Ribbon Dance, page 28
part #26 of Liaden Universe® Series
“Now, that does sound as if I’ve given you more work,” Tekelia said.
She moved her shoulders.
“Building the search should take no more than five minutes. Sorting the results when they return might be a lengthy process…” She grinned, and stopped in the center of the path, swinging around to face Tekelia.
“I have a proposition.”
“Tell me,” Tekelia said, matching her grin.
“I will construct the search and set it to work. When the results return, you will be the one to sort them. Have we a bargain?”
“We do! It’s only just that I sort the data, since the question is mine.”
“Then I will build the search—tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Padi said.
The path ahead was narrow again, and Tekelia stepped forward to lead the way.
When they came together again, Padi had a question.
“I wonder why you are interested in norbears.” She smiled. “Aside from being on Lady Selph’s string.”
“Who could not admire so staunch and upright a lady?” Tekelia said gaily, then lifted a hand.
“As it happens, the children who recently came to us have lived all their lives with a norbear—one Eet. We wish to make sure that his rights are properly observed.”
“I see. Perhaps he should meet Lady Selph, to pick up pointers,” Padi said. She meant it as a joke, but Tekelia answered her seriously.
“I hope that can be arranged. Eet isn’t a cub, but his scope has been limited.”
Padi blinked, then shrugged.
“Well, why not, after all?”
Tekelia smiled.
“Exactly.”
Colemenoport
Wayfarer
“Come with you?” Shan repeated. “You tempt me, love, never doubt it, but the master trader holds me in thrall. Until this port is proven—”
“Nonsense,” Priscilla said briskly. “I heard the master trader say only this morning that he could not proceed until the whole port inventory was completed.” She paused, head tipped.
“It’s true that he also put himself at the qe’andra’s service, in case she should need papers sorted, but I think she would understand, if the master trader put it to her that he was returning to the Passage to have his health evaluated by the medic and the ship’s Healer.”
She paused, as if awaiting an objection, and Shan obligingly said, “But I’m not ill.”
“You may not recall it, my love, but you hadn’t fully recovered from your adventure on Langlast when we arrived on Colemenoport. You came on-planet, opened your shields, and the ambient has buoyed you ever since. We know that the ambient acts on us, and in some measure amplifies our Gifts. What we don’t know is if it heals.”
Shan raised an eyebrow.
“I assume from this that you intend to repair to the ship for a medical evaluation and consultation with the ship’s Healer, as well,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. However, I feel compelled to note that this path has a curve at the end. For instance, if the medic and the ship’s Healer find me to be in good health, I would expect to return to Colemeno in service of the master trader’s business.”
“Of course,” Priscilla said calmly. “And, if I am cleared by the medic and the ship’s Healer, I’ll also return to Colemenoport, and the captain’s duties to the master trader.”
She met his eyes, and smiled.
Shan sighed, and shifted so that he was lying across the rug, his head in his lifemate’s lap. He closed his eyes, and after a moment, he felt her brush his hair.
They remained thus in communion for some minutes before he spoke again, eyes still closed.
“Priscilla.”
“Yes?”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’ll take that as praise.”
He snorted lightly.
“What will happen, I wonder, if one or both of us is found to have taken harm from Colemeno’s ambient conditions?”
“Then we will formulate a decision based on the known data,” Priscilla answered serenely. “It’s why we collect data isn’t it?”
“Altogether too reasonable,” he murmured. “Nor must we overlook the fact that standing at the head of a whole port inventory in the master trader’s absence will look well in Trader yos’Galan’s file.”
“Of course not. Does this mean that you agree?”
“Do you know? I think it does.”
“Good. Are you going to sleep, or should we find out what Luzant iberFel thinks is appropriate to a romantic picnic on the roof?”
“Oh, the basket, by all means!”
He sat up, and turned, so that he was kneeling before her, their faces at a level.
“Before we eat, I have a proposal.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. I propose that we seal our bargain with a kiss.”
“Oh,” said Priscilla. “We wouldn’t want to ignore tradition, would we?”
On-Grid
The Sakuriji Council Chambers
“Thank you, Warden chastaMeir, for your report,” said Chair gorminAstir. “Before the Council moves on to its next order of business, I wonder—is the Oracle for Civilization quite well?”
Bentamin inclined his head, carefully. He had been expecting this question to arise rather sooner, and had prepared for it as best he could.
“Asta vesterGranz enjoys her usual robust health, Chair gorminAstir.”
“Good, good. It has been so long since she has had a word for us that I feared she might be ill.”
“You speak with the Oracle every day, Warden?” That was Councilor tryaBent, who surely knew the answer to that question. Bentamin recruited himself to patience.
“The Warden’s list of mandated duties includes a daily consultation with the Oracle.”
But the famously ill-tempered councilor was not to be put off so easily as that.
“Yes, it is. I merely wondered if you were doing your duty.”
That was forthright, even for tryaBent—and it was, Bentamin acknowledged, a perfectly reasonable question.
“I am doing my duty, ma’am. If you doubt it, you may take testimony from the Oracle’s staff, or pull the Wardian’s security tapes.”
“The Oracle has been at her post for a number of years now,” azieEm said, cutting off whatever might have been tryaBent’s answer. “Gifts do wear out, as we all know. If the Oracle’s Eyes are closing, ought we instate another, and allow one who has served for so long to return to her family?”
azieEm was one of the younger councilors. While an awareness of her youth made her timid, Bentamin had found her thoughtful, and forward-looking. She of course honored history and tradition, but did not always look for answers there.
“In fact, the Oracle has spoken of retirement,” Bentamin said carefully.
“Retirement?” seelyFaire exclaimed. “How should she retire?”
azieEm turned to look at her.
“Asta vesterGranz has exercised her Gift to Civilization’s benefit for many years. Why shouldn’t she retire, bearing our very great thanks for her service?”
“An Oracle might retire,” said Chair gorminAstir, “but in the past, a new Oracle has arisen first.” She looked to Bentamin.
“Has a new Oracle arisen, Warden?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Bentamin admitted. “The present Oracle has suggested that this is because Civilization no longer has need.”
“What!” cried tryaBent. “Ridiculous! We are the judge of what Civilization requires, and an Oracle who does her duty is a necessity! Chair—”
She rose abruptly, and bowed to the table.
“Chair gorminAstir, I suggest that what we have here is a case of malingering. The Oracle has grown tired of duty, and is withholding information from the Warden, and thus from the Council, because she wishes to retire!”
“Sit down, Coracta,” the council chair said, and when she had done so, added, “Do you have a course of action to propose?”
“Chair, I propose that the Oracle for Civilization be called to this chamber at our next meeting, so that she may explain herself to us.”
“I agree,” said seelyFaire. “There has possibly been a misunderstanding. Even more than that, the Oracle’s duty is to Civilization. As the representatives of Civilization, the Oracle is ultimately accountable to us.”
Chair gorminAstir looked around the table.
“Does anyone else wish to speak to this issue?”
“I think it will be very helpful to us to see the Oracle and listen to what she may have to say to us,” said azieEm. “Our Warden has been a faithful go-between, but as has been said, the Council is ultimately responsible for both the Oracle’s duty and Civilization itself.”
Councilor targElmina shifted, and leaned across the table to address Archivist ivenAlyatta.
“Has it ever been done, that the Oracle came to the Council?”
The archivist frowned.
“I’ll research it. It seems to me that, in the very early days, the Oracle didn’t just report to the Council, but was a sitting member.”
“Ridiculous,” tryaBent muttered.
“Other discussion?” asked the council chair.
No one spoke.
“Very well, we will vote. All in favor of inviting the Oracle for Civilization to visit the Council at its next meeting, raise your hand.”
Bentamin looked around the table. All had raised their hands, with the exception of Majel ziaGorn, who had sent that he was required at Pacazahno, on business of the Citizens Coalition.
“The question passes,” Chair gorminAstir said. “Warden, will you please extend the Council’s invitation to the Oracle?”
“Yes,” Bentamin said. “I’ll speak to her this evening.”
Off-Grid
Coosuptik River
Leisure, Padi thought drowsily, was really quite pleasant.
They had eaten a substantial snack of bread, cheese, and nuts, and sampled the wine, which had not, she found with relief, been spoilt by journeying through the ether. In fact, they had been everything that was indolent, and had made a game of asking questions about each other, turnabout, until Tekelia had leaned close, and kissed her.
That had been agreeable, so she kissed Tekelia, and one sweet pleasantry had led to another, until here they lay on the rug under the trees, with the river plashing quite nearby, Tekelia’s head on her shoulder.
There came a soft sigh, and Tekelia murmured, “I am going to miss this.”
“What? Having the afternoon off?”
“Well—yes, but more so, this.”
Tekelia raised their clasped hands, so that she could see brown fingers and gold, interwoven.
Padi felt her breath catch.
“Padi?”
She wriggled, and got herself sitting upright, assisted by firm hands, leaning forward to look into a worried face and eyes that were both dark brown.
“Is there,” she said suddenly—“Tekelia, is there no one else?”
Tekelia sighed. It was no use to pretend misunderstanding. By now, Tekelia knew how to value Padi yos’Galan. A game would be met with scorn; a failure to answer would only have her ask again, less gently. One did not toy with Padi yos’Galan; nor lie to her.
“Why do you sigh?” she asked now. “Have I been inept?”
“I sigh because the truth is melancholy,” Tekelia answered. One hoped that the truth did not make one into an object of pity. “There is no one else, no.”
Lavender eyes grew stormy, and Tekelia felt a shiver in the ambient. Not pitied, no. One had gained a protector.
The realization was—odd, as was the emotion it engendered—not shame, Tekelia thought, but joy, that she cared so much. Also, sadness, because—
“What is, is,” Tekelia said gently to those fierce eyes, and fiercer spirit. “I am a Child of Chaos, Padi. More ambient than physical.”
“Bah,” Padi said decisively, and bent to kiss Tekelia’s brow, laying one cool hand along their cheek.
Leaning back, she shook her head.
“That is not the ambient, my friend. It is Tekelia.”
“And I am proven by history and by testing to be an instance of Chaos itself,” Tekelia said, voice sharper than her care deserved. “This is not whim, but fact.”
Padi’s regard was steady, though Tekelia could not name the emotions that boiled in the ambient between them.
“Are there others?” she asked eventually.
Tekelia frowned.
“Others? The Haosa—”
“Other—instances of Chaos,” Padi interrupted.
“None that I am aware of,” Tekelia said slowly. “In theory, it is possible that there is another—or even two—at a more distant remove, who have not stepped into the fullness of themselves.”
Tekelia paused.
“I had a mentor, when I arrived—another Child of Chaos, who taught me what he could of our condition.”
Padi leaned forward.
“Did you never touch?”
The thought of what might come forth from such a touch made the blood run cold. Tekelia took a deep breath.
“It was not considered…wise.”
The ambient crackled with Padi’s anger.
“You were born Civilized, you said. Surely you didn’t—discorporate people—while you lived under the Grid?” She caught her breath on that, her gaze sharp enough to cut. “Was that why you were sent—to the Haosa?”
“Nothing so dire.” Tekelia reached out and lightly traced one high, delicate cheekbone, marveling at the softness of her skin.
She sighed and leaned into the touch.
“Tell me,” she said. “Why were you sent to the Haosa?”
“If I am to do that,” Tekelia said, reluctantly sitting back from her, “I will want another glass of wine, and some cheese.”
Padi turned toward the basket. “Fortunately, we have those to hand.”
* * *
“I was sent to the Haosa for the usual reason: My tools did not work properly. Had I not been able to make tools at all, then I would simply have been pronounced Deaf, or at least Low Talent, and allowed to remain much as I was, save I would no longer be given tool-building lessons. If I was Low Talent, I might have had a curriculum in control, but nothing more dreadful than that.”
Tekelia sipped wine, and looked out over the river.
“No, the difficulty, you see, is that I could make perfectly adequate—even quite beautiful—tools. Only they didn’t work. Also, I could lift any object brought to my attention by my tutor, hold it, spin it, or send it to Metlin, without so much as thinking about building a tool.”
Padi raised an eyebrow.
“Did you send something to Metlin?” she asked seriously.
“I think not,” Tekelia answered, “but that’s not to say I couldn’t have done.” A sigh and a wry look.
“It looked black for me at that point, but it was clinched by my cousin Camafy, who has a rare genius for irritation. I lost my temper, and it could have gone ill for us both. Happily, there was an elder to hand who saw the whole, and was able to deescalate the event.”
A deep breath.
“That, however, did prove me out. Clearly, I was Haosa—noncompliant and a threat to Civilization.”
“And so you were sent away,” Padi finished softly.
“So I was,” Tekelia agreed, “and it was not, in all, a tragedy. Some of my off-Grid cousins weren’t only sent to the Haosa, but cast out of their Civilized families. Contact with my family never lapsed; my birthright still flows into my drawing account every half-year, with the proper increase when I came of age.”
“But you are not Civilized,” Padi pointed, dryly, “and may not live under the Grid.”
“But, then, I don’t want to live under the Grid,” Tekelia countered, and she smiled.
“The children who just came to us are in much worse case,” Tekelia continued. “Far from making certain that they are well cared for and not in want, their kin has made a petition to declare them—the last of their family—a failed Line. They’ve also filed to transfer all of the children’s property to themselves.”
Padi’s eyes narrowed.
“One knows what to think of their kin. Have the children no recourse?”
“Some recourse. A failed Line must be proven, and the proof hasn’t been made. The petition to strip them of their rightful property, as you say, shows us the quality of their kin.”
Tekelia considered the ambient, which was still inclined to be stormy in Padi’s orbit.
“Such petitions have been filed before, and the Council, to its credit, most often disallows them. In particularly egregious cases, a substantial fine has been leveled against the petitioners.”
“Hitting them where it hurts.” Padi sipped her wine, and looked to Tekelia.
“That was a very effective diversion,” she said.
“Thank you,” Tekelia said modestly.
“Did you never try,” Padi said slowly, “to touch someone…on-Grid?”
“Until recently, I had no subjects that I was willing to lose for the experiment.”
Padi laughed.
“So the greedy cousins are good for something after all?”
“Unfortunately, the greedy cousins are Civilized, and I don’t care to be the out-of-control Wild Talent who brings Civilized discipline down on the Haosa.”
Padi sighed.
“It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
“Wouldn’t you be bored, if it wasn’t?”
“You know me too well,” Padi said.
“And I would like to know you better,” Tekelia answered. “I believe you owe me a story.”
Padi raised her eyebrows.
“What story?”
“The story of why you locked away your Talent.”
“Oh,” Padi said. “That story.”
She drank off what was left of her wine, and put the glass aside, then turned a critical eye on their arrangements.
“Do you mind sitting with your back against the tree, and your legs before you?”
