Passion of the Different (6 page)

Chapter Six - Invitation

He was a young lad, no more than his early teens and his big gold eyes were riveted on Ryan as he was hauling bushels of corn. He sat on the fast horse in a crouch, ready to gallop off if the frightening large guy made a run towards him. Myra came out of the cottage and gave him a polite nod. The moment the message was in her hand the young fellow turned his horse and got out of there, head buzzing with the story of how he saw the giant first.

Her eyes flew over the script and she called out, “Lord Za'Ryan, it's here!” His head swiveled, long curly brown hair swishing. He placed the bushel basket down and hurried over where she was waving the message.

“When?” was his tired reply. He had thrown himself into getting the crop harvested before the second planting season was over, which made the difference between going hungry during the winter or not.

“Tomorrow morning,” she exclaimed, bright lavender eyes twinkling from the excitement. “I'm so glad I finished your new set of clothes, I made them just for this event.” He grinned at his wife and enjoyed her energy even when he was tired from hard work. He looked up and regarded the position of the sun and came to a quick decision.

“I better clean up and call it quits for this afternoon,” he replied evenly. “I want to be in decent shape in the morning so I don't look bedraggled.”

Myra laughed as they headed inside, a pretty sound that always made him start to laugh with her. “You?” she accused playfully. “I don't think you could look bedraggled ever.” She flicked the paper at him again and finished giving him the gist of the full message, knowing that while he could speak their language, for some reason he couldn't read it. “There is a breakfast scheduled with the garrison commander and his officers then a visit with the mayor. Once that's over, pretty much everybody will have seen you. We'll also have a four guard escort waiting for us, to let people know you're friendly.”

“Oh my,” he replied, nonplussed. “I hope the guards know that I'm friendly too.”

“Hey,” she complained mildly, her smile still big. “Getting you accepted with my people was no easy task, and I must admit, going better than expected.”

“I know darling,” he said, regaining some of his energy and good natured spirit. “How does it feel not to be shunned anymore?” He should have realized earlier why this was such a big deal for her.

She spun in sheer joy, her skirt flaring up around shapely legs. “Wonderful!” she admitted loudly. “I feel so alive now, Lord Za'Ryan, and it's all because of us being together and happy!”

Realizing he was still gritty from working but not giving a damn, he scooped Myra up into his arms and tilted her chin for a powerful kiss. She sighed with high satisfaction, always accepted his affection with a greedy need and had no problems returning it in full even when he was covered in sweat. At first he thought the constant urgency was the result of waiting so long, but now they had some time in each others arms, her physical needs actually seemed to increase rather than slow down. He loved that fact and couldn't complain one bit.

The next morning they took a bath together, the startling clear well water cool against their skin. If they hadn't spent almost half the night making love in each others arms, he knew they would be messing up the large steel tub that barely held them both. She washed him with a loving touch, the cloth over her hand got everywhere and slowed down over much of his muscle. She simply loved touching him and the feeling was so mutual.

When it was his turn to work on her, he roamed all around her front and back slowly, dipping the cloth every so often into the soapy tub and she almost purred from the attention. When he started working on her legs, going to one knee, he couldn't help himself. His lips glided over her flat belly, kissing every so often as he made sure both legs were clean. He looked up and found her luminous lavender eyes staring down at him, intent, expression passive yet bright. His voice found the words he was looking for, spoke to her in his best loving tone.

“I never dreamed of a woman so beautiful before,” he told her honestly. “I know in my gut, with instincts that haven't lied to me yet, that there are no women among my people who are as naturally sweet as you. I am beyond lucky, Lady Myra, to be honest.”

She sank down to her knees and came to eye level, then flung her arms around his thick wet neck. He loved her hugs, even more so when they were both nude. The smell of her wet hair was fragrant, she clung to him tightly with lips close to his ear. Instead of speaking, she rubbed her cheek against his, a move that melted his heart. After some long minutes went by, he started to wonder why she hadn't let him go to get on with the bath. Then he felt her shiver a moment, then a sniff.

“No no, don't let go,” she pleaded softly, voice slightly quivering as he went to pull back. Her arms got so tight around him that he couldn't have detached her without using brute strength. He couldn't see her face, so as one hand supported her, the other reached up and stroked her wet light blue hair that now reached the middle of her back. She sniffed again, then explained herself in a soft tone. “These are happy tears, don't worry. Very happy tears. Just hold me till they are done, please. It won't be long darling, I promise.”

He answered by kissing the side of her slender neck, then leaving his lips on the arch of her shoulder while he nodded. He could have stayed like that with her forever, understanding at last that she was highly affectionate. This was simply who she was and it couldn't have made him happier. She finally slid back gently and she dabbed her face with the wash cloth, her big smile wide and inviting. “We best finish our bath,” she said and he nodded, returning the smile. “Or we won't get to town until lunch time.” They both laughed at the same time.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon with a promise of warmth to come when they set out for Ocaza. He wore a dark green long sleeve shirt with a gold outline and matching pants. It was a button up and he left the two on top undone, which made a V neckline that they both agreed on as nice. She wore a matching dark green dress with the same outline, only her neckline was scooped in front and back, almost down off both shoulders. The skirt reached just past her knees. Her slippers matched his boots in that they were both dyed black with charcoal and starch, so it wouldn't rub off on their skin or clothes.

Hand in hand, they set out for Ocaza with a casual, easy walk.

Chapter Seven - More Culture Shock

Heads turned and sometimes a gasp could be heard. Ryan watched the people as closely as he regarded the buildings of the city. A combination of brick, wood and glass along with cobbled stone streets told him much about the locals. Just like Myra's house, every line ended with a delicate wisp and curl, all the colors light or bright and no black or dark browns what so ever. The darkest color was seen only in some clothing, and it was always a shade of green.

The four guards walked in formation before them, bright gold ribbons on their raised spear heads denoted the presence of somebody important. Somebody to regard with respect, and the effect was just what Vendegal had hoped. The garrison commander rode far to the rear and judged the overall reaction of the crowd from a higher than normal vantage point.

Myra had her chin up and a triumphant smile plastered on her lovely face, holding hands with her naturally intimidating husband. She could see instant envy in some of the wealthiest women down to the laundry ladies who worked for rich households.
Take that
, she thought to all of them, knowing how much they all snickered behind her back for years.
I found somebody taller than me no matter what you thought! And he's handsome too!

They made a turn and headed for a large building that had wide open double doors. It was easy to see many tables inside and a lot of people being served food, and the sign with flowing meaningless script to Ryan's eyes must have been the name of the establishment.

The guards parted, two to a side and spun smartly on their heels and posted themselves to each side of the open doors. As they stepped up and into the building, all sounds of activity stopped. Heads turned and a short thin man in light red and blue fancy robes bustled forward, a smile on his elderly face. He had been one of the few prepared ahead of time for who was coming and what he would look like. He made the announcement loud enough so all could hear in the large dining area with an orator's professional twang. “Lord Za'Ryan of House Ven'Krue and his wife, Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue! Welcome to The Morning Dew!”

Many heads bowed in acknowledgment and the talking resumed, and the greeter told them in a more normal tone, “Please, this way. You're expected.” He led them to a side room packed with a dozen armed soldiers, sitting and drinking at their tables. Their helmets were dangling off the chair posts. Heads snapped up, pairs of yellow gold, some lavender but mostly dark eyes gave them a once over. There were three empty chairs at the head of the longest table and they were directed to the two places opposite of the head chair.

None of their plates had food on them, just a few bowls of nuts for casual munching before the main breakfast was served. As Ryan sat himself down, he noticed several of them giving their appraisal of his size and strength. Two of the officers farther down the table frowned, but he figured it out as they slid a handful of silver coins to their mates. Obviously they had bet that his size had been exaggerated and found themselves on the losing end.

Myra was the only woman at the table and the soldiers next to her dipped their heads low in respect when she glanced their way. Her smile was still in place, excited to be included in the silent appraisals the men were making. She had to be one hell of a woman to tame a man that powerful, their expressions told her, and she soaked it up with high enjoyment.

One of the closer officers leaned forward and caught Ryan's eye, a fellow with dark blue hair that was tightly cropped just below his pointed ears. “I heard you broke a spear in two with your bare hands,” he said politely, his gravel like tenor the result of constantly shouting orders while on duty. “Is this fiction, Lord Za'Ryan?”

“It's not fiction,” he replied kindly, his deep baritone stopping all minor chatter up and down the long table. This was the first time they've heard a tone that low from a man's mouth. “I really didn't want to hurt anyone, and I thought it was better the spear broke rather than the fellow who tried in vain to stab me with it.”

The silence was so long, Ryan thought for a moment that he said something wrong, but then silver coins traded again among all the soldiers. More bets won and lost, all based on rumors they had heard. The winners raised their drinks to him with smiles, the losers nodded his way, smiled less enthusiastic but still wide on their lips.

The officer sitting next to Myra offered his hand for a friendly shake, and Ryan shook it as the thin fellow introduced himself. “I'm Officer Legardo of House Tan'Sheva. It's nice to know you have honor, good sir, and that is respected among us here.” All within earshot nodded eagerly.

Vendegal arrived at that moment and sat down, removing his helmet and offering them all a grin while he explained his delay in a raised voice so all his men could hear. “The mayor had words with me at the door, gentlemen, to tell me that the city is paying for this breakfast. Eat well!”

“Hear hear!” the soldiers all shouted in unison, and Myra beamed at Ryan from across the table. Underneath and out of sight, she had snaked her foot over to him and played with the cuff of his pants, sliding up inside and down over and over. She kept her face passive and polite, a huge testament to her acting abilities. Here she was playing footsie with him under the table with a dozen soldiers present, and she acted like it was a normal every day occurrence.

The garrison commander signaled to a distant female server who dashed off, then turned his full attention to Ryan. “I've known Lady Myra since we were children. We grew up in the same district. You have no idea how happy I am that she found a worthy mate.”

Myra blushed at him. “Thank you, Lord Vendegal.”

“You're welcome, Lady Myra,” he replied to her with a generous smile, nodded deeply with respect. Then back to Ryan, “I overheard what my second in command there said to you as I walked up. I agree with him. You could have justifiably killed that guard, and I speak for all of us here that we're very happy you respect life. That you have honor.”

Ryan thought over his words carefully as he gave his response. “Our cultures are different, there is a lot about your people I don't like. Then again, if the situation were reversed, I'm sure you would find things about my culture you might not like. Respect for life, yes, we have that in common. The idea of killing anybody is repulsive to me. If given no choice, though, I know I could take life from somebody if they tried to harm my wife, or any other innocent for that matter.”

“Well said,” Legardo offered casually. “Better than I expected, to be honest, from a man who could intimidate half the country out of their purses by his presence alone.”

“Crime is for the weak,” Ryan replied quickly. “Honest work for a living is more to my liking.” Then to his wife, “Isn't that right, honey?”

“Yes, my lord,” Myra said, pleased he included her. This seemed to take some of the soldiers by surprise, as if she wouldn't normally be considered as a participant among men's affairs. They weren't about to make any displeasure known to the huge man's face though. “He carried four darkwood fence posts at once, to my own shock, as easily as he hauled a bushel of apples.”

This had a ripple effect of second glances from all the warriors in earshot, it was obvious to Ryan they knew the logs she was talking about. Then the table was surrounded by serving women, most of them with light red or light blue hair tied back into braids. As they set down the large platters with huge serving spoons, the soldiers smiled large and patted their bellies.

Some of the fare Ryan recognized from foods Myra had cooked for him. Hot spiced potatoes, baked apples, fried carrots, squash, shredded seasoned lettuce. Some of it was new to him as well. What seemed like a peach with a steaming hot stuffing looked interesting, grapes mixed in with black olives and a fuzzy looking sweet fruit. Something started to nag him that never seemed to come up before. Maybe it had something to do with being in a setting that wasn't isolated out near the woods where vegetables and fruit were the only fare available.

The female servers started to fill soldier's plates, and true to form, Myra picked up a spoon and started to fill Ryan's plate. Different culture, he had to remind himself, but something was missing. He could almost feel it. A few thoughtful moments later he realized what was out of place.

“Just fruits and vegetables?” Ryan asked out loud to nobody in particular.

“What else is there?” Vendegal replied, smiling as he brought a fork full of spiced mashed potatoes to his lips.

“I could do with some sausage,” Ryan suggested. Myra gave him a puzzled look as did everyone else. His own plate was now loaded with a variety of delicious foods, and Myra was serving herself as she voiced everyone's thoughts.

“What is this sausage made of, dear?” She cocked her head, her luminous lavender gaze highly curious.

“Pork and beef I think, blended together with seasonings,” he said, but they all just gave him more puzzled looks. They didn't recognize those words. His own eyes grew wide as he simplified his answer. “Meat.”

Everybody froze, including the servers and his darling wife.

If culture shock had been a falling tree that day, Ryan was the poor bastard who didn't see it coming until it was too late.
They're all vegetarians
, his thoughts yelled back at him as they mostly turned different shades of pale,
and they're about to freak out on you. Say something!

“As I said earlier,” Ryan explained to Vendegal quickly. “Our cultures are different, and this is one of those things you might not agree on. Right?” He smiled at the garrison commander as wide as he could, trying his best to cover his blunder. What broke the spell and unfroze everybody was the overflowing of a cup. The young woman had been pouring with a serving vase when he said that terrible word as if it was food. She murmured an apology to the soldier and drew a fuzzy cloth from her belt, slapped it on the table to absorb the spill.

“I guess so,” Vendegal finally said, then resumed eating but slowly. Around a small bite of food, he asked carefully, “What kind of... meat... do your people eat? I never heard of this pork or beef.”

Ryan looked wistful for a moment, feeling the bits of memory stutter from the black hole of his mind in trickles until he found the names he felt good about. “Pigs and cows, animals raised on farms for food.” Then it dawned on him how complex that question really was and clarified. “Only animals, Vendegal.”

Myra was staring at Ryan like she was seeing him for the first time, but her foot still played with his ankle and leg under the table. It was Legardo who made their wishes clear.

“For the sake of our appetite, can we please change subjects?” Legardo looked almost pure paper white, the sign of getting a serious sick stomach for a naturally pale race.

“My apologies to everyone,” Ryan said, raising his baritone enough to be heard by all without shouting. “I'm still learning about your people, if I slip from time to time, it's not intentional that I shock you.”

“No harm done,” another soldier called from farther down the table. “We're still learning about you, too.”

The vegetarian breakfast was delicious and the rest of the event passed with only small talk between bites. Ryan briefly wondered what other things set him apart from these people, but his memory stayed stubbornly blank. It was a good thing he kept this problem hidden from everybody but Myra. He didn't know what sort of mischief might happen if rumor got about that his memory was broken, and he wasn't about to find out anytime soon.