BROTHERS OF EARTH. C. J. Cherryh

“And why, Kta? You assume that we can rise to your level. But have you ever thought that we might not want to be like you?”

“Do you have another answer? Some urge it, like Shan, to destroy all that is Indras. Will that solve matters?”

“No. We will never know what we might have been; our nation is gone, merged with yours. But I doubt we would like your ways, even if things were upside down and we were ruling you.”

“Bel,” exclaimed Aimu, “you cannot think these things. You are upset. Your mind will change.”

“No, it has never been different. I have always known it is an Indras world, and that my sons and my sons’ sons will grow more and more Indras, until they will not understand the mind of the likes of me. I love you, Aimu, and I do not repent my choice, but perhaps now you do. I do not think your well-bred Indras friends would think you disgraced if you broke our engagement. Most would be rather relieved you had come to your senses, I think.”

Kta’s back stiffened. “Have a care, Bel. My sister has not deserved your spite. Anything you may care to say or do with me, that is one matter, but you go too far when you speak that way to her.”

“I beg pardon,” Bel murmured, and glanced at Aimu. “We were friends before we were betrothed, Aimu. I think you know how to understand me, and I fear you may come to regret me and our agreement. A Sufaki house will be a strange enough place for you; I would not see you hurt.”

“I hold by our agreement,” said Aimu. Her face was pale, her breathing quick. “Kta, take no offense with him.”

Kta lowered his eyes, made a sign of unwilling apology, ‘then glanced up. “What do you want of me, Bel?”

“Your influence. Speak to your Indras friends, make them understand.”

“Understand what? That they must cease to be Indras and imitate Sufaki ways? This is not the way the world is ordered, Bel. And as for violence, if it comes, it will not come from the Indras. That is not our way and it never has been. Persuasion is something you must use on your people.”

“You have created a Shan Tefur,” said Bel, “and he finds many others like him. Now we who have been friends of the Indras do not know what to do.” Bel was trembling. He clasped his hands, elbows on his knees. “There is no more peace, Kta. But let no Indras answer violence with violence, or there will be blood flowing in the streets come the month of Nermotai and the holy days. Your pardon, my friends.” He rose, shaking out his robes. “I know the way out of Elas. You do not have to lead me. Do what you will with what I have told you.”

“Bel,” said Aimu, “Elas will not put you off for the sake of Shan t’Tefur’s threats.”

“But Osanef has to fear those threats. Do not expect me to be seen here again in the near future. I do not cease to regard you as my friends. I have faith in your honor and your good judgment, Kta. Do not fail my hopes.”

“Let me go with him to the door,” said Aimu, though what she asked violated all custom and modesty. “Kta, please.”

“Go with him,” said Kta. “Bel, my brother, we will do what we can. Be careful for yourself.”

XI

Nephane was well named the city of mists. They rolled in and lasted for days as the weather grew warmer, making the cobbled streets slick with moisture. Ships crept carefully into harbor, the lonely sound of their bells occasionally drifting up the height of Nephane through the still air. Voices distantly called out in the streets, muted.

Kurt looked back, anxious, wondering if the sudden hush of footsteps that had been with him ever since the door of Elas meant an end of pursuit.

A shadow appeared near him. He stumbled off the edge of the unseen curb and caught his balance, fronted by several others who appeared, cloaked and anonymous, out of the grayness. He backed up and halted, warned by a scrape of leather on stone: others were behind him. His belly tightened, muscles braced.