Jacqueline Lichtenberg [Dushau Trilogy 03] Outreach

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triumphed over her need for a mate's care this time. He admired her strength
in winning that battle while a part of him squirmed in pleasure at how much
she wanted him. Mostly, though, he wanted to hold her close and make sure
she'd never have to fight such a battle again.
He wandered outside into the twilight evening. A balmy breeze wafted up from
the river, a kind breeze laden with moisture and fragrant with night-blooming
flowers. He set out to walk the perimeter of the compound. If he went into
then-quarters now, he would surely tell Dar how he felt and that could be
disastrous.
He strolled toward the wall dividing the compound for the comfort of those in
Renewal. It was shorter than the outer wall and not as sturdy, a token wall to
be honored by those not in Renewal. One day it would probably be replaced by
the more usual hedgerow that signified, Here children play and youths try
their strength.
On top of the wall near the gate a young piol sat erect, nibbling busily on
something held between two paws, almost as if waiting for the children to come
out to play. He recalled Cyrus feeding the piol on the porch. The Outriders
had made a home of their on-duty quarters, the kind of home one should only
make inside a Renewal park.
He toyed with the idea of going inside. The central gate was constantly open,
just two sections of wall overlapping in a curve. He'd never seen with his own
eyes what they'd built in there. Unbidden, the rules of courtesy for entering
a Renewal park rose to his mind. There were no children, let alone youths,
here yet. So he would simply have to keep his eyes off mated women and not
discuss the affairs of the world as if they were as vital as children.
Given his state of mind, that wouldn't be difficult. He really belonged over
there more than he did here. He stood staring at the gate, knowing that to
breach it now would give license to his desires. His will could be swamped,
and he might not regain the objectivity needed to Center.
Twilight faded. Night swallowed him, but he shunned the automatic Oliat
awareness that replaced vision, confronting the alien dark of this world. Then
he heard the singing.
Faintly at first, wafting this way and that on the evening breeze, the voices
of dozens of Dushau women joined in the old, familiar harmonies of the Aliom
evening chants as they walked to the site of their Temple. A painful warmth
rose in his chest. Even without an Active Priest, Aliom was organizing a
community.
He hadn't thought about it in more than a thousand years, but suddenly he
yearned for the daily routine of Renewal walking to the Temple at dawn,
chanting the men's songs,
giving the dawn music lesson, conducting the mealtime study, training and
teaching drills, and theory classes, coming home to play with his babies or
joining them in silent discovery of the universe, feeding his children,
dancing and playing sports with his youngsters and giving dayclose table
ceremonies for his family, dancing and singing with his wife and the tight
cycle of commemorative days altering the content of the routine but not the
daily rhythm.
They would have to make new commemoratives. He quailed before the size of the
task. He would have no one senior to him to teach him. He couldn't lead this
community.
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But the distant music swept him back into visions of sweet days filled with
routine, building a secure world for growing minds. How beautiful it was to
dwell with family, every shared event deepened by shared insights into the
errors of old habits. How wonderful to share the unfolding evolution of a
mate's soul waking each morning not quite sure who this person would be today,
or who you, yourself, would be.
He appreciated the truth of the old saying, "Children give birth to the
parents." Raising Darllanyu's children would make him a completely different
person than he could become raising any other woman's children.
Even knowing that much of their time here would be spent constructing
buildings or producing basic goods, he was ready to get started. But he could
not enter those gates alone.
As he stood captivated by the distant women's song, their voices faltered.
Softly he sang the tune, as if to teach them. They needed an Active Priest.
And if any of them were to survive adjusting to this planet they needed him to
ignite the complementary worldcircle in the Active Temple. Its ruddy glow
would be perceptible only to die Aliom-trained, who could enter the Temple,
but the influence of the pair of circles would vitalize the whole community.
They could use the circles to help those fighting dysattunement. Pregnant
women would come to the Active circle to dedicate their children to
Completion.
He saw Darllanyu, pregnant as could be, standing in that rosy glow, happily
leading the women's chant. The image faded. He scrubbed his face with both
hands, hoping, though he had no gift, that this was prophecy.
"Jindigar?"
It was a very tentative whisper, and Jindigar turned to find Threntisn
hesitating at a distance. "We're adjourned."
Threntisn approached, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his loose black
jerkin. He was wearing a dark turban with a deep purple shirt and trousers,
making himself virtually invisible. Jindigar could sense the presence of the
Archive, a glittering swirl, muted now by the wards placed around it for
tomorrow's debriefing. He knew what it was like to carry that Archive but not
what it might be to feed it data and watch it grow, to ask it questions and
find answers put there lifetimes ago by custodians long dead and forgotten.
"Do you recall the Century Song?" asked Threntisn.
"You know I was raised in a Historian family. How could I not?" The children's
song enumerated the centuries of a life leading to Completion, assigning a
lesson to each century, a challenge to be conquered. It had been one of
Jindigar's favorite songs. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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