Pain backwashed: Aiela forced his own way through the breach, trying to aid his stricken asuthe, cried out Chimele’s name and felt the impact of all that attention suddenly upon himself.
“M’metanei,” said Chimele, “this is not a place for you. You are not noticed.” She lifted her hand and the iduve parted like grass before the wind, opening the way to the door. When Daniel opened his mouth to protest the dismissal: “Aiela,” she said most quietly. It was a last warning. He knew the tone of it.
Daniel rose, turned his face to Tejef, appealing to him; he wanted to speak, wanted desperately, but Daniel’s courage was the kind that could act: he had no eloquence, and words always came out badly. In pity, Aiela said it. Daniel would not yield otherwise.
“We interfered. I did. We are sorry.”
And to Aiela’s dismay the iduve gave back all about them, and they were alone in the center with Tejef—and Daniel moved closer to Isande, who clenched Arle’s hand tightly in hers, and gazed fearfully as Tejef gained his feet.
“Kamethi,” said Chimele, “I have not heard, I have not noticed this behavior. You are dismissed. Go away.”
“He had honor among his kamethi,” said Aiela, echoing what was in Daniel’s heart. It was important Tejef know that before they left. The idoikkhe touched, began and ceased. Isande radiated panic, she with the child, wanting to run, foreseeing Daniel’s death before their eyes—Aiela’s with him. It was her unhappiness to have asuthi as stubborn as herself—her pride, too. They were both mad, her asuthi, but she had accepted that already.
And Chimele looked upon the three of them: a kallia’s eyes might have varied, shown some emotion. Hers scarcely could, no more than they could shed tears. But Aiela pitied her: if he had disadvantaged her once before her nasithi alone and merited her anger, he could only surmise what he did to her now with the entire Melakhis and nasul to witness.
“Chimele-Orithain,” he said in a tone of great respect, “we have obeyed all your orders. If a kameth can ask anything of you—”
A tall shadow joined them—Ashakh, who folded his arms and gave a nod in curt deference to Chimele.
“This kameth,” said Ashakh, “is about to encounter trouble with which he cannot deal. He is a peculiar being, this m’metane, a little rash with us, and without any sense of takkhenes to feel his way over most deadly ground; but his chanokhia appeals to me. I oppose his disrespect, but I am not willing to see harm come to him or to his asuthi—one of whom is, after all, human as well as outsider, and even more ignorant of propriety than this one. I have borne with much, Chimele. I have suffered and my sra has suffered for the sake of Ashanome. But this kameth and his asuthi are of worth to the nasul. Here I say no, Chimele.”
“Ashakh,” said Chimele in a terrible voice, “it has not been the matter of the kamethi alone in which you have said no.”
“I do not oppose you, Chimele.”
“I perceive otherwise. I perceive that you are not takkhe with us in the matter of Tejef, that someone lends him support.”
“Then you perceive amiss. My m’melakhia has always been for the well-being of Ashanome. We have been able to compose our differences before, nasith-tak.”
“And they have been many,” said Chimele, “and too frequent. No!” she said sharply as Tejef moved. He came no closer, for there were the dhis-guardians between, and Khasif and Ashakh moved to shield her as reflexively as they always had. The closeness was heavy in the air again: oppressive, hostile, and then a curiously perturbing fierceness. Chimele glanced at Rakhi in alarm.
“You do not belong here,” she said, but her anger seemed smothered by fright, and it was not clear to whom she spoke.
Tejef moved nearer, as near as the ghiakai would permit. “Chimele-Orithain. You cast me out; but Mejakh’s takkhenois is gone and the touch of the nasul is easier for that, Chimele sra-Chaxal. I have always had m’melakhia for this nasul, and not alone for the nasul. I was nas, Chimele.”