Restless, he paced the length of the Temple hall, keenly aware of the smell from the freshly polished wood paneling. The gleaming walls reflected the ceremonial fire in the circular hearth at the end of the room near the entry.
The door was open on this early spring morning, mixing , the alien scent of the reviving world with the strange perfumes of native wood smoke, but little light filtered around the interlocking, curved walls of the entry tunnel.
At the opposite end of the windowless hall, on what the humans called a staircase that went nowhere, four hooded marriage flames danced in their smoked-glass containers amid the symbols of Aliom, displayed on the steps one above the other. At midnight Jindigar had kindled the wedding flame for Darllanyu just as the three other men had for their mates. And she, with the other women, had concealed the flame. That had been his moment of commitment to the remarriage. Why was he so agitated now?
He paused at the edge of the marriage circle, below the skylight. The rays of the morning sun were focused by the slanted panes above him to set the crushed white gravel of the marriage circle to glowing visually, even for Dushau eyes, so ill adjusted to this world's sun.
But to his other senses, from below the crushed white gravel, from deep in the center of the planet, a fountain of pure white energy, the energy of the planet itself, erupted upward, flowing out through the skylight and dissipating in the air above the Temple. The marriage circle was laid over the worldcircle, at the point where the energy of sun and planet met, the condition necessary to create life.
At noon he would reveal the marriage flame and carry it into that circle, where Darllanyu would extinguish it. If the nonvisible light from the worldcircle increased, it would show that they were close enough in harmony, in shaleiliu, to transform physical light to spiritual light, and they would be married. He knew it would happen. Just gazing into the circle made him eager to get it over with.
But before he dared think of success at his marriage trial, he had to Dissolve his Oliat, releasing the seven of them from the psychic bonds linking them into one mind and enabling them to interpret the complex ecology of this world.
To bring them safely through Dissolution, he must remain unmoved even though the gonads at the base of his neck throbbed insistently at any thought of Darllanyu. He told himself sternly that he wasn't near being fertile yet. His fingers were still nailless, and the nail beds didn't even itch.
But when I'm fertile and an Active Priest again, the Historians will stop trying to lure me away from Aliom. Jindigar discarded that thought instantly. His Priesthood was intact. He had no reason to fear temptation. They couldn't force him to become a Historian. He wouldn't court Renewal and sacrifice his Oliat to avoid confrontations.
He paced around the circle. Am I running from my personal problems by Dissolving my Oliat now? The colony still needed an Oliat's ecological advice, but things were stable now. They'd manage until he could train a new group. His Oliat, however, had been trembling on the brink of Renewal all winter. To continue would be irresponsible.
An astonishing sense of relief washed through him as he reaffirmed that decision. But it was quickly replaced by needles of anxiety as he resolved to surrender to Renewal, and suddenly everything in him wanted to clutch at the Oliat. Maybe it's just that if I quit now, I'll have failed at Center? His Oliat had never achieved a precision balance.
If he was running from his personal problems, he didn't know which way to run. But such strident panic was a primary symptom of Renewal onset, which made him very dangerous as Oliat Center, an Office requiring precision judgment. The only way to bring it under control was to marry Darllanyu and raise children. And that settled it.
The sound of a door opening startled him. He turned to see five of his Oliat's Officers enter the Temple from the temporary living quarters the Oliat shared off to one side of the Temple. They came in, men circling one way and women the other. They wore the Aliom ceremonial vestments woven from native fibers, bleached and dyed to symbolize the brightness of lightning, the Oliat signature. Jindigar, as Center of the Oliat, wore white, symbol of origins and endings, for white light was composed of all wavelengths.
A warmth stole through him. These people had become his zunre—closer than blood relatives—for they had shared the Oliat bond. They saw with each other's eyes, heard with each others' ears, knew with each others' hearts. Dissolution would leave them separate but could not sever that bond.
His gaze was drawn to Darllanyu as she led the other two women to seat cushions around the fire. She glided as if carried on air. The floor reflected her costume, so she seemed to float at the tip of a flame. Jindigar feasted on the rich indigo of her skin coloring. She seemed like a creature out of legend, an apparition passing through the world but not of it. How could I merit such a wife?
But he needed her. He dared not dwell on how much he needed her. Then he saw that she wore the gold arm band he had once given her. His heart swelled with a flutter both familiar and strange until he had to look away.
When they had all settled around the hearth, Darllanyu strummed random chords on the whule she had made from native woods. He joined them. His own whule, left to him by his teacher, Lelwatha, was on his seat, next to Darllanyu. He cradled it in his lap, the feel of the satiny finish of the antique urwood sending thrills up his arms.
Struggling to subdue his hypersensitivity, Jindigar fought to ignore Darllanyu's faintly suggestive aroma and not to think about the activities that would be theirs later today. With the inward communication of the Oliat, Jindigar assured her, //Krinata will be here in a moment. Then we can begin the Dissolution.//
His Oliat wasn't fully convened—for the past year Jindigar had kept the seven of them divided into two duos and a trio for training. But the linkages were well enough activated that they all received the conversation. //You know I don't want her at our wedding. It's bad enough that none of our former mates are here to officiate—//
Something of Jindigar's hurt must have reached her. She broke off, curbed a soothing gesture, and explained, //What she does to you frightens me. She's an ephemeral. I don't want to get any closer to her. We're so vulnerable now!//
Feeling her fear for him through the link, Jindigar knew she couldn't bear to see him hurt any more than he could bear her pain. And she had good reason to fear. At his last Renewal he had taken an ephemeral woman, Ontarrah, into his home, and on four occasions even into his bed, because he could not bear to part from her. His wife and their children had accepted Ontarrah—even loved her—and had grieved deeply at her death, taking disabling mental scars. For that he had been exiled from Dushaun until this Renewal—and now he could not go home.
//Dar, because Krinata is Ontarrah reincarnated, we are both determined not to repeat that mistake.//
At that moment Krinata Zavaronne walked through the front entry. She was wearing the same lightning-flash vestment the others wore but cut to fit the human female form, somehow making her diminutive frame seem statuesque. Overall, she projected the impression of the Lady Zavaronne attending Prince Jindigar's wedding. If any of them noticed, though, she'd be deeply offended. The Allegiancy Empire was dead, and with it Krinata had buried her title—but try as she might, she had not been able to bury her heritage.
She took her seat opposite Jindigar. Her black eyes, danced in the firelight. Her short black hair hid the human ear paps, and she sat facing him so he couldn't see the jutting profile of her chest. If it weren't for her hair and pinkish-white skin, she could almost pass for Dushau.