Melissa Scott: Shadow Man

Mesnie, mesnies : (Hara) basic unit of (traditional) Haran society, a group of households (i.e., a man, a woman, and their children) living together in a single compound and usually working together at a profession or industry; all the households in mesnie are related, and marriage within the mesnie is considered incest and forbidden.

Clan: (Hara) one of the fourteen political, social, and familial groupings that form the basis of Haran society; although the people who formed the first clans were not actually related, but rather chose to affiliate themselves with one of the original fourteen founders, at this point the clans are interrelated in complex and often confusing fashion. Each clan controls a particular territory, which varies in the quality and abundance of its resources; the Stane clan has parlayed their original good luck into economic and political dominance of the planet.

Watch: (Hara) largest division of Haran society, based on the original divisions of the ship that brought the first colonists to Hara. There are five Watches: White (command), Blue (medical/scientific), Black (engineering), Green (land-trained colonists), and Red (ocean-trained colonists). Watches retain certain administrative duties, and are also used to determine marriageability; the larger clans are split between Watches to help keep the genetic mix stable.

The White Watch House was built like any other mesnie hall, but on a much grander scale. Warreven leaned on the railing of the gallery that ran around three walls, looking out over the crowd below. They still filled the open area at the center of the hall, though the crowd around Aldess Donavie had thinned out a little. She looked grateful, if anything, though it was hard to tell beneath the drape of the white-and-silver shaal that covered her dark hair. Still, she was doubly alien here, a Stane only by marriage, Red Watch rather than White; it couldn’t be easy to perform the rituals of mourning and absolution without the comfort of her own clan’s ancestor tablets, her own kin to offer advice.

And that, Warreven thought, was just the sort of sentiment Aldess herself would never tolerate. She had gone into her marriage clear-eyed—eager, even—for the power of being married to the son of the Most Important Man, and if she regretted this miscarriage, it was largely because it put off the day that she confirmed her status by becoming the mother of his child. If she had looked worn-out when he had paid his formal regrets, the lines on her face suddenly stark, it was only the physical stress. This was her fourth miscarriage in nearly eighteen bioyears of marriage; she would have to be worrying about her ability to carry any child to term, wondering whether to seek off-world help. They had been at school together, years ago, and he remembered her ambitions: if she had to go off-world to find a way to consolidate her position, her rank within the most important of the Stane mesnie s, she would do it without hesitation. At least Stane was rich enough to afford that intervention.

Warreven heard laughter from the north end of the hall, a familiar, rich sound intended to carry, and leaned forward a little against the railing. Temelathe Stane, Speaker for the Watch Council, and the Most Important Man on Hara in fact as well as in sour jokes, stood on the low dais, head thrown back, still laughing at something the man at his side had said. As Warreven watched, Temelathe clapped the stranger on the shoulder, said something, still grinning. The stranger smiled back—an off-worlder, almost certainly a representative of one of the out-system pharmaceutical companies that dominated Hara’s economy—and stepped away. Temelathe stood alone for an instant, hands on hips, legs spread wide, surveying the hall. Consciously or not, his pose echoed the Captain carved on the wall above him, and Warreven allowed himself a rather bitter smile. The massive carving—it was a famous work of art, commissioned a hundred years ago by Stane from his own Stiller clan, showing all seven of the spirits who mediated between God and man—had recently been repainted. The colors glowed in the sunlight that streamed in through the gallery windows and the wide-open doors, and there was no mistaking the resemblance between the Captain’s face and Temelathe’s broad bones. He had even pulled his gray hair into an old-fashioned knot at the nape of his neck, imitating the carving. Duredent Stiller, who had carved the piece, would be turning over in his grave if he could see it, Warreven thought. The rivalry between Stane and Stiller was old and deep, dating from before the first days of settlement, from the colony ship itself and the legendary animosity between Captain Stane and Chief Stiller; the fact that Stane had in effect won that ancient battle only made the situation worse. In the carving, the Heart-breaker turned her face away, smiling at Caritan crouching at her skirts, and Cousin-Jack, the spirit of the land, shaded his eyes to look into an invisible distance, but even Duredent had been unable to blunt the Captain’s authority. The rest of the spirits—Genevoe the Trickster, stolid Madansa of the Markets, even Agede, the keeper of the door between life and death—stood shoulder to shoulder with the Captain, their domains meaningless without the Captain’s strength to support them.

There was a movement in the crowd then, and a young man in the traditional tunic-and-trousers suit forced his way to the dais, said something quietly to Temelathe. The Most Important Man nodded, and then clapped his hands loudly. Heads turned all across the hall, conversation stopping instantly as people realized who was summoning their attention.

“Miri, mirrimi,” Temelathe called. “And our distinguished off-world visitors. If you haven’t yet paid your respects to my daughter-in-law, this is your last chance to do it.” He paused then, but no one moved. From his place in the balcony, Warreven saw Aldess lean sideways, murmuring something to another woman he didn’t recognize. Tendlathe, Temelathe’s only son and her husband, was nowhere in sight.

“The wheel has turned,” Temelathe went on, “and the doors have opened. We welcome the spirits who carry us as we carry them in our hearts.” He nodded to the young man beside him, who lifted a bell in a carved and painted frame. It was metal, forged from the salvage of the ship that had brought their ancestors to Hara, and its odd, resonant note carried weirdly in the stillness. It was answered by the shrilling of a whistle, and then the beat of drums. The people by the entrance gave way, clearing a path, and familiar figures danced in—two vieuvants , the old souls who served God and the spirits, moving as though carried on the heady rhythm. The first vieuvant was dressed as Agede, all in black, one eye blinded by a dark patch, the second as the Heart-breaker, her cheek scored with the three parallel lines that marked that spirit. She carried a new shaal , brilliant saffron silk embroidered with glittering glass beads and shells and even a scattering of metal, and spun it into the air as she twirled through her dance. All around the hall, people began clapping, picking up the rhythm of the drums.

Agede led her up the hall, three drummers following them, and then back down again, stopped at last in front of Aldess. She touched her lips in dutiful acknowledgment, lowering her shaal to her shoulder, and the vieuvant produced a bottle of sweetrum from under his tunic. He lifted it in salute, drank, then sprayed a second mouthful of the liquid over Aldess’s face and hair. She accepted the blessing without flinching and there were cheers and scattered, off-beat clapping from the onlookers. The second vieuvant spun forward then, skirts belling as she turned, dipped, and extended the length of saffron silk. Aldess touched her lips again, and took it, wrapped it in place of the other, over her head and shoulders. There were more cheers, and the vieuvant s turned away, dancing back toward the doors, the drummers following at a respectful pace.