Penumbra - Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was morning and the house had just aroused to its business. Gone was the miasmic atmosphere of the preceding day as it had become known that the questions swirling around the mistress of the establishment had been resolved - although, naturally, no specific information had been disseminated - and life could progress in its accustomed way. In the basement and on the second floor, warriors were training and technicians were refining weapons. The first floor was swarming with servants, cleaning and setting out utensils for the midday meal. On the secure and quiet third floor, Jaithlym was dressing and arranging her thoughts. She was humming as she considered her life; all seemed well in her world - she had spent the preceding night where she knew she belonged, in Anjh's bed, and had basked in his attentions. Now she was having several of the unused rooms on the floor converted into an office suite from which she could manage the Akamma during her enforced confinement. She did a little dance step as her maid, Tavia, tied the last ribbon.
“I’m glad to see you so happy, mum,” Tavia patted her lady’s waist to settle the dress. “It’s not good for you to worry and fret.”
“So I am told. Have you met Pereginy yet? She’s going to be my advisor for the next eleven months and we must all pay close attention to her prescriptions.”
“Yes'm. She’s a nice one for a Healer, not stuck on herself like some. She’ll do all right here.”
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On the floor below, Anjh was in consultation with his closest comrade.
“Well, Harad, since I have only this week and half of another to prepare, shall I give the guns a try or concentrate on the sword?”
The Prydain lieutenant stared at the weapons wall, mentally weighing the two choices. “That’s a hard question since we thought we had months to train and you insist on reducing it to days. Damn that Caffolas. You want an honest answer? Tell you what - I’ll run over the benefits and liabilities of each and you decide. OK?”
“Carry on.”
Harad hefted a two-handed sword that stretched from his feet to his waist, “Take this one here - you’ll have to use both hands on it and that might compromise your balance. Then, when you swing it, if you don’t make exact contact or - Aleo forbid - miss, there’s that balance problem. And you’ll have to wait for the enemy to come to you since you can’t run around on those uneven surfaces. On the positive - you’re better with the sword than with any other weapon; it just comes naturally to you. With someone like me at your back, you can plant yourself solidly on a spot you choose and have at it. Even those Ordmun implants can help here since they don’t tire. And don’t forget that mechar’ hand...”
“Would that I could.” Anjh snarled.
“Then take a gun,” Harad hastily continued. “If you choose the right one, you can pick your damage. We have flame, electric and projectile weapons at all levels. You’re strong enough to manage a big one so that’s no problem. The Ordmun have supplied some new sighting gadgets that should compensate for your vision. You can target individuals or groups as you will. The enemy won’t have to come to you since you can hit them at a distance and you can stake out your ground in advance. I can see you knocking off an army of enemies, Feral or Mazoid, with the right gun. On the other hand, a lot of these heavy guns have a real kick in them and you haven’t worked with them enough to overcome that - not since the sand-bear. It’s the balance thing again, you see?”
“It’s always the balance,” Anjh sighed. “I detect a bias on your part toward the guns. I’m inclined toward the sword. As you say, it’s always been my weapon - and my father’s.” The final three words were almost indistinguishable.
“I’d go for the sword if I knew you’d let me follow you and defend your back. Together we could be formidable.”
“You know I can’t take you with me. This isn’t one of the Cadre missions where we set our own goals and teams. I’m going with the Zealots - what a name! And you’re not a member of that crew. I know your loyalty, Harad, and value it but you know perfectly well that I have to do this alone.”
“There’s no shame in having a friend at your back. You don’t have to keep on proving yourself; no sane person on this world doubts your courage. You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Your chances of survival by yourself are no better than they were the last time we talked about it and you’re determined not to put anybody else in danger to help you. Why do you still have to be - the way you are - even with a son on the way? Doesn’t a man have the right to see his son at least once before he goes to the crèche? ... Does Her Ladyship know what you’re planning to do? Or even that you’re going so soon?”
“Still can’t say it, eh? A man as brave as you scared of a word... No, I haven’t mentioned any of my plans to my lady. And you keep your mouth shut, too. There’s no reason she should hear a word of this until I’m ready to tell her. I have to admit this is one time I’m grateful for our taboos. Keeping worrisome news from Jaithlym is a benefit I didn’t foresee. No reason she should hear every rumor that runs through this place.” It occurred to him that the sequestration worked both ways; the same isolation that kept Jaithlym from learning of his imminent departure preserved the details of her pregnancy from the remainder of the household and hence from the public at large.
Anjh could think of no purpose to be served by letting the particulars of Jaithlym's condition become common knowledge. Both his Prydain reticence and his own innate sense of privacy forbade any further publicity. The entire city was already abuzz with the news that the famously aloof Akamma chief was to be a mother and that was more than enough red meat to throw to the masses.
Rispa was another bother. With no one to check his behavior, the old man was busily sending messages to every other Elder from Ban Khatour to the wilds of the marsh villages announcing the miraculous news - Prydain twins! However, even that was less annoying than the endless bleating about medical testing to discover how it had happened. Once convinced that Jaithlym was truly carrying two embryos and that they were of Anjh's begetting, Rispa had become an ardent advocate of science, insisting that if Anjh died before the secret was found he would have betrayed his race by condemning it to continue its slow decline. These arguments and attempts at persuasion had been both exhausting and extremely irritating, like a cloud of gnats circling before the eyes.
His exasperation was not helped by the fact that the so-called ‘phantom’ pains were not lessening as the Healers had promised him. In fact they were growing worse. Sometimes, when he was alone and did not have to preserve his stoic facade, he would sit huddling miserably in on himself waiting for them to abate so that he could think and move again.
After being subjected to such emotional, physical and ethical pressure from his companions and his own body, Anjh found himself actually longing for the unthinking violence and brutality of battle - even in the Feneralia. He raised the sword over his head and with a resounding shout slashed down into the mat at his feet. As he buried the blade in the padding, he stumbled and fell. Harad reached for him but drew back at the angry gesture.
“I should be laughing at myself,” Anjh fumed inwardly as he awkwardly struggled to regain his feet. “It never fails; every time I start thinking that I am what I once was, events promptly humble me. If this were a real battle Ferals would be feasting on me by now.” Frustrated in his efforts to stand, he looked up at Harad and, forcing the words through clenched teeth, asked, “May I have your arm, old friend?”
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“Please tell your mistress that Lamason Diranda is here.” The delicate, pale woman with the nearly white hair fixed the quasi-human with her sky-blue eyes.
“Yez, m'lady, will you come in and wait while I announze you?”
Within minutes, Diranda was on her way to the third floor. She had been respectfully escorted by the guards to the lift and met at the top with equal respect by Tavia, Jaithlym's maid.
“Oh, Lamason, we’re so glad to see you. My lady has missed the company of her kinspeople. Do come with me.” A curtsy underlined the words.
“Diranda! How kind of you to come. You do know that I am not permitted to leave these rooms for a while? Isn’t it absurd?” Jaithlym rushed to greet the priestess with a outstretched hands. “Tavia, fetch tea at once!”
“I did wonder when I heard you had sequestered yourself up here seeing nobody except your lover and his household. What on Junonia is this all about?”
Her hostess blushed slightly, the color rising and falling almost in a heartbeat. “Well, to begin with, I’m pregnant, you know. And this... this isolation is in keeping with the traditions of the father.”
“Silly, go on and say his name; everybody in Aleofane knows about it anyway.”
“Sit down,” Jaithlym gestured to a chair “and tell me the gossip of the city. I’m starving for any news that isn’t about business. Here I am sitting at the center of a web of information in these rooms but I never seem to hear anything trivial. So tell me, who is doing what and with which and to whom?”
Diranda gave an inelegant snort and surveyed her friend carefully, “You’re looking marvelous - this life must agree with you. As for news - my dear, you’re it. The entire city has suddenly realized that you’re living right here in the middle of town with a resurrected icon and is buzzing with titillating speculation about a brood of little gods who will spread out and put things to right. Want to tell me about it so I can scotch the more febrile rumors?”
Jaithlym handed a cup to Diranda. “There’s nothing to tell. Yes, I’m living with Anjh and, yes, of course, he’s the father of this child I’m carrying. I am very happy about both facts - that’s all.”
“That’s all? You’re in a relationship with a demi-god who was killed by Archaos and brought back to life by Aleo and a bunch of Ordmun using your money and who is half-mechar’ and who keeps you locked in your own house and you think that isn’t news?”
“Diranda! Don’t start this. Money and being locked up isn’t a part of it. I have no objection to observing Prydain traditions until the birth; there’s no hardship in staying comfortably in an apartment I personally designed for myself. I’m bored with society anyway. And my paying the Ordmun is... I won’t talk about it. Drink your tea.”
The Lamason took a sip from her cup, “If you won’t talk about the lurid stuff, at least tell me why - after all the temptations I’ve watched you resist - why did you decide you wanted a baby?”
“That’s a hard question to answer and I’m not sure I can. You know me well enough to realize that I don’t follow very well and have never just gone along with someone else’s ideas. I guess I decided I wouldn’t object to a baby when we first came together; it could be a way of binding him to me. Then the more I thought about it the more intriguing the whole notion became. It would be interesting to see what the combination of the two of us might produce both physically and mentally. Finally, by the time Anjh suggested this, I was already almost convinced that it would be a good thing, so here we are - soon to unloose upon the world, for good or ill, something unique. I’m madly curious to find out how this experiment turns out. Maybe all expectant mothers are. Anyway, it’s a token of the permanence of our relationship; I, at least, have no intention of changing things. I know when I’m well suited.”
“Leave it to you to make such a peculiar pick. The whole Council was in a swivet when you just said ‘Access’ when Naufrage asked what you wanted with Anjh and now we all know exactly what you had in mind. Not that I didn’t suspect it.”
Jaithlym flushed with irritation, “You most certainly didn’t know what I had in mind. I intended all along to spirit him out the clutches of that bunch and keep them from making a public spectacle of him.”
“Such an altruistic lady! Don’t try to convince me of your pure intentions. I’ve known you too long and watched you from the time you were a minor player determined to convince the powers that you were as good as they. I know what insecurity is behind that silly motto of yours and what you’ve paid to get where you are. I also know that all your interventions haven’t stopped Naufrage from convincing the people that your pet’s actually something supernatural. Or was that your idea? It sounds a little like you and your sort of stunt. In fact, I had thought you were playing the publicity angle until I heard about your condition and felt I had better come check things out in person and see what you’re really up to. Darling, you do remember that I was at those tableaux vivants in the operating theatre and saw what had happened to your Prydain?”
“What difference does that make? Do you think I’m as shallow as you, seduced by appearances, unable to see under the surface? No, I haven’t forgotten you were there and I also haven’t forgotten that you’re the one who was against saving him in the first place and who was ready to let him die after the first round of surgeries.”
“I’m having a grand time being shallow, lots of ‘admirers’ around to keep me entertained; just like you used to have. And you know very well that I that I was only thinking of him. Can you honestly tell me that he’s happy with what they did to him? Or maybe you’re prepared to convince me that he considers half his body well lost if it won him you?... But, we’re talking about you. Is there some kind of special stimulation to be found in a synthesis of flesh and mechar’? Has he become so inured to his condition that he has the inclination to... you know, frolic? Au fond, what I want to know is... what kind of lover is he? You must be getting something more than a baby out of this. Tell me, Jaithlym, is he all that good in bed?”
“I hear that the Ombrios is having some trouble with Caffolas,” was the serene reply. “Do you think there is any possibility that a rebellion against that old tyrant is finally at hand?”
“Very well then, keep your secrets. I’ll take that as a ‘yes’; you never had any talent for gossip.”
“And you’ve always been a fraud with your ethics pose.” Jaithlym retorted good-humoredly.
“It’s a useful distraction from what I’m really up to. I made a teensy killing betting on... well, never mind. As for your question - I hope not. You don’t have any idea what a disaster Caffolas would be if he had any power at all. So far, Naufrage has managed to keep him occupied deep in the Feneralia, crouching like a mangy cat at a certain mouse hole they’ve found. It seems that they are letting him pour blood and treasure down that hole to make mock of his claim to be a great military leader. So far, he’s sent dozens of warriors to die in a nasty place called the Pit of Archaos ... What's the matter, Jaithlym? Tavia! Bring some brandy!”
“No, no, don’t bother. It’s just a momentary turn. My body is still adjusting to its new condition. Let it pass. You were saying?” Jaithlym brushed aside the concern caused by her discomfiture. She had not been aware of the full meaning of the mission Anjh had accepted and the dangers it entailed.
“Only that Naufrage is trying to keep Caffolas as far from the capitol as possible and give him every opportunity to make an utter ass of himself as a commander. So far, it seems to be working... Are you sure you’re all right?”
Jaithlym smiled, “Perfectly, just a little tired. I tire more easily than I used to. I swear there are some things going on in my body that I don’t understand at all. I’ve spent my life learning to do all the proper things in the boardroom and in the ballroom and never thought I would need to learn how to do what any animal on the planet does by instinct. Diranda, as enamored as I am of my current life, I’m not entirely sure I can recommend motherhood.”
“You poor little thing. All the money in the world, a celebrated all but immortal lover, his baby on the way and you’re begging for sympathy,” Diranda laughed with genuine affection. “I’ll go now and try to pass around your side of the story and step on all the more outrageous stuff I hear. Send word if you need one of your own kind to help you ward off the Prydain fundamentalists. And when do you have your solmari commitment? I want an invitation.”
“We haven’t discussed it yet but I’ll be sure to tell you when we do. Please, come again soon; I find I’m hungry for the company of my own people and I’d like to visit with you when you have time.”
“Of course, I’ll be back. You couldn’t keep me away. I want to know the end of the story... One last thing; was I right? Was he really seeking death?”
“Goodbye, Diranda. I enjoyed your visit.” Jaithlym smiled.
Diranda, laughing, brushed a kiss across her cheek and was gone.