Return to Eddarta Read online

  I went downstairs, and realized that I had begun to take my union with Markasset’s memories for granted. Thanasset was just coming in, and it wasn’t until his face registered shock that I identified the “special occasion” for which Markasset had saved the open-necked shirt. It was intended to be nightwear—wedding nightwear. Markasset had bought it while thinking about Illia.

  But I chose it, thinking about Tarani, I told myself, pausing on the stairs. What the hell … I don’t have a reputation for being normal in this world; why change now?

  I stepped down to the wood parquet floor of the house’s center hallway and touched Thanasset’s shoulder in greeting. His face was a study in embarrassment: Does he know? Should I tell him? What can I say? Will it embarrass him?

  Before I could say something to make him less uncomfortable, I heard a sound on the stair behind me. Thanasset’s face took on a whole new expression, and I knew when I turned that I would see Tarani.

  She was something to see.

  And I thought I was going to some trouble to look nice tonight, I thought. No wonder I haven’t seen her at all today. She must have spent the whole day shopping and sewing.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught a movement in a doorway down the hall. Milda was hovering there, peeking around the corner.

  Dear Aunt Milda, I thought. She must have had a lot of fun today, helping and keeping the secret.

  From the multitude of fabric colors available in Raithskar, Tarani had chosen black. Her outfit was made up of a loose, bell-sleeved tunic and full-legged trousers. The high collar and hem of the tunic, as well as the edges of sleeves and trouser legs, were decorated with a pattern made up of hundreds of small, shiny black beads.

  There’s no way she could have sewn each of those beads in the time she had, I thought. Someone must specialize in making beaded trim.

  Tarani smiled when she saw us, and did a small turn down the last three steps. Like the blue gown she had designed for her performances, her new outfit was designed to enhance the movements of dancing. The material draped in graceful folds as she walked, but swirled out at hips and ankles when she turned her body. The lightly weighted hems were responsive to her every movement.

  Thanasset still had his mouth open. Milda couldn’t stand it; she came from the dining room to join us in admiring Tarani.

  The girl’s looks came from her genetic link to the Lords of Eddarta, and were very rare on this side of the Morkadahls. She was tall, with very dark headfur that made the widow’s peak above her supraorbital ridge much more noticeable. Her cheeks were high, with narrow planes joining them to a small chin. The dramatic outfit enhanced the contrast between her pale skin and silky headfur, and made her black eyes seem larger.

  She had the kind of raw beauty that quickened the heart. She had enhanced it artfully, and her glow of pleasure at our obvious admiration added to it. The final touch was the spark of appreciation that lit her eyes when they rested on me.

  6

  I had taken Illia to the same places I took Tarani that night, but I felt no sense of nostalgia or déjà vu. The women were too different; I wasn’t the same man; and the city had changed.

  Illia’s golden beauty had caught appreciative looks on that other night, but Tarani turned heads wherever we went. It was more than her striking looks and the stunning, dramatic outfit. It was the way she carried herself and kept her attention on me, as if she had no awareness of the sensation she was creating.

  She was born to be a queen, I thought, as we entered the Moonrise Restaurant. The next logical thought jolted me so that I must have twitched physically. Tarani felt it through my hand on her elbow, and looked at me with concern. I smiled, shook my head, and we continued following the host to the table he had selected.

  Queen of Eddarta, I repeated in my thoughts, as we sat. All our talk of destiny—we’ve been assuming that “destiny” brought us together for a permanent alliance. What if we’re wrong?

  “Rikardon?” Tarani asked, leaning over the corner of the tile-topped table. “Something disturbs you?”

  I put my hand over hers. “Nothing we need to talk about tonight, love,” I said.

  She looked at the patterns in the tile. “Are you eager to be moving again?” I felt the tension in her fingers. “It should be possible soon… .”

  I touched her chin with my hand, and she lifted her face to look at me. “I’m eager to do nothing but enjoy this evening, Tarani. I haven’t told you tonight—perhaps I’ve never told you, now that I think of it—how beautiful you are, how proud I am you care for me, how just being with you gives me a sense of wholeness, but not of complacency. You excite my mind, feelings, and my body. I feel challenged and powerful when I’m with you, Tarani, and”—my voice faltered, as I realized what I was saying—“and I never want to not be with you again.”

  She looked stunned, as well she might. I dropped my hand from her chin before she could feel it tremble.

  “Your outfit is magnificent,” I said, surprised that my smile felt reasonably steady. “I’m sure everyone here appreciates all the work you must have done today.”

  She started to say something, changed her mind, and went along with changing the subject. She smiled hesitantly at first, then let the smile light up her face.

  “You have made it clear,” she said, “that you appreciate it, which was my only goal. It is generous of you to assume that I am the one who attracts the eyes of the crowd. It takes no special skill to read the envy in the women who watch us.”

  A hostess appeared, carrying glasses of faen, the Gandalaran equivalent of beer. We placed our orders—I wanted a glith steak; Tarani opted for a vegetable stew dish—and the evening took on one more similarity to the time I had spent with Illia. Now, as then, we shared a willingness to ignore thoughts of past or future in favor of enjoying the moment.

  It worked for a while. We ate dinner and walked to the dance hall, hand in hand. Tarani was absolutely delighted with the large, patterned floor, and the people moving rhythmically, in unison, each following the pattern of the specific dance. I was surprised to learn that this type of dancing was unknown outside of Raithskar. The dances themselves were based on dances Tarani knew, but they had been formalized. Movement was linked to the floor patterns, and interaction between the dancing couples had been added. Tempos varied from graceful swaying to an intricate and rapid foot placement that would have put calisthenics to shame.

  Each of the tables was numbered and could seat four people. It was still early, so that we were alone at our table. Tarani could barely contain her eagerness until our number was called. We took our place on the multicolored tile, and the music started.

  And I thought Tarani turned heads at the restaurant, I said to myself, amused at the sensation the girl in the black outfit was creating.

  Tarani danced exactly the same way everyone else danced, incorporating variations with the skill of a trained dancer. Her movements were the same as the other dancers, but the grace of her body and the design of her clothes enhanced them, setting her apart from the ordinary. Knowing we were in the spotlight, literally, I put forth some extra effort to be a better partner for her.

  After the dance, some of the nearby couples took the trouble to speak to us, complimenting our dancing. Tarani was positively glowing as we headed back to our table—which was no longer empty.

  “Good evening,” Zaddorn said, as he stood up. “Illia assured me you would not object to our joining you.”

  Illia was looking at the table top. I didn’t bother wondering why.

  “You’re welcome, of course,” I said. “Tarani, I believe you met Illia outside the house just before we left.”

  “Yes, I recall it well,” she said, nodding at the girl. Then she turned her attention to Zaddorn. “I am pleased to see you, Zaddorn. In the stress of the day we returned to Raithskar, you and I did not meet formally. But I was very much aware of your kindness and concern, and I am grateful for the opportunity to thank you now.”
r />   To his surprise and mine, Tarani put out her hand. Zaddorn bowed slightly as he took it. I couldn’t miss the eyebrow he raised in my direction. I had been the only other person ever to offer him a handshake.

  “I can assure you, you have the sympathy of everyone in the city,” he said. “You”—he gestured to include me, as well as Tarani, in his statement—“and your family of sha’um are a center of interest, a spot of joy in an otherwise very frightened city.”

  I had been trying to ignore the signs—laughter just a bit too loud, faen flowing more freely than usual, a frantic quality to the gaiety. I wanted to continue to ignore it, but Zaddorn’s expression told me I wouldn’t have the opportunity.

  Tarani, sensitive as ever, said: “Will you excuse me for a moment? Illia, would you mind showing me where …”

  Illia looked from Zaddorn’s face to mine, and showed more perception than I would have given her credit for. “Of course not—it’s this way,” she said, as she stood and left the table.

  Zaddorn and I sat down, and he wasted no time.

  “Had you been accepting visitors,” he said, “I would have talked with you long before now. This vineh business, rough as it has been, has not made me forget about the Ra’ira. I presume we would have it now, if you had returned with it. Where is it? What happened?”

  I stared at him, surprised. “I told Thanasset everything, and I assumed he passed it all on to the Council.”

  Zaddorn snorted. “I suspect that’s true. What gives you the idea that the Council tells me anything?”

  “What have they told you?” I asked.

  He sighed. “They have told me to ‘control the vineh.’ The day after the attack on you, Ferrathyn came to my office and shouted until his Supervisor friends dragged him away.”

  “Ferrathyn?” I said. The image of the slight, friendly old man in an apoplectic rage was totally foreign to my memory of the Chief Supervisor. “Ferrathyn?”

  “He has changed,” Zaddorn said. “It would be a lie to say we have ever been friends, but I did think we respected one another. This situation has made him—the best word that occurs to me is intense. I fear the strain is making him feel his age, and I find it less and less palatable to concede to the whims of someone I suspect to be unbalanced.” He shrugged and sipped his glass of faen. “But then, I suppose I have given him little reason to respect me lately. I have been totally unable to control the spread of the vineh illness, and less than effective in protecting private property from the raids of the wild group.”

  Ferrathyn must have changed a lot, I thought. I’d have bet that the old mans sense of fairness would insist that Zaddorn be told the truth about the Ra’ira and the vineh, instead of that crock about an ape flu. I don’t doubt that Ferrathyn has suffered from the strain—probably from a heavy load of guilt, as much as anything.

  Zaddorn was staring into his faen, lost in his own sense of failure.

  The Council didn’t tell me about the Ra’ira, I remembered. I had to find out the hard way. But now that I know, do I have the same obligation they do—not to reveal the truth without the Council’s consent?

  Zaddorn glanced up, saw my face, and leaned across the table to touch my arm.

  “Rikardon, I have seen that look on too many rogueworld faces not to recognize it. If you know something that can help, please tell me.”

  Markasset had known Zaddorn throughout his youth. They had been rivals in sports and war games and romance. Through it all, Markasset had suffered from a sense of inadequacy, each victory only a reminder of his other losses. Markasset had resented and admired Zaddorn. I, as Ricardo and Rikardon, had shifted that balance toward admiration, even though I was not blind to Zaddorn’s irritating qualities. High on that list was arrogance—a quality absent from the vocal tone he had just used to ask for help.

  Council or no Council, I decided, Zaddorn deserves to know the truth. He is being asked to control a situation he’s not even close to understanding.

  “I don’t know how it will help,” I said quietly, “but I will tell you what I know. I ask only two things in return: that you accept what I say as the truth without question, and that you keep your temper under control. There are many reasons why you haven’t been told this, none of them born of lack of confidence in you. Agreed?”

  Zaddorn’s face lit up with its normal expression—wry amusement, aloofness, cynicism. “With such an introduction, my curiosity is rampant. Of course, I promise what you ask.”

  “All right, here it is. The Ra’ira can be used to amplify mindpower. It is and always has been, potentially, a tool for mind control. The early Kings used it to learn and lead better; the later Kings used it to control slaves. Serkajon knew what it was, and brought it here for safekeeping. Generations later, someone hit on the idea of using it to control the minds of animals, rather than men. Of course, the animal had to have something of a mind to begin with, and the accomplishment had to be worth the effort.”

  “The vineh?” Zaddorn gasped. “Not trained at all, but controlled?”

  I shook my head. “No, they were controlled only when the training broke down,” I said. “Since this stuff got started, a Supervisor has been on duty with the Ra’ira every hour of every day. I guess you could say they watched the vineh minds for signs of rebellion, and controlled it out of them when it was found.”

  “And when the Ra’ira was taken away …” Zaddorn’s voice trailed off. His hand balled into a fist, and he raised it to hit the table. I caught his wrist just in time to save the faen glasses from a dangerous bouncing.

  “You promised,” I reminded him.

  He tensed as if he might use his other fist on my face, then opened his hand. I let my hand ride his wrist to the table, and kept it there—I had detected no signs of relaxation or resignation. I felt him pressing on the table’s surface.

  “You do not know,” he said, “the charade they have put me through. Moving half the colony to another location, to avoid spreading the ‘disease.’ My men hurt often at the beginning because they were expecting only as much violence from the beasts as they had seen before—which had never blossomed fully, as you now tell me. All the scorn and blame heaped on me, when I was not given the basic truth of the situation.”

  His hand was still tense; I could almost feel anger coursing in the pulse I felt at his wrist.

  “You have it now,” I said. “Does it help?”

  His gaze snapped up from the table to meet mine. “To know that I have changed one situation out of my control for another? You tell me the Ra’ira is the cause—and, I assume, the cure—of the vineh situation. Its return to Raithskar seems to have been left up to you. Where is it?”

  It took an effort of will to keep from flinching away from Zaddorn’s accusing gaze. “The Ra’ira is in Eddarta,” I said. “Tarani is the key to getting possession of it, and she is as committed as I am to delivering it back to Raithskar.”

  “When?”

  “I can’t say for sure. We have to get there, and back again. And we will need some time in Eddarta—it’s complicated, Zaddorn.”

  “Several moons, then?” he asked.

  “At least,” I said.

  “And meanwhile?” he demanded. “The attack on you involved a huge group of the beasts. If that is a sign of their activity, in ‘several moons’ you may not find Raithskar here when you return.”

  “It won’t be that bad, once we’re gone,” I said, and told him my theory about the sha’um stirring instinctive enmity in the vineh. “And you’re alert now to the possibility that the vineh can use some strategy when they fight. Being forewarned should help a little.”

  Zaddorn’s tenseness had faded as we talked. I released his wrist and he sat back in his chair. His face went blank, and he stared over my shoulder.

  He’s planning defenses, I thought. I hope the Council is aware of this mans value.

  Tarani and Illia came back to the table. Illia’s hand on Zaddorn’s shoulder startled him back to the present.
She glanced at me, then leaned down to whisper in Zaddorn’s ear. He put his hand over hers and grinned wryly at me.

  “Illia reminds me of the reason we joined you this evening, Rikardon,” he said. “We want you to know that Illia and I shall marry soon. May I say that I hope you will not be able to attend the ceremony?”

  “Zaddorn!” Illia gasped.

  The golden-furred girl’s face was a study in shock and embarrassment. “Rikardon, he does not mean that, he—” she stammered.

  Behind Illia, Tarani was merely watching and listening. I stood up, touched one hand to the pair of hands on Zaddorn’s shoulder, and kissed Illia’s cheek—and reached around Illia to take and press Tarani’s hand.

  “Illia darling,” I said, “Zaddorn knows I will probably be leaving Raithskar before your wedding. I trust you know that I wish you both all happiness.”

  “Leaving?” Illia said.

  “Yes. Tarani and I must return to Eddarta.”

  Illia twisted a bit to look at Tarani, and her glance saw our hands, joined behind her back.

  “Oh,” she said, then, with a slightly confused sincerity, added, “I—I am happy for you, too, Rikardon.”

  7

  “It was a lovely evening,” Tarani whispered, as we opened the gate into Thanasset’s garden.

  I closed the gate, staggering a little. My legs felt like thinly stretched rubber.

  I wasn’t this tired after my three-day run from the Lingis mine to Eddarta, I thought.

  Tarani, too, seemed happily tired. We leaned on each other as we moved through the semi-darkness. In the desert, the moonless sky would have left us in blackness; in the city, the all-night glow of the entertainment district provided some illumination.