It can’t be, he thought. This cannot be the same man.
"You are-you must be the son of Emilio Sandoz?" he heard the man ask. The voice was different. Resonant, and beautiful, but different. "I’ve seen your father’s image. In the records…"
At the sound of the K’San language and the sight of the Jana’ata’s carnassial teeth, revealed as Rukuei had spoken, Sean backed away. Nico drew his weapon, but Joseba stepped up swiftly and said, "Give it to me." He flicked off the safety and with a Basque hunter’s reactions, turned and fired at something snuffling piglike in the bushes nearby.
The gunshot and death squeal set off an explosion of reaction among the wildlife, and the VaRakhati staggered back, eyes wide and ears clamped shut. Joseba handed the pistol back to Nico, who trained it on the Jana’ata who’d spoken, but kept an eye on all of them—now frozen and visibly frightened. Walking to the carcass in the ensuing silence, Joseba bent and lifted the body by one leg, letting its blood drip educationally. "We have no ill will toward you," he said firmly. "Neither will we permit you to harm us."
"Well put," said Emilio. He was breathing hard, but Carlo was right: bullets worked. "I am no one’s father," he said, staring at Rukuei. "Rather, I am the one you have named: Emilio Sandoz. At my word, this man Nico kills anyone who threatens us. Is that understood?"
There were gestures of assent from all four VaRakhati. Dazed, Rukuei said vaguely, "My father knew you…"
"In a manner of speaking," Sandoz said coldly. "How are you to be addressed?" he demanded in High K’San, assuming the belligerent tone of a ranking aristocrat. "Are you first-born or second?"
The Jana’ata’s ears folded back slightly and there was an embarrassed shuffling among the others as he said, "I am freeborn. My mother was not a woman of standing. If you please: Rukuei Kitheri."
"Christ Almighty," Sean Fein gasped. "Kitheri?"
"You are son to Hlavin Kitheri?" Sandoz asked, but there was no doubt in his mind. The stamp of the father was clear, and the son’s chin lifted in confirmation. "You lie. Or you are a bastard," Sandoz snapped. The challenge was deliberate—a testing of response, a probing for flashpoint, knowing that Nico was at his side. "That Kitheri was Reshtar, and had no right to breed."
Too stunned by the actuality of the encounter to react as he might have otherwise, Rukuei merely dropped his tail, but then the fourth person came forward and revealed himself to be Jana’ata as well.
"I am Shetri Laaks." With the instructively dead froyil still dripping blood in one foreigner’s grip, Shetri kept his voice mild, but nevertheless used the dominant pronoun to invite dispute, if the foreigners were inclined to offer combat. "Rukuei is my wife’s cousin and I must not tolerate offense to my affinal kin. He has not lied, nor is he a bastard, but the song of his birth would take long to sing. I believe our purposes will be better served if none of us indulges in further insult."
There was an uneasy silence as both parties waited for Sandoz to respond. "I grant parity," he said finally, and the tension relaxed fractionally. "You speak of purpose," he said, addressing Shetri.
But it was Rukuei who answered him. "I know why you came here," he said, and noted the reaction: a quickening of breath, an intentness. "You came to learn our songs."
"This is true," the small foreigner allowed. "Rather, it was once true." He stopped and drew himself up, throwing his head back to glare at them from a distance with small eyes, black and alien — not like Isaac’s, which were small but blue as normal eyes should be, and which had never stared like this. "We came because we believed you sang of truth, and of the Mind behind truth. We wished to learn what beauties this True Mind had revealed to you. But you sang of nothing beautiful," he said with insulting softness. "Your songs were of the pleasure to be found in unmerciful power, the satisfaction of crushing opposition, the enjoyment of irresistible force."
"Everything is changed from those days," a Runao said. "This one is Kaj — pin," she told them, raising both hands to her forehead. "Now it is the southern Runa who enjoy such power. We VaN’Jarri are different."
"We have one among us who has learned the music you sought—" Rukuei started.
"If you want to hear it, you’ll have to come with us," Tiyat added quickly. "Isaac wishes you to—"
There was a small convulsion among the humans. "Isaac," Sandoz repeated. "Isaac is a foreign name. Is the person you speak of one of us?"
"Yes," said Shetri. "He is of your species, but he is not like his mother, nor like his sister—"
"His sister!" Sandoz cried.
"His sister, my wife, whose name is Ha’anala and whose foster mother was Sofia Mendes u Ku’in," Shetri continued, despite the uproar this provoked.
"You knew my cousin’s sire," Rukuei said then, hoping to reassure Sandoz and the other foreigners, who were clearly upset. "Ha’anala is the daughter of my father’s sister and of Supaari whose landname was VaGayjur—"
"This whole thing stinks to high heaven," Sean was muttering. "Why didn’t Isaac come here with you then?" he demanded in K’San. "Why hasn’t he contacted his mother? Does he live still, or do you merely use his name?"
Not waiting for the answer, Joseba said in English, "What if they’re holding him hostage? Sandoz, what if they’re using him—"
"Hostage!" Kajpin cried, startling them with her knowledge of English. "That’s Athaansi’s game!"
"We do not hold hostages," Rukuei began.
"Nico," Sandoz said quietly, "take that man down."
Before anyone else could move, Rukuei Kitheri had been slammed to the ground and was choking wide-eyed on the gun that Nico had jammed into his mouth with professional efficiency.
"Hear me, Kitheri: if you are tired of life, lie to me now," Sandoz suggested, dropping to his knees to whisper his threat. "How many are there in your party today? Nico, let him talk."
"Four," Rukuei said, the taste of steel in his mouth. "Truly. Only those you see."
"If there are more, I will have you and them killed—you last. Do you believe me?" Rukuei lifted his chin, the gorgeous eyes wide with a satisfying fear. "I say you hold the foreigner Isaac against his will. I say you use him as your father used me."
"These people are crazy!" Tiyat cried above him.
Without taking his eyes off Rukuei, Sandoz shouted, "I will hear this man’s words! Speak, Kitheri: is the foreigner Isaac alive?"
"Yes! Isaac is a person of honor among the VaN’Jarri," said Rukuei, swallowing uselessly, dry-mouthed and confused. "He left the southern Runa many years ago of his own volition. He is free to go or stay. He chooses to stay among us. He likes our songs—"
"Sipaj, Sandoz, we could have taken you hostage last night as you slept!" Kajpin pointed out, too exasperated by this inexplicable hostility to sway. "It was Rukuei’s idea to be honest with you! The escort from Gayjur will be here soon—"
"How do you know that?" Sean demanded, but Kajpin went on, "It is we-but-not-you who are in danger! We are no threat to you. We need you, and we have something to offer in return, but if we’re captured, we’ll be executed!"
Emboldened by the small foreigner’s stillness, Shetri knelt at Sandoz’s side, and spoke with quiet urgency. "The last three times the VaN’Jarri tried to make contact with the government in Gayjur, our delegates were killed on sight. Please. Listen to me. We wish an agreement with the southerners, but the VaGayjuri will not negotiate with us because my nephew Athaansi keeps raiding Runa villages, and we are all held responsible!" He stopped, and calmed himself. "Hear me, Sandoz. I will stand surety. If we lie, if we deceive you in any way, then have me killed as that froyil was killed. I will be your hostage."