But it was unnecessary to muster any of those arguments. He could see right away, from the sudden brightness in Thalarne’s eyes and the sudden quivering of her sensing-organ and the unmistakable rising of her lustrous black fur, that Thalarne wanted him on the expedition as much as he wanted to be on it, and for the same reasons, which had very little, actually, to do with archaeology.
Over the weeks that followed his mind dwelled on the adventure to come to the exclusion of almost everything else. Enamored of her and newly enraptured by the science to which she had devoted her life, he flung himself into his belated study of antiquity, the better to understand her.
She loaned him books. Worlds were revealed to him: worlds piled on worlds, worlds without end—the world of the humans, of which not the slightest speck remained, and the Great World, whose merest outlines alone survived, and the hidden world of the now abandoned cocoons in which the People, created out of simple apelike animals by the humans to be the successors to the Great World, had waited out the Long Winter. And now, rising atop those strata of antiquity, the brave new world that the People had created for themselves since the Time of Going Forth. Was that, too, destined to thrive awhile and decay and vanish, and be replaced by another, Nortekku wondered? Probably. The earth changes, he thought. Mountains rise, are ground to dust, give way to plains and valleys. Shorelines are drowned; new islands are thrust upward out of the sea. Civilizations are born, die, are forgotten. The planet alone abides, and all that dwells upon it is transient.
Contemplating these things, he felt much the richer for all his freshly acquired knowledge. He felt that for the first time he comprehended, at least in some small way, the great chain of existence, stretching across time from misty past to unborn future. And in the months ahead, he told himself, that comprehension would only grow and deepen as Thalame and he made their way, side by side, into the ancestral cocoon.
These months in Yissou were the happiest of his life. He and Thalame had become lovers almost immediately, and soon after that became twining-partners also, even before he discovered that she already had a mate, a certain Hamiruld, who was yet another kinsman of the king of Yissou and of Prince Vuldimin. The fact that Thalame was married did not appear to be a serious obstacle. Nortekku quickly came to see Hamiruld as a sly and effete man, who appeared to have no particular interest in Thalame and displayed no overt signs of love for her. Why he had married her, the gods alone knew, but he seemed not to be in any way possessive. Indeed, he seemed to go beyond complaisance into indifference. Quite likely he would step aside if asked; for Nortekku, for the first time ever, had mating on his mind. Thalarne’s stunning beauty, her soaring spirit, her keen intelligence—
But that was for later. Finishing the plans for the expedition was the central thing now. Nortekku busied himself putting together the financial backing and purchasing the necessary equipment—Prince Til-Menimat, the famous collector of antiquities, provided most of the money—while Thalame assembled her team of fellow archaeologists and worked out the details of the route to the ancestral cocoon.
Her ancestral cocoon, anyway, for Thalame was highborn, not just a member of the aristocratic Koshmar line but of the House of Hresh that was the leading family of that line. Therefore she could trace a direct line of descent from several of the leaders of the little band of People that had come forth at the end of the Long Winter to found both Yissou and Dawinno. Nortekku himself had no clear idea of his own ancestry. All that his father had ever been able to discover was that they had sprung from one of the minor People groups—he wasn’t sure which one, maybe the Stadrains, maybe the Mortirils—that had been eking out a scruffy existence in the hinterlands at the time when Hresh and Koshmar and Harruel and the rest of those heroes of long ago, semi-mythical by now, had made their epic trek westward to found the two great city-states of the coastal strip.
They were ten days or so away from the departure date. And then came the quarrel.
It was a preposterous thing: a new opera was having its premiere, Salaman, about the tempestuous life of the second king of Yissou, he who had built the great wall. Tickets were scarce—it would be the social event of the winter season—but Prince Vuldimin was able to obtain a dozen of them and gave a pair to Nortekku, who offered one to Thalarne. He thought she would be pleased. She had already spoken of the new opera in some excitement, and Hamiruld, who notoriously had branded opera as a decadent amusement on several recent occasions, was unlikely to want to attend. Nortekku was excited too: it would be their first public outing as a couple.
“But surely you realize that I’ll be going to the opera with Hamiruld!” Thalarne said.
Nortekku was taken aback by that, and let it show.
She gave him a puzzled look. “Why do you seem so surprised, Nortekku?”
“That you should be going with Hamiruld? He doesn’t have any more interest in opera than that chair over there!”
“But we have tickets. He feels that he ought to go. It’s an important evening. He’s a direct descendant of King Salaman, you know.”
“So is half the nobility of the city. What does that have to do with it?—He’s deliberately doing this because he doesn’t want us to be seen here in public together, isn’t he?”
Her expression darkened into annoyance. “That’s ridiculous, Nortekku. Has he ever shown any sort of jealousy? But he’s my mate, don’t forget. If he wants to go to the opera with me, why shouldn’t he? And why should you read all sorts of dark motives into it? He sees it as a social obligation. And if he does, it’s simply a matter of good form that I be seen attending the opera with my husband instead of with my—my—”
“Your lover,” he supplied, as she faltered into silence.
“My lover, yes,” she said, and Nortekku could not mistake the frosty edge that she had put on the word.
He suspected that he was getting ever deeper into trouble, but he drove recklessly onward, unable to hold himself back. “The whole city knows about us already. Everybody is aware that you and I are about to set out on a trip lasting many months and that Hamiruld doesn’t care in the slightest. So what difference can it make if you happen to be sitting next to me in the opera house one night next week?”
“What I might be doing next month along the banks of the Hallimalla, far from this city and all its busybodies, is very different from what I choose to do next week in the opera house of Yissou.”
“Nevertheless—”
“No. Listen to me, Nortekku.”
“You listen to me.”
“Please, Nortekku—”
“You know he hates opera.” He waved the tickets about. “I insist—”
“You insist!”
It got worse from there. Very quickly they were shouting at each other; then they grew more calm, but it was the calmness of cold fury, and then she turned and walked out. Nortekku realized instantly how stupid he had been. Hamiruld and Thalarne were husband and wife; this was their native city, where they were people of some importance; he was an interloper in their marriage and so long as they were still living together he had no claim on her. And what did next week’s opera matter, anyway? She herself had reminded him that soon enough he and Thalarne would be far from Yissou and Hamiruld, with time aplenty for making love. To be raising such a fuss over a purely symbolic thing like a night at the opera together now was completely idiotic.