Between Darkness and Light (23 page)

“We've another advantage,” Kusac reminded them. “We're mammals. Our scent is less likely to scare the wildlife than a reptile's. When Kezule was taken from Chezy to be handed over to Raiban, his scent threw the riding beasts into a panic.”

“Anything in it for us?” asked Dzaou, wiping his muddy hands off on his thighs.

“Apart from the satisfaction of showing off our superiority as hunters?” asked Kusac, turning away from them. “No. But I'm sure we'll be able to cook and eat some of that fresh meat while we're down there.”

 

As the other three went for showers in the nearby hydroponics workers' block, Banner accompanied Kusac to the elevator.

“I know my Valtegan's nowhere near as good as yours, but I didn't recognize some of your inflections,” his Second said quietly in the Highland language they used among themselves when they didn't want to be overheard. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were planting Voice subliminals.”

“Linguistic variations between their different worlds,” he said blandly. “Subliminals are used by the Telepath Guild, not Voice commands, that's a high level AlRel skill.”

“But you have access to Kaid's memories because of your three-way Link, and I'm sure you've used it on Dzaou before.”

He stopped dead and rounded on Banner. “Why do you keep pushing me? Would you be happier if I was unstable? You're supposed to support me, not make me account for every breath I take!”

“And you're supposed to keep me informed! After lecturing me on the importance of showing the M'zullians a united front, you suddenly seem to be planting subliminals to destabilize Kezule's control over them! What the hell are you up to? I no longer know what to think about you!”

“Obviously, if you think I want the M'zullians rebelling against Kezule!” he snarled. “I know what I'm doing, Banner, just keep your nose out of it!” With that, he headed angrily for the emergency staircase down to the level below. What he was doing with the M'zullians was subtle, might not even work; he didn't need Banner scrutinizing it.

Still annoyed by his interchange with Banner, he took second meal in his own quarters in an effort to calm himself down before his visit to the Primes' temple in the afternoon.

It was identical to the one allocated to them on the starboard side of the Outpost. As he opened the door, he saw that as in theirs, the larger than life-size statue of the long dead Emperor which had dominated the far end had been replaced by a table to act as an altar. More tables were laid out nearby, covered in brightly colored decorations.

Gathered round one, he saw a group of six female Primes. He recognized several scents from the night before, one of them Zhalmo's, Kezule's daughter. Aware of his pulse beginning to quicken, he checked for Zayshul's scent, knowing she had to be there. As the group turned to greet him, he saw her in their midst.

“I said he would come,” said Lorish, speaking in Sholan.

Closing the door behind him and clasping his hands inside the long sleeves of his robe, he began walking toward them. He felt conspicuous in this large echoing room.

“Djanas,” he said, inclining his head as he approached, consciously attempting to slow his heartbeat. He could see the altar table clearly now. On it was a small statue of their fertility Goddess, La'shol. The altar decorations were homemade, but the cloth on which they sat was of almost transparent pale blue material, intricately embroidered with various animalistic glyphs and symbols in a deep green thread. Symbols mirrored on the beaded bracelet Shaidan had made for him.

“Doctor Zayshul,” he said formally, stopping in front of her. “Nice to see you.” He could see she was nervous, her eyes darting from him to the door and back again.

“Captain,” she said. “Thank you for coming. The General hoped you'd agree to take a minor part in our celebrations since you're the only ordained priest we have here.”

“The absence of a priest of your own faith doesn't invalidate your service,” he said, forcing his attention away from her to the homemade altar. “It's what's in our hearts and minds that matters to our Gods.” As he spoke, he felt he was hearing his voice as if from a great distance, as if what he said held a deeper meaning, one of which he wasn't yet aware. He could smell her scent now, laced with anxiety—and perfume. That was why he'd failed to recognize it. “I can't promise to be involved, but if you tell me what it entails, maybe I can help you,” he murmured, trying not to inhale too obviously. He found the perfume pleasant, even though it almost masked her own natural scent.

“Our ceremony is held to persuade the Goddess La'shol to return to us after the winter by offering her compliments and gifts,” she said, turning round to indicate the table. “The gifts are placed here for the duration of the ceremony, then each of us takes one away with them and places it in their home as an offering to Her. Normally a gift would be offered by the Emperor and then his chief priest as the male principles. We'd like you to bring a gift as the priest, especially as your deity is male.”

“I don't know that . . .” he began.

“You would do it as a Sholan, representing only your own God,” interrupted Kiosh, taking hold of his arm. “It wouldn't involve any worship.”

“And we'd like you to help with the decorations,” said Lorish, moving between him and Zayshul. “They're easy to make. We only use paper. We'll tell you about our Goddess while we make them.”

“I'll help with the decorations, of course,” he said as the two drew him inexorably toward a table strewn with colored paper, scissors, and rulers. Inwardly, though he began to breathe more easily, he was angry that he was obviously not going to get to speak to her alone. At least the scents of these two were overlaying hers, removing the tension he felt when he was in her company.

 

“That's good,” said Zhalmo examining the folded paper flower he'd made. “You have a knack for doing this. Do you do something similar for your own festivals?”

“We weave garlands from branches of certain trees and leaves,” he said as Zhalmo collected the pile of paper flowers then got up to take them over to the altar.

Picking up another piece of colored paper, he was concentrating on folding it when he sensed her sit down beside him.

“Let me show you how to do a different one,” Zayshul said, reaching out and twitching the half-finished piece from his hands. She leaned closer and began to refold it.

“I've been trying to speak to you for weeks,” he said quietly.

She glanced up at him. “I'm usually in the lab or sick bay.” Her voice was equally quiet.

“They told me you weren't.” A low level growl underscored his words.

“I assumed you were avoiding me because of . . .” She fell silent as Zhalmo returned.

“I know you have a daughter,” he said in a normal voice. “Congratulations. When will we see her?” He tried not to think of the hatchling as a possible hostage for his son's return. That was Kezule's way, not his. He couldn't inflict that fear and pain on Zayshul.

“At the ceremony,” said Zayshul. “Before we bring the other children out.”

“Other children?” His voice betrayed his shock.

“Giyarishis has breeding tanks here,” said Zhalmo, pulling up another chair beside them. “We brought nine children to the age of five years old. We've too much work ahead of us to raise very young hatchlings, but at that age, their parents can enjoy their youth and still work—as can the children shortly. Have you decided to take part in our ceremony then, Captain?”

He felt Zayshul's leg press against him briefly before moving away again. Was she trying to let him know he should come? If he did, maybe there was the chance they'd get a few moments together alone.

“Yes,” he heard himself say as Zayshul handed him the finished paper sculpture. “I'll come and take part.” It was difficult to focus on anything else but her when she was so close.

“Good!” said Zhalmo, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “It'll do a lot to lighten your image among our people. They see you as too stern and distant.”

Zayshul stood up abruptly. “We have enough flowers now, ” she said. “I think we can let the Captain go.”

He stood, confused by her sudden change of mood. “What do I do tomorrow?”

“You all come here after the midday meal,” she said. “We'll have a suitable gift ready for you to place before our Goddess. M'kou will sit with you and tell you when to come up to the altar to place it there. When you've done that, you stand beside Kezule and wait till the end of the ceremony. Tables will already be set up for the meal in here afterward.”

Jealousy? Had he really sensed jealousy from Zayshul? He remembered to nod his head.

“Come dressed as you are, in your priest's robe,” said Zhalmo, getting up and moving her chair back so that he could leave. “We'll see you tomorrow, Captain.”

As he started to leave, Zayshul reached out and caught hold of his arm.

“Wait,” she said, letting him go as he turned round. Reaching up to her ear, she took out a tiny jeweled stud. “You should wear this,” she said, holding it out to him on her hand. “It's the color of our Goddess.”

He looked at the transparent green stone. “I can't,” he said. “I've never worn any ear ornaments.”

“That's easily remedied,” she said, smiling too brightly as she reached out to take hold of his neck and leaned toward him.

Surprised, he remained still as her cheek touched his. Her breath in his ear almost made him flick it away, but before he could guess what she meant to do, she'd taken hold of its lower edge in her teeth and bitten down sharply.

Caught unaware, he let out an exclamation of shock and pain and grasped her by the shoulders, trying to push her away.

“Every Tuesday at 16:00, I'm alone in the lab,” she whispered. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” she said in a more normal voice. “Now you can wear the stud.” She reached up to thread the earring through the tiny hole she'd made in his lower ear.

Forcing himself to remain still, he clenched his teeth against the pain while she threaded it through the tiny wound then fitted the back stop on the other side. “You shouldn't have done that,” he whispered angrily.

“It was the only way I could think of to speak to you privately,” she replied almost inaudibly. Stepping back, she eyed him critically. “It looks nice against your pelt, but if you take it out after tomorrow, your ear will heal as if the hole had never been there.”

Still annoyed, he reached up to touch the earring. Bringing his fingers away, he looked at them but there was only the slightest trace of blood.

“Do Sholans wear ear ornaments?” asked Zhalmo. “It does look nice against your black fur.”

“One of the females I saw at Haven wore them,” said Zayshul.

“Males seldom do,” muttered Kusac as he turned again to leave. Her automatic assumption that he wouldn't object to the mutilation of his ear, plus the wasted afternoon, had left him feeling disgruntled and angry.

 

Back in his quarters, he stood in front of the mirror in his bathing room and examined the ornament. A quarter of an inch across, the green gemstone glittered brightly against the short pelt of his inner ear. It was impossible to miss, and alien. Reaching up for it, he fiddled with the backstop, wincing as his fingers touched the slightly swollen flesh surrounding the peg. He wanted to remove it, but it would be a public insult, not only to Zayshul, but to all the Primes there, and he couldn't afford that. Releasing it, he flicked what fur he could over the stone in an attempt to hide it and turned away from the mirror, heading back to his living room for a coffee. If Dzaou and Khadui were complaining about the bracelet Shaidan had made him, this would cause even more trouble. What the hell was Zayshul thinking of, putting him in this position? But it had allowed her to tell him when she was alone in the sick bay.

As he slumped into an easy chair and sipped his drink, his resentment moved from her to Dzaou and the others. If not for their attitude, he'd have none of these problems. They shouldn't even be here. Neither should he and Shaidan. After the ceremony, he'd go to Kezule and demand their release. No, not after the ceremony, after he'd seen Zayshul, be it by winning the bet at the hunt or afterward.

He could smell her scent again—not the perfume she'd been wearing, her natural scent—and feel the pressure of her cheek next to his before the sharp bite of her tooth in his ear had startled him. Then, briefly, he'd held her in his arms. It had cost him dearly to let her go, but over her shoulder, he'd seen Kezule's daughter watching him like some Sholan bird of prey, hovering ready to swoop down on him as if he was a hapless jegget or chiddoe. He knew for sure that they were being purposely kept apart.