"Let him go," said Intel.
"She'pan," said Melein's voice, a clear note of anguish. "He cannot stay the night out there in the weather."
"I will go after him," said Debas.
"No," said the she'pan. "Let him go."
And after a moment it was clear that there was no changing her mind. There was nothing to be done. Melein settled at Intel's side, still veiled, her eyes averted.
"The Kel is dismissed," said Intel, "except Niun. Sleep well, kel'ein."
Eddan did not wish to be dismissed. He stayed last of all; but Intel gestured him away. "Go," she said. "There is nothing more I can tell you tonight, Eddan. But in the morning, set one of the kel'ein to watch the port from the high rocks. Sleep now. This storm will keep the regul inactive, but tomorrow is another matter."
"No," said Eddan. "I am going after my brother."
"Without my blessing."
"All the same," said Eddan, and turned to go.
"Eddan," she said.
He looked back at her, "We are getting too few," he said, "to make too many journeys to Sil'athen. Sathell would not willingly have left Nisren. Neither would I. Now we will not leave Kesrith. We will walk toward Sil'athen, he and I. We will be content."
"I give my blessing," she said after a moment
"Thank you," he said, "she'pan."
And that was all. He left; and Niun stared after him into the dark of the hall and trembled in every muscle.
They were as dead, Eddan and Sathell. They had chosen, Sathell after the fashion of his kind, and Eddan, untypical for his caste, to go the long walk with him. And he had seen Eddan's face, and there was no heaviness in it. He heard the kel'anth's steps going down the spiral, a quick and easy stride, and the door closed behind him too; and it was certain that the edun was less by two lives, and they had been great ones.
"Sit by me," Intel bade them.
"She'pan," said Melein in a thin, strained voice, "I have made your cup. Please drink it"
She offered it, and the tray shook in her two hands. Intel took the cup from her and drank, then gave it back, leaning back as Niun settled, kneeling, on her left hand, and Melein on her right
So they had spent many of the nights since Medai's death, for Intel's sleep was not easy and she would not sleep without someone in the room.
This night, Niun envied her the draught of komal; and he would not look at her while she waited for the draught to have effect, but bowed his head and stared at his hands in his lap, shaken and shattered to his inmost heart.
Eddan, Eddan and Sathell, that had been a part of all his life. He wept, naked-faced, and the tears splashed onto his hands, and he was ashamed to lift a hand to wipe them away, for the Kel did not weep.
"Sathell is very ill," said Intel softly, "and he knew well what he did. Do not think that we parted hatefully. Melein knows. Eddan knows. Sathell was a good man: our old, old quarrelhe never agreed with me, and yet for forty-three years he has given me his good offices. I do not grudge that he simply stated his opinion at the last. We were friends. And do not feel badly for Eddan. If he did otherwise, I would have been surprised."
"You are hard," said Niun.
"Yes," she said. And her slight touch descended on his shoulder, brushed aside the zaidhe. He slipped it off, wadded his cloth in his clenched fists, head still bowed, for his eyes were wet. "Last son of mine," she said then, "do you love me?"
The question, so nakedly posed, struck him like a hammer blow; and in this moment he could not say smoothly, yes, Mother. He could not summon it.
"Mother," he said, painfully, of her many titles, the best and dearest to the Kel.
"Do you love me, Niun?" Her soft fingers brushed past his mane, touched the sensitivity of his ear, teasing the downy tufts at its crest, an intimacy for kinswomen and lovers: Here is a secret, the touch said, a hidden thing: be attentive.
He was not strong enough for secrets now, for any added burden; he looked up at her, trying to answer. The calm face looked down on him with curious longing. "I know," she said. "You are here. You pay me duty. That is still a good and pious act, child of mine. And I know that I have robbed you and denied you and compelled everything that you have done and will ever do."
"I know that your reasons are good ones."
"No," she said. "You are kel'en. You do not know; you believe. But you are proper to say so. And you are right. Tomorrowtomorrow you will see it, when you see Ahanal. Melein"
"She'pan."
"Do you mourn Sathell?"
"Yes, she'pan."
"Do you dispute me?"
"No, she'pan."
"There will be a she'pan on Ahanal," said Intel."That she'pan is not fit as I have made you fit."
"I am twenty-two years old," protested Melein. "She'pan, you could take command of Ahanal, but if they challenge, if they should challenge"
"Niun would defend me, defend me well. And he will defend you in your hour."
"Do you pass his duty to me?" Melein asked.
"In time," she said, "I will do this. In your time."
"I do not know all that I need to know, she'pan."
"You will kill," said Intel, "any who tries to take the Pana from you. I am the oldest of all she'panei, and I have prepared my successor in my own way."
"In conscience" Melein protested.
"In conscience," said the she'pan, "obey me and do not question."
And the drug began to come over her and her eyes dimmed and she sank into her cushions and was still. In time she slept soundly.
It was said, in a tale told in the Kel, that at the fall of Nisren, humans had actually breached the edun, ignoring mri attempts to challenge to a'ani: this the first and bitterest error the mri had made with humans. A human force had swept through the halls while the Kath in terror tried to escape: and Intel had put herself between humans and the Kath, and fired the hall with her own hand. Whether it was Intel or the fire, those humans had not come against her. She had held long enough for some of the Kath to escape, until the embattled Kel could reach that hall and get her to safety, to the regul ship.
That aspect of gentle Intel had always been incredible to Niun, until this night.
Chapter FOURTEEN
DUNCAN HEARD the hum of machinery. It wakened him, advising him at once that Stavros had need of something. He pulled himself off the couch and gathered his fatigue-dulled senses. He had not undressed. He had not put Stavros to bed. Storm alarms had made most of the night chaotic. There was a time that constant storm advisories were coming over communications.
He heard the storm shields in Stavros' quarters go back. He wandered in to see that the alarms were past, that the screens showed clear. The dawn came up ruddy and murky, flooding a peculiar light through the glass.
Stavros was in the center of that glow, a curious figure in his mobile sled. He whipped it about to face Duncan with a jaunty expertise. The communication screen lighted.
Look outside.
Duncan stepped up to the rain-spattered window and looked, scanning the desolate expanse of sand and rock, toward the sea and the towers of the water-recovery system. There was something wrong, a gap in the silhouette, a vacancy where yesterday towers had stood.
There was a particularly dark area of cloud over the seacoast, flattened by the winds, torn and streamered out to sea.
Stavros' screen activated.
Advisory just given: water use confined to drinking and food preparation only. 'Minor repairs at plant.' They ask we remain patient.
"We've got people coming down here," Duncan protested.
Suspect further damage at port. Regul much disturbed. Bai 'not available.'
The rain slacked off considerably, leaving only a few spatters on the windows. The murky light grew for a moment red like that from fire, only Arain through thick cloud.