Kate Elliott - Jaran

Three days passed, riding. Three nights, she pitched her tent so that its entrance faced away from the others, out at the edge of the little camp, and Kirill crept in. Always in the best of humor, despite the damned rain. As well he might be. No one commented. It was beginning to look likely that he would win their wager.

"Gods," said Yuri to her as he helped her set up her tent that night, where they had camped at the edge of a range of hills. "If Bakhtiian has said ten words these past four days it's been out of my hearing."

"He's in pain. That he can ride all day amazes me."

"Does it? It shouldn't. He is Bakhtiian, after all. What he really needs is a woman to take pity on him and find a way to take his mind off that injured knee."

"Yuri. No, no, no, no, no."

"If you insist, but I still think-"

"Must we have this conversation every night? How did these damned blankets get damp?" She threw them inside and then thought of Kirill and smiled.

"What's wrong with you?" Yuri demanded. "You look awfully pleased with yourself."

"Oh, it's just the stars. I'd forgotten how I miss them at night, now that the clouds have cleared off and it's stopped raining." She stood up and stretched, relishing the delicate touch of the twilight air on her skin. "Niko says we've only a day's ride through these hills tomorrow and then we'll be back on the plains again."

"Yes." Yuri stood as well. "Gods, I'll be glad to be on the plains again." He hesitated and sighed. "Well, I'm off to set up Ilya's tent. Wish me luck."

"Can't Vladimir do it?"

"I'm Ilya's cousin, Tess. Mother would be furious if I let Vladimir interfere while Ilya can't do it himself."

"Well, then, Yuri, if you're so afraid of Ilya's bad temper, I'll go with you and help you."

"Oh, he won't say a word to me. That's why it's so bad. He just sits there. How he hates being beholden to others. Actually-" Yuri grinned- "I rather enjoy it in a way because he knows I know how he feels."

She laughed. "Why is it that the ones who look the sweetest hide the most malicious hearts?"

"Why, Sister, how should I know?"

He left, and she had a sudden urge to just walk, alone, and smell the air and gaze up at the sharp brilliance of stars above. She hiked up the nearby hill and settled herself on a rock that lay beneath three leafless trees grown up on the lee side of the hill. Rain, after all, wasn't such a bad thing as long as one's feet stayed dry, and hers had. And it was not so very rainy in this part of the world, or at least the jaran knew where to ride so as to stay out of it.

Below her, a few fires lay strewn like a cache of untidy jewels across a strip of land. She breathed in. Air like this no longer existed on Earth. All of her life on that distant planet seemed at that moment inconsequential. She had so utterly lacked confidence that her slightest movement caused her fear-that she was doing the wrong thing, that someone was watching, that she only mattered because of who her brother was; worst, that she would fail Charles somehow. To be honest, about her feelings, about any action she took-that was dangerous in the extreme. While here…

Sonia's family, for no reward whatsoever, had taken her in, had given her the initial mark of respectability that had allowed her to build a place for herself within the jaran. For she had built such a place. She knew the men of this jahar respected her. She knew that she could expect the same open friendship she had received from the women of both the Orzhekov and the Sakhalin families at any tribe they might meet, simply and purely because she was a woman. She had a family. She had a lover-one, by God, she had chosen herself, with confidence, with fondness, with a fair measure of real, artless love.

Certainly their technology was primitive, but their spirit was passionate and free. Bakhtiian claimed to be jaran to the core; if that were so, then the jaran, like the wind, could fill any form no matter its size and shape. They could adapt and hold firm. They could revere the quiet heart of the gods' mysteries on earth and still remain unquenchably curious. Like Kirill, they could be brash and diffident together. She smiled, then frowned, hearing familiar voices approaching her sanctuary.

Like Bakhtiian, they could be enthralling and utterly perilous. She shrank back into the protection of shadow and held still.

"Damn it, Ilya," Yuri was saying, "you'll just ruin your knee, walking around like this. You ought to be lying down."

"I'm not sleepy."

"I'm sure Josef is in the mood to tell a good tale. He always is. He knows a thousand we haven't heard yet."

"Yuri, leave me alone."

"I won't! Mother will have my head if I don't try to stop you hurting yourself for no good reason. What's wrong with you?"

Bakhtiian did not dignify this plea with a reply, but Tess heard his breathing, husky from pain, as he halted not ten paces from her on the other side of the trees.

"Very well, then, I'll tell you." Yuri's voice had a reckless tone to it that surprised her. "You won't admit to yourself that you're attracted to her. You certainly won't act on it."

"It is not a man's place to act."

"Yes, you'll hide behind that excuse, won't you, knowing very well that any man can find a hundred ways to let a woman know how he feels and win her over."

"As Kirill did?"

"Gods. Kirill is always flirting. You know it doesn't mean anything."

"How odd that I should then see him coming out of Soerensen's tent these four nights past."

Dead silence. "I don't believe you."

"I don't care whether you believe me or not."

"By the gods. Maybe I do believe you. I think you're jealous."

This silence was deeper and colder and lasted longer. "Yuri, leave me right now."

"No. You are attracted to her."

"Very well. It may be that I am suffering from certain desires that could, after all, be aroused by the close proximity of any woman. And satisfied by the same female, or another, whichever was closer."

Yuri gasped, a sound caught somewhere between horror and disbelief. His voice, when he finally spoke, had such a sarcastic edge to it that Tess flinched. "You bastard. But could a female satisfy them?"

"Yurinya." Bakhtiian's tone could have been chiseled, it was so hard. "I will thrash you to within a hand of your life if you ever say anything to me on that subject again."

Tess got an itch on her nose, stubborn and flaming, but she dared not move.

"Well, I say good for Kirill and be damned to you." Yuri strode away uphill, boots stamping through the grass. After a long pause, Bakhtiian began his slow, limping pace back down toward camp.

Tess lifted her hand slowly, rubbed her nose, and stood up. A breeze pushed through the trees and a few final drops of water scattered down from the branches onto her uncovered head. She ducked away, wiping at her hair with disgust. Heard footsteps. But it was only Yuri, returning.

"Yuri?"

"Tess! Where did you come from? Did you hear that?"

"Yes."

He came up beside her. "I'm sorry."

"Are you through matchmaking now? Maybe you've learned your lesson."

"I feel scorched," he replied. "Gods. Don't you start on me, too."

"Listen. Let's settle this right now. Of course I'm attracted to him. He's that kind of man. But he's a hard, cold, ambitious bastard-you said it yourself, so don't try to disagree with me now-and he'll never be able to care for anyone as much as he cares for himself and, well, to be fair, for this thing that drives him. He may well desire me. I have the honor, after all, of being the female in closest proximity to him."

"Tess…"

"Let me finish. And, of course, I didn't succumb instantly to his charm, which doubtless gives me a little originality."

"You can spare me the sarcasm."