Fearful Symmetry: A Terran Empire novel

  Chapter VIII

  There was unspoken but very real tension in the clan the next morning,and to Tarlac, time seemed to creep and fly simultaneously. He waschilly, wearing only the traditional scarlet trousers and quilted houseboots--and weaponless; this was the only time a fighter had to gounarmed--but he wasn't sure his chill was entirely due to thetemperature. First-meal didn't help, either. Instead of the eggs anddornya meat he'd planned on, he couldn't face more than a mug ofchovas. He was rediscovering, as he had several times during hiscareer, that fear wasn't an appetite stimulant.

  Even so, it wasn't until about an hour later, standing between Hovanand Yarra while they waited for the gathering hall doors to open, thathe realized just how afraid he was. He wasn't ashamed of hisfear--Hovan and other n'Cor'naya had told him that nobody went into theScarring unafraid--but he did wish he'd been spared the physicalsymptoms. His mouth was dry, his palms were wet, and sweat wasbeginning to trickle down his ribs.

  Finally, the doors opened to admit them.

  His n'ruhar formed a silent aisle, as they had the first time Tarlachad seen the gathering hall. On the surface, everything appearedalmost identical; it was the emotional climate that had changed. Then,he had been a stranger; now he shared the clan's spirit and love aswell as its name. He was grateful for their presence and support, andhe thought with a trace of amusement that it was too bad he didn'tshare their confidence in him as well.

  Trying not to be obvious about it, Tarlac wiped his damp hands on thelegs of his trousers. He wanted it to be over with, finished one wayor the other. In half an hour he'd either be in the clan's infirmary oron its altar, and at the moment he was inclined to agree with theothers: it did seem to be in the hands of the Lords.

  He stepped forward, slightly ahead of his sponsor and Ka'ruchaya. Thispart of the Ordeal, unlike the rest, was steeped in ritual, and hedidn't want to make any mistakes that would reflect badly on theclan--especially not in front of the First Speaker and Supreme, who werehonoring Ch'kara by their presence at this ceremony. More, they werehere to administer the Scarring themselves, a thing unprecedented.

  Just as unprecedented, Tarlac thought wryly, as it had been for him tobe kidnapped by arrangement of the Circle of Lords and coerced intotaking the Ordeal. Since the orders for that had come through the tworulers, it seemed only fitting that they participate now, as well.

  Climbing the three steps to stand before them at the altar, he formallyidentified himself--"Esteban Tarlac of Clan Ch'kara, Ranger of theTerran Empire"--and bowed, hands crossed over his bare chest. That wasas much to the statuettes on the altar's upper tier as to the tworulers. "I ask the blessing of the Circle of Lords as I attempt thisfinal part of the Ordeal they ask of me."

  The green-robed First Speaker extended her hand to touch his forehead."That they give you, child of two worlds. They will be with you inthis." Her touch of blessing, her quiet words, carried more thanreassurance and serenity, though he was unable to exactly define thefeeling they brought him. When he turned to the Supreme, his hands weredry.

  "Are you prepared?" the male ruler asked.

  "I am prepared," Tarlac replied.

  Hovan and Yarra moved to stand at either end of the altar while theFirst Speaker took a small gold cup from its center and extended it, inboth hands, to the Ranger.

  Tarlac accepted the cup, raised it in salute to the Lords, and drank,almost nauseated by the syrupy, too-sweet liquid. He returned theempty cup and turned again to face the Supreme, who reached out andrested extended claws just below the base of Tarlac's throat. "Tellme, Ranger, when the sweetness turns bitter," the Traiti said quietly.

  "I will."

  The liquid, Tarlac knew, was a highly specific drug called Ordealpoison, the dose measured carefully for his body mass and metabolism.It was primarily a nerve-impulse enhancer that affected pain responsesmost strongly during its short period of influence--but it had another,more dangerous property. Losing consciousness while the drug wasworking was fatal.

  This part of the Ordeal tested willpower and endurance with direct,basic simplicity; while Traiti were harder to injure than humans, andhealed more rapidly, they were as subject to pain as their smallercousins. Even the drug's brief effect cost some candidates their livesas agony robbed them of consciousness.

  But remaining conscious was all--all? Tarlac thought--that wasrequired. If he made it that far, he'd be getting medical help withinseconds, from the clan's chief physician herself and from a humandoctor, one of the prisoners, whom Channath had asked to have present.

  The Ordeal poison was working. Tarlac tasted bitterness from the foamforming in his mouth, and the Supreme's claws seemed to gouge his skin,though he knew they were touching him as lightly as before. "It'shappening," he said steadily.

  The Supreme inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, it seemed toTarlac, of more than his words. Then the claws dug in, made a swiftslash down the Ranger's chest and upper belly.

  Tarlac screamed and fell to his knees, blood running over hands thatinstinctively clutched at the terrible wounds.

  He'd been hurt before, sometimes badly. He'd been hit by shrapnel,burned, shot--everything that could happen to someone in combat, shortof death--but none of it had prepared him for this drug-aided agonythat left him unable to move, gasping for irregular breaths as bloodsoaked the front of his trousers and began pooling on the altar dais.

  His world narrowed to himself, to the pain in his upper body and theneed to remain conscious. Nothing else could be allowed to matter: notthe blood he couldn't hold back, its loss draining his strength; notthe bitter foam that choked him, obstructing his already-laboredbreathing. He had to concentrate his full attention on staying awayfrom the darkness that offered to gather him into its eternal peace ifhe should relax for even an instant.

  Hovan stood watching Steve's motionless struggle to remain conscious.He himself had been neither silent nor unmoving under the torment theman he sponsored was now enduring, and he felt deep pride in hisclanmate. He'd seen nearly a hundred n'ruhar go through this, andSteve was doing very well. Yet . . . something was wrong.

  Ordeal poison did make blood flow more freely, yes, and let woundsbleed more than was normal, yet even now, when its effects should bestarting to wear off-- Hovan felt a stab of dismay. Humans bled somuch more easily than Traiti did to begin with, and Steve had neededmedical help after the blood exchange--had Channath allowed enough forhuman differences in calculating Steve's dosage?

  He glanced at the two physicians, and wasn't reassured by their evidentconcern. Not surprisingly, the human doctor looked angry as well asworried--but Channath was worried too, which wasn't normal for her.Hovan realized that she had allowed for human frailty . . . but noteven she could allow for a possible over-reaction, as unpredictable ashis earlier allergy to their liquor!

  Tarlac tossed his head, muscles no longer locked by agony though hestill fought the pain assaulting his weakened system. He coughed,spitting out a last mouthful of the bitter froth, and took a deep,gasping breath as he collapsed to the dais. The inviting dark beckonedmore seductively, its promise of an end to pain harder and harder tofight . . . No! He had to resist that pull! But his eyes wereclosing, his breath taking more effort . . .

  At least his mouth and throat were empty--no more foam--and the painwas subsiding to a more normal intensity. Yeah, sure, he thought inEnglish, but the rest of the thought was in Language: the drug must bewearing off. He felt light, almost floating, as if he were in alow-grav field.

  Channath's sharp "Now!" as she and the human doctor moved toward theRanger freed Hovan to kneel beside Steve and raise the man's head.

  "You made it, Cor'naya," he said quietly, with pride. "You succeeded,as I was sure you would."

  Tarlac forced unwilling eyes open, looking up into the familiar grayface he'd learned to respect, then to love. "I really made it?" heasked in a whisper.

  "You really made it," Hovan assured him. "Rest easy now. As soon
asChannath and Dr. Jason stop the bleeding, they will give you somethingfor your pain. And when you recover, what a party the clan will have!"

  "Clan party . . ." Tarlac managed a faint smile, his thoughts startingto drift. "Tha'd be nice . . ."

  "Later, Steve." Hovan smiled too, pushing sweat-damp hair away fromthe man's face. "Rest now, I said. It is over."

  "Yeah . . . guess so. Worth it, though . . . worth it all. 'M tired. . . so tired . . . gotta sleep . . ." Tarlac's eyes closed and hesighed, going utterly limp.

  "Steve?"

  There was no answer; Hovan had known there wouldn't be. He had seentoo many people die to hold false hopes, and only concern for hisruhar's honor kept him from voicing his outrage to the Lords, his briefbut bitter anger at the injustice of their letting Steve complete theOrdeal only to die in his arms.

  The human doctor had no such qualms. He turned on Hovan, furious."Satisfied, you damn Shark? In a hospital I could maybe still savehim--not here! No human could survive that kind of pain, system shock,bleeding--not without help! He's dead, and you killed him!"

  "Steve wished to bring peace," Hovan interrupted, in English suddenlyas fluent as his Language. He noticed it, briefly, but in his angerand sorrow it didn't seem to matter. "The Ordeal was his only chance,and he took that chance knowing this was possible--thinking it wasinevitable. Do not dishonor his memory--instead, represent his Empireat his leavetaking."

  "What the hell-- You mean that, don't you?" Dr. Jason didn't want tobelieve it, but the Traiti's soft voice, the way he still cradled theRanger's head, wouldn't allow disbelief. "You're sorry he died!"

  "I cared for him, yes," Hovan said. "His death is a thing of muchsadness, yet he went to it in full honor, and in his clan. None canexpect more from the Lords." He stood, picking up Steve's slight body."Will you honor him with us?"

  "I . . . yes. You're right. Someone from the Empire should be there."

  "Good." Hovan turned and left the gathering hall, taking Steve's bodyto a small room nearby to carry out a sponsor's most distasteful duty--of preparing the one he sponsored, when that one succumbed, forPresentation and Transformation. The preparations he had been so surewould not be needed had of course been made; the room held what wasrequired. A large table held a container of water with cloths besideit, and the Ranger's uniform was hanging up.

  Hovan stripped the body and began to wash it, working as gently as ifthe man could still feel. Then he dressed Steve Tarlac in the forestgreen of his Imperial rank, leaving the shirt open to show the man'swounds.

  Finished, he inspected the body carefully. Yes, everything was proper.The uniform was spotless, the badge and leather items polished to ahigh gloss, the gun fully charged. His ruhar would go before the Lordsas a Cor'naya of Ch'kara should. He picked up the body again andreturned to the foot of the altar dais.

  The Supreme, the First Speaker, and Dr. Jason were no longer on thenewly-cleaned dais. Transformation was a clan matter; they couldobserve, but not participate. Instead, Ka'ruchaya Yarra and SpeakerDaria were there. Hovan bowed his head to them, then looked up andspoke the ritual words. "I bring Esteban Tarlac of Clan Ch'kara to theCircle of Lords. He has given honor to the clan."

  "We sorrow at his loss," Yarra said, "yet we glory in that honor." Sheturned to the Speaker. "As Ka'ruchaya of Ch'kara, I ask the Lords toreceive this man, my ruesten."

  Daria inclined her head. "The Lords welcome those who die in honor.Who, Ka'ruchaya, do you choose to present him?"

  "He who is closest to him, who shares his blood and bears him now."

  Hovan thanked her silently for that. While it was the Ka'ruchaya'schoice, tradition suggested that the oldest male present perform thatfinal service for the dead.

  The Speaker and Ka'ruchaya drew back to allow him to pass with hisburden. He climbed the steps and crossed the dais slowly, to lay hisruhar's body on the lower level of the altar. Then he made hisfarewells, touching Steve's wounded chest and his forehead. Finally hestepped back and made obeisance to the figures on the upper level, aformal bow.

  A shimmering appeared around the body, hazing its outlines but notobscuring it, as Hovan moved to stand at the end of the altar nearSteve's head. He would hold vigil there until, at this time the nextday, the Lords would take the man to themselves in a flare of blue.