Courtship Rite

2

HOEMEI MARAN-KAIEL WALKED across the flagstones that led to the first huge ovoid of the Palace. He stopped to chat with Seipe, an old woman he often dealt with because he was spending large amounts of money and she was Watchman of the Coin and never believed in spending more than the Kaiel could collect in taxes. Even Aesoe could not shake her.

“I did not give you permission to put the rayvoice tower on Terrible Hill,” she chided.

Hoemei grinned. “I put my own money into it and I’m charging toll.”

“I’ll have to find a way to tax you.”

“I’m making sure that the tower has no profit. It has expenses,” he laughed.

She changed the subject to do business that would save her a runner. “You are invited to my villa on the fourth high day of the Amorists’ Constellation. Bring Teenae.”

“Teenae will be pleased,” said Hoemei affectionately.

“I know; that’s why I want her there to help me. She’s younger and quicker than I am. We will gossip while you haggle with your competitors.”

“Is someone after my share of the tax money again?”

“Your money? It’s my money!” said Seipe with a great laugh, using the private possessive form as if the clan’s coin were part of her own bones.

They held hands, each overlaid upon the other, as Getan friends did before they parted. “God sees you,” he said.

His careful humoring of the Watchman done, Hoemei returned his feet to the flagstones and his thoughts to Aesoe. Aesoe was getting greedy. The power that the Prime Predictor smelled in the growing rayvoice network was as whisky to the nose of a drunkard. How he drives us with his visions! He’ll have more work for me.

Hoemei wandered into the Palace maze within the main ovoid, distracted for a moment by the uncommon electric glow that still amazed even he who knew its magic and knew how it was fabricated in the basement workshops of Kaiel-hontokae. Aesoe saw an electrified Geta. That was foolishness. There was no end to the things Aesoe saw. These wild visions were afflicting even Hoemei’s dreams.

“He’s waiting for you,” said a friend who was passing.

Hoemei stopped him. “What’s his mood?”

“I think he just found a way into Seipe’s vaults. Or else the woman of his dreams materialized from the steam of his morning tea.”

“He’s in good spirits then?”

“A tug on his hair would lift off his head at the smile line.”

“Ah, then I’m not up for skinning.” That was a relief.

He paused at the entrance to Aesoe’s lair, removing his shoes. When Aesoe did not notice him at the high doorway, he walked forward and seated himself upon the pillows, then looked straight at the Prime Predictor, waiting. Nothing would have induced Hoemei to interrupt the overpriest of the Kaiel clan. Old Aesoe sipped a drink, speaking to his scribe and to his personal o’Tghalie mathematician. He sipped again, brought out a map and put away some papers.

“I have already spoken to your brother Gaet.”

“One-brother has not yet seen me, sire.”

Aesoe shrugged. “You know your family has been given the Valley of Ten Thousand Graves down to the sea.”

“Being the central route to the sea through the Wailing Mountains it will add to our wealth, but also to our burdens. Many have refused this gift.”

“… and will not rise to power within the Kaiel.”

“Which is why we accepted the gift, though it is not the Kaiel’s land to give.”

Aesoe snorted at such pious morality. “Do you know why this valley exists as an unconquered sliver in our side?”

“All Kaiel who settle there are murdered.”

“Have you speculated upon the nature of the murderers?”

“I deal in facts,” said Hoemei.

“Ah, but we who make policy can lose the game if we wait for facts. Speculate!”

“My guess would be the Mnankrei.”

“Why not the Stgal? The Stgal would have more to lose. It is their land.”

“The Stgal are cowards. They fear us. The Mnankrei covet the lands of the Stgal as we do. These sea priests have been known to advocate violence and their Storm Masters range up and down the Njarae unhindered in their billowing ships.”

Aesoe cleared his throat. “Our spies tell us that a village called Sorrow was the scene of the murders.” He pointed out Sorrow on the map, a small harbor of the Njarae Sea. “The Stgal have a great temple there. It is also a center of heresy. Heretics, recruited from dozens of the underclans, tolerate their Stgal, finding priestly weakness useful. The Stgal tolerate them because they oppose us and oppose the Mnankrei.”

“It must be a new heresy.”

“Very new. But its basis has been latent in the region for some time. Priestly weakness generates heresy.”

“The heretics were the murderers?”

“Who will ever know? Perhaps. My spies tell me they are fearless. But so are the Mnankrei. And I would not turn my back on a man who smiles at me as the Stgal do.“

“You are telling me that we must stab with a three-pronged fork: destroy the heretics, destroy the Mnankrei, and destroy the Stgal.”

“Not at all. Your father Tae, who was my personal teacher, was a man of great wisdom. We conquer by making friends, not by destroying. If you are feared, you must fear. You maran-Kaiel were chosen for this mission because Gaet has a certain way with people and he never makes an enemy. He forgets though. Out of sight, out of mind. You’re the administrator, the one who remembers to provide continuity.”

“Gaet never makes an enemy because he doesn’t have to. He uses Joesai for all of his dirty work.”

“True. The making of friends often requires an open smile and a covert hand.”

“So the treacherous Stgal teach us,” said Hoemei ironically. “But how do you make friends with a heretic who rejects all your values?”

Aesoe sipped from his goblet and laughed the great laugh so enjoyed by the Getan population. “Heretics are never as different as they seem. They are like genetic mutants. A mutant shares most of your genes. A heretic shares most of your ideas. Most mutations manufacture the wrong proteins. Most heresies are false. But then — we Kaiel are heretics.” And he laughed again.

“And how do you make friends with the Mnankrei and the Stgal?”

“Is that necessary when it is the heretics who control the hearts of the people?”

Hoemei became pensive. “You are instructing us to weave together the common goals of Kaiel and heretic as the way to take over the Valley of Ten Thousand Graves?”

Aesoe laughed. “My instructions are much simpler. You are to marry their women. Your family, for instance, is missing a three-wife.”

“We court Kathein pnota-Kaiel,” said Hoemei warily.

“No longer. I have given the orders. I have the votes. You are to marry Oelita the Clanless One who has single-handedly created this heresy.”

“And she knows of this?” asked Hoemei, his voice delaying while his thoughts raced.

“Of course not.”

“We are to take a Kaiel-killing heretic to our pillows?”

“It is to be so.”

“I don’t like it.”

Aesoe flared at this rebellion. “I have thirty families such as yours to deal with this week. Your personal problems are petty. I see the whole. I do what I must do for the clan. Without the clan you are destroyed. Therefore you will do what you must do. Some other day I’ll argue.”

Hoemei felt his love for Kathein like a stab of warm pain passing down his spine. He thought of a time once spent with her in the garden, her black hair in his lap, while he chattered as if she had suddenly drilled an artesian well into his unconscious with her gentle questions. Ah, how loss makes us feel our love. He stared at Aesoe, careful not to speak, for tears would have been an improper response to this order.