"You said you took the name Medair!" the woman had said, recoiling as much in shock as anger.
"My name is Medair," she’d protested. "But I don’t know what that has to do with this wedding. I’ve never heard of these people." Memory of the note of pleading in her voice still made her writhe.
"A Hand’s heir taking a White Snake and you don’t know what that has to do with one named Medair?"
They had pressed forward, but Medair had simply said: "No."
"How dare you!" the woman had spat then, only intensifying Medair’s confusion. "How dare you claim Her name, and turn your back on Her cause. Can you tell me that your name is Medair, and yet you don’t yearn to see every White Snake dead and gone?!"
The stupid thing was, Medair’s answer to that question would not have been no. They hadn’t waited to hear what she would say, had started forward with fists and heavy boots. Medair was a stranger to combat, and without the strength ring she might never have left that alley. She’d been bruised for weeks after.
Quelled. That’s what she’d felt when she found an explanation for what had happened. Five hundred years into Ibisian rule there were groups where women called themselves Medair and men Medain. They lived violent and uncomfortable lives, spitting in the faces of White Snakes and letting the world know they thought that all Ibisians should be cast out, that the people – the Farakkian people – should rise up. That none of Ibisian blood should be tolerated to live.
Medarists aped some of the codes of the Heralds and forever spouted their fury in the name of Medair an Rynstar. As if she had somehow founded their order. They usurped both her name and history and talked constantly of the stories of how Medair an Rynstar would be reborn and would lead a war to drive the White Snakes out. And, much as Medair hated Ibisians, the idea revolted her.
Certainly she would have done anything to prevent the invasion, perhaps rebelled against Ibisian rule in those early years, when they had still been invaders. But, considering that it was sometimes impossible to tell if a person had Ibisian ancestry or was merely tall and pale, she thought it the height of idiocy to go around saying that all of Ibisian blood were evil and deserved to die, and to beat people in back alleys because their hair was white-blonde. Or because they introduced themselves as Medair. The Medarists were one of the reasons she’d retreated to Bariback.
"You should consider changing your name," Avahn las Cor-Ibis told her, still full of laughter and not in the least off-put by her stiff face and eyes full of painful memories. She blinked away the past and looked at him. How very different from any other White Snake she had met, this youth. How, she wondered, did that flippant attitude go with the remnants of such a strict and formal culture? He was even wearing white, a shade which had been reserved for the Kier alone in her time.
"I’m afraid that I’ve grown attached to it," she said, managing to shrug. "It’s only a bother when I travel, since my home lacks both Medarists and people who don’t know me well enough to not know my beliefs."
"You must live in a very small town," Avahn said, dubiously. Medair knew she was behaving in a contradictory manner, sometimes poised and sophisticated, and by the next turn haunted and hostile. She told herself sternly that she would do well not to arouse their suspicions further.
"I settled in a very under populated area," she said, striving for neutrality. Wanting to move the conversation along, she looked at the mix-blood woman. "I can guess where you are supposed to bring me and why," she said, "but perhaps I am wrong?"
Avahn chuckled, returning her attention to him. "You played the innocent well," he commented. "It was something to watch the inimitable Jedda’s face when Cor-Ibis told her to fetch you. She dug herself in so nicely too, going on to say you’d been paid off adequately, that she’d made certain you knew nothing of import and that your word had been extracted not to speak of the matter. Neatly trapped. I compliment you."
"I didn’t set out to trap Keris las Theomain," Medair replied. "She achieved that on her own. I did abet her, however, and I wonder if that might have been a mistake." Ileaha las Goranum had grown only more subdued during the discussion. "The Keris has no authority over me and I am in no demesne of hers. I will not be the one suffering the consequences of going against her will."
"The Keris can give cause to regret," the girl agreed tonelessly.
"Oh, show some backbone, Ileaha!" Avahn said, impatiently. He obviously knew more about whatever weighed on the girl, but spared it little regard. "The lovely Jedda is hardly of concern now that Cor-Ibis is back with us."
"You think not?"
The girl had the blood to match that ornament of jade, Medair decided. No-one without some breeding and background could manage quite that note of contempt. The youth felt it and looked annoyed, then cooled, and began acting a good deal more like a proper Ibisian.
"The matter is of little import," he said, and deliberately turned away from Ileaha. "Kel ar Corleaux," he continued, awarding her the form of address suitable for commoners. "My cousin wishes speech with you. He was asleep when word came of your return, so you need not hurry your meal. Keris las Goranum will, I hope, be capable of escorting you when you have done." He rose and bowed exquisitely to Medair, not at all to Ileaha, and left. Very much on his dignity.
There was a short silence while Medair continued eating and Ileaha played with the edge of the tablecloth. "What is Cor-Ibis' title?" Medair asked when she was finished. She was feeling more in control of herself now, able to think about what to do next.
Ileaha looked at her, not quite startled. "You do not know?"
"He didn’t introduce himself," Medair replied. "And Keris las Theomain took pains, last night, to be vague about his identity. A stupid thing, since the stable hands seemed to know who he was and would be happier than I to spread the tale. The way his cousin referred to him made it obvious that he is head of that family."
las meant of the line and was only dropped from reference when the person was the active controller of the line, title and fortunes of the family.
"He did not know even your name," Ileaha replied, fencing.
"I didn’t introduce myself either. Considering his first words to me consisted of a geas, I can surely be forgiven for feeling less than friendly. Being drawn out of my way for something which, from the body count, looks to be more than dangerous, does little to put me in a good humour. Without even an explanation, which I suppose you would not supply if I asked."
"Better not," Ileaha replied, and allowed the silence to stretch before answering. "He is Illukar Síahn las Cor-Ibis, Keridahl Avec."
High Lord Right of the Cold Blood. Medair had always found Ibisian titles clumsy in translation. Kier was a title which meant Highest Ruler more than High King, since the word was not specific to a gender. Keridahl was High Lord, something similar to a Duke. Avec was an extra title awarded to only one Keridahl at a time. The man was the current Kier’s second most favoured lord. She had guessed the Keridahl, from those absent earrings, but not the Avec.
Medair, after a short pause, recited: "Keriel, Kerivor, Kerikath, Kerikal, Keriden, Keridahl, Keridahl Avec, Keridahl Alar, Kierash, Kier."