Brothers of Earth

V

Kta was not in the rhmei as Kurt had expected him to be when he reached the safety of Elas. Hef was, and Mim. Mini scurried upstairs ahead of him to open the window and air the room, and she spun about again when she had done so, her dark eyes shining.

“We are so happy,” she said, in human speech. The machine’s reflex pained him, punishing understanding.

It was all Mim had time to say, for there was Kta’s step on the landing, and Mim bowed and slipped out as Kta came in.

“Much crying in our house these days,” said Kta, casting a look after Mim’s retreat down the stairs. Then he looked at Kurt, smiled a little. “But no more. Ei, Kurt, sit, sit, please. You look like a man three days drowned.”

Kurt ran his hand through his hair and fell into a chair. His limbs were shaking. His hands were white. “Speak Nechai,” he said. “It is easier.”

Kta blinked, looked him over. “How is this?” he asked, and there was unwelcome suspicion in his voice.

“Trust me,” Kurt said hoarsely. “The Methi has machines which can do this. I would not lie to you.”

“You are pale,” said Kta. “You are shaking. Are you hurt?”

“Tired,” he said. “Kta . . . thank yon, thank you for taking me back.”

Kta bowed a little. “Even my honored father came and spoke for you, and never in all the years of our house has Elas done such a thing. But you are of Elas. We are glad to receive you.”

“Thank you.”

He rose and attempted a bow. He had to catch at the table to avoid losing his balance. He made it to the bed and sprawled. His memory ceased before he had stopped moving.

Something tugged at his ankle. He thought he had fallen into the sea and something was pulling him down. But he could not summon the strength to move.

Then the ankle came free and cold air hit his foot. He opened his eyes on Mim, who began to remove the other sandal. He was lying on his own bed, fully clothed, and cold. Outside the window it was night. His legs were like ice, his arms likewise.

Mini’s dark eyes looked up, realized that he was awake. “Kta takes bad care for you,” she said, “leaving you so. You have not moved. You sleep like the dead.”

“Speak Nechai,” he asked of her. “I have been taught.”

Her look was briefly startled. Then she accepted human strangeness with a little bow, wiped her hands on her chatem and dragged at the bedding to cover him, pulling the bedclothes from beneath him, half-asleep as he was.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I tried not to wake you, but the night was cold and my lord Kta had left the window open and the light burning.”

He sighed deeply and reached for her hand as it drew the coverlet across him. “Mim-“

“Please.” She evaded his hand, slipped the pin from his shoulder and hauled the tangled ctan from beneath him, jerked the catch of his wide belt free, then drew the covers up to his chin.

“You will sleep easier now,” she said.

He reached for her hand again, preventing her going. “Mim, What time is it?”

“Late . . . late.” She pulled, but he did not let go, and she glanced down, her lashes dark against her bronze cheeks. “Please, please let me go, lord Kurt.”

“I asked Djan, asked her to send you word, so you would not worry.”

“Word came. We did not know how to understand it. It was only that you were safe. Only that.” She pulled again. “Please.”

Her lips trembled and her eyes were terrified; when he let her hand go she spun around and fled to the door. She hardly paused to close it, her slippered feet pattering away down the stairs at breakneck speed.

If he had had the strength he would have risen and gone after her, for he had not meant to hurt Mim on the very night of his return. He lay awake and was angry, at nemet custom and at himself, but his head hurt abominably and made him dizzy. He sank into the soft down and slipped away. There was tomorrow. Mim would have gone to bed too, and he would scandalize the house by trying to speak to her tonight.

The morning began with tea, but there was no Mim, cheerily bustling in with morning linens and disarranging things. She did appear in the rhmei to serve, but she kept her eyes down when she poured for him.

“Mim,” he whispered at her, and she spilled a few drops, which burned, and moved quickly to pour for Kta. She spilled even his, at which the dignified nemet shook his burned hand and looked up wonderingly at the girl, but said nothing.

There had been the usual round of formalities, and Kurt had bowed deeply before Nym and Ptas and Aimu, and thanked the lord of Elas in his own language for his intercession with Djan.

“You speak very well,” Nym observed by way of acknowledging him, and Kurt realized he should have explained through Kta. An elder nemet cherished his dignity, and Kurt saw that he must have mightily offended lord Nym with his human sense of the dramatic.

“Sir,” said Kurt, “you honor me. By machines I do this. I speak slowly yet and not well, but I do recognize what is said to me. When I have listened a few days, I will be a better speaker. Forgive me if I have offended you. I was so tired yesterday I had no sense left to explain where I have been or why.”

The honorable Nym considered, and then the faintest of smiles touched his face, growing to an expression of positive amusement. He touched his laced fingers to his breast and inclined his head, apology for laughter.

“Welcome a second time to Elas, friend of my son. You bring gladness with you. There are smiles on faces this morning, and there were few the days we were in fear for you. Just when we thought we had comprehended humans, here are more wonders-and what a relief to be able to talk without waiting for translations!”

So they were settled together, the ritual of tea begun. Lady Ptas sat enthroned in their center, a comfortable woman. Somehow when Kurt thought of Elas, Ptas always came first to mind: a gentle and dignified lady with graying hair, the very heart of the family, which among nemet a mother was; Nym’s lady, source of life and love, protectress of Ms ancestral religion. Into a wife’s hands a man committed his hearth; into a daughter-in-law’s hands, his hope of a continuing eternity. Kurt began to understand why fathers chose their sons’ mates. Considering the affection that was evident between Nym and Ptas, he could no longer think such marriages were loveless. It was right, it was proper, and he sat cross-legged on a fleece rug, equal to Kta, a son of the house, drinking the strong sweetened tea and feeling that he had come home indeed.

After tea lady Ptas rose and bowed formally before the hearthfire, lifting her palms to it. Everyone stood in respect, and her sweet voice called upon the Guardians.

“Ancestors of Elas, upon this shore and the other of the Dividing Sea, look kindly upon us. Kurt t’Morgan has come back to us. Peace be between the guest of our home and the Guardians of Elas. Peace be among us.”

Kurt was greatly touched, and bowed deeply to lady Ptas when she was done.

“Lady Ptas,” he said, “I honor you very much.” He would have said like a son, but he would not inflict that doubtful compliment on the nemet lady.

She smiled at him with the affection she gave her children. From that moment, Ptas had his heart.

“Kurt,” said Kta when they were alone in the hall after breakfast, “my father bids you stay as long as it pleases you. This he asked me to tell you. He would not burden you with giving answer on the instant, but he would have you know this.”

“He is very kind,” said Kurt. “You have never owed me all of the things you have done for me. Your oath never bound you this far.”

“Those who share the hearth of Elas,” said Kta, “have been few, but we never forget them. We call this guest-friendship. It binds your house and mine for all time. It can never be broken.”

He spent the days much in Kta’s company within Elas, talking, resting, enjoying the sun in the inner court of the house where there was a small garden.

One thing remained to trouble him: Mim was unusually absent. She no longer came to his rooms when he was there.

No matter how he varied his schedule, she would not come; he only found his bed changed when he would return after some absence. When he hovered about the places where she usually worked, she was simply not to be found.

“She is at market,” Hef informed him on a morning when he finally gathered his courage to ask.

“She has not been much about lately,” Kurt observed.

Hef shrugged. “No, lord Kurt. She has not.”

And the old man looked at him strangely, as if Kurt’s anxiety had undermined the peace of his morning too.

He became the more determined. When he heard the front door close at noon, he sprang up to run downstairs; but he had only a glimpse of her hurrying by the opposite hall into the ladies’ quarters behind the rhmei. That was the territory of Ptas, and no man but Nym could set foot there.

He walked disconsolately back to the garden and sat in the sun, staring at nothing in particular and tracing idle patterns in the pale dust.

He had hurt her. Mim had not told the matter to anyone, he was sure, for he would have had Kta to deal with if she had.

He wished desperately that he could ask someone how to apologize to her, but it was not something he could ask of Kta or of Hef; and certainly he dared ask no one else.

She served at dinner that night, as at every meal, and still avoided his eyes. He dared not say anything to her. Kta was sitting beside him.

Late that night he set himself in the hall and doggedly waited, far past the hour when the family was decently in bed, for the chan of Elas had as her last duties to set out things for breakfast tea and to extinguish the hall lights as she retired to bed.

She saw him there, blocking her way to her rooms. For a moment he feared she would cry out; her hand flew to her lips. But she stood her ground, still looking poised to run.

“Mim. Please. I want to talk with you.”

“I do not want to talk with you. Let me pass.”

“Please.”

“Do not touch me. Let me pass. Do you want to wake all the house?”

“Do that, if you like. But I will not let you go until you talk with me.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Kta will not permit this.”

“There are no windows on the garden and we cannot be heard there. Come outside, Mim. I swear I want only to talk.”

She considered, her lovely face~ looking so frightened he hurt for her; but she yielded and walked ahead of him to the garden. The world’s moon cast dim shadows here. She stopped where the light was brightest, clasping her arms against the chill of the night.

“Mim,” he said, “I did not mean to frighten you that night. I meant no harm by it.”

“I should never have been there alone. It was my fault. Please, lord Kurt, do not look at me that way. Let me go.”

“Because I am not nemet, you felt free to come in and out of my room and not be ashamed with me. Was that it, Mim?”

“No.” Her teeth chattered so she could hardly talk, and the cold was not enough for that. He slipped the pin off his ctan, but she would not take it from him, flinching from the offered garment.

“Why can I not talk to you?” he asked. “How does a man ever talk to a nemet woman? I refrain from this, I refrain from that, I must not touch, must not look, must not think. How am I to-?”

“Please.”

“How am I to talk with you?”

“Lord Kurt, I have made you think I am a loose woman. I am chart to this house; I cannot dishonor it. Please let me go inside.”

A thought came to him. “Are you his? Are you Kta’s?”

“No,” she said.

Against her preference he took the ctan and draped it about her shoulders. She hugged it to her. He was near enough to have touched her. He did not, nor did she move back. He did not take that for invitation. He thought that whatever he did, she would not protest or raise the house. It would be trouble between her lord Kta and his guest, and he understood enough of nemet dignity to know that Mim would choose silence. She would yield, hating him.

He had no argument against that.

In sad defeat, he bowed a formal courtesy to her and turned away.

“Lord Kurt,” she whispered after him, distress in her voice.

He paused, looking back.

“My lord, you do not understand.”

“I understand,” he said, “that I am human. I have offended you. I am sorry.”

“Nemet do not-“ She broke off in great embarrassment, opened her hands, pleading. “My lord, seek a wife. My lord Nym will advise you. You have connections with the Methi and with Elas. You could marry, easily you could marry, if Nym approached the right house-“

“And if it was you I wanted?”

She stood there without words, until he came back to her and reached for her. Then she prevented him with her slim hands on his. “Please,” she said. “I have done wrong with you already.”

He ignored the protest of her hands and took her face between his palms ever so gently, fearing at each moment she would tear from him in horror. She did not. He bent and touched his lips to hers, delicately, almost chastely, for he thought the human custom might disgust or frighten her.

Her smooth hands still rested on his arms. The moon glistened on tears hi her eyes when he drew back from her. “Lord,” she said, “I honor you. I would do what you wish, but it would shame Kta and it would shame my father and I cannot.”

“What can you?” He found his own breathing difficult. “Mim, what if some day I did decide to talk with your father? Is that the way things are done?”

“To marry?”

“Some day it might seem a good thing to do.”

She shivered in his hands. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

“Mim, will you give me yes or no? Is a human hard for you to look at? If you had rather not say, then just say ‘let me be’ and I will do my best after this not to bother you.”

“Lord Kurt, you do not know me.”

“Are you determined I will never know you?”

“You do not understand. I am not the daughter of Hef. If you ask him for me he must tell you, and then you will not want me.”

“It is nothing to me whose daughter you are.”

“My lord, Elas knows. Elas knows. But you must listen to me now, listen. You know about the Tamurlin. I was taken when I was thirteen. For three years I was slave to them. Hef only calls me his daughter, and all Nephane thinks I am of this country. But I am not, Kurt. I am Indras, of Indresul. And they would kill me if they knew. Elas has kept this to itself. But you, you cannot bear such a trouble. People must not look at you and think Tamurlin-it would hurt you in this city-and when they see me, that is what they must think.”

“Do you believe,” he asked, “that what they think matters with me? I am human. They can see that.”

“Do you not understand, my lord? I have been property of every man in that village. Kta must tell you this if you ask Hef for me. I am not honorable. No one would marry Mim h’EIas. Do not shame yourself and Kta by making Kta say this to you.”

“After he had said it,” said Kurt, “would he give his consent?”

“Honorable women would marry you. Sufaki have no fear of humans as Indras do. Perhaps even a daughter of some merchant would marry you. I am only chan, and before that I was nothing at all.”

“If I was to ask,” he said, “would you refuse?”

“No. I would not refuse.” Her small face took on a look of pained bewilderment. “Kurt-ifhan, surely you will think better of this in the morning.”

“I am going to talk to Hef,” he said. “Go inside, Mim. And give me back my cloak. It would not do for you to Wear it inside.”

“My lord, think a day before you do this.”

“I will give it tomorrow,” he said, “for thinking it over. And you do the same. And if you have not come to me by tomorrow evening and asked me and said clearly that you do not want me, then I will talk to Hef.”

It was, he had time to think that night and the next morning, hardly reasonable. He wanted Mim. He had had no knowledge of her to say that he loved her, or that she loved him.

He wanted her. She had set her terms and there was no living under the same roof with Mim without wanting her.

He could apply reason to the matter, until he looked into her face at breakfast as she poured the tea, or as she passed him in the hall and looked at him with a dreadful anxiety.

Have you thought better of it? the look seemed to say. Was it, after all, only for the night?

Then the feeling was back with him, the surety that, should he lose Mim by saying nothing, he would lose something irreplaceable.

In the end, he found himself that evening gathering his courage before the door of Hef, who served Elas, and standing awkwardly inside the door when the old man admitted him.

“Hef,” he said, “may I talk to you about Mim?”

“My lord?” asked the old man, bowing.

“What if I wanted to marry her? What should I do?”

The old nemet looked quite overcome then, and bowed several times, looking up at him with a distraught expression. “Lord Kurt, she is only chan.”

“Do I not speak to you? Are you the one who says yes or no?”

“Let my lord not be offended. I must ask Mim.”

“Mim agrees,” said Kurt. Then he thought that it was not his place to have asked Mim, and that he shamed her and embarrassed Hef; but Hef regarded him with patience and even a certain kindliness.

“But I must ask Mim,” said Hef. “That is the way of it. And then I must speak to Kta-ifhan, and to Nym and lady Ptas.”

“Does the whole house have to give consent?” Kurt let forth, without pausing to think.

“Yes, my lord. I shall speak to the family, and to Mim. It is proper that I speak to Mim.”

“I am honored,” Kurt murmured, the polite phrase, and he went upstairs to his own quarters to gather his nerves.

He felt much relieved that it was over. Hef would consent. He was sure what Mim would answer her father, and that would satisfy Hef.

He was preparing for bed when Kta came up the stairs and asked admittance. The nemet had a troubled look and Kurt knew by sure instinct what had brought him. He would almost have begged Kta to go away, but he was under Kta’s roof and he did not have that right.

“You have talked with Hef,” Kurt said, to make it easier for him.

“Let me in, my friend.”

Kurt backed from the door, offering Kta a chair. It would have been proper to offer tea also. He would have had to summon Mim for that. He would not do it.

“Kurt,” said Kta, “please, sit down also. I must speak to you ... I must beg your kindness to hear me.”

“You might find it more comfortable simply to tell me what is in your mind from the beginning,” Kurt said, taking the other chair. “Yes or no, are you going to interfere?”

“I am concerned for Mim. It is not as simple as you may hope. Will you hear me? If your anger forbids, then we will go down and drink tea and wait for a better mind, but I am bound to say these things.”

“Mim told me about most that I imagine you have come to say. And it makes no difference. I know about the Tamurlin and I know where she came from.”

Kta let his breath go, a long hiss of a sigh. “Well, that is something, at least. You know that she is Indras?”

“None of that possibly concerns me. Nemet politics have nothing to do with me.”

“You choose ignorance. That is always a dangerous choice, Kurt. Being of the Indras race or being Sufaki is a matter of great difference among nemet, and you are among nemet.”

“The only difference I have ever noticed is being human among nemet,” he said, controlling his temper with a great effort. “I would bring disgrace on you. Is that what you care for, and not whether Mim would be happy?”

“Mim’s happiness is a matter of great concern to us,” Kta insisted. “And we know you would not mean to hurt her, but human ways ...”

“Then you see no difference between me and the Tamurlin.”

“Please. Please. You do not imagine. They are not like you. That is not what I meant. The Tamurlin-they are foul and they are shameless. They wear hides and roar and mouth like beasts when they fight. They have no more modesty than beasts in their dealing with women. They mate as they please, without seeking privacy. They restrain themselves from nothing. A strong chief may have twenty or more women, while weaker men have none. They change mates by the outcome of combat. I speak of human women. Slaves like Mim belong to any and all who want them. And when I found her-“

“I do not want to hear this.”

“Kurt, listen. Listen. I shall not offend you. But when we attacked the Tamurlin to stop their raids we killed all we could reach. We were about to set torch to the place when I heard a sound like a child crying. I found Mim in the corner of a hut. She wore a scrap of hide, as filthy as the rest of them; for an instant I could not even tell she was nemet. She was thin, and carried terrible marks on her body. When I tried to carry her, she attacked me-not womanlike, but with a knife and her teeth and her knees, whatever she could bring to bear. So she was accustomed to fight for her place among them. I had to strike her senseless to bring her to the ship, and then she kept trying to jump into the sea until we were out of sight of land. Then she hid down in the rowing pits and would not come out except when the men were at the oars. When we fed her she would snatch and run, and she would not speak more than a few syllables at a time save of human language.”

“I cannot believe that,” said Kurt quietly. “How long ago was that?”

“Four years. Four years she has been in Elas. I brought her home and gave her to my lady mother and sister, and Hef’s wife Liu, who was living then. But she had not been among us many days before Aimu saw her standing before the hearthfire with hands lifted, as Sufaki do not do. Aimu was younger then and not so wise; she exclaimed aloud that Mim must be Indras.

“Mim ran. I caught her in the streets, to the wonder of all Nephane and our great disgrace. And I carried her by force back to Elas. Then, alone with us, she began to speak, with the accent of Indresul. This was the reason of her silence before. But we of Elas are Indras too, like all the Great Families on the hill, descended of colonists of Indresul who came to this shore a thousand years ago. While we are now enemies of Indresul, we are of one religion and Mim was only a child. So Elas has kept her secret, and people outside know her only as Hef’s adopted Sufaki daughter, a country child of mixed blood rescued from the Tamurlin. She does not speak as Sufaki, but people believe we taught her speech; she does not look Sufaki, but that is not unusual in the coastal villages, where seamen have-ei, well, she passes for Sufaki. The scandal of her running through the streets is long forgotten. She is an honor and an ornament to this house now. But to have her in the public attention again would be difficult. No man would marry Mim; forgive me, but it is truth and she knows it. Such a marriage would cause gossip favorable to neither of you.”

Instinct told him Kta was speaking earnest good sense. He put it by. “I would take care of her,” he insisted. “I would try, Kta.”

Kta glanced down in embarrassment, then lifted his eyes again. “She is nemet. Understand me. She is nemet. She has been hurt and greatly shamed. Human customs are- forgive me, I shall speak shamelessly. I do not know how humans behave with their mates. Djan-methi is ... free in this regard. We are not. I beg you think of Mim. We do not cast away our women. Marriage is unbreakable.”

“I had expected so.”

Kta sat back a little. “Kurt, there could be no children. I have never heard of it happening, and Tamurlin have mated with nemet women.”

“If there were,” said Kurt, though what Kta had said distressed him greatly, “I could love them. I would want them. But if not, then I would be happy with Mim.”

“But could others love them?” Kta wondered. “It would be difficult for them, Kurt.”

It hurt. Some things Kta said amused him and some irritated him, but this was simply a fact of Kta’s world, and it hurt bitterly. For an instant Kurt forgot that the nemet thing to do was to lower his eyes and so keep his hurt private. He looked full at the nemet, and it was Kta who flinched and had to look up again.

“Would they,” Kurt said, cruel to the embarrassed nemet, “would children like that be such monsters, Kta?”

“I,” said Kta hesitantly, “/ could love a child of my friend.” And the inward shudder was too evident.

“Even,” Kurt finished, “if it looked too much like my friend?”

“I beg your forgiveness,” Kta said hoarsely. “I fear for you and for Mim.”

“Is that all?”

“I do not understand.”

“Do you want her?”

“My friend,” said Kta, “I do not love Mim, but Mim is dear to me, and I am responsible for her as my honored father is. He is too old to take Mim; but when I marry, I would be obliged to take Mim for a concubine, for she is chan and unmarried. I would not be sorry for that, for she is a most beloved friend, and I would be glad to give her children to continue Hef’s name. When you ask her of Hef, you see, that is a terrible thing. Hef is childless. Mim is his adopted daughter, but we had agreed her children would remain in Elas to carry on his name and give his soul life when he dies. Mim must bear sons, and you cannot give them to her. You are asking for Hef’s eternity and that of all his ancestors. Hef’s family has been good and faithful to Bias. What shall I do, my friend? How shall I resolve this?”

Kurt shook his head helplessly, unsure whether Kta thought there could be an answer, or whether this was not some slow and painful way of telling him no.

“I do not know,” Kurt said, “whether I can stay in Elas without marrying Mim. I want her very much, Kta. I do not think that will change tomorrow or for the rest of my life.”

“There is,” Kta offered cautiously, “an old custom, that if the lechan’s husband dies and the house of the chan is threatened with extinction, then the duty is with the lord of the house nearest her age. Sometimes this is done even with the lechan’s husband living, if there are no children after such a time.”

Kurt did not know whether his face went very pale or flushed, only that he could not for the moment move or look left or right, was trapped staring into the nemet’s pitying eyes. Then he recovered the grace to glance down. “I could even,” he echoed, “love a child of my friend.”

Kta flinched. “Perhaps,” said Kta, ‘”it will be different with you and Mim. I see how much your heart goes toward her, and I will plead your case with Hef and give him my own pledge in this matter. And if Hef is won, then it will be easier to win my lord father and lady mother. Also I will talk to Mim about this custom we call iguun.”

“I will do that,” Kurt said.

“No,” said Kta gently. “It would be very difficult for her to hear such words from you. Believe me that I am right. I have known Mim long enough that I could speak with her of this. From her own betrothed it would be most painful. And perhaps we can give the matter a few years before we have concern for it. Our friend Hef is not terribly old. If his health fails or if years have passed without children, then will be the time to invoke iquun. I should in that case treat the honor of you and of Hef and of Mim with the greatest respect.”

“You are my friend,” said Kurt. “I know that you are Mim’s. If she is willing, let it be that way.”

“Then,” said Kta, “I will go and speak to Hef.”

The betrothal was a necessarily quiet affair, confirmed three days later at evening. Hef formally asked permission of lord Nym to give his daughter to the guest of Elas, and Kta formally relinquished his claim to the person of Mim before the necessary two witnesses, friends of the family. Han t’Osanef u Mur, father of Bel; and old Ulmar t’Ilev ul Imetan, with all their attendant kin.

“Mim-lechan,” said Nym, “is this marriage your wish?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And in the absence of your kinsmen, Kurt t’Morgan, I ask you to answer in your own name: do you accept this contract as binding, understanding that when you have sworn you must follow this ceremony with marriage or show cause before these families present? Do you accept under this knowledge, our friend Kurt t’Morgan?”

“I accept.”

“There is,” said Nym quietly, “the clause of iquun in this contract. The principals are of course Mim and Kurt, and thou, my son Kta, and Hef, to preserve the name of Hef. Three years are given hi this agreement before iquun is invoked. Is this acceptable to all concerned?”

One by one they bowed their heads.

Two parchments lay on the table, and to them in turn first Nym and then t’Osanef and t’Ilev pressed then: seals in wax.

Then lady Ptas pressed her forefinger in damp wax and so sealed both. Then she took one to the phusmeha, and with a bit of salt slipped it into the flames.

She uplifted her palms to the fire, intoning a prayer so old that Kurt could not understand all the words, but it asked blessing on the marriage.

“The betrothal is sealed,” said Nym. “Kurt Liam t’Morgan ul Edward, look upon Mim h’Elas e Hef, your bride.”

He did so, although he could not, must not touch her, not during all the long days of waiting for the ceremony. Mim’s face shone with happiness.

They were at opposite sides of the room. It was the custom. The nemet made a game of tormenting young men and women at betrothals, and knew well enough his frustration. The male guests, especially Bel and Kta, drew Kurt off in one direction, while Aimu and Ptas and the ladies likewise captured Mim, with much laughter as they hurried her off.

The bell at the front door rang, faintly jingling, untimely. Hef slipped out to answer it, duty and the normal courtesy of Elas taking precedence over convenience even at such a time as this.

The teasing ceased. The nemet laughed much among themselves, among friends, but there were visitors at the door, and the guests and the members of Elas both became sober.

Voices intruded, Hef-Hef, who was the soul of courtesy-arguing; and the heavy tread of outsiders entering the hall, the hollow ring of a staff on polished stone, the voices of strangers raised in altercation.

There was silence in the rhmei. Mim, large-eyed, clung to Ptas* arm. Nym went to meet the strangers in the hall, Kurt and Kta and the guests behind him.

They were the Methi’s men, grim-faced, in the striped robes that some of the townsmen wore, hair plaited in a single braid down the back. They had the narrowness of eye that showed in some of the folk of Nephane, like Bel, like Bel’s father Han t’Osanef.

The Methi’s guards did not take that final step into the rhmei, where burned the hearthfire. Nym physically barred their way, and Nym, though silver-haired and a senior member of the Upei, the council of Nephane, was a big man and broad-shouldered. Whether through reverence for the place or fear of him, they came no further.

“This is Elas,” said Nym. “Consider again, gentlemen, where you are. I did not bid you here, and I did not hear the chan of Elas give you leave either.”

“The Methi’s orders,” said the eldest of the four. “We came to fetch the human. This betrothal is not permitted.”

“Then you are too late,” said Nym. “If the Methi wished to intervene, it was her right, but now the betrothal is sealed.”

That set them aback. “Still,” said their leader, “we must bring him back to the Afen.”

“Elas will permit him to go back,” said Nym, “if he chooses.”

“He will go with us,” said the man.

Han t’Osanef stepped up beside Nym and bent a terrible frown on the Methi’s guardsmen. “T’Senife, I ask you come tonight to the house of Osanef. I would ask it, t’Senife, and the rest of you young men. Bring your fathers. We will talk.”

The men had a different manner for t’Osanef: resentful, but paying respect.

“We have duties,” said the man called t’Senife, “which keep us at the Afen. We have no time for that. But we will say to our fathers that t’Osanef spoke with us at the house of Bias.”

“Then go back to the Afen,” said t’Osanef. “I ask it. You offend Bias.”

“We have our duty,” said t’Senife, “and we must have the human.”

“I will go,” said Kurt, coming forward. He had the feeling that there was much more than himself at issue, he intruded fearfully into the hate that prickled in the air. Kta put out a hand, forbidding him.

“The guest of Elas,” said Nym in a terrible voice, “will walk from the door of Elas if he chooses, but the Methi herself has no power to cause this hall to be invaded. Wait at our doorstep. And you, friend Kurt, do not go against your will. The law forbids.”

“We will wait outside,” said t’Senife, at t’Osanef’s hard look. But they did not bow as they left.

“My friend,” Han t’Osanef exclaimed to Nym, “I blush for these young men.”

“They are,” said Nym in a shaking voice, “young men. Elas also will speak with their fathers. Do not go, Kurt t’Morgan. You are not compelled to go.”

“I think,” said Kurt, “that eventually I would have no choice. I would do better to go speak with Djan-methi, if it is possible.” But it was in his mind that reason with her was not likely. He looked at Mim, who stood frightened and silent by the side of Ptas. He could not touch her. Even at such a time he knew they would not understand. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he said to her.

But to Kta, at the door of Elas before he went out to put himself into the hands of the Methi’s guards:

“Take care of Mim. And I do not want her or your father or any of Elas to come to the Afen. I do not want her involved and I am afraid for you all.”

“You do not have to go,” Kta insisted.

“Eventually,” Kurt repeated, “I would have to. You have taught me there is grace in recognizing necessity. Take care of her.” And with Kta, whom he knew so well, he instinctively put out his hand to touch, and refrained.

It was Kta who gripped his hand, an uncertain, awkward gesture, not at all nemet. “You have friends and kinsmen now. Remember it.”