Major Pieces, page 34
“I… no. Of course not.”
Vasiht’h nodded. At the door he paused and said, “I forgive you. And your family will too. But you’re not going to be able to live with yourself until you admit you’re doing something you think requires forgiveness.”
Kovihs opened his mouth, closed it, looked away.
They boarded transport for Anseahla two hours later, and Vasiht’h would have begrudged the nearly three days they would spend in transit had he not been able to call his mother and begin holding conferences to expedite their plan. When Marevhe asked if Sehvi would be coming, he said, “Probably not,” and returned to the people who would be. As often as possible and their three separate sets of timezones allowed, Vasiht’h tied Jahir and his mother into their conversations so they could get an end-to-end process nailed down. Jeasa declared the matter, “well within our measure” so long as no one was too fixated on the Alliance niceties that would be unavailable. “Though,” she finished, “we might send them for a repairing lease to Laisrathera, if they find themselves disconsolate over their technological losses.”
Since this was a wicked joke—which Vasiht’h got thanks to Sehvi’s thrusting her Nouveau Regency romances on him—Vasiht’h laughed and called her on it, and she blushed at him with all the merriment of a maiden younger than Sediryl. Aunt Sattri agreed with Jeasa though, that it could be done, and if anything broke or was imperfect, they’d make do.
The calls and plans kept Vasiht’h focused. Kovihs stayed out of his way, though Vasiht’h could sense him hovering. He once heard Sehvi’s voice from his brother-in-law’s side of the cabin, but didn’t eavesdrop on that conversation. Kovihs sounded subdued, and Sehvi, cautious. He wondered briefly if he should find someone who specialized in couples therapy on Anseahla, but guessed that after years of talking to him, Sehvi wouldn’t need to be told that she should find a therapist if things were going wrong.
Three days later they disembarked from their liner and joined the throngs in the northern port. No one was waiting for them this time, which made things easier; they didn’t have to peer into the crowds, hunting for anyone they recognized, but could go directly to the Pads to queue for their transfer to Vasiht’h’s township. When they stepped outside the station into the moist heat, Kovihs stared up into the sky—what could be seen of it through the trees with their dripping mosses—and made a face.
“I know,” Vasiht’h said. “Looks like more rain. Let’s get home and see if Dondi’s made anything for us as homecoming food.”
“Your brother is wasted here.”
“Doesn’t he know it, too,” Vasiht’h said, grinning. “I’m going to gorge on as much of his food as I can before he heads back to the Core to his justly deserved fame and riches.”
Together they trotted down the walkways. Vasiht’h was aware of the tension stiffening Kovihs’s gait, but didn’t find it surprising. No doubt his brother-in-law expected to walk in on a hotbed of people planning the exodus he was adamantly opposed to joining; who could be comfortable dealing with that? But within a couple of weeks, Vasiht’h and all those people would be gone, and his sister’s family could ease into the new routine of a life on the homeworld, probably near Kovihs’s side of the family because who would want to live within lecturing distance of Bret?
They would make their peace with their decisions, or not. Either way, they had their lives to live.
Pushing open the door on their home, Vasiht’h called, “We’re back!”
Beside him, Kovihs said, “And we’re all going to the Eldritch homeworld!”
A long pause as all the people in the family room stared at them. Vasiht’h could sense his brother-in-law trembling alongside. And then Sehvi leaped to her feet with a squeal and threw herself in her husband’s arms. The tension drained from Kovihs’s body… he sighed and pressed his face into her shoulder. Vasiht’h edged away so he could hug his mother and father and greet the brothers and sisters who’d been waiting for them. From the kitchen, Dondi called, “I’ve got a roast with fancy potatoes and cheese-stuffed bread knots!”
“We are so here for all of that,” Vasiht’h said.
Ordinarily after a long trip Vasiht’h would have thrown himself on some pillows and slept for half a day. But he’d wanted to talk to Jahir and the best time for that was sometime around mark two, local… for the best, mostly, given how busy the day had been. After most of the family had dispersed or gone to bed, he made himself a cup of hot tea and brought it to the patio, sliding the door closed on his slumbering family. His slumbering whole family. Vasiht’h’s shoulders eased as he listened to the frogs creeking and the insects whistling their mating songs beneath the thick, wet crowns of the trees.
He had been expecting, just a little, the sound of the door opening.
“I brought tea cookies.”
“That’s good, since I have tea.” Vasiht’h waited until his brother-in-law set the tray down and settled alongside him before saying, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, you know.”
“That’s good,” Kovihs said. “Because… I don’t think I could. I don’t think I can explain myself to myself. I was planning to stay right up to the moment you opened the door on all their faces…” He faltered. “And then I couldn’t do it.”
Vasiht’h glanced at him. “Are you going to regret this tomorrow?”
“Oh, I’m sure. But I don’t think I’ll go back on it either.” Kovihs blew the steam off the surface of his tea and stared into it, and his expression was decidedly glum. “I’m still convinced this is a terrible idea. It’s just… staying here is a terrible idea too, so if both my choices are awful I thought ‘maybe I should go with the one that makes the fewest people unhappy.’”
Vasiht’h made a noncommittal noise and picked one of the tea cookies out of the pile. He sniffed it, decided it was some kind of berry jam sandwiched between two pieces of shortbread. Good enough. He started eating.
Kovihs chanced a wary look at him. “No ‘ouch, I’m the best of two bad choices’?”
“If I thought that was the only thing motivating you, maybe,” Vasiht’h said. “But I suspect there are some other things going on in there too. Things that make you more uncomfortable, like, say, that you secretly wanted to go have that adventure. That you wanted to shape a new community. That you wanted to do science in a place where science is shocking and immediately helpful. That you want to get away from your parents. That you find Anseahla stifling.”
Kovihs grimaced, squeezed his eyes shut. “Ooh, that all hurts.”
“I won’t twist the knife, then,” Vasiht’h said. “I’ll just say… I don’t think you’ll regret it, ariihir.”
“And if dragons show up and destroy Escutcheon the way they did Tam-ley?”
“Then… we’ll die, or be enslaved, and the Goddess will have to hold us in Her hands, or see us home, or not. I won’t belittle your fears, Kovihs. They’re real. We might get hurt. But… we might not.” He thought of Jahir, so unassuming to be so terrible in his power. And Goddess, Lisinthir. And Sediryl! “But I’ll say this: I’d like to see the dragons try.”
Kovihs glanced at him sharply. Vasiht’h ignored it and sipped his tea. After a moment, his brother-in-law looked out into the dark: the best dark their world could offer, which was nothing like the darkness on Escutcheon. Where it was so pure and clear the stars looked almost touchable.
“It’s not easy,” Kovihs said finally. “Worrying about children. You have them and… they’re the most important things in your life. You want them to be safe. To grow up, and be all right. I had my kits when there was no war, and no possibility of war, and we didn’t live in a universe where that was something we worried about, or even thought of. And now… suddenly… we do live in that universe. I want… desperately… to make the right decision. What you and Sehvi are telling me is that there’s no way to know what that right decision is, so we might as well choose the life we want. But the life I want, Vasiht’h, is the life where my kits grow up to have their own kits, and don’t have to worry about whether their planet will get bombed into oblivion.”
“I want that life for them too. And for my kits when I have them.”
“But,” Kovihs said.
“But we not only don’t live in that world, Kovihs… we’ve never lived in that world. We were ignorant of the people who have been working all along to give us that idyllic universe. But our Goddess does not revere ignorance.”
Kovihs grimaced. “You make me feel guilty for wanting things the way they were.”
“That’s not my intention,” Vasiht’h said. “But maybe it’s inevitable. Because I feel guilty, ariihir. Not for the years I lived in ignorance, but for the years I thought I was a better person because I didn’t want to do the things those people did for us. I thought not fighting was always the moral choice. But it turns out not fighting is only the moral choice among reasonable people who agree with you that violence is not an option. Not fighting when it means innocent people die?” Vasiht’h shook his head. “When the school bully makes the class poet cry, it’s not virtuous to let them.”
“You could find other ways to make them stop…”
“And if you have the time, and the options, then I’m all for them,” Vasiht’h said. “But for too many years, I thought that there would always be time, and if you looked hard enough there would always be options, and in the end I think it was a form of cowardice.” He looked at the plate of cookies. “Or maybe that’s taking it too far. Maybe it was just… naiveté. But it was a naiveté that depended on other people doing hard things I didn’t want to do myself, and while I’m not ever going to be a soldier, I can do better. At the very least I can realize that I’ve been lucky enough to live in places and on worlds where I could arrogantly state that everything can be solved by talking, if you just want to solve them hard enough.” He smiled a little, faintly. “So if you hear a ghost of recrimination in my voice, I promise, it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at me.”
Kovihs said nothing for a time. Then: “Do you really think you’re a coward?”
“No,” Vasiht’h said. “Not anymore.” When his brother-in-law didn’t respond, he glanced over at him and smiled. “Don’t take this so seriously, ariihir. Like… this is an eternal self-definition you can never outgrow. Think of it more like… eventually, children get older and move out.”
“And we’re the kits who need to move out?”
“It’s not just us,” Vasiht’h said, quiet. “Don’t take that on yourself. It’s not even just my family, though I think it’s worth noting how many of them feel like they need to. It’s the Eldritch too, in casting off their ‘Mysterious Other’ defense and engaging more fully with the Alliance. Letting us settle on their planet is absolutely a choice to embrace risk for the rewards it might bring. Even the Chatcaava are doing it, when they decide to let themselves value something other than violence, even if that means conflict within their empire. All of us… we’re choosing the risky choices. But that means we’re choosing them together, and together we have a chance. More of a chance than we’d have alone.”
Kovihs sipped his tea, cradling the mug in both hands. Then huffed. “Moving out.”
“We can handle it,” Vasiht’h said. “But we’ll never believe it unless we do it.”
“Do you think you’ll be this sanguine about things when it’s your kits we’re discussing?”
Vasiht’h laughed. “Absolutely not! Which is why I’m glad you’re coming, so that we can have this talk again and you can be the one giving me the wise advice.” He set the mug down, and offered his arms. “I’m glad you’re coming, Kovihs. Really.”
“I think I am too,” the other said, and hugged him back.
Two hours later, long after Kovihs had excused himself, Vasiht’h propped his data tablet on the patio table and tapped the call-connect. He waited over his tea, glad he’d picked one of the mugs that would keep itself warm, and listened to the nightsong. He’d grown up here, but in a few weeks this would no longer be, not only not his home, but not his family home. Maybe he should record these noises for the occasional night he was plagued by the fears that chased Kovihs… because he’d be lying if he said he didn’t worry too. The world was full of dangers and risks, and unlike someone who feared their nebulous potential, he’d lived through some of the worst the galaxy had to offer. He could conjure up specifics, relive them, remember how terrible they’d actually been.
Maybe that was the key for him, though. Because knowing about them personally meant… he knew about them. Personally. And he was still here, and those pirates weren’t. He’d die one day, like all the Goddess’s creations, to pass back into the eternal thoughts of Her mind, and maybe he’d die because of violence. But he’d also survived violence, and that—that was a powerful anodyne to inaction. Not necessarily to fear, but the paralysis that fear could inspire.
The call chimed, and opened on his partner, and at an angle that puzzled Vasiht’h until he said, “Are you… on a horse, ariihir?”
“I am, though I have stopped her to take your call… I apologize for taking so long to answer…!”
Vasiht’h laughed, delighted at the mental image of his partner fumbling for a tablet while on the back of a riding animal. “No, no, I’d much prefer you took your time if the alternative is ‘I fall off a moving horse in a world with little by way of medical establishment.’”
“I would never,” Jahir said firmly, “fall off a horse.”
“No, of course not. They’d probably take your Eldritch card away from you.”
Jahir gave him one of those reproving looks that was mostly teasing. “So, then. You have arrived home safely?”
Vasiht’h mouthed the words to himself, struck by them, by the poignancy of it. To be home. To be safe. Such necessary illusions. How could he blame anyone for needing them? “Yes. And no. I won’t be home safely until I’m there with you. But I’ll be on my way in two weeks, with everyone. Including my sister.”
“Ah? So you changed your brother-in-law’s mind?”
“No,” Vasiht’h said. “He changed his mind and I happened to be there.” His grin was decidedly lopsided. “You know how that works.”
“Yes… yes I do.” Jahir smiled. “I can’t wait to see you all.”
“Neither can I. So… where are you going? And did I tell you about the wind chimes? I didn’t, did I.”
“No, I believe I would have remembered wind chimes.”
“I can’t believe I forgot…! But then we were so busy. So there’s this shop on Starbase Ne…”
Air-Dancing
After the events of PG6, prior to Healer’s Wedding
The Worldlord’s Son—now the Knife—leaned back, pupils narrowing visibly in his bright eyes. To his credit, those were the only signs of uncertainty he betrayed. The Queen Ransomed found she liked him, though he was very different in character from her former Knife: older than his predecessor by a decade, this male had accepted the post in order to gain some political seasoning after his tour as commander of the Eastern Naval Reserve. He carried himself with calm confidence, and was more settled, while still being young enough to consider the changes in the Empire exciting rather than unnerving. She was glad of the differences… had he been too much like her former Knife, she might have wasted a great deal of time comparing the two, and being displeased. If he could only be cured of his awe of her, he would be, she thought, a very acceptable replacement.
“You wish to dance,” he repeated.
She said, “Yes. I understand that this might involve some risk. That is why I have asked your aid. So you might give me your opinions on mitigating it.”
He frowned, eyes narrowing in thought. “Am I the first you have asked?”
“You are my Knife, and in charge of my security,” she said.
“Ah!” He was silent a moment, considering. “Give me a few days, my Queen. I have an idea that may serve.”
“Excellent.” As he headed for the door, she added, “I will hope you won’t share my plans with anyone?”
“My Queen?” he said. “I am your Knife.”
Yes, she thought. He had many qualities to recommend him. The Worldlord had trained him well. “Yes! It is so. Thank you, Knife.”
He bowed, wings spread, and excused himself from her suite. Her office, she might call it, perhaps, but she didn’t, for it was the same gilded prison in which she’d spent most of her adult life. She’d ordered better computer access and had a desk installed, but other than that, she’d changed… almost nothing. It puzzled the Priestess that she hadn’t overhauled the space. “Doesn’t it remind you of being a slave?” that female had said, pacing irritably from one end of it to the other. “This is where Second had your wings chopped off. Where Third raped you repeatedly. Where you had to service anyone who wanted it, on your hands and knees. Where you slept alone, like some prized animal, leashed and bound!”
All of which was true. But it was also where Laniis had taught her with soft words and a hairbrush that aliens could be gentle, where she’d held the Ambassador’s head on her lap while he suffered his first honor wounds, where the Emperor had met his transformation. There were good memories here, too, and they were far more recent than the evil. And now… now she could step up onto the window ledge where she’d spent far too many days yearning, and leap, and glide to the Emperor’s balcony. Or to the sea. Or… as she hoped… to the clouds, to dance.
From the moment the Mother had told her the scriptures made mention of air-dancing, she’d wanted to try. An exhaustive computer search had resulted in many hours of footage of Chatcaavan males indulging in acrobatics, usually martial in origin, but no dancing. The air had been the province of males alone, and for so long, that frivolous pursuits had fallen away. Flying was for war, and for proving fitness, and for dominance displays. One did not dance. Four-armed females might dance, on the ground, for the pleasure of the males who owned them. But the Queen was no flightless female, and just looking at the sky, at the openness of it, made her long to play. To have joy of her working limbs, and her healthy body.
