At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (31 page)

“And that,” said Kta, “would have cast Nephane into chaos, and they would have died, and come to join Elas in the shadows. Now they are dead,—as they would have died—but I am alive. Now I, Elas—”

“Rest. Stop this.”

“—Elas was shaped to the ruin of Nephane—to bring down the city in its fall. I am the last of Elas. If I had died before this I would have died innocent of my city’s blood. The crime would have been on Djan-methi’s hands. Then my soul would have had rest with theirs, whatever became of Nephane. Instead, I lived,—and for that I deserve to be where I am.”

“Kta,—hush. Sleep. You have a belly full of
telise
and no food to settle it. It has unbalanced your mind. Please. Rest.”

“It is true,” said Kta, “I was born to ruin my people. It is just—what they try to make me do—”

“Blame me for it,” said Kurt. “I had rather hear that than this sick rambling. Answer me what I am, or admit that you cannot foretell the future.”

“It is logical,” said Kta, “that human fate brought you here to deal with human fate.”

“You are drunk, Kta.”

“You came for Djan-methi,” said Kta. “You are for her.”

Kta’s dark eyes closed—rolled back, helplessly. Kurt moved at last, realizing the knot at his belly, the sickly gathering of fear, dread of Guardians and Ancestors and the nemets reasoning.

Kta at last slept. For a long time Kurt stood staring down at him, then went to his own side of the room and lay down upon the cot, not to sleep, not daring to, only to rest his aching back. He feared to leave Kta unwatched, but at some time his eyes grew heavy, and he closed them only for a moment.

He jerked awake, panicked by a sound and simultaneously by the realization that he had slept.

The room was almost in darkness, but the faintest light came from the barred window over the table. Kta was on his feet, naked despite the chill, and had set the water bucket on the table, standing where a channel in the stone floor made a drain beneath the wall, beginning to wash himself.

Kurt looked to the window, amazed to find the light was that of dawn. That Kta had become concerned about his appearance seemed a good sign. Methodically Kta dipped up water and washed, and when he had done what he could by that means, he took the bucket and poured water slowly over himself, letting it complete the task.

Then he returned to his cot and wrapped in the blanket. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, lips moving silently. Gradually he slipped into the state of meditation and rested unmoving, the morning sun beginning to bring detail to his face. He looked at peace, and remained so for about half an hour.

The day broke full, a shaft of light finding its way through the barred window. Kurt bestirred himself and straightened his clothing that his restless sleeping had twisted in knots.

Kta rose and dressed also, in his own hard-used clothing, refusing the Methi’s gifts. He looked in Kurt’s direction with a bleak and yet reassuring smile.

“Are you all right?” Kurt asked him.

“Well enough, considering,” said Kta. “It comes to me that I said things I would not have said.”

“It was the
telise.
I do not take them for intended.”

“I honor you,” said Kta, “as my brother.”

“You know,” said Kurt, “that I honor you in the same way.”

He thought that Kta had spoken as he did because there were hurrying footsteps in the hall. He made haste to answer, for fear that it would pass unsaid. He wanted above all that Kta understand it.

The steps reached their door. A key turned in the lock.

20

This time it was not Lhe who had charge of them, but another man with strangers around him, that had charge of them and they were taken not to the
rhmei,
but out of the fortress.

When they came into the courtyard and turned not toward the temple again, but toward the outer gate of the Indume complex, Kta cast Kurt a frightened glance that carried an unwilling understanding.

“We are bound for the harbor,” he said.

“Those are our orders,” said the captain of the detachment, “since the Methi is there and the fleet is sailing. Move on, t’E-las, or will you be taken through the streets in chains?”

Kta’s head came up. For the least moment the look of Nym t’Elas flared in his dark eyes. “What is your name?”

The guard looked suddenly regretful of his words. “Speak me no curse, t’Elas. I repeated the Methi’s words. She did not think chains necessary.”

“No,” said Kta, “they are not necessary.”

He bowed his head again and matched pace with the guards, Kurt beside him. The nemet was a pitiable figure in the hard, uncompromising light of day, his clothing filthy, his face unshaved—which in the nemet needed a long time to show.

Through the streets, with people stopping to stare at them, Kta looked neither to right nor to left. Knowing his pride, Kurt sensed the misery he felt, his shame in the eyes of these people; and he could not but think that Kta t’Elas would have attracted less comment in his misfortune had he not been laden with the added disgrace of a human companion. Some of the murmured comments came to Kurt’s ears, and he was almost becoming inured to them: how ugly, how covered with hair, how almost-nemet, and caught with an Indras-descended, more the wonder —pity the house of Elas-in-Indresul to see one of its foreign sons in such a state and in such company!

The gangplank of the first trireme at the dock was run out, rowers and crew scurrying around making checks of equipment. Spread near its stern was a blue canopy upheld with gold-tipped poles, beneath which sat Ylith, working over some charts with Lhe t’Nethim and paying no attention to their approach.

When at last she did see fit to notice them kneeling before her, she dismissed Lhe back a pace with a gesture and turned herself to face them. Still she wore the crown of her office, and she was modestly attired in
chatem
and
pelan
of pale green silk, slim and delicate in this place of war. Her eyes rested on Kta without emotion, and Kta bowed down to his face at her feet, Kurt unwillingly imitating his action.

Ylith snapped her fingers. “It is permitted you both to sit,” she said, and they straightened together. Ylith looked at them thoughtfully, most particularly at Kta.

“
Ei,
t’Elas,” she said softly, “have you made your decision? Do you come to ask for clemency?”

“Methi,” said Kta, “no.”

“Kta,” Kurt exclaimed, for he had hoped. “Don’t—”

“If,” said Ylith, “you seek in your barbaric tongue to advise the son of Elas against this choice, he would do well to listen to you.”

“Methi,” said Kta, “I have considered, and I cannot agree to what you ask.”

Ylith looked down at him with anger gathering in her eyes. “Do you hope to make a gesture, and then I shall relent afterward and pardon you? Or do they teach such lack of religion across the Dividing Sea that the consequence is of little weight with you? Have you so far inclined toward the Sufak heresies that you are more at home with those dark spirits we do not name?”

“No, Methi,” said Kta, his voice trembling. “Yet we of Elas were a reverent house, and we do not receive justice from you.”

“You say then that I am in error, t’Elas?”

Kta bowed his head, caught hopelessly between yea and nay, between committing blasphemy and admitting to it.

“T’Elas,” said Ylith, “is it so overwhelmingly difficult to accept our wishes?”

“I have given the Methi my answer.”

“And choose to die accursed.” The Methi turned her face toward the open sea, opened her long-fingered hand in that direction. “A cold resting place at best, t’Elas, and cold the arms of Kalyt’s daughters. A felon’s grave, the sea,—a grave for those no house will claim, for those who have lived their lives so shamefully that there remains no one, not even their own house, to mourn them, to give them rest. Such a fate is for those so impious that they would defy a father or the Upei or dishonor their own kinswomen. But I, t’Elas, I am more than the Upei. If I curse,—I curse your soul not from hearth or from city only, but from all mankind, from among all who are born of this latter race of men. The lower halls of death will have you: Yeknis, those dark places where the shadows live, those unnameable firstborn of Chaos. Do they still teach such things in Nephane, t’Elas?”

“Yes, Methi.”

“Chaos is the just fate of a man who will not bow to the will of heaven. Do you say I am not just?”

“Methi,” said Kta, “I believe that you are the Chosen of Heaven, and I reverence you and the home of my Ancestors-in-Indresul. Perhaps you are appointed by heaven for the destruction of my people, but if heaven will destroy my soul for refusing to help you, then heaven’s decrees are unbelievably harsh. I honor you, Methi. I believe that you, like Fate itself, must somehow be just. So I will do as I think right, and I will not aid you.”

Ylith regarded him furiously, then with a snap of her fingers and a gesture brought the guards to take them.

“Unfortunate man,” she said. “Blind to necessity and gifted with the stubborn pride of Elas. I have been well-served by that quality in Elas until now, and it goes hard to find fault with that which I have best loved in your house. I truly pity you, Kta t’E-las. Go and consider again whether you have well chosen. There is a moment the gods lend us, to yield before going under. I still offer you life.
That
is heaven’s justice.—Tryn, secure them both belowdecks. The son of Elas and his human friend are sailing with us, against Nephane.”

 

The hatch banged open against the deck above and someone in silhouette came down the creaking steps into the hold.

“T’Elas. T’Morgan.” It was Lhe t’Nethim, and in a moment the Indras officer had come near enough to them that his features were faintly discernible. “Have you all that you need?” he asked, and sank down on his heels a little beyond the reach of their chains.

Kta turned his face aside. Kurt, feeling somewhat a debt to this man’s restraint, made a grudging bow of his head. “We are well enough,” Kurt said, which they were, considering.

Lhe pressed his lips together. “I did not come to enjoy this sight. For that both of you—have done kindness to my house, I would give you what I can.”

“You have generally done me kindness,” said Kurt, yet careful of Kta’s sensibilities. “That is enough.”

“Elas and Nethim are enemies; that does not change. But human though you are—if Mim could choose you, of her own will—you are an exceptional human. And t’Elas,” he said in a hard voice, “because you sheltered her, I thank you. We know the tale of her slavery among Tamurlin,—this through Elas-in-Indresul, through the Nethim. It is a bitter tale.”

“She was dear to us,” said Kta, looking toward him.

Lhe’s face was grim. “Did you have her?”

“I did not,” said Kta. “She was adopted of the
chan
of Elas. No man of my people treated her as other than an honorable woman, and I gave her at her own will to my friend, who tried with all his heart to treat her well. For Mim’s sake, Elas is dead in Nephane. To this extent we defended her. We did not know that she was of Nethim. Because she was Mim, and of our hearth, Elas would have defended her even had she told us.”

“She was loved,” said Kurt, because he saw the pain in Lhe’s eyes, “and had no enemies in Nephane. It was mine who killed her.”

“Tell me the manner of it,” said Lhe.

Kurt glanced down, unwilling: but Lhe was nemet—some things would not make sense to him without all the truth. “Enemies of mine stole her,” he said, “and they took her; the Methi of Nephane humiliated her. She died at her own hand, Lhe t’Nethim. I blame myself also. If I had been nemet enough to know what she was likely to do,—I would not have let her be alone then.”

Lhe’s face was like graven stone. “No,” he said. “Mim chose well. If you were nemet you would know it. You would have been wrong to stop her. Name the men who did this.”

“I cannot,” he said. “Mim did not know their names.”

“Were they Indras?”

“Sufaki,” Kurt admitted. “Men of Shan t’Tefur u Tlekef.”

“Then there is bloodfeud between that house and Nethim. May the Guardians of Nethim deal with them as I shall if I find them, and with Djan-methi of Nephane. What is the emblem of Tefur?”

“It is the Great Snake Yr,” said Kta. “Gold on green. I wish you well in that bloodfeud, t’Nethim; you will avenge Elas also, when I cannot.”

“Obey the Methi,” said Lhe.

“No,” said Kta. “But Kurt may do as he pleases.”

Lhe looked toward Kurt, and Kurt gave him nothing better. Lhe made a gesture of exasperation.

“You must admit,” said Lhe, “that the Methi has offered you every chance; and it is a lasting wonder that you are not sleeping tonight at the bottom of the sea.”

“Nephane is my city,” said Kta. “And as for your war, your work will not be finished until you finish it with me, so stop expecting me to obey your Methi. I will not.”

“If you keep on as you are,” said Lhe, “I will probably be assigned as your executioner. In spite of the feud between our houses, t’Elas, I shall not like that assignment; but I shall obey her orders.”

“For a son of Nethim,” said Kta, “you are a fair-minded man with us both. I would not have expected it.”

“For a son of Elas,” said Lhe, “you are fair-minded yourself. And,” he added with a sideways glance at Kurt, “I cannot even fault you the guest of your house. I do not want to kill you. You and this human would haunt me.”

“Your priests are not sure,” said Kurt, “that I have a soul to do so.”

Lhe bit his lip; he had come near heresy. And Kurt’s heart went out to Lhe t’Nethim, for it was clear enough that in Lhe’s eyes he was more than animal.

“T’Nethim,” said Kta, “has the Methi sent you here?”

“No. My advice is from the heart, t’Elas. Yield.”

“Tell your Methi I want to speak with her.”