Michelle Sagara - Cast In Secret

In fact, nothing seemed to.

Do not touch also did not extend to do not wade, and several of the children who were too old to be called little and to little to be thought of as anything else were thoroughly soaked—or entirely naked—in the low rise of the water. They made the noise that the rest of the streets seemed to lack, and Kaylin gravitated toward them, promising to never again curse the sound of voices. Even when she was hungover.

But she stopped short because it wasn’t only children who were making themselves at home in the water. Severn bumped into her back at her abrupt halt.

Entwined, legs tangled, half sitting, half covered in the shallow water, were two Tha’alani who were obviously, but quietly, making love.

But the children played around them, sometimes over them, in their mad scramble to catch falling water; one or two of them had stopped to stare for a moment, and were still staring, but not the way Kaylin was. If her jaw hadn’t been attached to her face it would be bouncing across the slick stones. She managed to control the urge to grab one of the children who was watching and haul him to safety.

Barely.

But there were other adults here, and they seemed entirely unconcerned. They barely seemed to notice, and this was almost as shocking as watching the couple themselves, skin water-perfect as they moved. Their eyes were closed, and their stalks intertwined; they were blissfully unaware of the world around them.

Kaylin teetered on the edge of action for a moment, and then began to walk forward toward them, half-embarrassed and half-outraged. Severn caught her upper arm.

“Don’t,” he said very quietly into her ear. “It’s considered rude.”

“Stopping them from—from—there are children here, Severn!”

“Stopping them from expressing their love and desire. Yes. It’s considered intrusive here.”

“But—but—” she spluttered as if she were the one who was half drowning. “The children—”

“The children are aware of them,” he said. “And as you can see, they are not concerned. They haven’t yet learned not to attempt to disturb, but that’s expected of children.” He paused, and then said, “No, Kaylin, they have no shame.” But the tone of the words conveyed no contempt and no horror, no shock, no judgment.

Certainly no embarrassment.

“They want what they want. They are aware of it in the Tha’alaan from the moment they touch it. They love as they love, and it is considered as natural as breathing, or eating, or sleeping. They make love without fear of exposure because in some ways there is no privacy. The thought and the impulse is extreme, and it is felt regardless of where they are.

“But it isn’t condemned,” he told her. “Not by them.”

“But—”

“This is the other reason why the deaf are seldom allowed entry into the enclave. No race, not even the Barrani, can understand the total lack of possessiveness that this entails.”

“It doesn’t—doesn’t bother you?”

“No. But I couldn’t live with it, either. They are not lovers in the way we would use the word. They have no marriage, no fidelity, no sense of ownership or commitment. They feel no jealousy,” he added, “or if they do, it is minor. It does not drive them to acts of rage or despair.

“They have no privacy because they don’t need it.”

Kaylin shook her head, almost compelled to watch, and uncomfortable in the extreme with the compulsion. A world with no privacy? It would be like hell. But worse. She could never escape—

Escape what?

“Do they never get angry?”

“Oh, they can.”

“Do they never dislike each other?”

“Possibly,” he said. “I’ve never seen it, but I can’t imagine it never happens. They are not all of the same mind.”

“But they can’t hide it?”

“No. They don’t try.” He drew a sharp breath, and she knew that despite his composure he was not unaffected. “But so many disagreements between people occur because they simply don’t understand each other. Or they cannot see a viewpoint that isn’t their own.

“The Tha’alani never suffer from that. They understand each other perfectly. Or as perfectly as I think it’s possible to understand another person. They don’t get trapped by words. They don’t interpret them differently. They can’t lie to each other. And even if they could, they have no reason to. A lie is a thing we tell to hide something—and they cannot hide from each other.

“Love, hatred, fear, insecurity—all of these things have been felt before, and will be felt again, and all of them are part of the Tha’alaan. Long before pain festers or breaks someone, it is felt, addressed, uprooted.

“At least that is my understanding.”

Kaylin looked at Severn, at his expression. After a moment she said, “You really like these people, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “They’re almost entirely innocent, Kaylin. But I couldn’t live among them.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not. Because even understanding them, I could not live as they live. I know why you fear them. But between the two of us, you could live more easily in the Tha’alaan than I, in the end. What I want isn’t part of their world.” He turned and met her gaze, and his lips turned up in an edged half smile. “I don’t like to share.”

She almost took a step back. “We should go,” she said, her voice low.

His smile broadened, but it lost the edge, changing the lines of his face. “Unfortunately,” he said, “we can’t.”

“Don’t tell me—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“These are the two we want to speak with.”

It was several long, embarrassing minutes later. Maybe even half an hour. Kaylin hid it—if it was possible—by engaging the children who were tugging at her legs with their wet little hands. She joined them in their fountains, assiduously avoiding line of sight with the couple; she couldn’t actually watch them without feeling as if she’d accidentally walked into someone’s bedroom. Or worse.

And explaining why she felt this way was not high on her list of priorities. Explaining why their nudity was embarrassing, explaining why public lovemaking was unacceptable behavior in the rest of the city—the words came and went, and she knew they would make no sense to these people.

They made so little sense to Kaylin.

But eventually Severn demanded her attention. He didn’t speak. It was as if the Tha’alaan had seeped into his expression. He tugged at her name, at the shape of it, and she felt him suddenly, was aware of the way he was watching her, was even aware that he had been watching her the entire time she had been playing with small, gleeful strangers.

She hoped the two lovers had gotten dressed. She didn’t fancy her chances of normal questioning if they didn’t; they were young, and they were sun-bronzed and almost perfect. They were so wrapped up in each other—both literally and figuratively—that she wanted to go away and come back some other day.

But a child was missing.

And missing as well was a Tha’alani who was both deaf, and who had spent six months living in Kaylin’s world. She felt a pang of something like pity for him, for someone who had grown up among people who were guileless and sympathetic to everything. The world outside must have come as a shock to him. Or worse.

Had he kidnapped the child?

Was the child in some way the child she had seen in the depths of the water in the back of a shop that was far too small to contain what it did, in fact, contain? She didn’t think so; there had been no evidence of antennae, no evidence of the scabbing and bleeding that would no doubt be the result of their removal. And the child in the water was older.