At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (13 page)

“Are you consenting to all the terms of the marriage contract?”

“Yes, my lord of Elas.”

“Are you willing now, daughter to Elas, to bind yourself by these final and irrevocable vows?”

“Yes, my lord of Elas.”

“And you, Kurt Liam t’Morgan u Patrick Edward, are you willing to bind yourself by these final and irrevocable vows, to take this free woman Mim h’Elas e Hef for your true and first wife, loving her before all others, commiting your honor into her hands and your strength and fortune to her protection?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hef h’Elas,” said Nym, “the blessing of this house and its Guardians upon this union.”

The old man came forward, and it was Hef who completed the ceremony, giving Mim’s hand into Kurt’s and naming for each the final vows they made. Then, according to custom, Ptas lit a torch from the great
phusmeha
and gave it into Kurt’s hands, and he into Mim’s.

“In purity I have given,” Kurt recited the ancient formula in High Nechai, “in reverence preserve, Mim h’Elas e Hef shu-Kurt, well-beloved, my wife.”

“In purity I have received,” she said softly, “in reverence I will keep myself to thee to the death, Kurt Liam t’Morgan u Patrick Edward, my lord, my husband.”

And with Mim beside him, and to the ritual weeping of the ladies and the congratulations of the men, Kurt left the
rhmei.
Mim carried the light, walking behind him up the stairs to the door of his room that now was hers.

He entered, and watched as she used the torch to light the triangular bronze lamp, the
phusa,
which had been replaced in its niche, and he heard her sigh softly with relief, for the omen would have been terrible if the light had not taken. The lamp of Phan burned with steady light, and she then extinguished the torch with a prayer and knelt down before the lamp as Kurt closed the door, knelt down and lifted her hands before it.

“My Ancestors, I, Mim t’Nethim e Sel shu-Kurt, called by these my beloved friends Mim h’Elas, I, Mim, beg your forgiveness for marrying under a name not my own, and swear now by my own name to honor the vows I made under another. My Ancestors, behold this man, my husband Kurt t’Morgan, and whatever distant spirits are his, be at peace with them for my sake. Peace, I pray my Fathers, and let peace be with Elas on both sides of the Dividing Sea.
Ei,
let thoughts of war be put aside between our two lands. May love be in this house and upon us both forever. May the terrible Guardians of Nethim hear me and receive the vow I make. And may the great Guardians of Elas receive me kindly as you have ever done, for we are of this house now, and within your keeping.”

She lowered her hands, finishing her prayer, and offered her right hand to Kurt, who drew her up.

“Mim t’Nethim,” he said. “Then I had never heard your real name.”

Her large eyes lifted to him. “Nethim has no house in Nephane, but in Indresul we are ancestral enemies to Elas. I have not burdened Kta with knowing my true name. He asked me, and I would not answer, so surely he suspects that I am of a hostile house; but if there is any harm in my silence, it is upon me only. And I have spoken your name before the Guardians of Nethim many times, and I have not felt that they are distressed at you, my lord Kurt.”

He had started to take her in his arms, but hesitated now, held his hands a little apart from her, suddenly fearing Mim and her strangeness. Her gown was beautiful and had cost days of work which he had watched; he did not know how to undo it, or if this was expected of him. And Mim herself was as complex and unknowable, wrapped in customs for which Kta’s instructions had not prepared him.

He remembered the frightened child that Kta had found among the Tamurlin, and feared that she would suddenly see him as human and loathe him, without the robes and the graces that made him—outwardly—nemet.

“Mim,” he said. “I would never see any harm come to you.”

“It is a strange thing to say, my lord.”

“I am afraid for you,” he said suddenly. “Mim, I do love you.”

She smiled a little, then laughed, down-glancing. He treasured the gentle laugh: it was Mim at her prettiest. And she slipped her hands about his waist and hugged him tightly, her strong slim arms dispelling the fear that she would break.

“Kurt,” she said, “Kta is a dear man, most honored of me. I know that you and he have spoken of me. Is this not so?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Kta has spoken to me too: he fears for me. I honor his concern. It is for both of us. But I trust your heart where I do not know your ways; I know if ever you hurt me, it would be much against your will.” She slipped her warm hands to him. “Let us have tea, my husband, a first warming of our hearth.”

That was much against his will, but it pleased her. She lit the small room-stove, which also heated, and boiled water and made them tea, which they enjoyed sitting on the bed together.

He had little to say but much on his mind; neither did Mim, but she looked often at him.

“Is it not enough tea?” he asked finally, with the same patient courtesy he always used in Elas, which Kta had taught his unwilling spirit. But this time there was great earnestness in the question, which brought a sly smile from Mim.

“What is your custom now?” she asked of him.

“What is yours?” he asked.

“I do not know,” she admitted, down-glancing and seeming distressed. Then for the first time he realized, and felt pained for his thoughtlessness: she had never been with a man of her own kind,—nor with any man of decency.

“Put up the teacups,” he said, “and come here, Mim.”

The light of morning came through the window and Kurt stirred in his sleep, his hand finding the smoothness of Mim beside him, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark and heavy on her golden cheek, her full lips relaxed in dreams. A little scar marred her temple, as others not so slight marked her back and hips, and that anyone could have abused Mim was a thought he could not bear.

He moved, leaned on his arm across her and touched his lips to hers, smoothed aside the dark and shining veil of hair that flowed across her and across the pillows, and she stirred, responding sweetly to his morning kiss.

“Mim,” he said, “good morning.”

Her arms went around his neck. She pulled herself up and kissed him back. Then she blinked back tears, which he made haste to wipe away.

“Mim?” he questioned her, much troubled; but she smiled at him and even laughed.

“Dear Kurt,” she said, holding his face between her hands. And then, breaking for the side of the bed, she began to wriggle free. “
Ei, ei,
my lord, I must hurry,—you must hurry—the sun is up. The guests will be waiting.”

“Guests?” he echoed, dismayed. “Mim—”

But she was already slipping into her dressing gown, then pattering away into the bath. He heard her putting wood into the stove.

“It is custom,” she said, putting her head back through the doorway of the bath. “They come back at dawn to breakfast with us.—Oh please, Kurt, please, hurry to be ready. They will be downstairs already, and if we are much past dawning, they will laugh.”

It was the custom, Kurt resolved to himself, and nerved himself to face the chill air and the cold stone floor, when he had planned a far warmer and more pleasant morning.

He joined Mim in the bath and she washed his back for him, making clouds of comfortable steam with the warm water, laughing and not at all caring that the water soaked her dressing gown.

She was content with him.

At times the warmth in her eyes or the lingering touch of her fingers said she was more than content.

 

The hardest thing that faced them was to go down the stairs into the
rhmei,
at which Mim actually trembled. Kurt took her arm and would have brought her down with his support, but the idea shocked her. She shook free of him and walked like a proper nemet lady, independently behind him down the stairs.

The guests and family met them at the foot of the steps and brought them into the
rhmei
with much laughter and with ribald jokes that Kurt would not have believed possible from the modest nemet. He was almost angry, but when Mim laughed he knew that it was proper, and forgave them.

After the round of greetings, Aimu came and served the morning tea, hot and sweet, and the elders sat in chairs while the younger people—Kurt and Mim included, and Hef, who was
chan,
—sat upon rugs on the floor and drank their tea and listened to the elders talk. Kta played one haunting song for them on the
aos,
without words, but just for listening and for being still.

Mim would be honored in the house and exempt from duties for the next few days, after which time she would again take her share with Ptas and Aimu; she sat now and accepted the attentions and the compliments and the good wishes,—Mim, who had never expected to be more than a minor concubine to the lord of Elas, accepted with private vows and scant legitimacy—now she was the center of everything.

It was her hour.

Kurt begrudged her none of it, even the nemet humor. He looked down at her and saw her face alight with pride and happiness—and love, which she would have given with lesser vows had he insisted; and he smiled back and pressed her hand, which the others kindly did not elect to make joke of at that moment.

10

Ten days passed before the outside world intruded again into the house of Elas.

It came in the person of Bel t’Osanef u Han, who arrived, escorted by Mim, in the garden at the rear of the house, where Kta was instructing Kurt in the art of the
ypan,
the narrow curved longsword that was the Indras’ favorite weapon and chief sport.

Kurt saw Bel come into the garden and turned his blade and held it in both hands to signal halt. Kta checked himself in mid-strike, and turned his head to see the reason of the pause. Then with the elaborate ritual that governed the friendly use of these edged weapons, Kta touched his left hand to his sword and bowed, which Kurt returned. The nemet believed such ritual was necessary to maintain balance of soul between friends who contended in sport, and distrusted the blades. In the houses of the Families resided the
ypai-sulim,
the Great Weapons which had been dedicated in awful ceremony to the house Guardians and bathed in blood. These were never drawn unless a man had determined to kill or to die, and could not be sheathed again until they had taken a life. Even these light foils must be handled carefully, lest the ever-watchful house spirits mistake someone’s intent and cause blood to be drawn.

And once it had been death to the Sufaki to touch these lesser weapons, or even to look at the
ypai-sulim
where they hung at rest, so that fencing was an art the Sufaki had never employed: they were skilled with the spear and the bow—distance-weapons.

Bel waited at a respectful distance until the weapons were safely sheathed and laid aside, and then came forward and bowed.

“My lords,” said Mim, “shall I bring tea?”

“Do so, Mim, please,” said Kta. “Bel, my soon-to-be brother—”

“Kta,” said Bel. “My business is somewhat urgent.”

“Sit then,” said Kta, puzzled. There were several stone benches about the garden. They took those nearest.

Then Aimu came from the house. She bowed modestly to her brother. “Bel,” she said then, “you come into Elas without at least sending me greetings? What is the matter?”

“Kta,” said Bel, “permission for your sister to sit with us.”

“Granted,” said Kta, a murmured formality, as thoughtless as “thank you.” Aimu sank down on the seat near them. There were no further words. Tea had been asked; Bel’s mood was distraught. There was no discussion proper until it had come, and it was not long. Mim brought it on a tray, a full service with extra cups.

Aimu rose up and helped her serve, and then both ladies settled on the same bench while the first several sips that courtesy demanded were drunk in silence and with appreciation.

“My friend Bel,” said Kta, when ritual was satisfied, “is it unhappiness or anger or need that has brought you to this house?”

“May the spirits of our houses be at peace,” said Bel. “I am here now because I trust you above all others save those born in Osanef. I am afraid there is going to be bloodshed in Nephane.”

“T’Tefur,” exclaimed Aimu with great bitterness.

“I beg you, Aimu, hear me to the end before you stop me.”

“We listen,” said Kta, “but, Bel, I suddenly fear this is a matter best discussed between our fathers.”

“Our fathers’ concern must be with Tlekef; Shan t’Tefur is beneath their notice—but he is the dangerous one, much more than Tlekef. Shan and I—we were friends. You know that. And you must realize how hard it is for me to come now to an Indras house and say what I am going to say. I am trusting you with my life.”

“Bel,” said Aimu in distress, “Elas will defend you.”

“She is right,” said Kta, “but Kurt—may not wish to hear this.”

Kurt gathered himself to leave: it was Bel’s willingness to have him stay that Kta questioned; he had been long enough in Elas to understand nemet subtleties. It was expected of Bel to demur.

“He must stay,” said Bel, with more feeling than courtesy demanded. “He is involved.”

Kurt settled down again, but Bel remained silent a time thereafter, staring fixedly at his own hands.

“Kta,” he said finally, “I must speak now as Sufaki. There was a time, you know, when we ruled this land from the rock of Nephane to the Tamur and inland to the heart of Chteftikan and east to the Gray Sea. Nothing can ever bring back those days; we realize that. You have taken from us our land, our gods, our language, our customs,—you accept us as brothers only when we look like you and talk like you, and you despise us for savages when we are different.—It is true, Kta: look at me. Here am I, born a prince of the Osanef, and I cut my hair and wear Indras robes and speak with the clear round tones of Indresul, like a good civilized man, and I am accepted. Shan is braver. He does what many of us would do if we did not find life so comfortable on your terms. But Elas taught him a lesson I did not learn.”