“No, no, our guest. Please sit with us. This business concerns the house, and you are soon to be one of us.”
The tea was brought and served with all formality. Then Mim and Aimu withdrew, leaving the men of the house and Ptas. Nym took a slow sip of tea and looked at his wife.
“You had a question, Ptas?”
“Who asked the date advanced? Osanef? Or was it you?”
“Ptas, I fear we are going to war.” And in the stillness that awful word made in the room he continued very softly: “If we wish this marriage I think we must hurry it on with all decent speed; a wedding between Sufaki and Indras may serve to heal the division between the Families and the sons of the east; that is still our hope. But it must be soon.”
The lady of Elas wept quiet tears and blotted them with the edge of her scarf. “What will they do? It is not right, Nym, it is not right that they should have to bear such a weight on themselves.”
“What would you? Break the engagement? That is impossible. For us to ask that-no. No. And if the marriage is to be, then there must be haste. With war threatening, Bel would surely wish to leave a son to safeguard the name of Osanef. He is the last of his name. As you are, Kta, my son. I am above sixty years of age, and today it has occurred to me that I am not immortal. You should have laid a grandson at my feet years ago.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kta quietly.
“You cannot mourn the dead forever; and I wish you would make some choice for yourself, so that I would know how to please you. If there is any young woman of the Families who has touched your heart . . .”
Kta shrugged, looking at the floor.
“Perhaps,” his father suggested gently, “the daughters of Rasim or of Irain . . .”
“Tai t’Isulan,” said Kta.
“A lovely child,” said Ptas, “and she will be a fine lady.”
Again Kta shrugged. “A child, indeed. But I do at least know her, and I think I would not be unpleasing to her.”
“She is-what-?-seventeen?” asked Nym, and when Kta agreed: “Isulan is a fine religious house. I will think on it and perhaps I will talk with Ban t’Isulan, if in several days you still think the same. My son, I am sorry to bring this matter upon you so suddenly, but you are my only son, and these are sudden times. Ptas, pour some telise.”
She did so. The first few sips were drunk in silence. This was proper. Then Nym sighed softly.
“Home is very sweet, wife. May we abide as we are tonight.”
“May it be so,” reverently echoed Ptas, and Kta did the same.
“The matter in council,” said Ptas then. “What was decided?”
Nym frowned and stared at nothing hi particular. “T’Uset is not here to bring us peace, only more demands of the Methi Ylith. Djan-methi was not in the Upei today; it did not seem wise. And I suspect . . .” His eyes wandered to Kurt, estimating; and Kurt’s face went hot. Suddenly he gathered himself to leave, but Nym forbade that with a move of his hand, and he settled again, bowing low and not meeting Nym’s eyes.
“Our words could offend you,” said Nym. “I pray not.”
“I have learned,” said Kurt, “how little welcome my people have made for themselves among you.”
“Friend of my son,” said Nym gently, “your wise and peaceful attitude is an ornament to this house. I will not affront you by repeating t’Uset’s words. Reason with him proved impossible. The Indras of the mother city hate humans, and they will not negotiate with Djan-methi. And that is not the end of our troubles.” His eyes sought Ptas. “T’Tefur created bitter discussion, even before t’Uset was seated, demanding we not permit him to be present during the Invocation.”
“Light of heaven,” murmured Ptas. “In t’Uset’s hearing?”
“He was at the door.”
“We met the younger t’Tefur today,” said Kta. “There were no words, but his manner was deliberate and provocative, aimed at Kurt.”
“Is it so?” said Nym, concerned, and with a glance at Kurt: “Do not fall into his hands. Do not place yourself where you can become a cause, our friend.”
“I am warned,” said Kurt.
“Today,” said Nym, “there was a curse spoken between the house of Tefur and the house of Elas, before the Upei, and we must all be on our guard. T’Tefur blasphemed, shouting down the Invocation, and I answered him as his behavior deserved. He calls it treason, that when we pray we still call on the name of Indresul the shining. This he said in t’Uset’s hearing.”
“And for the likes of this,” said lady Ptas, “we must endure to be cursed from the hearthflre of Elas-in-Indresul, and have our name pronounced annually in infamy at the Shrine of Man.”
“Mother,” said Kta, bowing low, “not all Sufaki feel so. Bel would not feel this way. He would not.”
“T’Tefur’s number is growing,” said Ptas, “that he dares to stand in the Upei and say such a thing.”
Kurt looked from one to the other in bewilderment. It was Nym who undertook to explain to him. “We are Indras. A thousand years ago Nai-methi of Indresul launched colonies toward the Isles, south of this shore, then laid the foundations of Nephane as a fortress to guard the coast from Sufaki pirates. He destroyed Chteftikan, the capital of the Sufaki kingdom, and Indras colonists administered the new provinces from this citadel. For most of time we ruled the Sufaki. But the coming of humans cut our ties to Indresul, and when we came out of those dark years, we wiped out all the old cruel laws that kept the Sufaki subject, accepted them into the Upei. For t’Tefur, that is not enough. There is great bitterness there.”
“It is religion,” said Ptas. “Sufaki have many gods, and believe in magic and worship demons. Not all. Bel’s house is better educated. But Indras will not set foot in the precincts of the temple, the so-named Oracle of Phan. And it would be dangerous in these times even to be there in the wall-street after dark. We pray at our own hearths and invoke the Ancestors we have in common with the houses across the Dividing Sea. We do them no harm, we inflict nothing on them, but they resent this.”
“But,” said Kurt, “you do not agree with Indresul.”
“It is impossible,” said Nym. “We are of Nephane. We have lived among Sufaki; we have dealt with humans. We cannot unlearn the things we know for truth. We will fight if we must, against Indresul. The Sufaki seem not to believe that, but it is so.”
“No,” said Kurt, and with such passion that the nemet were hushed. “No. Do not go to war.”
“It is excellent advice,” said Nym after a moment. “But we may be helpless to guide our own affairs. When a man finds his affairs without resolution, his existence out of time with heaven and his very being a disturbance to the yhia, then he must choose to die for the sake of order. He does well if he does so without violence. In the eyes of heaven even nations are finally answerable to such logic, and even nations may sometimes be compelled to suicide. They have their methods-being many minds and not one, they cannot proceed toward their fate with the dignity a single man can manage-but proceed they do.”
“Ei, honored Father,” said Kta, “I beg you not to say such things.”
“Like Bel, do you believe in omens? I do not, not, at least, that words, ill-thought or otherwise, have power over the future. The future already exists, in our hearts already, stored up and waiting to unfold when we reach our time and place. Our own nature is our fate. You are young, Kta. You deserve better than my age has given you.”
There was silence in the rhmei. Suddenly Kurt bowed himself a degree lower, requesting, and Nym looked at him. - “You have a methi,” said Kurt, “who is not willing to fight a war. Please. Trust me to go speak to her, as another human.”
There was a stir of uneasiness. Kta opened his mouth as if he would protest, but Nym consented.