of gossamer-like gauze arranged as a bustiere. On her feet were soft-soled sandals. He put the finishing touches on her hair as this registered in his mind. It was a prudent, though alluring, way to dress here in the hot, somewhat stuffy sub-basements. His own linen de’siki and kwats were already sticking to him with sweat. She kept very still as he worked, her hands clasped tight about each other, then she stepped away, her hand going to the arrangement, unconsciously checking it. She looked at him with wide eyes, a streak of grey dust upon her forehead. She looked disarmingly sweet.
“You - were looking for me, Av’Son?” she echoed.
“Yes.” He pulled a kerchief from a pocket and took her chin gently in one hand. She stiffened and began to pull away, then thought better of it. “I came to ask you if you would care to accompany us in retrieving the Heir. I know that sending for you might have been more convenient, considering our little mishap, but I get to come to the Library so seldom these turns.” He wiped the dust from her forehead. Her face grew warm in his hand and she finally did pull away.
“Ask?” she said, swiping at her clean forehead with a dusty hand. Staventu smiled sadly to himself. She was obviously still not over her shock, and he doubted that anything he said or did would speed her recovery of her wits. He had never known anyone like her. Any other young woman would have been flirting with him by now, once he had given his pardon. But Pentuk seemed almost painfully shy, at least around him. It was quite a change. He sighed as he watched her. She was adorable with dust on her face.
She looked around at the scattered books and wrung her hands, at a complete loss. He waited for her to get hold of herself.
“I interrupted you,” he said at last, bending over to gather those texts nearest his feet. “I can help you with whatever it was that you were doing.”
“No! That - that isn’t necessary, Av’Son. I’ll get someone else to do it.” She took the books from his hands and dropped them on the table, then went to a waist-high drum at the end of the stacks, her movements as graceful as a dancer’s. He watched her move, admiringly. She thrummed out a message with her fingertips, the only part of which that he understood was the title ‘Av’Son.’ He looked at the title of the books around him, stooped to pick another one off the ground.
“Pre-Yo’teng herstory?” he asked when she returned. She nodded, taking the book gently from his hands and holding it as if it were a shield.
“It’s one of my areas of concentration,” she said softly, carefully putting the book back on its shelf. “I study and cross-reference texts on different areas of ancient herstory, which is why Teacher Rukto assigned me to work with the Heir. One of my favorite periods is the Pre-Yo’teng period.” She picked up more books and began shelving them with crisp precision. She would not look at him.
“I never delved that deeply into that era,” he said, which was not exactly true. But she seemed more at ease when she was talking about something familiar. He decided to try and keep her talking as he handed her more books.
“It’s quite fascinating,” she said.
“Really? Tell me all about it,” he urged, watching the sweet curve of her back as she moved from shelf to shelf. She did not get a chance to answer, for just then the terminus of an av’tun opened, admitting to their presence a young man with shoulder-length guinne. He was similarly clad in loincloth and sandals. He bowed to Staventu gracefully, arms spread, then touched Pentuk’s cheek in greeting.
“I’ll take over for you,” he said in a deep, caressing voice, a smile vivid in his dark, handsome face. Pentuk smiled in return, in gratitiude. The tension of attraction between the two was evident.
She turned away to face Staventu. “Let me take you from here, Av’Son,” she said as the other took over where she had left off. She flowed past. Staventu turned to follow, glancing back to the male Librarian. That other was looking sidelong at him; their eyes locked and the other raised his head to meet Staventu’s gaze full on. A slight, hard, ironic smile touched the other’s lips, and he nodded once, a small dip of his head. Staventu hurried after his retreating guide’s back, wondering what the gesture meant.
Pentuk led him out of the labyrinthine Library, up to one of the larger study lains near the top of the structure.
“This is where the Heir and I did most of our work,” she said. The circular walls were dominated by huge, lightly curtained windows and the roof by a large crystal dome with narrow striations that diffused the brilliant light of Av. A beige carpet covered the floor and low, reclining chairs circled the large, light-colored wooden table in the center. The table was half covered by stacks of loosely bound papi’ras tablets. The other half held books.
“These are all notes?” he asked, picking up a tablet. His sister’s familiar scrawl filled the page.
“Yes, Av’Son.” She paused, touched a chair. He pulled it out and held it for her, then seated himself, waiting for her to continue. The pause grew into an uncomfortable silence, as she, obviously waited for him, seeming to forget that she was obligated to speak first - since he outranked her. He was about to break the silence when she beat him to it.
“You - ah - mentioned asking me something, Av’Son?” she said. “What would you have of me?”
“Yes, that.” He placed the notepad back on its stack, leaned forward and looked meaningfully at her. “Would you consider accompanying us on the search for the Heir?” he asked quietly. “Your knowledge would be invaluable to us; and your presence most - welcome.” He did not bother to try to keep his attraction to her out of his voice.
Pentuk lowered her head, hesitant, though not displeased. “Av’Son, I - my duties - I don’t know if...”
“I could make arrangements for you to be free to go, if there is a problem,” he assured her. “You need not decide right away - Mother still has to perform the Rite of Seeking. Oh, and your suggestion turned out to be exactly right - Mother praised it as brilliant,” he added. Her face lit up at that. Then she looked uncertain.
“But why would you need me? Would I not be more of a hindrance?”
“No, of course not,” he said emphatically. “We will need your expertise if this creature turns out to be dangerous. You did help the Heir design the trap for it, didn’t you?”
“But it obviously failed,” she said, sounding abashed. “Otherwise the Heir would be back.”
“We don’t know that,” he countered. “Look, you are the resident expert on this being. We need your input, desperately.” He was so earnest, so sincere, Pentuk found herself on the verge of saying she would go.
“What of - my - dishonorable behavior?” she found herself saying instead.
“Forgotten,” he said. “You are absolved. As far as I am concerned, it never happened.”
She looked up into
his eyes, and a hesitant smile began to touch her lips - and then a flash of memory seemed to slash across her features, twisting them to something horribly tragic. It vanished almost instantly, however. She stood abruptly.
“Highness, I cannot. Please, may I be excused from your presence?”
“Of course,” he said, sitting back, taken aback by the sudden change of heart, but careful not to show it. The hurt confusion by her rejection still communicated itself to her, though. She bowed and fled the lain.
Alone, he puzzled. What could have scared her off? Surely it was not his attraction to her; it seemed to please her. Then he thought of the male Librarian and the smile she had gifted him with. The pull of attraction between them was evident. Perhaps they were already paired and she did not have the heart to tell him. Perhaps calling the other had been a subtle hint, and the look that was not quite challenge a not-so-subtle hint. That would explain her reaction. That explained it all too well.
Staventu heaved a sigh, swallowing emotions he did not want to examine too closely. It was going to be a long journey.
the shelves turned, darkly lit...
Pentuk barged into Rukto’s study, quite forgetting to announce herself, or any other shred of courtesy.
Rukto, reading in his favorite chair, did not sternly remind her of this. He did not seem cross with her at all. In fact, he seemed to be expecting her. He merely held out a fatherly hand and she fell to her knees at his feet, placing her head in his aged lap. She was not quite crying. Much. Anymore.
His hand stroked her satin guinned head as he made soothing noises and spoke gentle, half-heard reassurances.
“I - had a feeling you’d find your way here,” he said finally, when her muffled sounds of distress finally quieted.
“Teacher - I -” she began in a voice of purest liquid misery, but then could not go on.
Rukto sighed. He knew why she had come and why in such great distress. It could only be that the Crown Prince Staventu had come to her to ask her to join them on their search for the Heir; and she had panicked.
Ah, my sweet child, I’ve kept you too sheltered for too long, he thought. Perhaps I was selfish for keeping you cloistered here in this place. Perhaps I should have pushed you away a little, started you back on the road to independence sooner. But your recovery was so long and your love of books so close to mine, that it was easy to just keep you wrapped up and near me.
And he remembered when they had first brought her to him, his face set grim with the remembrance.
...She huddled away in the farthest corner of the lain in which they had left her, the books she had gotten up the courage to take down and start reading abandoned in the middle of the floor. The olbey’woman D’rad’ni explained softly that she was from the Indigno Tribe and how the Crown Prince of that Tribe had forced himself onto her. How she had not yet been schooled by an Ov’ta’mu, an instructor in sex - the gentle, understanding and loving first sexual partner that all young adults have so that they know what sex could and should be - a beautiful communion of emotion and physical love shared between two people. The olbey’woman told how the young Pentuk had been forced to defend herself, but not until after he had cruelly hurt her and scorned her, not until after he had brutally entered her. That Crown Prince, D’rad’ni had explained, had come close to death from the encounter. But the damage had been done. The case had come to the High Queen’s attention and she had taken pity on Pentuk and had brought her here to recover and receive schooling.
And then the olbey’woman had looked him straight in the eye and said that the High Queen had asked that he oversee the rest of the girl’s recovery. And all he could do was stare at the girl in sympathy and numbly nod his head...
That had been a long time ago, almost seven cycles. Rukto had begun his care for her by leaving her exactly where she was, not trying to move her or coax her in anyway. Wondering at the wisdom of having a male in charge of her, considering what she had been though, but not questioning the decision of the High Queen, he had called in mostly female novices to help with her. The first thing he had told them to do was to bring food, a pallet and clean clothing, and to push the books she had chosen closer so she might reach them. He had had more books on the same or similar topics brought and also pushed within her reach. Then he took up resident across the lain from her, leaving the door open (so she would not feel trapped) with female novices just outside so that if she bolted, they would be ready to follow her.
“And just follow,” he had cautioned them sternly. “Nothing else. Don’t try to stop her or lure her back. Warn everyone to leave her alone and stay out of her way. When she finally stops somewhere, keep your distance and one of you come and get me.”
Thus prepared, he had approached the frightened adolescent Pentuk and told her in as kind a voice as he could that she should feel free to eat or read or sleep as she pleased. She, of course, cringed away from him, but he paid that no mind and went to his side of the lain to read. After a while he had closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. And soon he heard her drag the books and food closer and start in on both, though he could feel her eyes touch his face every so often. And he had smiled to himself.
He turned the lain, his study, into a little suite for her, complete with a privy and bath expanded into the corner and a small av’an created, all by the use of rites. He had food and clothing brought in regularly, and more books on many diverse topics, all by girls close to Pentuk’s age. And he himself came every turn at zenith and read in her company, and talked to her, even though she did not answer. He shared interesting little facts and told her stories, explained his duties and joked about his age. And slowly, he saw her begin to respond, first to the novices, ‘tunning thoughts to them, though she still shied from talking, and then, finally, to Rukto himself.
That was when he brought in Denyo, a kind, sensible boy. Rukto had explained her situation to the male novice outside of her presence and asked for the boy’s help re-acclimating her to the other gender. A clever, innovative, and ever genial boy, Denyo had an infectious grin and the propensity for telling the most ridiculous jokes and stories. So they staged the boy’s entrance, the excuse being some errand for Denyo to run. Pentuk had reacted with fear and had withdrawn again, as Rukto expected; but he kept sending for the boy. Eventually she became used to his presence. And one turn Denyo came in from an errand and stopped to share a funny story with his teacher. He had done this every time he had come, but this time, as they laughed, they heard an answering giggle from her corner of the lain. They had shared a secret, triumphant smile.
After that Rukto had arranged for Denyo to come in when he himeslf was not there, to see if she might open up to him.
And one such time, as he listened at the door, he again smiled in triumph. Denyo had gone in and asked in an exasperated voice if the senile, heat-touched old geezer had wandered off again and forgotten that he had sent the much-abused novice on some long and wearying errand, only to forget he had done so and had gone off and started something else by the time Denyo returned. He could almost hear the grin on Denyo’s face and in his voice as he asked Pentuk genially where the old book-gara had got to; for, evidently, she responded.
“Oh, he went that way, huh? Well, I’m sure he can find his way back again. In the mean time, I get to rest my feet and talk to you, my delightful dear. So you liked my story the other turn, did you? Well, it was absolutely true. You wouldn’t believe some of the things that happen to me! Like, for example, just this morn...” and from there the novice spun, complete with sound effects, the most ridiculous yarn of mishap and ill fortune ever to befall an unwary and totally blameless novice. Within a san’chron he had her laughing helplessly, and in two, though she had been there for two-thirds of a season without doing so, talking.
“Why do you stay mewed up in here with that dried-up old stick?” he finally asked. “I see you like to read. Well, there is a whole library out there for you to read, with millions of books, too, on any subject you can
imagine! I could - show you if you’d like.”
He had apparently gotten her to her feet and halfway to the door when she had tentatively asked whether he would get in trouble by not being there when the Librarian got back. He had laughed it off and said, “He wanted these books? Well, I’ll just leave them right here where he can trip on them. The fall will probably do nothing more than jog his memory. And if I do get into trouble - well, it’ll be worth it just to be with you.”
From that moment on they had become almost inseparable. Denyo came for her every turn and showed her the Library, inadvertently teaching her all the duties of a novice as they went along. Rukto still interacted with her, and she, however shyly, responded.
Denyo helped her make friends among the other novices, the group of them getting into all types of mischief, though never into anything seriously harmful. And one turn, half a cycle later, Denyo approached the Head Librarian with a reluctant Pentuk in tow.
“Teacher,” he had said, holding her hand tight to keep her from running away, “Pentuk has something she’d like to ask you.”
Playing up his ‘old geezer’ role, he had cupped his hand to his ear as if he could not hear him. “Eh?”
Denyo repeated his statement, laughter audible in his voice.
“What? She wants to know about Summa Ask’yu? She says she saw a taro’asbyu? She came to give me a nasty basku?”
Reduced to giggles by the performance, she asked in a timid, trembling voice to be allowed to enter the novice-hood to train to be a Librarian.
“What, child?” he had said loudly. “Speak up! Goddess bless me, with the way you whisper, you should be a Librarian!”
Denyo had laughed and said that that was good enough for him, and that he would sign her up for classes and Rukto would never know the difference. “He can’t remember me half the time, anyway!”
And from there, Pentuk launched into her life’s work. She had learned later on, of course, that most of the antics between Denyo and Rukto had been largely staged for her benefit, to put her at ease, and that Rukto actually missed very little. He had followed her education and career very carefully, his eye on making her his successor.
