The Marann

by Sky Warrior Book Publishing

  “A satisfactory answer?”

  “Yes, proctor. Quite sufficient.” He turned and continued down the path. She followed. “If I told you why I wish you to stay on Tolar, would you be required to tell your Admiral?”

  “Yes, if he asked. And he probably would.”

  “And if I told you after you are one of us, and I commanded you to say nothing of it to anyone?”

  “Then I wouldn’t tell him.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Then I shall not tell you—until then.” He stopped broadcasting and closed his emotional barriers. It surprised her to feel it.

  “I understand, high one,” she said, bowing. “I’m at your service.”

  The Sural stopped and turned. “I know that, proctor,” he said, his voice devoid of expression. He headed back into the keep.

  <<>>

  The Ambassador and Adeline stood together in the ship’s infirmary a few hours later when the Alexander’s chief medical officer phased two implants, each with a clear, bold label, down to the planet.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Smitty,” Adeline said.

  “Of course I don’t,” he grumped at her. “Diplomacy is an art, not a science.”

  “That wasn’t diplomacy,” she snapped, pointing at the empty phase platform. She sighed, shoulders slumping a little, and turned to the ship’s physician, who still stood next to the phase platform, making notes. “So what exactly were those drugs and what are they going to do to her?”

  He looked up. “The one contained an overdose of a sedative, the other held its antidote. They’ll be inserted inside each side of her jaw. The sedative causes painless death in about four minutes—we were careful to choose a drug that would be short and sweet, but not too short. As long as the antidote is administered within three minutes, she’ll survive with no permanent aftereffects.”

  Adeline shuddered. It’s too late now, she thought. “At least it’s not a suicide switch,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What was that?” the doctor asked.

  “Nothing.”

  <<>>

  Marianne awakened to throbbing misery and groaned. A troupe of spiky little fire demons danced inside the entire lower half of her face. A warm, gentle hand took one of hers. Calm strength flowed from it. Then a voice spoke over her head.

  “Give her relief for the pain,” the Sural said. “Humans are not like us.”

  She tried to speak. “N-n-“

  A finger touched her lips. “Trust me,” he said in English. She tried to nod and gasped from the pain, her eyes flying open. The Sural bent over her, slipping a strong hand beneath her head, touching a cup to her lips. “Drink.”

  She tried. When she opened her lips, pain blazed through her jaws, and the liquid tasted the way floor polish smelled. She gasped, making a face and spluttering into the cup. The Sural chuckled.

  “Drink,” he repeated. He held it to her lips until she managed to swallow the entire contents, and then lowered her head. Her thoughts went muzzy.

  What did I just drink? she wondered. I hope it’s not poisonous to humans—

  She slept.

  <<>>

  When Marianne woke again, a pink and orange dawn painted the eastern sky and tinted the walls of her sleeping room. Quiet surrounded her, and warmth had replaced the pain. I know doctors who would pay good money for a drug like that, she thought. She raised both hands to her face, running her fingers under her jaws, finding the implants nestled where the apothecaries had said they would be. Something fell from the blankets as she pushed herself to a sitting position. She picked it up.

  The twig the Sural had picked from the cora tree lay in her hand, half the thickness of her little finger. Swelling buds covered it. A budding branch, she thought. To the Sural’s people, the budding branch was a symbol of renewal. It was also the symbol of hope: hope for new life, hope for better things to come, hope for joy and hope for gentle rain and growing things. Some Suralian poets used it as a symbol for blossoming love.

  She ran a finger along the twig, wondering why he had left it. I’ll bet it’s a symbol of my new status, she decided, as the door to her sleeping room opened. The Sural and Kyza stepped in, both wearing layers of heavy brocade robes in shades of Suralia blue, followed by a female servant. The servant carried a tray of food and a steaming carafe.

  The Sural’s eyes fell on the budding twig in her hands, and he smiled that infuriating, enigmatic smile. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She licked dry lips before trying to speak. “No pain,” she replied, her voice a little rough. She cleared her throat.

  “Good,” he said. “The servant will help you to dress. You must eat, and then it is time for you and Kyza to see the Jorann.”

  “I thought that wasn’t until tomorrow.”

  Kyza grinned. “It is tomorrow,” she chirped.

  Marianne rubbed her face with both hands. “I slept so long?”

  “The drug we gave you is known to have that effect,” the Sural said. Marianne started to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her. “We knew it would not harm you. My apothecaries know more of your physiology than the Admiral thinks, after studying you for eight of your years.”

  She blinked, thinking about the Admiral, about the ship, about the humorless spooks at Central Command Security. “Well,” she said with a grin twitching the corners of her mouth upward, “don’t tell him that.”

  Kyza giggled. The Sural turned toward the door. “You will find the robes you must wear in your closet,” he said as he left. “The servant will show you how to wear them.”

  Marianne snatched bites of food while she dressed. It took some time, but the servant managed to get her into the correct pieces of clothing in the correct order. The lightest weight, darkest-colored robes lay next to her skin; the lighter-colored, heavy brocade robes covered them, the colors ranging from dark to pale Suralia blue. Something warm and soft lined the three inner layers. Kyza gave her a visual inspection after the black-robed woman left and nodded approval.

  “You will need them,” the girl explained. “It is cold down there.”

  “Down where?”

  “In the ice cave where the Jorann lives.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you do not—but you will!” Kyza grinned and scampered off. Marianne blinked at her. She hadn’t seen Kyza display so much emotion the four Tolari years she’d lived on the planet as the girl had in the past three days. Four days, she corrected herself. She’d lost a day to the vile potion the Sural had made her drink.

  They’re already letting me in.

  Moving like a mummy swathed in the five layers of heavy robes, she went into the hallway and found the Sural waiting. Her heart skipped a beat. In the flickering torchlight, wearing the Suralia brocade, he dominated the primitive-looking, banner-lined corridor like a New Chin emperor.

  His mahogany eyes flashed. “Follow me,” he commanded, setting off toward the family quarters. At the end of the corridor in the family wing, a short hall split off to the right and ended at a winding staircase leading down. She looked into the stairwell. Lights spotted the wall as far as she could see. The Sural started to descend. Marianne hesitated.

  “It is a long way to the bottom,” Kyza said. “Are you strong enough? Father can carry you if you are not.”

  Marianne flinched at the thought of being carried down a bottomless staircase by Tolar’s sovereign ruler. It would be like hiring a king to be her chauffeur. She couldn’t imagine how she’d ever explain it to the Admiral, and if Addie ever found out, she wouldn’t stop teasing her until the heat death of the universe.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping it was true. Setting her jaw, she followed the Sural down the stairs.

  With the Sural leading and Kyza bringing up the rear, they descended the long stairwell. It seemed like forever, though Marianne thought a half hour was closer to accurate. The stairs ended at a wide, chiseled tunnel which continued for perhaps a kilometer, then came to another sta
ircase, this one leading up. She hesitated, her legs shaking. This time, the Sural smiled and said, “You are no burden,” and swept her into his arms to carry her up the staircase. Marianne looked over his shoulder at Kyza, who gave a one-shouldered Tolari shrug and grinned. The Sural carried her without effort.

  Marianne leaned into him and tried to keep a grip on herself. He glanced at her with an impassive expression and adjusted his hold. She’d never been this close to him before, and it provoked sensations she didn’t welcome. He radiated body heat, and she could smell his skin—it was a little like almonds. Spicy. Male. Her stomach clenched. If the Tolari released pheromones to attract each other, she could make a fool of herself.

  She felt attracted all right. Her arms ached to return his embrace. Giving herself a vicious mental kick, she held her arms rigid and concentrated on counting the steps of the broad spiral staircase, hoping he concerned himself too much with climbing them to give any thought to reading her.

  The staircase they climbed was much shorter than the stairs down from the keep. That helped. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep a lid on herself with the Sural’s arms warm around her. She found herself wondering if his lips were as warm as his arms and gave herself another mental kick. She’d never wanted to kiss anyone before; she couldn’t start now with her employer. Her aristocratic employer. For good measure, she bludgeoned herself again.

  When the staircase opened up into a grand cavern, the Sural let her down onto her own feet. She took a quick step away from him, shivering. The Sural and Kyza looked relaxed and comfortable, but they belonged to this world, cold as it was. They stood silent and still, facing the cavern’s center. She imitated their example.

  As the minutes ticked past, Marianne became aware of a figure sitting motionless on the ice in the middle of the cavern—the most wizened, old white-haired Tolari she had ever seen, in a sleeveless robe of icy white that might have been a shade of pale blue.

  This must be the Jorann, she thought. She blinked. Her skin is fair?

  “Do you bring guards or weapons or implements of destruction into my home?” the Jorann challenged in a strong voice belying her age.

  “No, highest,” the Sural replied. His voice resounded with a sincerity even Marianne could hear.

  “Come, my children.”

  The Sural led them forward. The Jorann motioned them to sit on thick fuzzy white blankets covering the ice before the dais. When they had seated themselves, she spoke again.

  “I greet you, children.” Her face wrinkled into a fond smile.

  “You honor us, highest,” answered the Sural.

  The Jorann turned her attention on Marianne. “You are not one of my children.”

  Marianne looked up into the old crone’s face and gasped at the blue eyes gazing back at her. The Jorann broke into a merry laugh.

  “You’re human?” Marianne blurted.

  “It is more accurate to say that I was once human.”

  “What—” Marianne stopped herself.

  The old woman cackled with glee. “Oh ho, you have learned good manners from my grandson!” In the corner of Marianne’s eye, the Sural bent his head to acknowledge the compliment. “I can see why he wants to take you into the family. Brains as well as beauty.”

  Marianne swiveled to look at the Sural. He raised an eyebrow in reply.

  “You realize that you are quite a beauty by our standards?” the Jorann continued. “Breathtaking. No wonder he is besotted. But never mind that. I have summoned you and Kyza here to give you my blessing.”

  The Jorann gave Marianne no time to digest her comments. She pushed herself off the dais and hobbled over to a rock on which sat a crystal box, taking from it a number of small whitish cubes, the size and shape of sugar cubes. She turned to Kyza and placed one in her hand.

  “You are Kyza,” she said. “Daughter and heir of Suralia. I give you rank and status second to the Sural.”

  “You honor me, highest,” Kyza said, sitting up straighter, her face wreathed in a huge smile. Her eyes shone.

  The Sural cast an indulgent smile at his daughter. The Jorann shuffled toward him and placed a cube in his hand.

  “Grandson,” she said. “I greet you, Suralia.”

  He gazed up at her, the expression on his face resembling something akin to worship. “You honor me, highest,” he murmured.

  The Jorann’s eyes glinted, and her lips twitched. “The seal on your heart has broken, grandson.”

  “Yes, highest.”

  She shook with dry chuckles and moved in front of Marianne. Marianne held up both hands to accept the cube the Jorann offered. She flicked a glance at the Sural. Both eyebrows climbed his forehead.

  “You are Marianne,” the Jorann said. Marianne’s attention snapped back to the old woman. “Today you are a daughter of Suralia. You belong to us.”

  The Jorann nodded to the Sural, and both he and Kyza put the cubes in their mouths. Marianne reached for her scanner, which she had slipped up a sleeve before leaving the stronghold.

  “You will not need that, child,” the Jorann said.

  “But highest—”

  “You must obey me in this. If you scan my blessing, its molecular structure will change, and it will not then do what I need it to do for you. If you scan it, it will poison you. If you do not, it will make you one of us.”

  Marianne looked at the Sural. “Trust us,” he said. Marianne took a deep breath, looked up at the Jorann, and nodded.

  “Put the cube in your mouth and let it melt on your tongue,” she said.

  “Yes, highest.” Marianne put the tiny white cube in her mouth.

  The world went away.

  <<>>

  The Sural caught Marianne as she slumped against him. The Jorann’s blessing sent her sinking into unconsciousness so deep her presence dimmed from his senses, despite the physical contact. Shifting sideways, he cradled her head in one arm and supported her upper body with the other.

  “Heir to Suralia,” the Jorann said, “you will find blankets against the wall. Bring one.”

  Pride flashed through his daughter at the title. She jumped up and scampered off. He glanced at the Jorann and met eyes which seemed to penetrate his soul.

  “Your senses are bruised,” she said.

  He lowered his gaze to Marianne. So deep in unconsciousness, her face had relaxed into a serene beauty that filled his heart with longing.

  “She fought herself and struck me. I shielded Kyza from the empathic blows.” The old one snorted. He let his lips curve. “She has no awareness of how little privacy she has. The stairs did not seem an appropriate place to educate her.”

  “That will change when she wakes.”

  Kyza returned and tried to throw a blanket over Marianne, managing only to drape her… feet, while the rest of the cover lay alongside her. Still supporting her head, he let her slip down until she lay in his lap, freeing an arm to assist his daughter.

  Expressionless and unreadable, the Jorann sat silent as he and Kyza smoothed the blanket over Marianne. When she lay covered, he raised his eyes once more to the revered ancient. Her hands curled in her lap, a sliver of white showing between her fingers.

  “Will you take your blessing?” he asked.

  She lifted an eyebrow, eyes sparkling. “Do you worry over me, Suralia?”

  He bit back a response. The Jorann was a powerful empath; she could read his concern even with his barriers shut. The idea she would walk into the dark during his rule appalled him, but he could not read her to know if she intended to allow her long life to end. He could do nothing if she did.

  “No, grandson.” Her face softened into a gentle smile. “I have yet to lose interest in life.” She placed the cube on her tongue.

  Relief washed through him. His heart easing, he gazed down at the women he held. She used her people’s separation of person and profession as a barricade against him. While carrying her up the steps, he had sensed every nuance of her struggle with her own de
sire, had felt the fear provoking her to quell it with painful emotional blows.

  He would need all his experience and insight to help her adjust to the revelations she faced when she awakened.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marianne floated into consciousness, a strange energy thrumming from head to toe. Three presences glowed around her, two of them blank and unreadable, one eager and fidgeting. A half day had passed. How do I know all that? Her head lay in a warm lap, and a musky, male scent drifted over her from the Sural.

  Wait—what?

  “The blessing makes you one of us.” Kyza’s voice rang with a world of meaning—a child’s pride in her own knowledge. “It is not just a ritual that says, ‘Now we say that you are one of us.’ It makes you one of us.”

  Marianne opened blurry eyes.

  “Welcome to our world, child,” said a young woman with white hair cascading around her in long, intricate braids. Marianne’s head lay in her lap. As her vision focused, she recognized the young woman’s eyes. They had looked out of the ancient Jorann’s face.

  “The blessing gives youth to the old,” the Sural said.

  “This is—”

  “The Jorann,” he answered. “Yes.”

  “What did that stuff do to me?” she asked, probing her face with her fingers.

  “Your appearance is little changed,” he said, “but you are changing, becoming one of us.”

  “I’m becoming Tolari?” she gasped. “What? How?”

  “I did tell you, did I not, that you would become Tolari?”

  “I didn’t think you meant it literally!” Marianne’s hands flew to her jaws. “Then why...?”

  “You are new,” he answered, “and you are only beginning to become Tolari. When your ability to walk into the dark has developed, my apothecaries will remove the implants.”

  “It will take some time, child,” said the Jorann, “before you are fully one of us. Five or six seasons, perhaps as much as two years. The process will accelerate as it progresses, but the beginning is quite slow.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “She is the first Tolari,” Kyza answered, voice still ringing with pride.