“No,” Kta conceded. “But the Ancestors when they lived were reckless men. This is the character of Elas. The Ancestors guide us to such choice, and Nephane and the Methi cannot be much surprised at us.”
The lives of the nemet were uniformly tranquil. Kurt endured a little more than four days of the silent dim halls, the hushed voices and the endless bowing and refraining from untouchable objects and untouchable persons before he began to feel his sanity slipping.
On that day he went upstairs and locked the door, despite Kta’s pleas to explain his behavior. He shed a few tears, fiercely and in the privacy of his room, and curtained the window so he did not have to look out on the alien world. He sat hi the dark until the night came, then he slipped quietly downstairs and sat in the empty rhmei, trying to make his peace with the house.
Mim came. She stood and watched him silently, hands twisting nervously before her.
At last she pattered on soft feet over to the chairs and gathered up one of the fleeces and brought it to the place where he sat on the cold stone. She laid it down beside him, and chanced to meet his eyes as she straightened. Hers questioned, greatly troubled, even frightened.
He accepted the offered truce between them, edged onto the welcome softness of the fleece.
She bowed very deeply, then slipped out again, extinguishing the lights one by one as she left, save only the phusmeba, which burned the night long.
Kta also came out to him, but only looked as if to see that he was well. Then he went away, but left the door of his room open the night long.
Kurt rose up in the morning and paused in Kta’s doorway to give him an apology. The nemet was awake and arose in some concern, but Kurt did not find words adequate to explain his behavior. He only bowed in respect to the nemet, and Kta to him, and he went up to his own room to prepare for the decency of breakfast with the family.
Gentle Kta. Soft-spoken, seldom angry, he stood above six feet in height and was physically imposing, but it was uncertain whether Kta had ever laid aside his dignity to use force on anyone. It was an increasing source of amazement to Kurt that this intensely proud man had vaulted a ship’s rail in view of all Nephane to rescue a drowning human, or sat on the dock and helped him amid his retching illness. Nothing seemed to ruffle Kta for long. He met frustration by retiring to meditate on the problem until he had restored himself to what he called yhia, or balance, a philosophy evidently adequate even in dealing with humans.
Kta also played the aos, a small harp of metal strings, and sang with a not unpleasant voice, which was the particular pleasure of lady Ptas on the quiet evenings. Sometimes he sang light, quick songs that brought laughter to the rhmei, sometimes very long ones that were interrupted with cups of telise to give Kta’s voice a rest, songs to which all the house listened in sober silence, plaintive and haunting melodies of anharmonic notes.
“What do you sing about?” Kurt asked him afterward. They sat in Kta’s room, sharing a late cup of tea. It was their habit to sit and talk late into the night. It was almost their last. The two weeks were almost spent. Tonight he wanted very much to know the nemet, not at all sure that he would have a further chance. It had been beautiful in the rhmei, the notes of the aos, the sober dignity of Nym, the rapt face of lady Ptas, Aimu and Mim with their sewing, Hef sitting to one side and listening, his old eyes dreaming.
The stillness of Elas had seeped into his bones this night, a timeless and now fleeting time which made all the world quiet. He had striven against it. Tonight, he listened.
“The song would mean nothing to you,” Kta said. “I can’t sing it in human words.”
“Try,” said Kurt.
The nemet shrugged, gave a pained smile, gathered up the aos and ran his fingers over the sensitive strings, calling forth the same melody. For a moment he seemed lost, but the melody grew, rebuilt itself in all its complexity.