"What was his name?"
"Khara Roskhel."
"But he's the man who killed Ilya's family! Isn't he? How could he-? How could-? Yuri once told me that he was cruel."
"The most devout are often the cruelest. Yes, he was cruel, and he had visions as well. He never married, you know. They say he wanted no woman but Alyona. Such possessiveness is a very ugly trait in a man." She glanced again toward Ilya. Was Sakhalin thinking that Bakhtiian himself possessed this ugly trait? "They were lovers," the etsana went on, "always, through the years that followed, and openly so; what Petre Sokolov thought of this, no one ever knew. He was not a good husband for her. She needed a man who would rein back her worst impulses, one she could respect, one she would listen to."
"He did none of these things?"
Sakhalin shrugged. "What he did or did not do, I can't say, since I don't know. But an etsana ought not install her own son as dyan of her tribe, especially when that son is only twenty-three years old."
"Even if that son is Ilyakoria Bakhtiian?"
"Even so."
"I never had the honor of meeting your husband, Mother Sakhalin. But I feel sure that he was a good husband."
For this impertinence, Tess was rewarded with a smile and a brief, acknowledging nod. "Of course he was. My mother and my aunt chose him very carefully. He was the kind of man your brother Yurinya Orzhekov would have grown into, had he lived."
"Ah," said Tess. "Then he must have been a very fine man, indeed." She folded her hands in her lap and stared at her knuckles.
"It is true, though," added Sakhalin, musing, "that I never understood why Roskhel turned against them. He was one of Bakhtiian's earliest and strongest supporters. No one remarked it at the time; the connection between the two tribes was so close because of his liaison with Alyona Orzhekov. But it was at the great gathering of tribes in the Year of the Hawk that he turned his face against Bakhtiian, and later that year that he rode into the Orzhekov camp and killed the family. That is the mystery, you see, that he killed the two women and the child. He was a pious man-none more so-and it is against all of our laws, both of the gods and of the jaran, to harm women and children in the sanctity of the camp, even in the midst of war.''
Someone was arguing violently outside. There was a shriek, then, closer, in the outer chamber, Cara exclaimed in surprise. A moment later the curtain swept aside and Vasil Veselov strode in. He stopped stock-still and stared, horrified, at Ilya. Mother Sakhalin rose briskly to her feet. Although Vasil stood a head taller than she did, she clearly held the weight of power. Tess stared.
"Your presence here is most improper," snapped Mother Sakhalin.
As if he were in a dream, Vasil took a step forward, then another one, then a third, and he sank down to kneel at the foot of the couch. His agony was palpable in every line of his body.
"He exiled you," said Mother Sakhalin. Her voice shook with anger. "How dare you walk unannounced and unasked into his presence?''
"Leave him be," said Tess suddenly, surprising even herself. "Look at him." In the dim chamber, with his head bowed and his hair gleaming in the lantern light, Vasil looked like an angel, praying for God's Mercy. She felt his pain like heat, and it soothed her to know that someone else suffered as she suffered.
"I knew," said Sakhalin in a cold, furiously calm voice, "that the weaver Nadezhda Martov was Bakhtiian's lover. That she first took him to her bed soon after he returned from Jheds, and that he never refused her when our two tribes came together." Each word came clear and sharp, bitten off, in the hush of the tent. "Had I not known that, you can be sure that I would have forbidden my nephew to ever give his support to Bakhtiian's vision. Because of this one." She said the last two words with revulsion. There was no doubt what she meant by them.
Vasil's head jerked up. "I did nothing most other boys didn't try."
Mother Sakhalin strode across the carpet and cupped her hand back. And slapped him.
The sharp sound shocked Tess out of her stupor. True, and confirmed by Vasil's words and Mother Sakhalin's action, what Tess had only suspected. She stared at them, unable to speak.
"An adolescent boy ought to be wild and curious," replied Sakhalin in a voice both low and threatening. "Then he grows up to become a man. Which is something you never did, Veselov. Your cousin Arina is within her rights as etsana to allow you to remain in the Veselov tribe. But from Bakhtiian's presence you were long ago banished, and that is as it should be."
"I did not ask to love him," said Vasil in a hoarse voice. "The gods made me as I am."
With her left hand, Mother Sakhalin took hold of his chin and held him there, staring down at him, examining his face and his eyes. "The gods made your body and face beautiful. I have no doubt that your spirit is black and rotting. It is wrong, and it will always be wrong. Go home to your wife."
She released him. He bowed his head. Tears leaked from his eyes and slid unhindered down his cheeks. He rose and turned to go, slowly, as if the weight on him, compelling him, dragged him both forward and back. And there lay Ilya, perhaps dying, whom he clearly loved.
"Let him stay," said Tess in a low voice. Her anger welled up from so deep a source that she did not understand it. Vasil froze, but he did not look at her.
Sakhalin's gaze snapped to Tess. "Do you know, then, that Bakhtiian almost lost everything because of this one? That they said that the reason Bakhtiian never married was because of this one? That the etsanas and dyans were forced to go to Nikolai Sibirin and Irena Orzhekov after the death of Bakhtiian's family, and to tell them that they could not support a man who acted as if he was married to another man?''
Oh, God, not just that they had been lovers, but that Ilya had loved him in return. "But Ilya sent him away, didn't he?" Tess asked, feeling oddly detached as she replied, as if one part of her was all rational mind and the other an impenetrable maze of emotions.
"He chose his vision, it is true."
"Damn him," muttered Vasil.
"Shut up," snapped Tess. Vasil's anger gave her sudden strength. "And he slept with women? That is true, too, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"And the etsanas and dyans did support him. And he did marry."
"That is also true," agreed Mother Sakhalin. "For what reason are you assuring me of what we both know to be true?''
Tess lifted a hand and motioned Vasil to go to the corner of the room. He glanced at her, swiftly, and then sidled over to a dark corner, where he almost managed to lose himself in the shadows. As a human soul fades into death.
A shiver ran through Tess, like a blast of cold air, but she forced herself to speak slowly and carefully. "You just told me that a woman like Alyona Orzhekov needed a good husband, one who could rein back her worst impulses, one she could respect, one she would listen to. Isn't it also true that a man like Bakhtiian needs a good wife-one who can rein back his worst impulses, one he respects, one that he, and others, will listen to?"
Her gaze on Tess held steady. "That is true, and more true yet, I suppose. There hasn't ever been a man like Bakhtiian among the jaran."
"Has it not been agreed that I am that wife?"
Her lips quirked up. It was not quite a smile, not quite, but for all her outrage, Mother Sakhalin was amused. "Yes, it has been agreed. Not that the etsanas or Elders had a choice in the matter, but still, it is agreed that he chose wisely.''