At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (5 page)

But of Hef and Mim, who served Elas, was required only the obeisance of equals, although it was their habit to show more than that on formal occasions.

“And what of me?” Kurt asked, dreading to ask. “What must I do?”

Kta frowned. “You are guest, mine; you must be equal with me. But,” he added nervously, “it is proper in a man to show greater respect than necessary sometimes. It does not hurt your dignity; sometimes it makes it greater. Be most polite to all. Don’t—make Elas ashamed. People will watch you—thinking they will see a
Tamuru
in nemet dress. You must prove this is not so.”

“Kta,” Kurt asked, “—am I a man—to the nemet?”

Kta pressed his lips together and looked as if he earnestly wished that question had gone unasked.

“I am not, then,” Kurt concluded, and was robbed even of anger by the distress on Kta’s face.

“I have not decided,” Kta said. “Some—would say no. It is a religious question. I must think.—But I have a liking for you, Kurt, even if you
are
human.”

“You have been very good to me.”

There was silence between them. In the sleeping house there was no sound at all. Kta looked at him with a directness and a pity that disquieted him.

“You are afraid of us,” Kta observed.

“Did Djan make you my keeper only because you asked, or because she trusts you in some special way—to watch me?”

Kta’s head lifted slightly. “Elas is loyal to the Methi. But you are guest.”

“Are nemet who speak human language so common? You are very fluent, Kta. Mim is. Your—readiness to accept a human into your house—is that not different from the feelings of other nemet?”

“I interpreted for the
umani
when they first came to Nephane. Before that, I learned of Mim, and Mim learned because she was prisoner of the Tamurlin. What evil do you suspect? What is the quarrel between you and Djan-methi?”

“We are of different nations, an old, old war. Don’t get involved, Kta, if you did only get into this for my sake. If I threaten the peace of your house—or your safety—tell me. I’ll go back. I mean that.”

“This is impossible,” said Kta. “No. Elas has never dismissed a guest.”

“Elas has never entertained a human.”

“No,” Kta conceded. “But the Ancestors when they lived were reckless men. This is the character of Elas. The Ancestors guide us to such choice, and Nephane and the Methi cannot be much surprised at us.”

The nemet’s lives were uniformly tranquil. Kurt endured a little more than four days of the silent dim halls and the hushed voices and the endless bowing and refraining from untouchable objects and untouchable persons before he began to feel his sanity slipping.

On that day he went upstairs and locked the door, despite Kta’s pleas to explain his behavior. He shed a few tears, fiercely and in the privacy of his room, and curtained the window so he did not have to look out upon the alien world. He sat in the dark until the night came, then he slipped quietly downstairs and sat in the empty
rhmei,
trying to make his peace with the house.

Mim came. She stood and watched him silently, hands twisting nervously before her.

At last she pattered on soft feet over to the chairs and gathered up one of the fleeces, and brought it to the place where he sat on the cold stone. She laid it down beside him, and chanced to meet his eyes as she straightened. Hers questioned, greatly troubled, even frightened.

He accepted the offered truce between them, edged onto the welcome softness of the fleece.

She bowed very deeply, then slipped out again, extinguishing the lights one by one as she left, save only the
phusmeba,
that burned the night long.

Kta also came out to him, but only looked as if to see that he was well. Then he went away, and left the door of his room open the night long.

Kurt rose up in the morning and paused in Kta’s doorway to give him an apology. The nemet was awake and arose in some concern, but Kurt did not find words adequate to explain his behavior. He only bowed in respect to the nemet, and Kta to him, and he went up to his own room to prepare for the decency of breakfast with the family.

Gentle Kta. Soft-spoken, seldom angry, he stood above six feet in height and was physically imposing; but it was uncertain whether Kta had ever laid aside his dignity to use force on anyone. It was an increasing source of amazement to Kurt that this intensely proud man had vaulted a ship’s rail in view of all Nephane to rescue a drowning human, or sat on the dock and helped him amid his retching illness. Nothing seemed to ruffle Kta for long. He met frustration by retiring to meditate on the problem until he had restored himself to what he called
yhia,
or balance, a philosophy evidently adequate even in dealing with humans.

Kta also played the
aos,
a small harp of metal strings, and sang with a not unpleasant voice, which was the particular pleasure of lady Ptas upon the quiet evenings,—sometimes light, quick songs that brought laughter to the
rhmei,
—sometimes very long ones that were interrupted with cups of
telise
to give Kta’s voice a rest,—songs to which all the house listened in sober silence, plaintive and haunting melodies of anharmonic notes.

“What do you sing about?” Kurt asked him afterward. They sat in Kta’s room, sharing a late cup of tea. It was their habit to sit and talk late into the night. It was almost their last. The two weeks were almost spent. Tonight he wanted very much to know the nemet, not at all sure that he would have a further chance. It had been beautiful in the
rhmei,
the notes of the
aos,
the sober dignity of Nym, the rapt face of lady Ptas, Aimu and Mim with their sewing, Hef sitting to one side and listening, his old eyes dreaming.

The stillness of Elas had seeped into his bones this night, a timeless and now fleeting time which made all the world quiet. He had striven against it. Tonight, he listened.

“The song would mean nothing to you,” Kta said. “I can’t sing it in human words.”

“Try,” said Kurt.

The nemet shrugged, gave a pained smile, gathered up the
aos
and ran his fingers over the sensitive strings, calling forth the same melody. For a moment he seemed lost, but the melody grew, rebuilt itself in all its complexity.

“It is our beginning,” said Kta, and spoke softly, not looking at Kurt, his fingers moving on the strings like a whisper of wind, as if that was necessary for his thoughts.

There was water. From the sea came the nine spirits of the elements, and greatest were Ygr the earthly and Ib the celestial. From Ygr and Ib came a thousand years of begettings and chaos and wars of elements, until Las who was light and Mur who was darkness, persuaded their brother-gods Phan the sun and Thael the earth to part.

So formed the first order. But Thael loved Phan’s sister Ti, and took her. Phan in his anger killed Thael, and of Thael’s ribs was the earth. Ti bore dead Thael a son, Aem.

“I have never tried to think it in human terms,” said Kta, frowning. “It is very hard.”

But with a gesture Kurt urged him, and Kta touched the strings again, trying, greatly frustrated.

“The first beings that were mortal were Nem and Panet, man and woman, twins. They sinned the great sin too. The council of gods rejected them for immortality because of it, and made their lives short. Phan especially hated them, and he mated with Yr the snake, and brought beasts and terrible things into the world to hunt man.

“Then a prophecy came,” said Kta, “and Phan chose Isoi, a mortal woman, and gave her a half-god son: Qavur, who carried the weapons of Phan to destroy the world by burning. Qavur destroyed the godkings, but Isoi his mother begged him not to kill the rest of man, and he didn’t. Then Phan with his sword of plague came down and destroyed all men, but when he came to Isoi she ran to her hearthfire and sat down beside it, so that she claimed the gods’ protection. Her tears made Phan pity her. He gave her another son, Isem, who was husband of Nae the seagoddess and father of all men that sail on the sea. But Phan took Qavur to be immortal; he is the star that shines in morning, the messenger of the sun.

“But to keep Nae’s children from doing wrong, Phan gave Qavur the
yhia
to take to men. All law comes from it. From it we know our place in the universe. Anything higher is gods’ law; but that is beyond the words of the song. The song is the
Ind.
It is sacred to us. My father taught it to me, and the seven verses of it that are only for Elas. So it has come to us in each generation.”

“You said once,” said Kurt, “that you didn’t know whether I was man or not. Have you decided yet?”

Kta thoughtfully laid aside the
aos,
stilled its strings. “Perhaps,” said Kta, “some of the children of Nem escaped the plague; but you are not nemet. Perhaps instead you are descended of Yr, and you were set out among the stars on some world of Thael’s kindred. From what I have heard among humans, the earth seems to have had many brothers. But I don’t think you think so.”

“I said nothing.”

“Your look did not agree.”

“I wouldn’t distress you,” said Kurt, “by saying I consider you human.”

The nemet’s lips opened instantly, his eyes mirroring shock. Then he looked as if he suspected Kurt of some levity, and again, as if he feared he were serious. Slowly his expression took on a certain thoughtfulness, and he made a gesture of rejection.

“Please,” said Kta, “don’t say that freely.”

Kurt bowed his head then in respect to Kta, for the nemet truly looked frightened.

“I have spoken to the Guardians of Elas for you,” said Kta. “You are a disturbance here, but I do not feel that you are unwelcome with our Ancestors.”

Kurt dressed carefully upon the last morning. He would have worn the clothes in which he had come, but Mim had taken those away, unworthy, she had said, of the guest of Elas. Instead he had an array of fine clothing he thought must be Kta’s, and on this morning he chose the warmest and most durable, for he did not know what the day might bring him, and the night winds were chill. So it was cold in the rooms of the Afen, and he feared he would not leave it once he entered.

Elas again began to seem distant to him, and the sterile modernity of the center of the Afen increasingly crowded upon his thoughts, the remembrance that, whatever had happened in Elas, his business was with Djan and not with the nemet.

He had chosen his option at the beginning of the two weeks, in the form of a small dragon-hilted blade from among Kta’s papers, where it had been gathering dust and would not be missed.

He drew it now from its hiding place and considered it, apt either for Djan or for himself.

And fatally traceable to the house of Elas.

It did not go within his clothing, as he had always meant to carry it. Instead he laid it aside on the dressing table. It would go back to Kta. The nemet would be angry at the theft, but it would make amends, all the same.

Kurt finished dressing, fastening the
ctan,
the outer cloak, upon his shoulder, and chose a bronze pin with which to do it, for his debts to Elas were enough, he would not use the ones of silver and gold which he had been provided.

A light tapping came at the door, Mim’s knock.

“Come in,” he bade her, and she quietly did so. Linens were changed daily throughout the house. She carried fresh ones, for bed and for bath, and she bowed to him before she set them down to begin her work. Of late there was no longer hate in Mim’s look: he understood that she had had cause, having been prisoner of the Tamurlin; but she had ceased her war with him of her own accord, and in consideration of that he always tried especially to please Mim.

“At least,” he observed, “you will have less washing in the house hereafter.”

She did not appreciate the poor humor. She looked at him, then lowered her eyes and turned around to tend her business.

And froze, with her back to him, facing the dresser. Hesitantly she reached for the knife, snatched at it and faced about again as if uncertain that he would not pounce on her. Her dark eyes were large with terror; her attitude was that of one determined to resist if he attempted to take it from her.