Part 20 (1/2)

”Besides that,” he went on, ”if I don't make it, someone's going to have to get a message to Emperor Davis. You, preferably, or the Supreme or First Speaker, if you think they'd be better. I'll leave a set of instructions, and a message to His Majesty, explaining what I've found out. As I said, since you're of Terran origin, you're automatically Imperial citizens; at worst, you'd be treated as lost colonists. That'll change things, I hope enough to end the war as a misunderstanding.” He grimaced. ”A bad misunderstanding. It won't be easy, but it should be possible to end it without you surrendering, and you should be able to keep the worlds you still have.”

Hovan nodded again, somberly. ”Should it become necessary, Steve, I will do as you wish. When I have completed my duties as a sponsor, I will carry your message.”

Tarlac hadn't realized until that moment, when he relaxed, how tense he had been. ”Let's get back so I can finish the Ordeal, then.”

Yarra was waiting for them, standing as before at the head of the clanhome stairs. Tarlac climbed to meet her, Hovan at his right. He'd been gone less than a tenth-year, so she wasn't there to extend the traveler's greeting, and she didn't. Instead she bowed to him, formally. ”Your courage and success in returning unaided bring much honor to the clan, ruesten. Let our thanks for that welcome you home.”

Her gesture and words were formal, but her tone held warmth and true pleasure. Tarlac returned the bow, answering with equal formality and just as much warmth. ”It is good to be home, Ka'ruchaya. Any honor I bring the clan is no more than repayment for the honor I was given in being adopted.”

That response clearly pleased both Yarra and Hovan. They were on Ch'kara property now, so in-clan; neither had any hesitation in embracing Steve, even before going inside. And Tarlac returned the gesture just as eagerly, able to use his full strength as they dared not.

He took a deep breath as soon as he stepped inside the clanhome, making no effort to hold back a glad smile. ”G.o.ds, is it good to be home! I swear, even the air smells better here!”

No one answered him immediately, for he was in Daria's arms then, surrounded by others waiting their turns at him with very little patience. ”It always seems that way, ruhar,” Daria finally said, handing him bodily to Channath.

That was how everyone welcomed him back, pa.s.sing him from one to another. It wasn't at all dignified; it was totally unsuitable treatment for any Imperial officer, much less a Ranger; word of it would have caused scandalized talk; and Tarlac reveled unashamed in every glorious second of his family's greeting.

It didn't end until he'd been seated in a small dining room with a thick dornya sandwich--he was amused at how well the word fit into Language--and a mug of hot chovas. He ate, savoring the taste and the matter-of-fact thoughtfulness that had provided the meal.

Conversation, as usual, surrounded but didn't include him while he was eating. When he was finished, though, questions bombarded him to bring out every detail of his first day's wilderness experience as if for a skilled debriefing team.

Two hours later, Hovan called a halt. ”Enough! He still has half a mug of chovas we have given him no chance to drink even cold, and he is becoming hoa.r.s.e.”

He paused, looking around with an expression Tarlac had never seen on his face, almost a defiant challenge. ”And you have given him no chance to tell you what must be told. He was granted Kranath's Vision last night, and has made his Decision about the information it showed him. Only one part remains in his Ordeal.”

His words brought a moment's silence, then a babble of astonishment and doubt that sounded more like a human kindergarten than a group of adult Traiti.

Doubt? Of a Cor'naya's word? Tarlac shook his head, not ready to believe that. Was it the speed of his Ordeal, then, which surprised him too? Or was it that a human had been given Kranath's Vision? No matter which it was, he didn't like anyone doubting Hovan.

He stood and raised his arms in the stance that called for attention, and while he couldn't use the extended claws that made this stance demand it, he didn't have to. His Vision had changed things. These people were his family, yes--but they were also citizens of the Empire, and he was a Ranger; he used his authority without having to think about it.

”Look, as far as I'm concerned, this whole thing is d.a.m.n near unbelievable. Maybe it's asking too much for you to believe I've had what Hovan calls Kranath's Vision, or that I've made an Ordeal's Decision so soon. But if you have to think someone's lying, don't think it of Hovan. He's only telling you what I told him.”

Hovan turned to him, at last understanding some part of a Ranger's formidability. ”Ruhar, you need not--”

”Yes, I do,” Tarlac interrupted. ”I'm still a Ranger, until the Emperor relieves me of duty. We've got our own standards, and they include taking responsibility for whatever we do--or say.”

He returned his attention to his n'ruhar and waited.

After seconds that seemed to last forever, Yarra glanced around at her n'ruesten and said, ”Es'ruesten, I do not doubt your honor, or Cor'naya Hovan's. None of us do. We believe you saw Kranath's Vision, and that you have made your Decision, which Hovan judges correct. What concerns us now is your endurance.”

”Endurance?” Tarlac frowned, then understood with a sinking feeling.

”Oh. The Scarring. I won't have the recovery time Hovan planned for me, then.” The Scarring, by tradition, took place early the second day after the last of the other Ordeal segments--which was almost never wilderness survival.

Having spent most of the last several years in the controlled environment of his s.h.i.+p, Tarlac was no longer used to any exposure to the elements. Even though his wilderness trek had been a fairly mild test, and he was in good shape for someone who'd spent eight days living off the land, he was not ready for the most physically demanding part of the Ordeal.

”No, ruesten, it will not be easy.” Yarra's evident concern gave Tarlac the impression of a worried frown, an expression few Traiti could manage physically. ”It never is, even when the candidate is rested and at his full strength, which you are not.” She looked past Steve. ”Speaker, do you know why his Ordeal is being compressed so?”

Darya looked thoughtful, then shook her head. ”I do not know, Ka'ruchaya. I could try to guess.”

”Guess, then.”