No Other Love Page 5

  Standing behind them, Merin tried to hand the last of the medical equipment to Alla while at the same time attempting to shrink into invisibility. Relieved when Alla snatched the packages from her hands and began to stow them, she turned to leave the shuttlecraft. Herne’s answer to Alla’s question stopped Merin with one hand on the hatch.

  “I think this part of the planet should be permanently quarantined, and I’m going to tell Tarik so,” Herne said. “Osiyar believes this Ananka creature only exists here at Tathan, and can’t moved elsewhere. If we stay out of this area, it shouldn’t bother us again.”

  “You are the one it bothered, Herne.” Alla shot him an amused look. “Did you have a good time with her?”

  “You know, Alla,” said Herne, red-faced and flashing a quick glance in Merin’s direction, “you have a remarkable talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong moment.”

  “If you had a woman of your own,” Alla told him, “you wouldn’t have to resort to mysterious spirits.”

  “Tarik believes it was all an illusion and so do I,” Herne grated, not hiding his anger at her.

  “Illusion is even worse,” Alla said sweetly. “Merin, where did you put – now where did she go?”

  Too upset by the conversation to listen to any more, Merin had left the shuttlecraft to stand beside the ruined pillar, where she stared toward the grotto while struggling with bitter jealousy, an emotion she had never dreamed she was capable of feeling until a few days earlier. Osiyar found her there.

  “I have wanted to speak with you in private,” he said. “Merin, I know you are frightened and lonely. It need not be so. If Tarik were to learn the truth about you, I think his reaction would be far milder than you imagine. Tarik is a tolerant man.”

  “Others are not,” Merin snapped at him with unusual spirit. “Alla, for instance. Or Herne. But it doesn’t matter what others might think. I took an oath and I can’t break it.”

  “Circumstances change,” he said. “I was once bound with the twin bracelets of a High Priest and sworn never to touch a woman. Yet today my wrists are bare and I regularly make love with Alla. I am only suggesting that you consider your present situation and do what seems best to you.”

  “I can’t change, Osiyar. You know that.”

  “So stubborn.” His smile softened the effect of the hard word. After a moment he seemed to move on to another subject. “Have you pondered the mystery of the recorder you found here? The only possible explanation that occurs to me seems incredible. Yet I, of all men, know how easily the impossible can become reasonable and simple.”

  It was only much later that Merin realized he was still talking about her, and it would take terrifying alterations in her life before she could comprehend that Osiyar had understood the mystery of the recorder all along.

  * * * * *

  The return trip northward was smooth and uneventful, though from the high altitude at which they flew the travelers could see the heavy clouds gathering along the northwestern horizon, forerunners of the expected snowstorm. When the shuttlecraft had landed at Home, near the round white building set on an island in a lake, Merin watched Tarik greet his wife with a kiss and a close embrace. To her surprise, for the first time in her experience among these overly demonstrative non-Oressians, she was not disgusted by the sight of openly expressed emotion. Pondering the meaning of this change in her sensitivity, she took the path toward the center of the island, to the headquarters building. Herne fell into step beside her.

  “Come to surgery later,” he said, “and I’ll do the final repair on your cheek.”

  “Thank you, no.” To get away from him, Merin hurried into the building, to the room she shared with Carlis, one of the communication officers. Carlis wasn’t there. Grateful for the privacy, Merin began to unpack. She was not quite finished when there was a tap on the door. Without waiting for her permission, Herne entered.

  “I know it’s only a small scar,” he said, “but I would like to remove it.”

  “I said no.”

  “How have I offended you?” When she did not answer, Herne said, “You know Tarik wants all of us to get along together. There are too few of us to allow the luxury of quarrels.”

  “You are the one who quarrels most,” she said. “With Alla on subjects best not discussed at all, with Tarik now and then, and frequently with Osiyar.”

  “You don’t seem to understand the distinction between an honest difference of opinion among friends and a real fight.”

  “I do not quarrel,” she said.

  “No, you just drift around the edges of any gathering, saying nothing, contributing no opinions. You display no emotion, except for that one time when you were angry with me. It’s not healthy to repress your emotions so rigidly.”

  “I am what I am,” she said. “I cannot change.”

  “You are an intelligent human being,” he told her. “Of course you can change. Merin, I would like to be your friend.”

  Even with her complete lack of experience with men, Merin understood that what Herne was offering would be something very different from Osiyar’s friendship. He proved the truth of her assumptions at once. She should have been watching him more carefully. If she had, she might have prevented him from tilting her chin upward and planting his mouth over hers. If she had been prepared she could have kept her lips pressed tightly together and endured the pressure of his mouth until he realized there was nothing in her to give him any pleasure. But she was not prepared. Her lips were half open on an intake of breath and his tongue slid past them to touch the tip of her own.

  “No!” He was not holding her, so it was easy enough to pull her chin from his fingers and spring backward. “I warned you not to touch me. Go away!”

  “Why are you so afraid?”

  “If you want a woman,” she said coldly, recalling his verbal skirmish with Alla while they were still at Tathan, “go to your chamber and dream of Ananka.”

  She managed to control her trembling by keeping her eyes fixed on the floor and standing perfectly still while he stared at her for a long, silent moment. Finally, when the tension between them had stretched out until she thought she would begin to scream, he left her, closing the door after himself with quiet, deliberate care.

  She sprang at the door, to seal it shut so he could not return and so no one else could disturb her. By then she was so weakened by the unwelcome emotions raging through her that she could no longer stand. She started toward her bed, but did not reach it. She sank onto her knees, her head resting on the corner of the mattress. And then, for the first time in her twenty-five years of totally disciplined life, Merin gave way to tears.

  * * * * *

  Herne stalked out of Merin’s chamber, across the central room of headquarters, and through the main door with a face so set and grim that even Gaidar the Cetan warrior did not dare to speak to him. He knew Alla expected him in surgery, to help her unpack their equipment and afterward to take inventory of the medical supplies left on the shuttlecraft. He had reports to feed into the computer, the medical records made during his absence to read, the duty roster to check, his personal unpacking to do. All of that would have to wait until he had calmed himself enough to think and speak rationally.

  He avoided the path that led to the beach where the shuttlecraft sat, knowing he would find people there cleaning and refueling the ship. He did not want to talk to anyone. He wanted privacy, so he headed for the other side of the island, moving with long, angry strides until he reached the shore. Drawing a deep breath, he rested one foot on a rock, crossed his arms on his knee, and let his mind go blank for a while.

  The scene before him almost always brought peace to his chronically troubled spirit. The cold western wind was whipping up waves on the lake, sending spray and foam far up the beach. In the distance rose the single snowcapped peak that Tarik had named Mount Narisa. Nearer was the forest that grew right down to the edge of the lake. When he had left for Tathan the trees were flaming with
brilliant shades of autumn reds and golds, but now they were bare. Gray or black branches lifted toward the cloudy sky, their wind-driven rustles and creakings sounding like prayers for protection against the bitter winter still to come. Herne wished he could raise his own arms and shout out his anguish.

  He had never in his life been happy for more than a few moments at a time. His native Sibirna had demanded toughness and too-frequent violence from anyone who wanted to survive there. Herne had been forced to hide the gentler part of his nature, having learned early that no one would understand his feelings. His attempts at disguise had not always been successful, most notably in the incident with his dying aunt and, a year before that, with a girl he had cared for who had called him weak and cowardly when he did not beat her as she had passionately hoped.

  He had left Sibirna with his parents’ approval and their fervent wish that he never return. They had another son who would carry on the bloodline, and they thought Herne was a disgrace to his family. The time of his medical studies had been a difficult period, but eventually he learned to direct his Sibirnan hardness toward the disease or the injury he was battling, which left him free to treat his patients with the kindness they deserved until they were well again. Herne knew he had become a good physician.

  As for women, there had been a few, and might have been more, since women seemed to like his brown-haired, rugged looks. Certainly he would have welcomed a companion who would love him and no other. But Herne had carefully stayed free of serious emotional entanglements because of his growing disillusionment with the rigid Jurisdiction laws and with anyone who could accept them. He had sensed that a day would arrive when he would want to leave the Jurisdiction, and then a woman would only be an encumbrance.

  In his disenchantment he was no different from anyone else now on Dulan’s Planet. Like the other colonists, he had seen it as a place where he could begin a new life. But he had brought his past with him, and the inner battle continued between his harsh and brutal upbringing and the gentler nature he ached to set free.

  To Herne’s left, not far from the island shore, rose the cliffs where the Chon lived. He watched the birds soaring on the wind, diving to snare fish from the lake, then winging back to their caves in the rock. Here, with the mountain in the distance, the lake at his feet, and the Chon going about their business, he could usually relax. But not today, not while Merin crowded his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to banish her. He could still feel the way her soft lips had moved against his mouth, the heat of her tongue when he touched it with his own. But then, before she could begin to respond completely, came her implacable withdrawal from him and her scornful words. Never before had he continued to want a woman who had shown so positively that she wanted nothing to do with him. He could not understand his own reactions.

  After a while he decided there was no point in wasting any more time staring at the landscape. He wasn’t going to feel better no matter how long he stood there. He ought to go back to the building and get to work.

  With a rustle of emerald wings, a Chon settled on the pebbly beach near him. It was so large that Herne and the bird were of a height, and when he turned toward it, the Chon regarded him with its head cocked to one side, as if it were studying him.

  “All right,” said Herne, kicking a stone into the lake, “since you are supposed to be so star-blasted intelligent, why don’t you give a friend some advice? Why don’t you tell me the reason Merin is so withdrawn from all emotion and what I can do about it? Why can’t I reach her? And while you’re answering questions, tell me what really happened at Tathan and why that creature in the grotto looked almost like Merin. Would you know if I were going mad? Would you tell me?”

  The bird stood quietly, watching him from shining black eyes.

  “Shall I touch you, the way Osiyar does?” Herne wondered, taking a step forward. The bird did not move. If it wanted to, it could peck out his eyes with its long, toothed beak. A swipe of its wing would dash him to the ground. Herne lifted one hand, but something in him, some deep Sibirnan inhibition, kept him from touching the bird.

  “There is – was – a golden statue in Tathan,” he said, and stopped speaking because the bird’s head had moved closer to his.

  For an instant, for just a flash of time, as soft green feathers brushed against his cheek, Herne’s mind was filled with the image of that white hall in Tathan, of the statue of a Chon, and of people, men and women and a few nonhumans, all in brightly colored robes, crowding the hall, mingling with the Chon. Even in that brilliant assembly, the birds of green or blue shone like fabulous gems. Herne imagined he saw himself standing beside a woman in a gorgeously jeweled gown. Then suddenly the picture was gone and he felt as if his brain had been forcibly torn out of his skull. Drenched in pain, he stumbled toward the rock where he had been standing, reaching out with both hands to hold onto it and thus support himself.

  “What does it mean?” he gasped.’

  “What does what mean?” Osiyar appeared from among the trees and walked down the beach toward Herne.

  “That bird – my head is splitting.” Herne rubbed at his forehead.

  “I shouldn’t wonder.” Osiyar regarded him calmly. “I saw what you were doing and I would advise you not to try to communicate with the Chon again. Sibirnans don’t have the right kind of minds for telepathy.”

  “Believe me, if I survive this headache, I won’t ever forget that,” Herne promised.

  “What were you trying to learn?” asked Osiyar.

  “Just what you’d expect,” Herne replied in a sour voice.

  “The Chon and I are telepaths, not magicians,” Osiyar chided him. “If you want your fortune told, you must look inside yourself. If you want to know another person’s thoughts, ask that person.”

  “And what do you suggest I do,” Herne demanded, still rubbing his aching head, “if I ask and I’m given no answer?”

  “Then you have a choice to make,” said Osiyar, smiling at the bird. “Give up the question. Or ask it again, in a different way.”

  The Chon bobbed its head up and down, then ruffled its feathers. Herne laughed in genuine amusement

  “Does it understand us?” he asked.

  “Every thought,” said Osiyar, his hand reaching toward the bird.

  “Perhaps I’ll take your advice.” Herne suddenly felt much better. “Yours and his. I’ll wait for a while and ask the question again.”

  * * * * *

  The predicted snowstorm arrived on schedule and lasted for a day and a night. By the second morning more than a foot of dry, crunchy flakes had accumulated on the island, and the heavy clouds suggested more would fall before long.

  Merin was given the job of clearing a path from the headquarters building to the shuttlecraft on the beach. With the snow so light in texture, the work was easy. Soon she was well beyond the central clearing, working her way through the swathe of leafless trees and bushes that ringed the island. When she heard the sound of boots on snow behind her, she straightened.

  “Medical supplies for the shuttlecraft,” Herne said, indicating the boxes in his arms.

  He brushed past her and continued on his errand while she stood gazing after him. She did not lift her shovel again until he had disappeared through the shuttlecraft hatch. By the time he re-emerged she had shoveled all the way to the beach and it had begun to snow again. Herne stopped beside her. Glancing at him, she saw a flash of humor in his eyes.

  “Did you ever have a snowball fight?” he asked, pulling off his gloves. “Or have you ever washed with snow?”

  “No.” She did not add that either sounded like a foolish activity to her.

  “Does it snow on Oressia?” He bent to scoop snow into his hands.

  “Sometimes.” She remembered large, wet flakes falling into the gray Southern Sea, and the sharp edge of a seawall softened by a blanket of white, until Herne’s actions snapped her back to the present. “What are you doing?”

  “Asking the question
in a different way,” he said, his words only mystifying her further. “This stuff is too dry to make good snowballs, but not too dry for a nice wash. Hold still. It won’t hurt.” His hands were full of snow. He raised them to her face. With a gentle, almost tender motion, he began to rub the snow against her skin.

  Merin was so surprised by this unexpected gesture that she could not move. She was blushing again. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, and the snow was wonderfully cool and moist as it began to melt. When he rubbed a little of it on her forehead flakes fell on her brows and lashes. The wet drops trickled into her eyes, blurring her vision. The outline of Herne’s face became unclear….

  An instant later she saw him more precisely. Behind his head the sky was a deep purple-blue, and a late summer sun shone upon them. Herne’s face was tanned; he was grinning at her, white teeth flashing, his eyes crinkling with laughter. She knew him so well, knew the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingers, knew what it was like to be held in his arms. The way she felt inside was familiar to her, too, the warmth, the lightness, as though her brain would burst with the intensity of it. Sunlight and warmth. Peace and comfort. And something else, an emotion she had never experienced, yet an emotion so familiar to her that it was an intrinsic part of her being.

  “Merin.” In the warm sunshine, Herne’s hand brushed her cheek….

  “Merin?” The sky was gray and cold. Delicate snowflakes fell between them. Herne wiped half-frozen moisture off her face. “Well, how did you like your first snow-wash?”

  “I – I’m not sure.” Snow had fallen into the neck of her jacket and melted there. She shivered. “Did you – did I – have we been here all the time?”

  “Right here on the path.” He looked at her with that intense, wary gaze of his. “You’re almost as white as the snow. I didn’t think a little bit of cold would send you into a state of shock.”