The Marann (22 page)

“You realize that you are quite a
beauty by our standards?” the Jorann continued. “Breathtaking. No
wonder he is besotted. But never mind that. I have summoned you and
Kyza here to give you my blessing.”

The Jorann gave Marianne no time to
digest her comments. She pushed herself off the dais and hobbled
over to a rock on which sat a crystal box, taking from it a number
of small whitish cubes, the size and shape of sugar cubes. She
turned to Kyza and placed one in her hand.

“You are Kyza,” she said. “Daughter
and heir of Suralia. I give you rank and status second to the
Sural.”

“You honor me, highest,” Kyza said,
sitting up straighter, her face wreathed in a huge smile. Her eyes
shone.

The Sural cast an indulgent smile at
his daughter. The Jorann shuffled toward him and placed a cube in
his hand.

“Grandson,” she said. “I greet you,
Suralia.”

He gazed up at her, the expression on
his face resembling something akin to worship. “You honor me,
highest,” he murmured.

The Jorann’s eyes glinted, and her
lips twitched. “The seal on your heart has broken,
grandson.”

“Yes, highest.”

She shook with dry chuckles and moved
in front of Marianne. Marianne held up both hands to accept the
cube the Jorann offered. She flicked a glance at the Sural. Both
eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“You are Marianne,” the Jorann said.
Marianne’s attention snapped back to the old woman. “Today you are
a daughter of Suralia. You belong to us.”

The Jorann nodded to the Sural, and
both he and Kyza put the cubes in their mouths. Marianne reached
for her scanner, which she had slipped up a sleeve before leaving
the stronghold.

“You will not need that, child,” the
Jorann said.

“But highest—”

“You must obey me in this. If you scan
my blessing, its molecular structure will change, and it will not
then do what I need it to do for you. If you scan it, it
will
poison you. If you do not, it will make you one of
us.”

Marianne looked at the Sural. “Trust
us,” he said. Marianne took a deep breath, looked up at the Jorann,
and nodded.

“Put the cube in your mouth and let it
melt on your tongue,” she said.

“Yes, highest.” Marianne put the tiny
white cube in her mouth.

The world went away.

<<>>

The Sural caught Marianne as she
slumped against him. The Jorann’s blessing sent her sinking into
unconsciousness so deep her presence dimmed from his senses,
despite the physical contact. Shifting sideways, he cradled her
head in one arm and supported her upper body with the
other.

“Heir to Suralia,” the Jorann said,
“you will find blankets against the wall. Bring one.”

Pride flashed through his daughter at
the title. She jumped up and scampered off. He glanced at the
Jorann and met eyes which seemed to penetrate his soul.

“Your senses are bruised,” she
said.

He lowered his gaze to Marianne. So
deep in unconsciousness, her face had relaxed into a serene beauty
that filled his heart with longing.

“She fought herself and struck me. I
shielded Kyza from the empathic blows.” The old one snorted. He let
his lips curve. “She has no awareness of how little privacy she
has. The stairs did not seem an appropriate place to educate
her.”

“That will change when she
wakes.”

Kyza returned and tried to throw a
blanket over Marianne, managing only to drape her…
feet
,
while the rest of the cover lay alongside her. Still supporting her
head, he let her slip down until she lay in his lap, freeing an arm
to assist his daughter.

Expressionless and unreadable, the
Jorann sat silent as he and Kyza smoothed the blanket over
Marianne. When she lay covered, he raised his eyes once more to the
revered ancient. Her hands curled in her lap, a sliver of white
showing between her fingers.

“Will you take your blessing?” he
asked.

She lifted an eyebrow, eyes sparkling.
“Do you worry over me, Suralia?”

He bit back a response. The Jorann was
a powerful empath; she could read his concern even with his
barriers shut. The idea she would walk into the dark during his
rule appalled him, but he could not read her to know if she
intended to allow her long life to end. He could do nothing if she
did.

“No, grandson.” Her face softened into
a gentle smile. “I have yet to lose interest in life.” She placed
the cube on her tongue.

Relief washed through him. His heart
easing, he gazed down at the women he held. She used her people’s
separation of person and profession as a barricade against him.
While carrying her up the steps, he had sensed every nuance of her
struggle with her own desire, had felt the fear provoking her to
quell it with painful emotional blows.

He would need all his experience and
insight to help her adjust to the revelations she faced when she
awakened.

Chapter Twelve

Marianne floated into consciousness, a strange
energy thrumming from head to toe. Three presences glowed around
her, two of them blank and unreadable, one eager and fidgeting. A
half day had passed.
How do I know all that?
Her head lay in
a warm lap, and a musky, male scent drifted over her from the
Sural.

Wait—what?

“The blessing makes you one of us.”
Kyza’s voice rang with a world of meaning—a child’s pride in her
own knowledge. “It is not just a ritual that says, ‘Now we say that
you are one of us.’ It
makes
you one of us.”

Marianne opened blurry
eyes.

“Welcome to our world, child,” said a
young woman with white hair cascading around her in long, intricate
braids. Marianne’s head lay in her lap. As her vision focused, she
recognized the young woman’s eyes. They had looked out of the
ancient Jorann’s face.

“The blessing gives youth to the old,”
the Sural said.

“This is—”

“The Jorann,” he answered.
“Yes.”

“What did that stuff do to me?” she
asked, probing her face with her fingers.

“Your appearance is little changed,”
he said, “but you are changing, becoming one of us.”

“I’m
becoming
Tolari?” she
gasped. “What? How?”

“I did tell you, did I not, that you
would become Tolari?”

“I didn’t think you meant it
literally!” Marianne’s hands flew to her jaws. “Then
why...?”

“You are new,” he answered, “and you
are only beginning to become Tolari. When your ability to walk into
the dark has developed, my apothecaries will remove the
implants.”

“It will take some time, child,” said
the Jorann, “before you are fully one of us. Five or six seasons,
perhaps as much as two years. The process will accelerate as it
progresses, but the beginning is quite slow.”

“Who
are
you?” she
asked.

“She is the first Tolari,” Kyza
answered, voice still ringing with pride.

“But Tolari civilization has existed
for thousands of years!” Marianne exclaimed, sitting up. The world
spun around her. She groaned and fell back.

“Yes it has, dear one,” said the
Sural.

She gasped.
This woman is thousands
of years old.

“I have a lot to learn,” she said,
sitting up with more care.

“Yes, dear one.” The Sural smiled.
“You have.”

Her thoughts whirled at the idea that
the Tolari possessed a fountain of youth. “The Admiral must
never
find out!”

The Jorann’s golden laughter filled
the cavern. “He will not, child.”

“But what will happen the next time I
talk to the ship? I can’t just go audio-only. They’d suspect right
away that something was wrong.”

“The humans should not be able to see
any visible change in you,” she answered. “Your face has not
changed beyond a slight thickening of the skin on your
forehead—more to the point, your hair and eye color have not and
will not change, though they cannot be passed on to any children
you might bear.”

Marianne winced. She covered it by
getting to her feet.

“Other physical changes will happen
slowly or not be readily visible at all, such as your feet changing
to peds. It will take one or two of our years after you become
fully Tolari before you will be able to camouflage.”

The Sural added, “You should be able
to eat any of our foods by the time we return to my stronghold.
That will be the first noticeable change.”

“I encourage you to try all our foods
now, child,” said the Jorann. “You will find that even the ones you
know will taste different.”

Marianne nodded, the flood of
sensation overwhelming. She shoved at it, trying to create a quiet
space to breathe.

The Jorann chuckled. “Go now, child.
Let my grandson take you back to his stronghold. You need familiar
surroundings to settle your mind, and he can tell you what you want
and need to know along the way.” She started to turn away, then
turned back. “You still do not realize?” She uttered a soft snort.
“Receiving the blessing from my hand makes you a member of the
ruling caste. My grandson has already realized this. You are his
equal in status now, though your rank?” She shrugged a shoulder.
“We will decide that after some time has passed. Know this—I do not
want you harmed, by anyone, in any way. All Tolari
will
respect that, even my grandson’s enemies. Go now, daughter of
Suralia.” She turned away again.

Dumbfounded, Marianne stared at the
Jorann’s retreating figure. Kyza pulled at her hand to follow the
Sural as he headed in the opposite direction, toward the
stairs.

“H-high one?” she
whispered.

“Walk with me,” the Sural called back,
inflecting it as a request to an equal.

She hurried after him. Kyza
camouflaged and dashed ahead, playing. The Sural gave Marianne a
warm smile. She sensed more than saw the warmth.
And the humans
think him cold,
she thought.
If only they
knew.

His smile became enigmatic.

“Will I always be easy to read?” she
asked.

He laughed. “Perhaps not to others,
dear one,” he said, taking her hand. “To me? Always.”

She gave him a rueful smile and
changed the subject. “I should be angry.”

“For what reason?”

“For not telling me this would change
me physically.”

“I did tell you.”

“You
knew
I didn’t
understand!”

“It was necessary.”

“But—”

“Can you say, in truth, you did not
wish to be one of us?” he asked.

Marianne brooded. “No,” she answered.
“But I wish it had been a more conscious decision.
My
decision.”

He shrugged an apology.

She sighed, lips pressed together. It
was the best she would get from him. Tolari!
Dear God, he can be
an arrogant bastage.
Heaving another sigh, she said, “She
called you her grandson.”

“I am many times her grandson,” he
replied. “The title as she uses it is symbolic. I am one of few
born among us with heightened abilities. No one can see me when I
do not want to be seen, touch me when I do not want to be touched,
or sense me when I do not want to be sensed. I can be a very
dangerous man, and it is not just my training that makes me so.
That is why
I
rule Tolar and not another of the provincial
rulers. They could not stop me if I wanted to kill the ruler of
every province on Tolar and take their lands and peoples for my
own, and they know this. Ones like me are called the Jorann’s
grandchildren. Only seven others have been born into the ruling
caste since our civilization’s beginning. I am the
eighth.”

Marianne’s skin prickled.
An
invisible assassin.

“Do not fear me, dear one,” he said.
“I am dangerous to my enemies, not to those I protect. And I have
enemies only because certain of the ruling caste have more ambition
than is good for them. Despite the stability the Jorann’s
grandchildren bring, they would rid themselves of my rule if they
could.”

“So... the Jorann is protecting
me?”

His face lit as he nodded. “No one
will dare touch you now, not my allies, not my enemies. Any
provincial ruler who tried to harm you would earn her
wrath.”

“What does
that
mean?”

He hesitated. “It means... she turns
her back on such a one.”

The air gusted out of her, hard. “You
are a powerful man, high one.”

“Dear one.”

“Huh?”

“High ones address each other as
dear one
.”

She flushed, fiddling with the cuffs
of her sleeves and wincing. “Oh. Then—you are a powerful man, dear
one,” she said, pushing the awkward, far too intimate words through
her lips.