Unexpected Stories (6 page)

“And what can I do about your river,” he broke in angrily. “Do you think that by burning my legs and keeping me here, you’ll cause the river to fill again?”

“The people believe that the blue will save them,” she said simply. But she found herself again searching for some way to save him. She had already admitted that what had to be had to be, that there was nothing she could do. Now, though, facing him, she could no longer accept that decision.

She let her attention stray from him as she thought, and with no warning at all, he sprang at her. She managed to dodge backward at the last possible instant and immediately she was all fighter again, watching, ready. Already, she knew that he was not as fast as he should have been. She had been completely unprepared. She should not have had time to dodge.

“What purpose can this serve?” she asked him. “Even if you kill me, you can’t escape my people.”

“Revenge, perhaps.” He faced her, his body seemingly relaxed. “If your people have their way, a lust for revenge is all I’ll have left.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” she said almost angrily. She rubbed her forehead. “Diut, if we’re superior people at all, we should be able to find a way to stop it from happening.” She had the beginnings of an idea, radical, but perhaps workable. She needed time to think though, and time to talk to him. But he was no longer in a mood to talk, or to listen.

Abruptly he sprang forward again, aiming a jab at her throat that could have been lethal. She blocked the blow and moved quickly away from him without retaliating. He had given up. He was ready to kill. He was ready to die.

They stood apart, watching each other, and it occurred to her that Diut fought as though he were fighting a judge or a hunter. No doubt it had been years since he had faced anyone who could match him in size, speed and strength. Now he fought as though he expected his opponent to be physically inferior, as though he expected one blow to be enough. Of course, one blow from him could very easily be enough for a judge or a hunter, but the Hao were harder to kill.

His shortcoming had made Tahneh fairly sure that she could kill him, however. In fact, she was afraid he was going to make it difficult for her not to. But she knew that he would not listen to her until he had seen that he had no choice, that she was the better fighter. Grimly, she accepted his challenge.

Tahneh’s coloring became the clearest of blues, luminescent, intense, the essence of all that was compelling and confusing about the Hao coloring. Diut stared at her, feeling himself captured, drawn, momentarily as confused as any non-Hao might have been. He wanted to look away, to back away. He wanted to go to her, to touch her … With an effort, he threw off the influence. He wanted to kill her.

He did nothing at all. He stood where he was, realizing that she could have struck him down while her coloring held him. Why hadn’t she? Did she still think she could talk him into submission? Did she think she could use the bond of their mutual coloring to sway him?

Deliberately, he let his own body flare into a harsher, less pleasing luminescence. In the midst of the flare, he shot toward her, striking again at her throat, hoping that his glare had blinded her.

Tahneh bent her body sharply to one side without moving her feet, so that his hand jabbed empty air. But her hand slashed stunningly into the side of his neck.

He stumbled away, glaring at her in pain and rage. Blue or not, she was not far from the time when her coloring would begin to mottle with yellow age spots. She had no right to be so fast.

He realized that she could have hit him a little differently and killed him if that had been her purpose. Or she could have knocked him unconscious or crippled him. These last thoughts were chilling. Somehow, he had to prevent her from crippling him or knocking him out and giving him to her people. Only by presenting a solid threat to her could he cause her to stop her training-room defenses and fight to kill.

He moved warily around her, watching her turn to keep him in view. “It’s good to see that you’ve done something with your years,” he said angrily. “Since you failed to produce a child for your people, you must have been left with much time to improve your fighting ability.”

“So,” she agreed. And if the cruelty of the words touched her, she did not show it. She stood still now, relaxed, waiting. Then she stopped waiting.

She advanced in quick, light steps, coming so suddenly that he was startled at first and backed away. She followed more slowly. He struck at her face. As she blocked, he kicked.

But she danced away from him with the seeming ease of a judge out-speeding a hunter. For a brief instant as she moved by him, she touched his throat lightly, much as she had touched it the night before. Then, he had taken her touch as a gesture of affection. Now, it could be only a sign of derision, contempt. It said, “See how easily I could kill you?” It said, “See what a poor fighter you are compared to me?”

It was all her speed, her flashing here and there to avoid him. He had not yet landed a real blow—and now this humiliation!

He kicked again furiously, spurred by his shame. She leaped away and he went after her.

He hit her. His anger had given him speed. She was off balance. He hit her again, and she fell. Somehow, she caught hold of him, half dragged him to the floor with her. He tore loose, went for her throat.

She twisted away, pulled her legs up tight against her chest. She shot her feet forward with the force of her body’s weight.

But for once, she was too slow. He dodged, came to his feet in the same motion. She started up, saw him, swiveled on one hip, kicking. She caught him once solidly in the shin, and he was thrown off balance.

Instantly, she was back on her feet facing him. “You could have put your foot on my throat just now,” she said.

He said nothing. They circled each other warily.

“I could have killed you; you could have killed me.”

Still he did not speak. Was it true, he wondered. Had he deliberately passed a chance to kill her? He knew without thinking any farther that he had, and his anger turned inward against himself. He hit her a glancing blow to the jaw and she flashed yellow with pain and anger.

She struck back using her speed. Twice she hit him solid blows to the face. She kicked into the same shin that she had kicked before.

He fell, his coloring blue-green as the yellow that he could not hold back announced his pain to her. His leg felt as though she had broken it. He had to move it to know that it was not broken.

“Let this be the end of it, Diut,” she said sharply. “Hear what I have to say to you.”

She was too confident, standing too near him. Hardly thinking about what he did, he shot out a hand and seized one of her feet, jerking her off balance before she could kick. She fell, twisted, then was abruptly still as she felt his fingers at her throat.

She waited, her eyes glittering into his. “Well, cousin?”

He tightened his hold, willing her to make some defensive move. “We aren’t children,” he said harshly. “I challenged. You accepted.”

“Then kill me. And become accustomed to that position.” He was now kneeling over her.

He gave her a long look of disgust—though he was more disgusted with himself. He knew he was not going to kill her. Worse, she knew it. He didn’t understand how he could trust her again, give up his advantage when he knew what was in store for him.

“What is your idea, Tahneh?” he asked tiredly. He had no faith in her ideas, whatever they might be. She had said herself, twice, that the Hao did not control the succession. She had been right.

She reached up with no special speed or strength and took his hands from her throat. She sat up and seemed to forget the fight.

“We’ll talk first,” she said. She took a few deep breaths, then asked, “How many Tehkohn do you have at your dwelling?”

“Almost five thousand. But why …?”

“So many in spite of your war?”

“We were more. The Gahrkohn are over ten thousand.”

She looked concerned. “How have you lived this long with such an imbalance?”

“Our mountains are a wall against our enemies. The Gahrkohn raid our lower game traps, but they don’t raid our dwelling.”

“So?” she said thoughtfully. Then, “We are only fifteen hundred.” She darkened her blue fatalistically. “Desert tribes are small, and we’re small even for a desert tribe. Perhaps now, though, that’s for the best. Do you have room in your mountains for fifteen hundred more people, Tehkohn Hao?”

By then, Diut had seen it coming, but somehow it still shocked him. Her use of his title made her request formal and serious. “You’d consider moving your people so far from their traditional homeland?”

“I won’t consider it. I’ll do it if you tell me they’ll be welcome. The drought will drive us from here soon anyway.”

Diut thought of his own people—tried to imagine their reaction if he told them he wanted them to move to the coastal desert. “Are you sure you can convince them?”

She flared luminescent. “You are even younger than I thought, cousin. My people will do what I tell them. Exactly what I tell them.”

Diut considered that, decided that it was probably true. His people obeyed him even though they had just recently ceased to consider him a child. But he did not think they would leave their mountains for him. Would they be willing, then, to take in a whole tribe of foreigners simply because he ordered them to?

He visualized himself before his council of judges giving the order, then drew back from the thought. He realized that his upbringing was hampering him again. In a childish way, he was still in awe of his council of judges. But Tahneh was right. He did have to learn to expect, to demand obedience from them. It was true that they might disapprove of his decision out of habit. They had had things their way through the years of his childhood. But now they had acknowledged him, and he would have to teach them to obey. He spoke to Tahneh.

“There’s room. Will your people return with me when I leave?”

She whitened. “That would be best. There might be a part for your friends in this too. But first I must know something more about them.”

“Jeh and Cheah …?” Guiltily, Diut realized that he had hardly thought of his companions since he left them bound on the hill. “Are they all right?” he asked.

“Yes. They’re under guard where you left them. Has their marriage made them pariahs among your people, Diut?”

“No. Most people accept them and respect them. The rest fear them and leave them alone.”

“And they still rank high in their castes?”

“As high as their coloring permits—and they both have excellent coloring. They do their work well. Cheah’s size may prevent her from becoming a chief, but I expect Jeh to become chief judge in a few years.”

“I thought you might have plans for them,” she said watching him. “Did you order them to come with you on this trip?”

“No. They insisted on coming. I should have ordered them to stay behind.”

“So.” She changed the subject abruptly. “You have my word, Diut, that no further action will be taken against you by me or my people. Do I have your word that my people will be accepted in your mountain dwelling—that they will become Tehkohn?”

“You have my word,” he said. And he felt as though the weight that he had left home to avoid had not only caught up with him, but had doubled before settling itself solidly on his shoulders. But he could not afford more uncertainty. His decision was made and now, however difficult it proved to be, he had to stand by it. Fifteen hundred Rohkohn would give up their homes and trek across desert and mountains to become Tehkohn. And this would happen because he had spoken a few words. He tried to balance his emotions, smooth away the yellow awe he felt, strangely combined with the luminescent blue of power. He could have made a brilliant green iridescence, but he controlled himself.

Tahneh watched Diut closely, seeing the uncertainty that he probably thought he concealed. He did not inspire confidence. She sighed inwardly, glad that her plans did not depend on any particular ability of his. He would learn. And with her in his mountains with him, his pride would drive him to learn quickly.

She got up and went to the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him get up too, his body tense. They had to trust each other personally before they could trust each other in any broader way. She had to be able to turn her back to him without fear of being attacked. He had to be willing to let her call in some of her people without fearing that they were being called to subdue him.

She opened the door and called in Ehreh and the chiefs of the three other castes. They trailed in, puzzled, and stood well away from Diut. When they were in, Tahneh spoke to another judge waiting with the crowd of fighters outside the door.

“Go to the surface and get the Tehkohn huntress and judge. Take enough fighters with you to ensure your being able to bring them to me unhurt.”

The judge, a young female, flashed white assent and Tahneh closed the door. She turned to face her four caste chiefs, knowing already the outcry they would make as soon as she said what she had to say to them.

“The Tehkohn Hao and I have made our peace,” she said. “This is what we are going to do.” She told them quietly, her voice even, her coloring muted as though in shadow. Muting made her blue less intimidating and freed people to speak their minds more easily.

When she finished speaking, the two nonfighters, a male farmer and a female artisan, were a shade yellower than they had been when she began. Ehreh and the chief hunter controlled their coloring but not their voices.

“You can’t do this, Rohkohn Hao,” Ehreh said at once.

Tahneh ignored him. She answered questions and paid no attention to outbursts. The caste chiefs were the eyes, the ears, and the mouths of their respective castes. They brought Tahneh the views and the large problems of their castes and took back her decisions and pronouncements. Of course, any person could speak with Tahneh regardless of caste, but most people preferred to go through their caste chiefs. The blue made them secure, but when it came too close, it also frightened them.