Part 35 (1/2)
She held up her hand, silencing him.
”I have seen the tape.” She paused, something like pride-or possibly awe-showing in her eyes. ”You will understand that it meant very little to me. I was merely astonished that you could move so quickly, recover so well, only to have the s.h.i.+p itself fail you at the last instant...” Another pause.
”I have also read the report sent by the Master pilot, who makes points regarding Pilot Meriandra's performance that were perhaps too hard for a father to bear. The Master Pilot was clear that the accident was engineered by Pilot Meriandra, that she had several times ignored your warnings, and that she had endangered both s.h.i.+p and pilots by denying you access to your board during most of the descent. That she was not webbed in ...” Chane let that drift off. Ren Zel closed his eyes.
”I heard her scream, but I could not-the s.h.i.+p ...”
”The Master pilot commends you. The others ...”
”The others,” Ren Zel finished wearily, ”are allied to Jabun and dare not risk his anger.”
”Just so. And Obrelt-forgive us, child. Obrelt cannot s.h.i.+eld you. Jabun has demonstrated that we will starve if we reject this Balancing.”
”Demonstrated?”
She sighed. ”Eba has been released from her position, her keys stripped from her by the owner beforethe entire staff of the shop. Wil Bar was served the same, though the owner there was kind enough to receive the keys in the privacy of the back office. Both owners are closely allied with Clan Jabun.”
G.o.ds. No wonder Eba wept and would not see him.
”We will mourn you,” Aunt Chane said softly. ”They cannot deny us that.” She glanced at the clock, stepped up and offered her arm.
”It is time.”
He looked into his Aunt's face, saw sorrow and necessity. Carefully, tender of the chancy leg, put his hand on the offered arm and allowed himself to be led downstairs to die.
THE HOUSE'S MODEST ballroom was jammed to overflowing. All of Clan Obrelt, from the eldest to the youngest, were present to witness Ren Zel's death. Fewer of Clan Jabun were likewise present, scarcely a dozen, all adult, saving one child-a toddler with white-blonde hair and wide blue eyes that Ren Zel knew must be Elsu's daughter.
On the dais usually occupied by musicians during Obrelt's rare entertainments was a three-sided table, on the shortest side stood Ren Zel; Aunt Chane and Obrelt Himself were together at one of the longer sides; Jabun and his second, a grey-haired man with steel-blue eyes, stood facing them.
In the front row of witnesses sat a figure of neither House, an old and withered man who one might see a time or two a year, at weddings and funerals, always wearing the same expression of polite sadness: Tor Cam tel'Vana, the Eyes of Casia's Council of clans.
”We are here,” Jabun lifted his voice so that it washed against the far walls of the room, ”to put the death upon the man who murdered Elsu Meriandra, pilot first cla.s.s, daughter of Jabun.”
”We are here,” Obrelt's voice was milder, but no more difficult for those in the back to hear, ”to mourn Obrelt's son Ren Zel, who dies as the result of a piloting accident.”
Jabun glared, started-and was restrained by the hand of his second on his sleeve. Thus moderated, he turned his hot eyes to Ren Zel.
”What have you in your pockets, dead man? It is my Balance that you go forth from here nameless, rootless and without possessions.”
Slowly, Ren Zel reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the two cantra pieces.
”Put them on the table,” Jabun hissed.
”He will return them to his pocket,” Obrelt corrected and met the other's glare with a wide calmness.
”Ren Zel belongs to Obrelt until he dies. It is the tradition of our Clan that the dead shall have two coins, one to an eye.” He gestured toward the short side of the table, still holding Jabun's gaze. ”Ren Zel, your pocket.”
Obediently, he slipped the coins away.
Once again, Jabun sputtered; once again, he was held back by his second, who leaned forward and stared hard into Ren Zel's face.
”There is something else, dead man. We will see your license destroyed ere you are cast away.”Ren Zel froze. His license? were they mad? How would he work? How would he live?
”My nephew gave his life for that license, Honored Sir,” Aunt Chane said serenely. ”He dies because he was worthy of it. what more fitting than it be interred with him?”
”That was not our agreement,” the second stated.
”Our agreement,” said Obrelt with unbreached calm, ”was that Ren Zel dea'Judan be cast out of his Clan, and made a stranger to his kin, his loss to Obrelt to precisely Balance the loss of Elsu Meriandra to Clan Jabun. Elsu Meriandra was not made to relinquish her license in death. We desire, as Jabun desires, an exact Balancing of accounts.”
Jabun Himself answered, and in such terms that Ren Zel would have trembled, had there been room for fear beside the agony in his heart.
”You think to buy him a life? Think again! What s.h.i.+p will employ a dead man? None that Jabun knows by name.” He s.h.i.+fted, shaking off his second's hand.
In the first row of witnesses, the aged man rose. ”These displays delay and impair the death,” murmured the Eyes of Council. ”Only his Delm may lay conditions upon a dying man, and there is no death until the Delm declares it.” He paused, sending a thoughtful glance to Jabun. ”The longest Balance-death recorded stretched across three sundowns.”
Jabun glared briefly at the Eyes, then turned back to the table.
”He may retain the license,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. ”May it do him well in the Low Port.”
There was silence; the Eyes bowed toward the Balancing table and reseated himself, hands folded on his knee.
Obrelt cleared his throat and raised his voice, chanting in the High Tongue.
”Ren Zel dea'Judan, you are cast out, dead to Clan and kin. You are nameless, without claim or call upon this House. Begone. Begone.” His voice broke, steadied.
”Begone.”
Ren Zel stood at the small side of the table, staring out over the roomful of his kin. All the faces he saw were solemn; not a few were tear-tracked.
”Begone!” snarled Jabun. ”Die, child-killer!”
In the back of the ballroom, one of the smallest cousins began to wail, steeling himself, not daring to look at Chane, nor anywhere, save his own feet, Ren Zel walked forward, down the three steps to the floor; forward, down the thin path that opened as the cousins moved aside to let him gain the door; forward, down the hallway, to the foyer. The door stood open. He walked on, down the steps to the path, down the path to the gate.
”Go on!” Jabun shouted from behind. Ren Zel did not turn. He pushed the gate open and walked out.
The gate crashed shut behind him and he spun, his heart slamming into overaction. Shaking, he flattened his palm against the plate, felt the tingle of the reader and- Nothing else. The gate remained locked. His print had been removed from the House computer. He was no longer of Obrelt.He was dead.
IT WAS FULL NIGHT when he staggered into the Pilots Guildhall in Casiaport. He'd dared not break a cantra for a taxi-ride and his clan-credit had proven dead when he tried to purchase a news flimsy with the headline over his photograph proclaiming ”Pilot Dead in Flight Negligence Aftermath.” His sight was weaving and he was limping heavily off the leg that had been crushed. He had seen Lai Tor in the street a block or an eternity over, raised his hand-and his friend turned his face aside and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Dead, Ren Zel thought, and smiled without humor. Very well, then.
A ghost, he walked into the Guildhall. The duty clerk looked up, took him in with a glance and turned her face away.
”You are not required to speak to me,” Ren Zel said, and his voice sounded not quite ... comfortable ...
in his own ears. ”You are not required to acknowledge my presence in any way. However.” He pulled his license from its secret pocket and lay it face down on the reader. ”This license-this valid license -has a debt on it. This license will not be dishonored. List the license number as ”on call,” duty clerk.