The Law of Becoming: 4 (The Novels of the Jaran) (64 page)

“I
AM SORRY,” KAROLLA
announced as the family sat under the awning eating supper together, “that Anatoly Sakhalin has gone.”

Ilyana stiffened, but for once her mother’s comment didn’t seemed directed at her. Instead, Karolla watched Valentin, who sat playing with his meat but not eating any. The skin under his eyes looked bruised, it was so dark. Twice in the past six days Ilyana had caught him in the middle of the night at the latticework nesh, but she didn’t wake up every night.

“I’ll eat his if he doesn’t want it,” said Anton, and grabbed for the meat.

“Pig.” Valentin swatted his hand, and Anton wailed. Evdokia stuck her thumb in her mouth and began sucking determinedly. The baby slept in a sling against Nipper’s chest, but even so, the khaja woman leaned over and pulled Valentin’s hand away from his brother.

“Now now,” she said in her most irritating remonstrative voice, “your brother is quite right, Valentin. If you won’t eat your food, it mustn’t go to waste.”

Valentin jerked away from her and scuttled back. “Don’t touch me!”

“Valentin!” said Karolla. “Your manners.”

“What gives
her
the right to tell me what to do? She isn’t even part of the tribe, except I guess
he
porks her once or twice a month to keep her happy.”

Nipper gasped and flushed.

Vasil, who had been ignoring the interplay, as he usually did, turned right around and slapped Valentin on the face, hard. “Get out. Don’t come back until you’ve learned some manners. Never speak to a woman in that way. You’re a disgrace.”

Valentin leapt to his feet. “You’re the disgrace! I hate you! I’m never coming back, ever.” He spun and ran off around the tent.

Ilyana began to get to her feet.

“Yana,” said her father softly, “we’re not through eating yet.”

“But, Papa—”

He just looked at her. She sank back down and ate. The food tasted like ashes in her mouth. Anton ate every scrap on Valentin’s plate as well as his own, and Evdi sucked her thumb. Karolla discussed making felt for rugs with Nipper, and the baby woke up and demanded to nurse. Ilyana felt sick to her stomach.

She gathered up the wooden platters and took Evdokia aside to help her clean them. Karolla only expected them to be scraped clean before they were put back in the chest, but Ilyana had eaten meals over at Kori and other friend’s houses too many times now not to find that embarrassing. They went to the washroom, where they found Diana, Portia, and the lighting designer, a broad-shouldered man with a gorgeous mahogany complexion and old-fashioned glasses.

“Good evening, Yana,” said Diana cheerfully. She didn’t seem very despondent over Anatoly’s absence. Portia sat on a stool clutching her pillow, and Evdi sidled over next to her and just stood there, sucking her thumb. “They’re a morose pair, aren’t they?”

“Uh, can I leave Evdi with you for a little bit?”

“Of course. But don’t forget I’ve got rehearsal at oh twenty hundred.”

“I won’t. I’ll come get both of them before then. Thank you.”

The lighting designer smiled kindly at her, and as she left with the platters she heard him say to Diana: “I feel sorry for that girl.”

Ilyana flushed, horrified by his sympathy, and stopped outside the door to catch her breath.

“Her father’s a criminal. He ought to be confined to the madhouse.”

“Hush,” said Diana. “Don’t forget Evdi is over there. And I think it’s unfair. Vasil is self-absorbed and tiresome, but—”

“He treats his children horribly.”

“I know he neglects them…”

“Sells them off to the highest bidder, you mean. Surely you know about the boy.”

“Yassir, this isn’t the sort of thing we should talk about in front of the girls.” A pause. “Valentin, do you mean? You forget I knew them back when they were with the tribes. Valentin’s never gotten on very well here, but that isn’t just because of his father. What about him?”

“Di! You live in the same house as them! He was practically being raped by that perverted old financier from the Hoover Institute of Interactive Studies.”

“I don’t believe it! He’s barely thirteen years old.”

“I don’t have any proof. But I by damned almost caught her at it once, that was when they were doing the prototypes for the actie the Hoover wanted Veselov to do on Genghis Khan and he’d asked me to come in and do the lighting on the set pieces. Anyway, I laid plans to try to get evidence so I could file a third-party complaint, but then she got called away on something, the whole project got put on hiatus, and we came here. You really didn’t notice anything wrong?”

“Hyacinth complained about a lot of the people who went over to their flat. I admit that some of them were the kind of people who made you want to wash your hands after you shook hands with them, but…really, Yassir, I don’t…not that I don’t believe you, but….”

“We techies sometimes hear and see things other people might not notice. Did I ever tell you about the time that I overheard Veselov offering his daughter’s virginity to—Goddess, what was his name?—that cultural minister assigned to Soerensen’s entourage by the protocol office, a lecher if I ever met one, in return for getting Veselov secretly onto… what’s the name of the planet they come from?”

“Rhui,” said Diana in a hollow voice. “He couldn’t have said that.”

“Neh. Not straight out. But there were a lot of unspoken things being said. Something about a traditional ritual for a girl coming into womanhood and how one man was picked for the honor, that kind of thing. I assume the minister never managed to complete the transaction.”

There was a silence.

Bathed in shame, Ilyana fled. She was too furious, too humiliated, to go back to her mother’s tent, so she ran out to the ruined caravansary instead, a haven now that Anatoly Sakhalin wasn’t around anymore to make it unsafe.

Oh, gods, was it true? Had her father really betrayed her like that? How much worse than what her mother had done… at least her mother had been trying to help her, however awkward and disgracefully it had been done. At least she had picked someone like Anatoly Sakhalin.

Shuddering, Ilyana recalled the minister: He stank of oil, and his hair always looked greasy, and his skin had the same bloated, pasty white film as uncooked rolls glazed with egg. And now—oh, gods—now she understood why he had spent so much time looming over her for that month—what was it? a year ago now—when the interactive institute Veselov was working for had done that adventure actie on Tau Ceti Tierce at the same time Soerensen was in residence.

Pebbles skittered. Sand crunched under boots. She whirled around, but saw nothing. Movement flashed in the corner of an eye, and she spun. She heard him panting.

“Valentin! Come out here.”

Nothing. Silence. But she knew he was there. She could feel him watching her from his hiding place along one of the walls.

“Oh, Valentin, what good does it do you to hide out here?”

But why should he go home?

“I wish I had gone with Sakhalin,” he said from the shadows, and she ran toward the sound of his voice only to have him dart away from her and vanish into the underground entrance to the storage rooms, cluttered with fallen brick and huge, immovable
pithoi.

If they had been with the jaran, it would have been the next step in his education, that he ride out under the supervision of an officer, in the train of the army, to care for the horses and the gear of the soldiers.

She leaned into the cavernous opening. “I promise you, Valentin. When he comes back, I’ll tell Mother and Papa—” Faltered. That was no good. “I’ll talk to Sakhalin himself, really I will. I’ll tell him you need to go, anywhere, to get away.”

His figure shifted in the blackness, but came no nearer. “Will you really? Even after what happened with your flower night?”

Ilyana imagined how utterly awkward and mortifying it would be to approach Sakhalin after what had happened. But no one else could help Valentin. “Yes. Even after that I will. I promise you.”

“Well. All right.”

“All right, then. Come out. I’m not going in there after you. I’ll get all dirty, and so will these dishes, and anyway, there’re spiders in there.”

“I’m not coming out. Just let me stay here, Yana. Don’t make me go back. They won’t care, anyway.”

“I can’t drag you out. Oh, all right, sulk out here if you want to. It’ll be cold at night.”

“It doesn’t matter. Cold doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded eerily disembodied, echoing through the underground vaults. “It’s only the surface world.”

She would have thrown up in her hands in exasperation, but she was still holding the platters. Instead, she left him there.

But in the morning she found time to sneak him out a platter of food, which she left by the empty cistern. That night when she went back, half of it was eaten. She left fresh food and a flask of water. She went again the next morning. The flask was gone, so she left another one, but the food hadn’t been touched.

“Where’s your brother?” David asked when she arrived for her tutorial. “I didn’t notice him around yesterday, and we had a tentative tutorial planned on early computer architecture, but he never showed up.”

“I dunno.” She could hardly face him. Did other adults besides the lighting designer Yassir, someone she had seen around a fair bit but didn’t really know except to say hello to, know all about the awful bargains her father was trying to make? Did everyone know? “He had a—” But if she said that Valentin had had a fight with their dad, then maybe David would blurt out all the horrible secrets that he knew about her and her brother. “He isn’t feeling well.”

David blinked at her, and she got the feeling that she didn’t lie very well. “You’ll let me know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Uh. Yes.”

He sighed and shook his head. “So. I think we should strike while the iron is hot.”

“What does that mean?”

He grinned. “We’ve had three days to let our—your—encounter with
Genji
sink in. It’s a big step, but it worked with Sakhalin. I think we should go.”

“Yes,” said Ilyana, who wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible, even if it was only for a little while.

David borrowed Vasil’s saddle, since Sakhalin had taken his saddle with him, and together they rode out to the rose wall with Gwyn and Hyacinth in attendance. Gwyn had to get back for rehearsal, so Hyacinth agreed to wait with the horses for as long as he could.

Ilyana stood in front of the wall and said, in a trembling voice, “My name is Ilyana Arkhanov, and begging your pardon, I’ve been invited to visit, er, Genji, in the hall of monumental time.”

The wall clouded and vanished and a barge appeared. This one was smaller. Stairs extruded, and David waved at Ilyana to stay back so that he could enter first, but she followed on his heels and found a circular chamber domed by a low, cloudy ceiling and ringed with a bench. She sat. David, after a hesitation, sat. The barge rose, and rose, and rose, and Ilyana realized that they were flying.

“This is interesting,” said David. “The other barge glided. It rested on some kind of cushion of air and never left the ground. Why is this different?”

“Maybe we’re going farther away.” She set a hand on the curve of the dome. “Oooo. It’s gooshy and sort of sticky.”

“Yana! Get your hands off that.”

She giggled. “You sound like Diana. She’s always telling the girls not to touch things, like the things will bite back.”

“Things do bite back sometimes.”

The ship banked and rose higher and Ilyana slipped off the bench and landed on the floor. She laughed, as much out of nervousness as surprise, and hoisted herself back up on the bench.

“My point exactly,” added David, and steadied himself on the bench as the ship banked again. He shoved his heels into the floor but almost slid off, and then did when he started laughing because Ilyana had slipped off again. So they were laughing when the craft came to a halt so abrupt that Ilyana felt like she’d slammed into a wall. The entry-way slid open and Ilyana scrambled for purchase, but there was nothing to hold onto, everything was smooth.

The opening gaped onto a gulf of air. About twenty paces away, if one could walk on air, the tip of a steeple ended in a jeweled peak, like emeralds winking in the sun. Farther, she saw the stubby top of a glass pagoda, and the curling black and red stripes of an onion dome, and nothing beneath. From this height she could not see the ground, and she felt herself slide slowly, inexorably, toward the opening and the inevitable death plunge to the ground. She didn’t grab for David because she didn’t want to drag him with her, didn’t even dare look toward him for fear of losing what little purchase she did have. The craft cycled a quarter turn to the left and suddenly a towering wall of smoky glass blocked out the light.

The floor settled and the door lined up with a two-meter-high arch set into the glass tower. Gingerly, Ilyana stood up and walked over toward the opening.

“Don’t go too near,” whispered David.

“That arch is open, I think,” answered Ilyana in an equally quiet voice, as if loudness might send the craft into a death spin. “But there’s like two meters between it and us. I can’t jump that far. Do you think—”

A sound teased at her ears, the whisper of soft paper being crumpled, the flutter of the leaves of a paperback.

“Come over,” said a voice, hanging on the air like a breath of wind.

Ilyana swallowed. “I would, but I can’t jump that far, and neither can my ke.” She flashed a glance back at David, but like a cornered rat, he had fixed his gaze on the immediate threat: the craft’s open hatch and the empty air beyond.

“Ah.” The sound was more an exhalation than a word. The craft slid in toward the tower. Ilyana felt as if it were pushing against a thickening cushion of air, and it finally came to rest about half a meter from the wall and the open archway.

She did not wait to think. She pushed off and took the step—it took forever and ever hanging above the chasm—and threw herself forward into the round chamber of slick black stone, landing on her knees. The stone was hard and cold. She crawled on her hands and knees into the center and then, remembering, looked back. She was alone. The craft hung outside, swaying slightly as if in a breeze.