The Gift - III
“A human is a human, in rags or fancy gowns. There will come a day for everyone.”
When he returned to Arnur, Erron had an urgent message from Naomi informing him that Tyritha was meeting with the doctor that evening. She requested that he join them. It was not a move he’d have sanctioned if Tyritha had asked him, at least that was his impression if Tyritha did what he thought she intended to do—refuse to undergo remediation.
By the time Erron arrived, Naomi informed him that Dione was already inside with Tyritha. She was yet again taking images of Tyritha’s chin, and she was clearly frustrated that they were even still discussing the matter. When Dione saw Erron enter, she grew even more frustrated.
“He should not be here, dear. What we do is for him and for the community. It’s not for Erron to decide.”
“But a wife and a husband should share every decision of consequence, and considering he’s the one who’ll have to look at my face every day for the rest of our lives, I’d say it’s a decision of consequence.”
“Young lady, I’ve been very patient with you for a number of reasons,” Dione replied, casting a gaze over at Tyritha’s servant Naomi. “Eventually, you must do what is required of you to progress through the rites.”
“I understand, but considering where I come from—”
“Ventu, you mean?” the doctor interrupted, again glaring over toward Naomi. “You do things so differently in Ventu?”
“Slight differences, yes,” Tyritha replied. “That’s my understanding. May we discuss those differences?”
“Naomi dear, leave us please,” Dione commanded. “This discussion is for your mistress and her consort only.”
Naomi looked to Tyritha, who nodded.
“As you wish, Doctor,” Naomi replied, bowing as she excused herself.
When the servant was gone, the doctor looked over at Tyritha, revealing equal parts cynicism and sympathy for the differences she perceived in the young woman’s strange culture. She had some sense of the trauma the uprooting of Tyritha’s life had caused her. But, much like a transplanted seedling, Dione expected that Tyritha should be taking root in her new soil, and part of her new life here was accepting her new culture.
“Let me ask you, Doctor, respectfully,” Tyritha began, “if I asked you to cut off my pinky finger because I didn’t like it, would you?”
It was not the question the doctor was expecting. Dione recoiled at the thought of it.
“Of course, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t harm patients. That’s not our job.”
Tyritha looked back at her doubtfully. “How do you decide what harms a patient? Or maybe I should ask: who are you to decide what is a harm and what is an improvement?”
“I’m a surgeon.”
“So, if in your wisdom you decide I look better with only one arm, would it be acceptable to amputate an arm?”
“I see what you’re getting at, Tyritha. It’s beside the point. The board has decided your case.”
“In their grand wisdom?”
“Collectively, they have centuries of expertise—hundreds of such cases.”
“But it’s not their body. Nor is it their fiancé’s body. This is a decision that primarily affects us.”
“I choose to support Tyritha,” Erron added. “I’ll love her the way she wants to be.”
“But you’re not protesting in good faith. First, you ask me questions as though it’s a moral objection, and then you say it’s a misjudgment of the board from an aesthetic standpoint.”
It was clear she was addressing Tyritha.
“It is a moral objection, but not just a moral objection, doctor, a religious one. You know it would be wrong to take my finger unnecessarily because it offends your sensibilities personally and culturally. What if you came from a culture where it was perfectly fashionable to remove fingers? Would it still be wrong?”
“For me, yes.”
“Why?”
“This again.”
“Yes, this again. This is the most important thing. I can tell you why it’s wrong in any culture.”
“And why is it wrong, Tyritha? Enlighten me, please, child.”
“It is wrong because it’s not my finger any more than this chin is my chin. This body is a gift given to me by God to be my vessel in this world. It is the same in this place or on Athos or on Heinan, Charris, or Earth. It is his chin, his finger. Every time I look in the mirror from the moment I am altered by you and your board of aesthetics—or whatever you are—I will see the vanity and arrogance of your belief that it is for you to improve upon his gift to me. But more than that, if I allow you to do it, I’ll see my own weakness in succumbing to the pressure to allow it, and I’ll see my own vanity as well. I cannot allow you to alter me that way. This will hurt me, and it will be a wound I can never heal from.”
Dione sighed.
Tyritha watched as the doctor shook her head. It was impossible for Tyritha to tell whether her perspective had made any impression beyond frustration, but after a few seconds, she looked over at Erron.
“Do you agree with this, Erron?” Dione asked him. “I was afraid of this when I heard she was from a religious enclave.”
“Afraid of what, Dione?” he asked.
“That she’d be a fanatic.”
“Is that so fanatical? Not wanting to undergo facial alterations?”
“It’s not the reluctance, Erron, but the reason. I’ve had plenty of patients who are anxious about the pain or the outcome or even wearing the Arrdh during recovery. But this idea that her god forbids what we do as a practice? You should think carefully about the implications of these beliefs before you marry this girl.”
“Thank you for your counsel on that, Doctor, but I believe such matters should remain between spouses.”
Dione looked over at Tyritha again, half rolling her eyes. “Aren’t you a lucky one to have such a patient future husband.”
“If you think I wouldn’t be just as supportive of his deeply held convictions, you’d be mistaken,” Tyritha declared.
“So you’re refusing the procedure on religious grounds, then? Officially?”
“However you characterize it, Doctor, the situation is as you’ve just heard,” Erron stated. “I support her decision.”
Dione shook her head. “You two are going to be quite the pair if they let you ... I shouldn’t say anything. But obviously we can’t tell the board that. The prominence is marginal, after all. And I can at least argue that the spouse prefers it as is.”
Dione looked up at Tyritha’s face again, even raising her hand to touch Tyritha’s chin but stopping short, leaving her hand hanging in the air just in front of Tyritha.
“I’ll speak to the archon and do my best to frame your position in a way that she’ll be most receptive to it.”
“We’d be grateful for that, Dione,” Erron said.
“If I could offer a piece of advice, though, for whatever it’s worth?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Erron replied, thinking that her counsel might concern the aesthetics board or the progression toward the rites.
“You two would be wise to make as few waves as possible right now. The archon is already unhappy enough with your siblings over the way this pairing has come about.”
“She’s expressed as much to you?” Erron asked.
“I don’t have such conversations with the archon personally, Erron. But I hear things. I’m privy to enough.”
“We understand. We’ll do our best to stay clear of her awareness.”
Dione nodded. “Ah. That’s a good way of putting it, and a good idea.” Then she looked up again at Tyritha’s face and let out a scoff as she shook her head. “God’s chin.”
As she walked from the room, Erron and Tyritha exchanged a look and the slightest of smiles. He came forward and embraced her.
“You really should consult me before making such a big decision,” he told her. “This ...? It is a narrow and delicate pathway we’ll need to walk, and we’ll need to do it together if we’re—”
He heard footsteps in the doorway behind him as Naomi returned to the room. He stepped back and took her hand, kissing the back of it.
“Later, Tyritha,” he said.
And Tyritha nodded as he bowed and left.
Erron had much to convey when they met in the garden early that evening. His news was important, but he was more curious about the conversation they’d had with the doctor. He hadn’t wanted to present even the slightest hint of contradiction in front of Dione by asking questions of Tyritha then and there, but his curiosity was certainly piqued by his fiancé’s arguments. He’d found an entirely novel perspective on his own world in his conversation with the disaffected former contact crew member Petr Onager, but Erron suspected Petr’s take on their society was far closer to his own than that of his betrothed, or at least it was discernible within their culture. Tyritha, though? He had no idea what she might do or say at any given moment. He wasn’t even sure how to begin asking the questions for fear of offending her with a clumsy inquiry. The strangest and most insignificant things seemed overwhelmingly vital to her, and he didn’t know why—the prayers to nothingness, the concept of sin, the fear of offending her nebulous invisible deity. But for as much as her ways seemed bizarre, Erron was curious. He’d never met anyone as certain as Tyritha was in a moral sense.
Erron took her hand as she sat and didn’t let it go. He rubbed his thumb over her pinky finger deliberately and smiled.
“God’s finger?”
She took a deep breath but didn’t say anything.
“I’m curious. I hope you won’t be offended if I ask ...”
“As long as you ask me earnestly, why should I take offense?”
“How much of that was a tactic and how much of it was genuine?”
“If it were merely a tactic, I’d have let her do the surgery, Erron. You think there aren’t people in the Battery who visit clinics that do that sort of work?”
“I’m sure there are. So you disapprove?”
“When it’s unnecessary, yes, I do.”
“So you think less of people who go to those clinics, even back home?”
Tyritha shook her head. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about it directly. I just feel that it’s not right. I don’t think less of others, though. I’d say not. That’s between them and God. I am the steward of this vessel, just as you are the steward of your body.”
“And by your logic ... I guess what I’m asking is, how do you know what is right and wrong?”
“For me?”
“For anyone.”
“I don’t know, Erron. These are difficult questions that everyone has to wrestle with on their own. I just know that I don’t get to hurt myself. That is a sin. I also don’t get to hold contempt in my heart for others who make other choices. That is also a sin.”
“Why? I don’t understand,” Erron squeezed her hand gently, as though to remind her that he wasn’t trying to be difficult but genuine.
“I’m not a theologian, Erron. I don’t always have a perfect answer to these questions or even words to explain correctly.”
“Your own words would be fine, Tyritha. I’ve never met anyone who thinks this way.”
She sighed. “It’s not easy to say.”
“That’s fine. I’m just trying to understand.”
“I’m not even sure what you’re asking.”
“I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to hate us.”
“Hate you?” Tyritha asked, squinting back at him, puzzled by the thought.
“Maybe that’s not the way to put it ....” He shook his head. “See, it’s not even easy for me to ask the questions the right way.”
“Getting to know someone can be a clumsy experience, even when you know each other’s culture.”
“Take Dreima for example,” Erron continued. “You said you’re not allowed to have contempt, but she’s responsible for all of this—the uprooting of your entire life. Yet you speak to her without hatred in your heart even when she’s done you this tremendous wrong, which is fortunate for us if we’re to get you home. I don’t get the sense that you’re acting when you interact with her. You don’t hate Dreima, do you?”
“No. I’m angry at her for what she’s done, but I don’t hate her.”
“Why not? How can you be that way?”
“Okay. I think I understand what you’re asking,” Tyritha said, nodding. “It’s complicated, but in Dreima’s case, I try to force myself to remember that Dreima is as beloved of God as I am, as you are, as anyone else is. We are all children of God. If I were to hurt Dreima or to treat her badly because I’m angry at her, that wouldn’t just be a sin against Dreima, at least as I’ve been taught, it would also be a sin against God for hurting one of his children. And it’s the same for the surgery. If I hurt Tyritha,” she continued holding up their hands and wiggling her pinky, “then, yes, it’s my choice to do it, and maybe I do prefer that choice, whatever it is, but if I consciously choose to hurt myself, I’m choosing to hurt one of God’s children just as surely as if I did it to another. Does that make sense?”
“In a very strange way ... yes,” Erron replied. “We don’t think that way.”
“How do you think?”
“We think poorly of anyone who doesn’t adhere to our beliefs. Like Dione—she was very frustrated with you, not just because you’ve complicated her life and put her in a delicate position with the archon, but also—contempt, as you said—I think that’s a good word for what she felt regarding your decision.”
“But you don’t feel contempt for me, Erron.”
“No. But I like you far more than Dione does. I’m inclined to forgive you almost anything,” he smiled. “Even that marginally prominent chin of yours.”
She laughed.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he said, leaning in and kissing her.
She kissed him back.
“One day you’ll have to teach me about these prayers of yours, too. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“I’ve noticed that,” she replied, drawing a breath as she sat back. “You have your own gods here, yet no one prays. Naomi looks at me funny when I do.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“I try not to. I’m not ... it’s just such a strange custom that seems ...”
“Old fashioned?”
“I was going to say incredibly archaic,” Erron replied, grinning. “Like somebody casting spells or something.”
“Says the noble lord in his family’s palace?”
“I suppose so,” he acknowledged, nodding. “We all have old customs we struggle to shake, I guess.”
“Maybe so,” Tyritha agreed, smiling.
She felt herself being pulled toward Erron with each meeting, her hand fitting more properly in his, those radiant eyes of his more familiar and welcome, and each time she felt it, she marked the shortness of her breath, and she didn’t know what to do.
She sat up straighter and tried to suppress the smile that wanted to form every moment she was in his company.
“We should discuss the contact worker,” Erron suggested, picking up on her cue. “As I said earlier, it’s a narrow path for us to walk, and I’m not even sure if it leads the way out for you yet, Tyritha. All I know is that it may be a dangerous path to walk.”
“I’m grateful to walk it with you, Erron Aireum,” Tyritha said. “I believe all will be right if we walk it together.”
Tyritha could tell that Naomi didn’t know what to think of her custom each night, except that she thought it was strange. But now that Naomi understood who Tyritha was, her mistress asked her for one more kindness before Tyritha relieved her for the night, and for the past few nights, Naomi dutifully knelt with her and humored her mistress as she prayed, remaining beside her silently as Tyritha spoke, seemingly to some spirit in absentia—somewhere out in the universe, the aether, or perhaps just the silent spaces in the corners of the room. Naomi smiled and reminded herself just how lonely it would be to be taken from her home to a strange place with no friends or family to ask her about her day, and she marveled as this strange girl, barely a woman, one of such outward beauty, dared to open her mouth and give voice to the most naïve and beautiful hopes and desires hidden within. And when she would finish, always with the strange refrain: “Let your will be done, oh Lord. Amen” then Naomi would put her hand on her mistress’s back before they rose to their feet, she would help Tyritha into bed, and she would excuse herself for the night.
Such was the scene as she left that night, too.
Tyritha fell asleep quite easily, as she had since she arrived. Whatever anxiety she had about the unfamiliar place seemed to have been more than offset by the comfort of the bed, the room, the nightwear, the peaceful ambient sounds and clean air. She’d grown more comfortable by the day and thought she had little reason to fear for her safety in that place, protected as she was under the banner of the House of Arnur.
So Tyritha was surprised when a dim light intruded on her sleep, as well as a sound, a clicking, which she realized was someone snapping their fingers. She was just on the cusp of consciousness when she heard a woman’s voice.
“Wake, dear, but don’t cry out. I have something to discuss with you.”
“Dreima?” Tyritha asked, squinting in the dull light as she struggled to make out the visitor’s figure.
She was seated in the same chair, in the same spot as when she’d visited the previous time. Her tone was different, though.
“Yes, dear. It’s me. Rub the sleep out of those bright eyes of yours, pretty thing. I need you to hear me.”
“Of course. What can I do for you, sister,” Tyritha said, taking a deep, performative breath.
Dreima grinned. “How sweet. It’s a bit much, though. Let’s just talk directly, shall we?”
“As you wish. What can I do for you at this hour, Dreima?”
“It’s come to my attention that you had a discussion with the doctor and expressed your desire to avoid remediation.”
“Oh, I thought—”
“You thought that was in confidence. Yes. Dione didn’t tell me. No. But she brings such matters to the archon, dear. And my mother, who already had reservations about my bringing you here ... what she wants—what all of us want—is to not hear a peep out of you until the day you’re standing beside Erron pledging your life to him on his apotheosis. So when that does not happen, and instead we hear unwelcome noises, you can be sure I hear about it. Do you understand?”
“Perhaps not fully. But I think I gather that any fuss I make causes you distress if I understand correctly.”
“That’s correct. You’re a much cleverer girl than you let on, aren’t you? Amazing to me how someone so young could be so self-assured.”
“If you say so, mistress. However, I would like to assure you that I never meant to cause you or anyone else in this house any distress. You’ve all been so very kind to me.”
“Yes. Haven’t we. It was no small trouble to have you brought here for Erron.”
“I am only just beginning to understand the depths of it.”
Dreima’s eyes narrowed in on hers.
“I understand you have an affinity for old stories, little dear. Isn’t that true? Myths? Fairy tales?”
“You’re referring to my faith?”
“I am at that. If I understand your tradition, it is a collection of ancient Earth stories of ancient peoples and divinities, parables, poems—prayers even. You recite such things.”
“Never publicly, mistress. Never to reveal my origins to anyone who could guess I don’t belong.”
“That’s good. Such things might be acceptable on a dusty, provincial outpost like Heinan. Here, from a lady of the house of Arnur? No. That wouldn’t fit.”
“I do wish to fit. I am doing everything I can. I ask your patience, Dreima, and I’m grateful for your understanding thus far. Everything is new to me, and try as I may, I know I am making missteps along the way.”
“Just as well, but I only mention the stories because it’s a fortunate thing. Because you know ancient stories like that so well, I also know you’ll understand me in the terms I’ll use now.”
Dreima paused, gazing at Tyritha as though she might be trying to read her thoughts.
“I’m listening,” Tyritha replied earnestly.
“This fairytale palace we inhabit, you do understand that not everyone lives like this in Alysida, don’t you? A room like this? Servants? Lavish dinners and fancy gowns?”
“I understand, mistress.”
“I plucked you from the dust of a world where your people scrape the barest of lives from the rock, and I brought you here to this.” Dreima extended her hand to the room and beyond before continuing. “And more than that, I’ve offered you a pathway to immortality. And the hand of my brother—the very best of us.”
“Mistress Dreima, I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am—”
“No you can’t, can you? Nor have you either. And perhaps that’s my failing in underestimating the cultural differences. I made the mistake of thinking certain things could be unsaid. But I do think now I need to say them, for your sake as much as my own peace of mind.”
“Please do, Dreima. I’ll do everything I can to adhere to any extent I can.”
Dreima paused again, her eyes narrowing even further as she glared at Tyritha.
“In the terms of your old stories, dear girl, today I am your fairytale godmother. You get to be a princess in this castle by my doing, which can be undone. Tomorrow, if you force my hand, I can just as easily be your evil stepmother. Even in Alysida, there are far more miserable peasants than there are princes and princesses—an opposite end of the spectrum to this life. For as much as your life is beautiful now, it can just as easily be the opposite. I don’t want for you to suffer that. I’d hoped, and it seems to be the case that Erron is taken with you.”
“I am so blessed and grateful, as I feel the same for him, perhaps more so.”
“That’s good. You understand then what you have to lose.”
“Fully, mistress.”
“Then let me make the following clear. This business with remediation is the last we shall hear of you and your reservations about anything here in this house, this cylinder, this outpost. Your function is to stand beside my brother, look beautiful, and do his bidding the way Naomi does yours. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, mistress Dreima. And please allow me to thank you for saying as much so explicitly. Now that you have, I can see now that all the signs were there clearly enough that I should have read them for myself, but in my ignorance I simply didn’t understand. When I know the rules, I always follow them.”
“Good. We understand each other, then. For whatever reason, Dione has taken your side to the archon. She may address the matter to the board. Whether that has any bearing on their ultimate decision, I won’t know until it’s known. Needless to say, whatever they rule, you will thank them for their wisdom and adhere to it with the dignity of your silence.”
“As you wish, mistress.”
“Now. Get your rest. You’re learning much each day, I hear. A good student.”
“I strive to be.”
Dreima nodded as she got up from the chair. “Good night, dear.”
“To you as well, mistress Dreima,” and as she stepped toward the door, Tyritha’s voice hung on her abductor’s name for just long enough that she could tell Tyritha had more to say, so she paused before opening the door. “And please, I need you to hear me say it as clearly and truly as I can profess it. Sincerely, thank you for all that you have put before me. I can only hope to be worthy of it someday.”
Dreima turned before exiting. “On that we shall see. Each day.”
And Dreima looked back in such a way that her eyes told Tyritha they would be watching her closely. And in the breath she took to the sound of the closing door, Tyritha told herself she’d been far too clumsy with her intentions.
It was not an entirely alien experience for Tyritha, even though she’d never met Dreima’s like before in real life. The fairytale stories Erron’s elder sister referred to were replete with figures like her. Additionally, some of the biblical villains were unspeakably vicious. Tyritha knew there was evil in Dreima’s heart. She felt it as much as judged that it was there. She also understood that Dreima preferred not to resort to exercising that side of her persona in her case. It was clear that she simply wished for a specific course of action—the desired outcome for Erron, for the family, and most of all, for herself. The more Tyritha fell in line and fit, the better she would look for pairing Tyritha with Erron. Still, Tyritha felt deeply in her gut that to humiliate Dreima in any way would be a dangerous and perhaps deadly gamble. The rules were now clearly delineated; the consequences for breaking them, however, were not.
Tyritha struggled to find her way back to sleep for the remainder of the night, wondering what might become of her if she defied Erron’s elder sister. That was the question she posed to him the following day during their now-daily walk to the duck pond in the palace’s garden. Erron began the conversation by trying to update Tyritha on his progress with Petr Onager, but immediately, he could see that she was distracted.
“Is something wrong?” he asked her.
“I need to ask you something,” she replied.
“Ask me anything.”
Tyritha paused before looking Erron in his eyes, those bright, gray eyes. “I’d like to know what you think would happen to you if your family found out you were trying to help me get home.”
Erron shrugged. “I don’t know. Dreima would be upset—will be, I mean, when we get you home. Yeah, I suppose she’ll be angry for a while.”
“How well do you know your sister?”
“Well enough, I guess.”
“Do you think they’ll still allow you to go through with your rites—the apotheosis?”
Erron looked shocked by the question. “I hadn’t considered it. Yes, I think. Sure. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Gods don’t like to be insulted as a rule, Erron. Especially false gods.”
He took a deep breath.
“I didn’t really understand this place,” she continued, “not until last night.”
“What happened, Tyritha?”
“Dreima came to see me last night. Just walked into my room while I was sleeping and sat beside my bed.”
“What did she say to you?”
Tyritha exhaled. “Mmpph. I’m not sure what she said was the real point, Erron. I made the mistake of thinking I had a choice about the surgery … or anything else for that matter. The dresses, the food, the palace, the engagement—all these things tricked me into thinking I was a guest here and not a prisoner.”
“You are a guest here. You’re my betrothed. I promise you are safe here. I swear you have my protection, Tyritha.”
“If that’s so, I suppose I can just ask to go home. Who should I ask, Erron? Dreima? Krishna? The archon?”
“I suppose that’s a fair point. But a prisoner?”
“I am, and your answer leaves me more convinced that you haven’t even begun to understand where you are either.”
“She told you to have the surgery?”
“Or else.”
“Or else what?”
“The what part was left vague. That’s the part that frightens me, Erron. I’m going to ask you the same question of me, and I’d like you to really think about it. Will you do that for me? Really think.”
“All right. What question do you mean?”
“What do you think would happen to me if Dreima found out I was trying to escape. What would they do with me?”
He was looking at her with a newfound sense of concern in his eyes. As much as he was trying to understand her position, Erron couldn’t quite see it. He wanted more than anything to lift all of her fears from her mind.
“Are you reconsidering the procedure?” he asked her. “I can’t claim to know you that well yet, Tyritha, not nearly as well as I hope to, but I get the sense you are thinking about doing something.”
“What do you mean, ‘doing something’?”
Her tone was sharper than he’d ever heard before. He didn’t even imagine her voice could be so harsh.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know. The surgery, for example—your chin? Are you going to go along with it.”
“My chin is the least of our concerns.”
“You’re very frightened, aren’t you?”
“And getting more so by the fact you don’t seem to be. And, yes, I don’t see that there’s a way out of the surgery now. I’ll be lucky to escape this place with my life.”
“Dreima won’t hurt you, Tyritha.”
“Dreima will hurt anyone. You need to get your mind around that. She’ll hurt you too if you make her look bad, Erron.”
“She would never. She couldn’t. The archon wouldn’t let her. And I wouldn’t let her either, because I care too much about you. I wouldn’t have it.”
“You think you’re in their inner circle, don’t you? I think you’re making the mistake of believing that you’re one of them already, and you’re not yet. Maybe soon, but not today. And maybe never if you help me escape. Then how will they treat you? Not like the golden son. I can assure you of that.”
“You don’t know my family. They’re not that vengeful, Tyritha.”
“How many times have you seen them have cause to be vengeful? Do the archons get defied often, Erron? Betrayed by their own?”
He shook his head.
“Thought not.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m trying my best to help you get home.”
“I think, if we can, we should find a way to make it look like you didn’t help me to get free, Erron. I wouldn’t want to leave you knowing I’d ruined everything between you and your family. Then who would I be? If I left you behind after wrecking your life? That would be just as selfish as what Dreima did when she snatched me up.”
He shook his head. “When I talked to Onager, there was a moment that gave me pause. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want to worry you about something you couldn’t do anything about. I agree this is not without risks, getting you back home. But it does have to be done. What happened to you isn’t right, and I’ll do what I must to set it right, whatever the cost.”
“I am grateful for that, Erron. Among all your family, you’re the noble one. You’re the only one I could love without fear.”
He squeezed her hand for reassurance, and sat there quietly as she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I have to ask. I’m sorry if I’m wrong for asking,” Erron said. “Maybe it’s a selfish part of me talking, or maybe I’m still just confused by our differences, but is it possible that the best way out of all this is to stay—to stay with me and go through the rites, to be my wife and to be treated as family in this house in perpetuity.”
“Forgive me for how this is going to sound, but I can’t do that. And it isn’t you. It’s a fine dream. A beautiful dream to spend eons with you. But it is just a dream. You people cannot be gods no matter how much you wish it or how long you prolong your deaths. A human is a human, in rags or fancy gowns. There will come a day for everyone. And on my day, I must be right with God. I’m sorry, Erron Aireum, but you’re going to have to kill me first.”
She could tell by his reaction that Erron was shocked by the conviction with which she’d made her position clear. He took a deep breath, doing his best to wash the emotion out of his bearing before responding.
“So then, Tyritha Sian, we get you home. And we take great care in doing it.”
Tyritha didn’t see Erron again till the following afternoon when Dione came by with a woman she’d never met before. The visit, ostensibly, was to inform Tyritha that her facial surgery had been scheduled for the following week. The real visit, she gathered, was to gain a sense for her eagerness to cooperate. She could feel it right away. This doctor and all the people in her orbit were never healers, they were measurers. Even the woman with her that afternoon had come to take measurements of her face, to fit her for the Arrdh Tyritha would wear after her surgery. But that wasn’t the only thing being measured.
Dione adopted a feigned tone of concern regarding her hesitance and fears. And Tyritha wasn’t so foolish as to claim a full 180-degree turn on her position. She didn’t overact, and she didn’t apologize either. Instead, reluctantly, she confessed her fear about the surgery itself. She asked questions about physical pain and how it would be managed. She also told Dione she was afraid of having her appearance altered, that she was accustomed to her face the way it had always been and was worried about changing it. Even though she’d seen the post-surgery composites, she was afraid they might not be exact. She offered enough protest that it didn’t seem like she was faking it.
“You’re not the first to say as much,” Dione responded. “This same fear, though, is true when you’re a girl and you naturally grow into a woman—our faces all change. So too as people age—all but the immortals experience this same anxiety.”
Tyritha told her she hadn’t thought of it that way. Further, she listened patiently as the doctor told her of her own anxieties before her surgeries and how they’d all faded a few days after the procedures. And then, after Dione had seemed to relieve Tyritha of all her fears, she added a finishing touch.
“I wasn’t entirely honest,” Tyritha said, adopting a heavy tone and even a feigned look of shame as she did. “There’s nothing against it in my religion. There never was. I was just afraid, Dione. Surgery scares me, especially my face getting cut.”
“I can understand that,” the doctor replied. “We can ease your anxiety, dear. There are all number of ways, from meditation to medication and everything in between. We want you to feel comfortable, young miss.”
Erron arrived just as they were concluding that conversation. To Tyritha, it seemed a bit too timely for it to have been a coincidence. Dione took it as a cue to leave. All her measurements had been taken anyway. Tyritha and Erron were polite to the doctor and her assistant as they left, but Erron was quick to embrace her and whisper in Tyritha’s ear when she was gone.
“I don’t think we can trust her,” he said.
“Not a chance,” Tyritha agreed.
“I’m not sure she’d be the right one anyway.”
She told Erron with a look that she didn’t quite catch his meaning.
“We’re going to need a doctor to put you in stasis for your trip home.”
Just then Naomi returned. She immediately apologized for intruding on what seemed like an intimate moment. For a second, he couldn’t tell how much Tyritha’s servant had overheard. He was clearly startled by her sudden arrival.
“We would like a word alone,” Erron said. “Perhaps it would be best to go to the garden?”
“No,” Tyritha replied. “I’ve spoken with Naomi. She knows who I am.”
Erron looked some combination of surprised and troubled by that revelation. “And you’re okay drawing her into this?”
“All due respect, sir,” Naomi stated, “but I wouldn’t be put off it, even if Miss Tyritha asked.”
“Is that so?” he asked Naomi earnestly.
“I would regret it if I allowed her to face these troubles alone after swearing to serve her.”
“Even if it means defying the house?”
“Aren’t you a part of the house, sir?”
“I suppose that I am.”
“You see, sir, it’s just all so confusing. How could I know what to do?”
Her obsequious yet dull tone seemed so perfect and well-practiced that Erron couldn’t help but shake his head. It was a brief and sudden peek behind a curtain that he now realized had been there the entire time yet he wasn’t even aware existed. Tyritha smiled.
“If you care about Miss Tyritha, sir, you can’t tell them I’m not dumb.”
“You’ve won her over to our side?” Erron said to Tyritha.
“I’ve always been on her side,” Naomi replied. “Who else’s side is worth taking around here?”
He looked carefully at Naomi again, and he saw her perhaps for the first time. “Your secret is safe with me, Naomi. I’ll never betray your confidence.”
“Never’s a strong word, sir. But I appreciate the sentiment. You may speak openly in my presence.”
He nodded and turned back to Tyritha. “I got word late. Otherwise, I’d have been here as soon as Dione arrived.”
Tyritha looked confused by the statement.
“I have a servant watching your room,” he explained. “I don’t like the idea of them coming and going, demanding, intimidating. I won’t have it without at least knowing what they’re up to.”
“They’re up to scheduling my facial surgery,” Tyritha stated. “That’s all. Nothing we didn’t expect. Next week. And then for two weeks following, I wear the Arrdh.”
“It’s not as bad as you fear, miss,” Naomi assured her. “I had two sessions of facial remediation before I was allowed to take up this vocation within the house.” Suddenly, Tyritha’s servant couldn’t suppress a devious smile. “I actually didn’t mind the mask on occasion. That kind of invisibility has its advantages. Everyone who sees you makes assumptions, and they’re not always correct.”
“That’s an interesting thought,” Erron replied. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Of what?” Tyritha asked.
“The Arrdh. I think it’s possible if it were worn faithfully, it could make a convincing alibi if you were elsewhere, especially if you needed to be in two places at once.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve just been thinking and thinking about different ways we might get you out of the cylinder,” Erron laughed. “I didn’t even once consider ...”
“You’ve never needed to sneak about, sir,” Naomi said, grinning. “It’s probably not a bad idea to have an expert in the area helping you along.”
“Right,” Erron agreed.
Suddenly, Tyritha took a deep breath and took Erron’s hand as though filled with a flash of inspiration. Then she gestured for Naomi to join them. By her eyes, Erron could tell the servant knew what her mistress intended. He wasn’t convinced she thought whatever Tyritha was up to was a good idea.
“We’re going to need to trust each other,” Tyritha declared. “We should pray on it.”
Erron’s look was skeptical to be sure, perhaps even a bit condescending. He did try to flatten his expression as Tyritha looked toward him and then smiled.
“Don’t worry. We won’t be casting any spells,” she said, grinning. “Come.”
She led them both over to her bedside and knelt. She could see Erron bristling at the prospect of kneeling with her there.
“This feels ... strange,” he said after spending a few seconds searching for the least offensive adjective that fit the situation.
“Would you indulge me, please, Erron? I’ve done a lot of things these past few weeks that feel strange to me, most of them to make people here feel comfortable. Kneeling with me shouldn’t be too far a bridge.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed.
“Spells, sir?” Naomi asked Erron.
“He thinks I think it’s magic,” Tyritha answered, smiling. “Talking to gods and angels. Things like that.”
“Well ...?” Naomi replied in a delicate tone. “No offense, miss, but isn’t it?”
Tyritha laughed. “Many people on Heinan think as much too. I’m not so offended.”
Before she began, Tyritha did her best to explain. Sometimes prayer was like that, but Tyritha told them that in their tradition to ask anything of God was vanity. The prayer was for the person. It helped one to see the truth in the matter, clarified their focus, reminded one of their core beliefs. That stone foundation Erron had sensed in Tyritha—she told him that it was only there through years of devoted work, laying that foundation herself in the same way a musician masters music or a dancer masters movement. She hadn’t fallen apart in Alysida, nor had she given in to their insistence that she adopt their ways, nor would she ever. Her foundation wouldn’t allow it.
“Each time I kneel in prayer, I remake myself,” she told them. “And each time I rise, I rise again a servant. This is our way—my people’s way.”
That Erron could understand. In a strange way, it resonated with him, and there was no mistaking the way it worked through Tyritha. He saw a certainty in her that was simultaneously terrifying and inspiring. There were two paths before them—the one where Tyritha escaped and made it home with her humanity intact, and the other where she was exposed and faced a potential life of punishment and pain that was as yet undefined, her humanity still intact. And the more they discussed both of those outcomes, the more certain Tyritha became that she wasn’t afraid. In the end, even if she died, she was still going home, going back where she came from.
Bit-by-bit, as she allowed Erron to see this side of her, he began to understand who she really was. He also began to understand why she’d been so reluctant to show it to him for so long. He wouldn’t have been able to understand it. Tyritha’s ideology made sense in a world where people lived in hardship—something he’d never really known, and may never yet for a long time if he fulfilled the destiny laid out for him by his people.
It was all so confusing. He believed he was doing the right thing, yet here he was, sneaking around behind the backs of his own people, deceiving, misrepresenting his intentions. At times like this, he thought, a foundation of his own would’ve been a welcome asset.
Erron spoke to the archon himself after word came back that the board had ruled unanimously that Tyritha should undergo the remediation on her chin. Tyritha was not the least bit surprised by their ruling. She understood that it wasn’t about her chin or aesthetics anymore. It was about compliance—a demonstration of her obedience. Erron’s request was not a major one. He asked the archon if the surgery could be completed in Arionidis. He told his mother that Tyritha had been asking about seeing more of their culture, and in the capitol, she’d be anonymous, especially wearing the Arrdh. That way she could have the procedure done, complete her recovery, and return to Arnur better prepared to be introduced to the people of her new home cylinder. The archon agreed that there was a certain symmetry to it—a sensible plan.
“I’m going to put you under the protection of your brother Krishna while you’re in the capitol,” she decided. “It’s only appropriate he be responsible. We both well know your sister won’t be.”
The archon also demanded that Tyritha be allotted an additional servant for the duration, as she would be isolated from Erron during her recovery and had no friends of her own in Arionidis.
“Remediation is a lonely time as is. In an unfamiliar place it could be even more difficult.”
“As you wish, archon. Tyritha is strong of mind, and she will be grateful for the opportunity to see our great capitol.”
“From behind the Arrdh, of course,” she reminded Erron. “The temptation will be there for an outsider to look upon the place unobstructed. She must adhere to our ways, outsider or no.”
“I’ll make sure Naomi sees to it, at all times.”
“And never you, dear Erron. There are no special exceptions for our traditions on account of her origins. A spouse is never to look upon his betrothed during remediation. That is for the doctors alone.”
“You have my word,” he promised his mother.
With the surgery scheduled, their window of opportunity would be closing. If no further remediations were necessary, which Dione and the medical experts agreed was the likeliest outcome, then as soon as Tyritha was healed, they would need to begin progressing toward the rites. That would be a matter of months at most. He had to find her a way out of Alysida and back to Heinan before then; otherwise, he feared, she would never get home.
Not only that, the more he considered the consequences of Tyritha rejecting the rites, the more he feared the potentially catastrophic reaction. It wasn’t even something he could think through properly. Nobody had ever done it—saying no to immortality? Rejecting admittance to the most exclusive society in all of human civilization? Whether they said it openly or not, they certainly thought of themselves in that way and acted like it too. The Dodonna family would be humiliated. More consequential than their own family’s reputation, though, Erron considered that such a rejection would affect the common people and how they thought of all the noble immortal families in Alysida. He couldn’t begin to predict anything, but he didn’t believe forgiveness would be forthcoming. A humiliation like that would demand humiliation in return. They wouldn’t simply let her go home. They couldn’t if they wanted to, not with Tyritha carrying knowledge of their distant society.
The more he thought about it, the more urgency Erron believed the situation demanded. He did his best to choke down his reservations when he set the next meeting with Petr Onager. This time, they would meet in Arionidis, and the meeting would be real. No more skirting around the issue, pretending to seek out information for some abstract reason. Erron needed something from that world, and he knew there would be a real cost. The only question was whether he’d ever be able to pay it.
To Tyritha, the trip to Arionidis seemed like the sorts of holidays people in Kmeno dreamed about. Her own people in Ceronka tended not to dwell on such things. They were desires grounded too much in the worldly that cost so much that they distracted one from God, from family, and from community. But where she worked in Kmeno, she’d heard people talking of such things—tours of the Protectorate, of the Inner Battery. One night at the shop, she’d even met a couple who were travelers. They’d been to Athos and Hellenia. They’d stayed at the Waterlands on Iophos. They’d even been to Floriston and seen the sunsets there. That man owned his own ship and made a living trading in various cargoes.
Whenever Tyritha or her brothers or sisters spoke of such things, her parents would remind them that all pleasures were fleeting, and that wealth was in God and in family and community, not in distant places and things.
That, she realized in recent days, was not strictly true. There was most definitely wealth in Arionidis—such wealth as Tyritha couldn’t fathom. Every building was beautiful, stylish, symmetrical. It wasn’t like Kmeno where the buildings were merely functional. In Arionidis, they all had their function, she presumed, but beyond that, each had a place in the layout that served the appearance of the street, the neighborhood, the city as a whole. On one street, as they walked, she noticed a theme in light—a streak that seemed crystal in makeup, and this shining ribbon within the wall shifted colors gradually, drawing the eye to it, and this eye-catching aspect took up more of each building’s edifice as they continued down the street to the main square in that section of the city. And in this piazza, in the center, the whole front face of the main building was entirely composed of crystal forms—beautiful, heroic figures sculpted in glass so clear it looked like water, yet somehow it carried the colors so well the forms were perfectly discernible from one another even as the colors shifted. Tyritha had never set eyes on anything so magical that had been crafted by human beings. And this was but one of the wonders of this gorgeous city.
The Dodonnas, like every great family in Alysida, had houses in Arionidis. The main family house was within the official government district and functioned much like an embassy, where the archon’s representatives and functionaries resided while in the capitol on official business for the house of Arnur. Of course, there were also many Dodonnas in the city as well—aunts, uncles, cousins, as well as in-laws—most of whom had dedicated space in their homes for distinguished guests like Krishna and Erron. So it wasn’t much trouble for Erron to find a host for his betrothed and her servants. The trick was choosing the one who would give him and Tyritha enough space while still feeling as though they were fulfilling their duties as a host. The surgery actually helped in this regard. Even the most intrusive of Erron’s cousins understood that remediation was a time where a Sepp would want nothing more than space, as well as peace and quiet.
Erron opted to stay with his great aunt again. She was mid-cylinder in Arionidis, which was some distance from Krishna in the Arnur House and the downtown villa where Tyritha and her servants were occupying the guest wing. This put space between him and all the others while they were in the capitol. And out in the middle of the cylinder, with everything going on near the hub, it was one of the few places in all of Alysida where Erron Aireum Dodonna could be somewhat anonymous. Certainly there were far more important Odai from major and minor houses for the ordinary people of Arionidis to keep their eyes on.
Even his aunt, who was happy to see him again, was content to welcome Erron back and immediately give him his space.
Within a few hours, he was taking advantage of it. Krishna had planned a formal dinner that evening at the family’s main house, where he would be expected to accompany Tyritha to meet Arnur’s representative in the governing board. But that wasn’t for several hours—more than enough time to make the meeting he’d scheduled that afternoon. He changed into unremarkable clothing, ditched his jewelry and watch, memorized the route to the social club, and headed out on foot to meet with Petr Onager again.
The social club was near the Terrintine section mid-cylinder—a good walk from the mid-central terminal where Erron’s great aunt lived. And the club was one of theirs. Not a great family by any means, the Terrintines, and the club, at first glance, was not a particularly fancy one. They had grass field games and racquet sports on the street level, a ballroom, and a large greeting area. But as Erron followed the directions he was given, down two levels to the Quarter Lounge, he was merely waved on by the staff there and given directions when he reached the second level.
The lounge itself was seemingly very casual looking, which was a novelty of its own in Arionidis. It was quiet and sparsely occupied at that hour of the afternoon, so it wasn’t difficult to pick out Onager, who was seated toward the back wall in a booth with another gentleman. They were both dressed well, which surprised Erron, who hardly would’ve recognized Onager if he’d passed him on the street, all dressed up like a finely-aged gentleman. The man seated across from him looked all of twenty-five. They very well could’ve been grandfather and grandson having a late lunch together, but Erron knew Onager never had a family. He didn’t know what to make of this new contact.
“Young Dodonna,” Onager said, eliciting an uncomfortable glance over both shoulders from Erron.
“Mr. Onager,” Erron responded, his voice low.
Onager shook his head at him. “It’s quite okay to talk here. This is Giras Terrintine, an old friend.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Erron said, shaking hands with both men before sitting beside Terrintine.
Onager signaled for one of the servers, instructing them to bring over a lager for all three men.
“What do you think of the club, Dodonna?” Giras Terrintine asked, looking over his shoulder at Erron, examining the young Sepp with a skeptical eye.
“Your family’s club, is it?”
Terrintine nodded.
“It’s quite large, isn’t it?” Erron replied, doing his best to find a positive feature without having to stretch the truth. “And very relaxed. I imagine it’s a great place to play a few games and spend a few carefree hours. That has to be an asset in a city like Arionidis.”
Giras Terrintine grinned, looking over at Onager. “I thought you said the boy wasn’t a good liar, Petr. I almost believe him myself.”
“Maybe I had you all wrong, young Dodonna,” Onager replied with a dark laugh. “Or maybe I had you measured just right.”
“Petr tells me you have a fascination with the contact groups,” Giras Terrintine remarked.
Erron nodded.
“He has a hunch that the fascination isn’t merely theoretical. I think he must be right if you came to meet with us here. You’re very well thought of in Arnur.”
“I like to think so.”
“It’s a risk to associate with people like Petr, you know?”
“And for you, Terrintine?” Erron asked.
“Old habit,” he replied. “Plus, the Odai in my family never thought much of me anyway.”
Erron shrugged, as though to signal that he didn’t much care what Giras’s family thought of him. But it was clear enough now by the conversation who Giras Terrintine was. Erron surmised that he was a sibling in the house who’d been rejected, and rather than taking that relegation to mortality as a foregone conclusion, he’d found another pathway on the contact crew—a life of loyal service, and now a long hereafter as a lesser member of the family, sent off to be another face in the crowd in Arionidis. And that face, now that Erron looked at it, was one that had taken a lot of work to reach even the passable belief that he might be an Odai. Ten surgeries at least.
“Old friends?” Erron asked him, nodding toward Petr Onager.
“Something like that,” Giras Terrintine answered. “We were on the contact crew together for quite a few years. So you have a fascination with the Battery. You’re also supposed to be taking a wife that was brought here from there, I’ve heard. I’m guessing that’s not a coincidence.”
The server returned with three glasses of cold beer, placing them on the table as each of the men grew silent, with the exception of Erron, who thanked the server as she placed his glass in front of him. He answered Giras Terrintine as soon as she stepped away.
“It’s not a coincidence. How exactly do you know about my fiancé?”
Giras shrugged. “It’s a small community—the contact groups are. Even smaller the few of us who do what we do.”
“I see.”
“It’s expensive, you know. I should say that up front. Even for an Odai from a good house like Arnur. Anything that comes in from the Battery has a princely duty on it. That’d be a way to put it. What did you have in mind for her? Comforts of home?”
“My understanding is that there are few comforts in the part of Heinan where she comes from,” Erron replied. “If any.”
“Then what?”
“A person.”
Giras Terrintine laughed. “My boy, you don’t want to know what it must’ve cost your family to bring in that bride of yours. Money, you suppose? Far more likely it was a favor someone on the governing board owed someone in your house. A life debt. And you want to what? Bring in a beloved sister or a best friend or something?”
Erron looked back at Giras, trying to gauge whether coming to meet them had been a grave mistake.
“It’s something different, Terry,” Petr Onager said, observing, glaring into Erron’s eyes. “What is it, boy?”
Erron was reluctant to say.
“At this point you have no other choice,” Terrintine said. “We’ll figure out the rest on our own eventually if you don’t tell us.”
“She wants to go home,” Erron replied.
Terrintine exhaled in a way that was neither a gasp nor a laugh. He was half shaking his head in disbelief.
“Homesick?” Petr Onager stated. “And willing to die to cure it?”
“Might as well put her out of her misery right now,” Terrintine said, scoffing.
Erron glared at him.
“You care for her?” Onager said. “Don’t you, young Dodonna?”
“What does that have to do with anything? We’re discussing business, are we not?”
“Are we now? Really? Best business decision for you would be to knock her on the head and pitch her out the nearest airlock and be done with it, then take the prettiest third cousin who throws herself at your feet.”
Onager could tell by the way Erron glared back at him that he’d struck a nerve.
“It’s curious,” Giras Terrintine said, taking a healthy gulp of his lager. “He loves her but he wants to send her away at the same time. And I thought we would be stealing family pictures for a king’s ransom. I wouldn’t even know where to start, Dodonna. Sending a person back? I don’t think it’s possible.”
“It’s possible,” Petr Onager insisted. “I just don’t think young Dodonna here’s going to like it, not as much as he’d like the girl by his side when he takes the rites.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Terrintine replied.
“We can start at my price,” Petr Onager said. “If you want this, Erron Dodonna, I’m going to want back everything they took from me. You promise me that much, and then we can begin.”