Chapter Nine
“Good morning, Grand-aunt.”
Syl Vor waited just inside the door to the morning room for Grand-aunt Kareen to acknowledge him. He had take particular care with himself this morning, brushing his hair until it lay flat, and choosing for his costume a white shirt, an embroidered vest, and soft dark pants. Of course, he was too young to have formal calling clothes, but he thought he had done rather well, given the resources available to him.
Grand-aunt looked up from her book, one eyebrow lifting as she surveyed him. Syl Vor raised his chin and met her eye boldly. Grand-aunt did not approve of meeching manners.
“Good morning, Child Syl Vor,” she said. “I hope I see you well this early in the day?”
“Indeed, I am very well,” he answered, which correct response she herself had taught him. “May I hope that you are the same?”
“I enjoy my usual robust health, thank you.” She closed the book and tucked it between her hip and the arm of the chair. “May I deduce from your attire that you have on purpose sought me out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I have—if you please, Grand-aunt—a question of protocol.”
“A pressing question of protocol, I apprehend. Very well, child; you have my attention. Stand forth and ask.”
Thus encouraged, he came an additional six steps into the room and bowed as one grateful for a kindness.
“I have been reviewing the forms,” he said, which was perfectly true. “And I find that I—that my understanding flounders on a matter of timing.” He paused, in case she wished to comment on his preface, or perhaps to praise his diligence.
Grand-aunt merely moved a hand, inviting him to continue.
“I wonder, ma’am, what is the proper waiting period, when one party has said to another that a face-to-face meeting is required.”
Grand-aunt Kareen considered him blandly. Syl Vor folded his hands and composed himself to wait.
“That is a question which cannot be answered before the sub-questions it spawns are properly retired.” She raised her hand, thumb extended. “Are both parties on-world?”
“Yes, ma’am, they are.”
Her index finger joined the thumb. “Have both parties agreed to the necessity of this meeting?”
“Yes.”
Middle finger. “Is there any necessity of clan or survival which prevents one party from attending?’
This was where he had stumbled in his own analysis. Surely, if there was some danger in the city that prevented his mother from arriving home, the House would have heard—and acted. And yet, he was only just learning melant’i and form. There well could be some adult circumstance which was hidden from his understanding.
“I am waiting, Child Syl Vor.”
He bowed.
“Forgive me, Grand-aunt. There is no impediment that I am aware of.”
“Ah, this is the crux, is it?” Grand-aunt smiled her sharp, slender smile. “If such an impediment exists, it is the duty of the impeded party to communicate this. The Code assumes that we will be observant and thoughtful, Child Syl Vor. It does not assume prescience.”
Syl Vor sighed, only a very tiny sigh, but Grand-aunt of course heard. Astonishingly, she did not scold him for an unbecoming display, but merely asked, “What does your analysis tell you now?”
“Three days,” he said. “Unless word has been sent.”
“That is correct.” Grand-aunt tipped her head. “Is there anything else, Child Syl Vor?”
“No, I thank you, Grand-aunt; there was only that.”
“Then I will regretfully bid you good morning.”
He bowed, younger to elder. “Good morning, Grand-aunt. Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Please do me the kindness of closing the door behind you.”
* * *
The garda had come up the street, and past three of their doors, including the door where Udari had found the dying gadje. Pulka, who watched the cameras one shift out of three, said that they had come to the very place where the gadje had lain, and placed a sniffer there on the ’crete. Had the headman’s cleansing of the area been less thorough—but Alosha was never careless, and so the devices of the garda were confounded.
The Bedel had for several days after remained in kompani, and only Torv went to the City Above, as the eyes and ears of the Bedel. He brought back that the garda searched for a dead man they did not, themselves, fully believe in. They were therefore undismayed to find no trace of him. There was no lamentation in the taverns, nor notices on the message poles, as sometimes there was, asking for news of the gadje, their gadje. It would seem from this that he was a man alone—which was not, as Kezzi knew—a strange thing, in the City Above, though it seemed strange, indeed, to the Bedel, who were as the petals on a single flower.
Their gadje, since coming among them, had kept to his coma. Silain said that he healed, and it did seem to Kezzi that his fires burned, a little, brighter. He had many breaths now, between him and the World Unseen, like markers in a game of chance. Still, Jin said that he was frail, and that he must wake soon, for the well-being of his heart and his mind.
To that, Silain the luthia said again that he healed, and that he would wake when he could bear it.
Kezzi took her turn sitting at the gadje’s side, watching the lines that fed water and virtue directly into his veins. Now that it was less swollen, she could see that his face was comely. His hair, brushed free of blood by Jin’s patient hand, was as black as her own, though it curled like a baby’s, all over his head. Sometimes, it seemed that dreams took him; he would mutter, his muscles would jerk; and the dark lashes flicker along his cheeks.
He never opened his eyes, though.
Kezzi wondered what would happen, when at last he did.
* * *
Syl Vor checked his bag once more. He had a positioner, in case he should become lost, and a port-comm; extra gloves; his hat; a sweater; a cereal bar; and a bottle of water. On top, where he could find it easily, was a tin of his mother’s favorite tea, because one did not go on an afternoon call without bearing a gift—he had checked the forms, to be certain.
He was a little concerned, that the gift would be found insufficient, since he had simply taken it out of the pantry—which, he reminded himself firmly, was not stealing from kin, because the tea was was for the use of House.
In his pockets he had money, identification, and his folding knife. His gun was clipped to his belt, hidden beneath his jacket. Biting his lip, he tried to think if there was any other vital thing that he should have with him for this visit, until the chime of the hall clock recalled him to the passage of time.
Quickly, he sealed his jacket, put on his gloves and his hat, slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. The taxi would be here soon.
It would perhaps have been more seemly to have asked kin to drive him, but, once again, everyone was busy with this, or that, or another very important task, and he was reasonably certain that he had quite enough local money to pay for the taxi to and from.
He had recorded his absence and his destination in the house base, as he had promised Aunt Miri that he would do, so no one need worry that he had been lost.
He had just gained the main entrance hall when he heard the sound of rapid steps behind him.
“Syl Vor!” came the greeting, light-voiced and pleasant. “Where to in such a haste, Nephew?”
The voice belonged to Uncle Ren Zel, Aunt Anthora’s lifemate. Syl Vor liked Uncle Ren Zel; he was quiet and kind and sometimes came ’round to ask Syl Vor if he would indulge him with a game of catch. Because he liked Uncle Ren Zel, Syl Vor paused, and turned—though he would have been obliged to do so in any case, he told himself sternly. He smiled, and waited, which was hard, because surely the taxi had arrived by now!
“Good afternoon, Uncle,” he said. “I am going to town.”
“Are you indeed?” Ren Zel said, with a smile. “Shall I drive you?”
“Thank you,” he said politely. “I had seen on the schedule that you were with Weather Tech Brunner and did not wish to disturb you. I have called a taxi.”
“Mr. Brunner can spare me for an hour, at need. But I wonder where you are bound, in the city?”
“I am going to see my mother,” Syl Vor said. “I am quite well-prepared. I have my gun, and my little knife, and extra warm clothes, and fare both ways.”
“I would call that well-prepared, indeed. Does Nova expect you?”
“I’m certain that she must.” Syl Vor looked at the door. “If you please, Uncle—the taxi.”
“The taxi has been canceled,” Aunt Anthora said, stepping out of the service hall. “Jeeves heard your call and alerted us.” She gave Uncle Ren Zel a smile. “Good afternoon, love.”
“Good afternoon,” he answered, taking her hand. “I see that he does need to go to town,” he murmured.
“Do you? Then go he shall.”
Uncle Ren Zel laughed his soft, pretty laugh. “As simple as that? But, you know, I have no notion why.”
“I have to see my mother,” Syl Vor said, sternly, “on a matter of importance to us both.”
Aunt Anthora looked down at him, her face perfectly serious, though there were smile-crinkles at the sides of her silver eyes.
“There you are,” she said. “What could be more compelling?”
“If you have a moment for Tech Brunner, I will drive Syl Vor,” said Uncle Ren Zel.
“To Nova?” asked Aunt Anthora. “Given the mood in which she is likely to receive you? No, better that I go, I think, and you to return to our weatherman.” She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. “I will be very careful,” she murmured, “and pay close attention to everything.”
Uncle Ren Zel laughed again, and turned to Syl Vor.
“It is decided, then, you see, Nephew? Your aunt will drive you to the city and wait upon your return. Please give your mother my wish that I may see her again—soon.”
“I will,” said Syl Vor, while Aunt Anthora danced over to the console and pressed the button, asking that Jeeves send a car around, because she and Syl Vor were driving into the city.
* * *
The air was cool, here on the mountain, among the vines; his breath frosted against the dangling shoots. Time, now, to cut the old wood back, to make room for the fruits of the coming season.
He had his clippers in hand, the other feeling among the tendrils for the hard bark. That hand ached, but, then, he had been at work since the first ray of daylight had threaded the gap between the twin hills.
It was quiet on the mountain. He had come out, shears in hand, early and alone, to the row that had been his to tend. One more time, before he was set a new duty. The season was too early for insects—those would come with the heat—and the few birds that graced the sky were predators, on the hunt for mouse and vole.
That’s what he thought they were, the shadow of a predator’s wings flickering over the vines—so common a thing that he never bothered to raise his head.
FWUMP!
The sound brought him ’round in the instant before the blast rocked the mountain, and a burst of wind and debris slammed him back into the trellis. He fell, rolled, scrambled to his feet—and stood staring down the mountain, at the billow of greasy smoke from the crater where his clanhouse had been.
* * *
The gadje screamed, muscles spasming. He jerked again, with intent—trying to sit up, endangering himself and the lines into his veins. Kezzi snatched his shoulders and bore down.
“Peace!” she gasped. “Gadje, be still!”
He screamed again, shrill and hopeless, twisting in her grasp. Small as he was, he was bigger than her, though made weak by his wounds, and whatever terrible thing held him in his dream. Kezzi was able to put his shoulders against the bed and hold him there. He sobbed now, moving his head from side to side.
“Peace, peace, gadje,” she said again. “You will break yourself!”
“Let him sit up, small sister, if he wishes.” Silain the luthia slid next to the bed, slipping her arm beneath the gadje’s shoulders. Kezzi leaned back, slowing releasing him, but he made no move to twist away. He lay in Silain’s arms, chest heaving with his sobs.
“Peace, peace, small one,” the luthia murmured in the language they spoke in the City Above, and as if the gadje were Smaller, even, than Kezzi. “It is well. Only open your eyes, foolish boy, and see that it’s true.”
Her words seemed to calm him, so that he rested, his face wet, shivering now, as if his terror had burned out his poor reserves of energy. Then, his chest lifted. He gave a great, shuddering, sigh.
And the gadje opened his eyes.
There were as black as his hair—as black as Bedel eyes. His gaze was wide and soft, as if he stared into the World Not-Yet.
He turned his head slightly, so that he might look upon Silain’s face.
“That is well,” she said, even as his breath caught again.
His shattered hand twitched, but the board it was strapped to was too heavy for him to lift.
“Thawlana?” he whispered, which was not a word that Kezzi knew.
Silain smiled and answered gently in what might be the same strange tongue. She lifted her free hand and stroked the tumbled curls from his forehead.
The gadje closed his eyes, relaxing so completely that Kezzi cried out, thinking that he had left them for the World Unseen.
“Peace,” the luthia told her. “He only sleeps again. Fetch another blanket, small sister—he shivers. When that is done, you and Malda may go for a run. I will watch here.”
Kezzi rose, fetched the blanket and tucked it ’round the gadje. On the edge of snapping her fingers for Malda, however, she hesitated.
“Luthia?”
“Yes, my sister?”
“What passed between you?”
“Ah.” Silain smiled and extended a hand again to stroke the gadje’s hair. “He recognized me as grandmother—thawlana, that is, in one of the gadje tongues.”
It was true, Kezzi thought, that the luthia was the grandmother of the Bedel, who kept the stories and the dreams and who cared for them all. Even a gadje must know that much.
“To him I said that I was indeed the grandmother, and that he might leave his safety in my hands.”
And thus assured, Kezzi thought, the gadje slept easy. As would anyone.
“Thank you,” she said. “Is this tongue a thing that I might dream?”
The luthia moved her hand, not quite a full denial. “Not yet, I think, little sister. It is a large dream, and must wait until you have dreamed others, to hold it in place.”
She had, Kezzi admitted, thought that might be so. Though she spoke the language of the Bedel and the gadje tongue—she had spoken both from her first words, learning from Vylet and Droi. To dream a language—that she had not done, and well she could believe that it was a big dream.
“Would you like a cup of tea before Malda and I go?” she asked.
“That is kindly thought, little sister. I believe I am well enough for this time. Go, now—you have not run in days!”
That was true enough.
Kezzi snapped her fingers for Malda and ran off across the common.