Worlds Apart (ThreeCon)

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  “And how long does this shindig last?” Tinibu asked.

  “Three days. There’s a dinner, like tonight, on the last night. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, everyone packs up and goes home.”

  Tinibu drained his cup. “I guess we’ll find out what she’s up to soon enough. We may not know what’s going on when it happens, but you will.”

  Prax shook his head. “There’s nothing she can do.”

  Tinibu grinned. “I offered five to one she’d bring you back with her. No one would take my money.”

  Prax didn’t comment. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Nakamura, and he asked after her.

  Tinibu smiled into his cup. “She didn’t come this trip. She’s back on Subidar, looking for an apartment.”

  Prax was surprised. “Are you two getting married?”

  His friend grinned, plainly proud of himself. “We already are. Ingrid is surprisingly old fashioned, and she wanted to be married when the baby comes.”

  Prax was shocked. “Nakamura is going to be a mother?” He found the idea incredible.

  Tinibu nodded. “Just goes to show you what can come of these things.”

  There was a sound of footsteps, and a figure appeared by the fire. It was Circe Mercouri.

  Prax stood up and introduced his mother to his friends, which was difficult, because neither one understood what he was saying to the other.

  “We have to be going,” Chio said. He nodded to Circe. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Tinibu smiled and nodded politely, and they both went off into the darkness.

  Circe turned to Prax. “What were they doing here?”

  “Just visiting,” he said. “They’re my friends, Mother. I worked with them for most of the time I was away.”

  Circe looked over at the fire. “Is that tea?”

  Prax poured her a cup and she sat down on a stool. He sat down on the ground next to her while she drank her tea. After a while, she put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Prax was surprised. One firm rule of Elliniká culture was that parents never had to apologize to their children. “For what?”

  “For what happened after Zoë died.” Circe wasn’t looking at him; she was staring into the fire as if it held a mystery she could unravel if she looked at it long enough.

  “But it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Not all of it,” she said. “When Eugenie asked for the father of Zoë’s child to step forward and you stood up, my heart froze in my body. I was afraid because I knew what they’d do to you. I couldn’t watch when they took you away. Your father went, to be there when they beat you, because he wanted to be sure they stopped when they should. I couldn’t go.”

  Prax reached up and took his mother’s hand. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  “Yes, I do. I have to tell you something.” She paused for a moment and then went on. “When they brought you back, three days later, all torn and bloody and out of your head from lack of water, I was angry. They had almost killed you; I could see that. Then they told me what your final punishment would be—that you could never marry, never leave the Mercouri—and I was glad.”

  Prax was shocked. He said nothing, he just sat and waited for his mother to explain.

  “It’s so hard to have sons,” she said. “Daughters you get to keep forever. Sons you know you’ll lose when they’re grown. You’ll see them once or twice a year, maybe, and they’ll make a life without you. My mother was lucky; she had only daughters. I had three beautiful boys, and I can remember looking at each of you in your cradle and wishing I could keep you forever, too.

  “And then, that day, Eugenie came to me and told me that I could keep you—that you would never go away like your brothers, and I was glad.”

  Prax patted her hand. “It’s all right. You can’t stop yourself from thinking.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. “But I should have done something! If I’d been angry and gone to Eugenie and the elders with a complaint, they might have changed their minds. They might have set a time limit instead of saying forever. Your father couldn’t do it—he’s not a Mercouri. I could have.”

  Prax shook his head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. They were angry at me. They were angry because Zoë was going to have a baby, and they were angry because she died.”

  “It was Aphrodite, mostly,” Circe said. “She was enraged because she’d got someone to be a daughter to her and then she lost her so soon. She pushed them to do it. The beating and the prison wagon, that was severe but not unusual, but to punish you that way—”

  “It’s all right,” Prax insisted. “Stop reproaching yourself, Mother. There was nothing you could have done. I was guilty, and they were within their rights.”

  His mother sighed and took his hand. “When that woman took you away, I thought I was being punished. The one thing I had to be grateful for was that you would never leave, and then she took you farther away than I could ever have imagined.”

  “I came back,” Prax said.

  “Yes, but my mother is right. You have a hole in your heart than can only be mended by going away again.”

  Prax said nothing. They sat side by side for a while, watching the fire. They were still there when Konstantin and Iphigenia came back from the dinner.

  “How was the dancing?” Prax asked.

  “Fine,” his father said. “Iphigenia made eyes at one young man, and he almost fell over his feet trying to impress her.”

  Iphigenia looked mortified. “He wasn’t looking at me. We were too far back; he couldn’t even see me.”

  His father smiled. “I think he could.”

  Circe cut the discussion short by announcing that it was time for bed.

  THE next morning, Prax remembered that the one thing he hated about being at a gathering was that it was hard to find anywhere to wash. Finally, he stripped down to his waist and washed in a bucket. His father did the same, and they both immediately reached for a twowel to dry off. The water was cold.

  “It wakes you up, anyway,” Konstantin said.

  Prax agreed.

  His father looked him over intently. “You have a new scar.” He used one fingertip to trace the laser wound across Prax’s chest and down the length of his arm. “How did you get that?”

  Prax explained that he had come across an intruder with an energy weapon.

  “Did you get him?” Konstantin asked.

  “I got the first one with my boot knife,” Prax said. “The second one was too quick for me. She gave me this.” Prax touched the scar.

  “She?” His father sounded horrified.

  Prax grinned and nodded. “She.”

  Konstantin shook his head in disapproval. “It sounds like a strange place.”

  “It is in many ways.”

  After breakfast, Prax was helping his mother with the camp chores when Apollo came walking up.

  “Good morning, Apollo,” Prax said. “Won’t Daphne be annoyed that you’re off visiting so early?”

  His brother smiled broadly and shook his head. “I have an excuse. Great-Aunt Melina sent me with a message for Mother.”

  “A message?” Circe said. “Why would she send a message to me? I’m no relation.”

  Apollo looked inscrutable. “It’s not that kind of message. The Zemikis clan is officially requesting your presence at a meeting.”

  “What?” Circe was indignant. “What does she mean demanding that I come to a meeting?”

  “She’s not demanding,” Apollo said. “She’s asking. She says she wants to present a marriage proposal to you.”

  Circe looked thunderstruck. “A proposal? What can she mean? She must know I wouldn’t entertain a proposal for Iphigenia at her age.”

  “It’s not for Iphigenia.”<
br />
  Circe stood as still as if she were rooted to the ground. She darted a look at Prax, who was even more lost.

  “Great-Aunt must know,” he said. “Everyone knows.”

  “Of course she knows,” his mother said impatiently. “She’s up to something. I wonder what it could be?” She looked up at her eldest son. “When?”

  “This morning,” Apollo replied. “Anytime soon will do, she said.”

  Circe nodded. “Go back and tell her we’ll come—all of us.”

  As soon as his brother had gone, Prax asked his mother a question. “Why does Great-Aunt want this meeting? What will it gain her?”

  “I don’t know,” Circe said, “but it will gain her something. Your Great-Aunt Melina never did anything in her life without a good reason.”

  When Konstantin returned from watering the alogos, Circe instructed him to put on his best clothes.

  “We’re going to a meeting with your Aunt Melina,” she said. “She has a proposal to present to me.”

  Konstantin looked as surprised as his wife had been to hear the news. Circe woke Iphigenia, who had been allowed to sleep late, and they all ate a hasty meal and dressed for the meeting.

  As the Zemikis were the host clan that year, they were camped in the central position. Their wagons were clustered together in the center of the huge semicircle made up of the other clans. This made them easy to find. It also gave them considerably more room, since the other clans had to fit thousands of people into a relatively small space, while the host clan had plenty of space for a few hundred people.

  Melina Zemikis had taken advantage of the extra space to pitch a tent for her own use. It was open on two sides but still provided a good deal more privacy than she would otherwise have had. She was waiting there when Prax and his family arrived.

  Konstantin gave his aunt a respectful kiss on the cheek. Prax and Iphigenia did the same, but as Circe wasn’t a blood relation, she merely said good morning. Melina waved them all to sit down.

  Circe sat on the stool closest to Melina, with Konstantin just a little behind her. Prax sat behind his father, with Iphigenia beside him. He moved his stool so he could see the old woman’s face better.

  “We’re here, lady,” Circe said. “As you requested.”

  Melina’s smile held veiled triumph. “Thank you for coming. Would you like some tea?”

  They all accepted; it would have been rude to refuse. A pretty young woman served the tea, ducking her head shyly when she offered a cup to Prax. She effaced herself as soon as everyone had full cups. Melina made idle conversation until Circe had drunk her tea and set down the empty cup.

  “Now,” Melina said, “to business. Did you notice the young woman who served the tea?”

  Circe nodded. “Your sister’s grandchild, isn’t she? She’s very pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Melina said. “Her name is Athena. She’s reached marriageable age, and I’d like to see her comfortably settled before I die.”

  Circe smiled a tight smile. Prax knew what it meant. Anyone who looked less like dying would be hard to find. Great-Aunt Melina had already outlived two of her younger sisters.

  “I propose a tentative arrangement,” Melina went on, “between Athena and your son Praxiteles, to see how they get along.”

  Prax drew in his breath. His gift told him she wasn’t being truthful. And she must have known it was impossible in any event. Why would she even ask?

  Circe drew herself up straighter on her stool. “I cannot entertain such a proposal. My son has been forbidden to marry by the elders of our clan.”

  Melina opened her eyes wide as if she were surprised. She looked at Prax. “Is this true, Praxiteles?”

  “Yes, lady,” Prax said, staring straight ahead. He tried desperately to think of a reason for her to dredge up his shame, but he couldn’t. It must have been Rishi’s doing, but what could it gain them?

  “In other words,” Melina said to Circe, “you’re refusing to even consider my offer because the Mercouri clan has made it impossible for you to accept it?”

  Circe’s intense expression told Prax she was weighing the old woman’s wording very carefully before she answered. “Yes, lady.”

  Melina nodded triumphantly. “And will you say so at the clan tribunal this afternoon?”

  Prax swallowed a cry of dismay. The clan tribunal was the forum for disputes between clans. Every year at the gathering there were disagreements that had to be resolved about marriages, property, inheritances, and so on. Any dispute settled there became news to all the Elliniká, not just a single clan.

  Circe frowned. She shot a glance at Prax over her shoulder, her brows lifting in a question.

  Prax froze for a second. This had to be part of Rishi’s plan. Public embarrassment, she had said. This would qualify, on a scale he had never imagined. But still he had to trust Rishi that it would help in some way. He ducked his head in a quick nod.

  His mother turned back to Melina Zemikis. “Yes, I will.”

  “Thank you,” Melina said. “Would you like some more tea?”

  They all declined and rose to go. Athena came to take the cups away, and blushed when Prax gave her his cup.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, to be sure they were out of hearing.

  “Well, Praxiteles,” Circe said finally. “I hope you know what you’re doing. This afternoon won’t be a pleasant experience.”

  Prax tried for an appearance of unconcern. “Everyone knows anyway.”

  His mother shook her head. “They may know, but they likely haven’t thought about it in years. Now everyone will talk and chatter for days. It’s better to let grazing bodi alone.”

  “Very true,” Konstantin said. “Think twice whether you want to come with us to the tribunal, Praxiteles. You’ve always been one to keep things inside you, and the tribunal will drag them all out into the open.”

  Prax didn’t argue. They didn’t know Rishi had a plan—or Melina Zemikis did. Prax wasn’t sure whose hand was guiding his destiny. But when they got back to their camp and his mother began to bustle around to finish her chores, Prax excused himself. He needed to find Rishi.

  RISHI watched a large man in tan trousers and no shirt throw his smaller opponent to the ground and hold him there. Really, as entertainment it left a lot to be desired.

  “Hello, Prax,” Tinibu said.

  Rishi turned around and smiled, still pleased that Praxiteles had been able to come to the gathering. Melina had said the plan had a better chance if he was present to speak for himself. “Hello, Praxiteles.”

  Praxiteles looked agitated. “I need to talk to you, lady.”

  “Certainly,” she said. He had spoken in Standard, so she turned to Tinibu and asked him to walk a little way behind her. Then she led Praxiteles away from the wrestling matches.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “Why did you persuade my great-aunt to make a proposal for me? I don’t want to marry her grandniece, and she doesn’t want to marry me.”

  Rishi felt an immense relief. Melina had said she would send the message early in the morning, but she hadn’t been able to guarantee that Circe Mercouri would respond quickly. “Of course not.”

  Praxiteles’ agitation grew. His face had turned red. “You knew we’d have to refuse. Now she’ll take the matter before the clan tribunal.”

  Rishi had to hold in a smile when she thought about it. “It’s such a quaint custom—having families involved in marriages. Even when people in Great Houses marry for business reasons, it’s not usually the parents doing the talking.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Praxiteles said, as upset as she had ever heard him. “Why did you do it?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you. Melina says that, to be strictly legal, you can’t know anything about her offe
r except what you heard her say.”

  Praxiteles’ face contorted into a scowl. “Do you know what it’s like to have everyone looking at you, whispering about you?”

  She met his gaze. “Yes. I know. When my family died, I saw pity in everyone’s eyes. No one saw me, they only saw the woman who lost all her siblings, her parents, her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in one day. It was like I was wearing a sign that said ‘feel sorry for me.’ I couldn’t get away from it.”

  The scowl melted, but he shook his head. “This is pointless, lady. The tribunal didn’t issue my punishment; the Mercouri did.”

  He looked so unhappy she almost lost her resolve and told him the plan. “I know a small chance isn’t much, but it’s better than no chance at all. Is the pain and humiliation worth it if it gives us a chance?”

  Praxiteles looked at her for a long moment. What was he thinking? He seemed calmer. Or was he merely resigned? “It’s worth it. I can’t see how this idea could work, but if it does, it will have been worth it.”

  She smiled with relief. “That’s good. I’m sorry I can’t come with you this afternoon. Melina tells me that this is one time when outsiders are absolutely forbidden.”

  He seemed torn between bewilderment and amusement by this comment. His face relaxed into a half smile.

  “Did I say something funny?” she asked.

  He smiled outright. “It’s not funny, exactly, lady. It just seems strange to hear someone your age call her Melina.”

  Rishi laughed with relief, glad his intensity had faded. “She told me to call her that. Everyone else calls her ‘lady.’ I hadn’t realized when you called me that the first time, that that’s what your people call the head of a clan.”

  Praxiteles nodded. “You are, in a way.”

  “I hope to be,” she said, trying for conviction in her tone. “It depends on what happens this afternoon.”

  Praxiteles sighed, a profoundly sad sigh. “Sometimes even Mistress Rishi Trahn has to accept what must be.”